Training
I arrived in Solitude in the evening. The sky was a burnt orange mixed with hues of pink. It was pretty, but not as pretty as the city. I had never seen a city so beautiful. Cobblestone roads, grand architecture: I felt like I was in the setting of a fable. Falkreath was a desolate wasteland compared to this marvel of civilization.
However, I couldn't stop to revel in the beauty of Solitude. My task was to go to Castle Dour, where my training would commence. I was in awe when I entered the courtyard. The castle itself was bigger than both Falkreath and Eris. A quaestor stood in the courtyard, armor shiny like the stars. He held a list which I could tell was several pages long from a few feet away.
"Name?," he said as I approached him.
"Aldor, of Eris. Falkreath Hold," I replied.
He glanced at the list, then scoffed. "A criminal, huh?"
"I'm no crimi-," I stammered before I was cut off.
"Quiet. It says you've been sent up here as punishment for a crime. You're a criminal, regardless of the offense," he said coldly. "As you are here for a crime, you'll be assigned to the 3rd Training Platoon. Training begins tomorrow. Go to the Trainee Barracks, over there-" he pointed to a large, oak door "-and get settled. Now," he hissed sharply.
I headed over to the barracks. Another quaestor, who looked much friendlier, guided me to my barracks. A praefect, an Imperial, sat in the front of the room, watching over us. As we were all nervous, and none of knew each other, the room was mostly quiet. After a few more minutes, and a couple more recruits came in the room, the praefect stood up.
"My name is Praefect Tarin, and I'll be in charge of this platoon while your training commences. The reason you are in the 3rd instead of the 1st or 2nd platoons is because you are criminals. You have committed crimes against Skyrim, and this is how you will pay off your debts," he paused and breathed deeply. "You may view me as harsher than the other platoon's commanders, and that is true. You're not here to fight with pride, you are here just to avoid jail or the chopping block."
The men all had looks of fear on their faces. They could tell Tarin was not bluffing.
He continued. "Most, if not all of you, are cowards. And with that, I'm going to work the cowardice out of your damn bodies. Now, get some sleep. Tomorrow will make you wish that you are suffering in Oblivion. Have a goodnight, boys." He left the room.
We all started whispering amongst each other. "What will happen to us?" "Oblivion? Tomorrow will be worst than Oblivion?" "I can't do this. Divines, save me!"
Fear. Fear is what every man in that room felt. Though we were scum, we were scared like children. After we realized worrying wouldn't help one bit, we decided to get one last night of rest. One last night before Oblivion began.
"Wake the fuck up!"
The doors to our barracks had opened. Men began to groan. A few even rolled over to try and get back to sleep.
"Listen up, milk-drinkers!," Tarin called in a shrill voice. "It's time for Oblivion to begin. Out, out to the courtyard!"
Myself and my fellow "comrades" got up and hurriedly walked to the Castle Dour courtyard. The two other training platoons were out alongside us. They all had looks of fear on their faces.
The sky was still relatively dark, minus for a few pink wisps in the east. The only real light came from torches that some quaestors held. Roll call began from a list that a Tribune held, beginning with first platoon.
"Baldur!"
"Here!"
"Bjorn!"
"Present!"
The roll call lasted for at least half an hour, with us standing in the cold Solitude air. Towards the end of our platoon's roll call, the act of insubordination occurred.
"Where is that lizard?!"
Our platoon was made up of many races, mostly Nords, but a few others. This was the only Argonian, and he decided to avoid training by staying in the barracks.
Torin ran inside to look for him. After a minute of yelling, the Argonian came out, being dragged by our platoon's commander.
"You scaled bastard, why weren't you out for roll call?"
The Argonian smiled smugly, which infuriated Torin. He pulled out his wooden baton, which he would use to discipline us. A look of terror glimmered in the Argonian's eyes, and his smile quickly faded.
"Want to laugh some more, you son of a whore?," Torin jested.
"No sire," the Argonian stuttered. "I am terribly sorry, sir."
Torin smiled cruelly. "It's a shame that I don't accept apologies," he coldly stated. He then proceeded to raise his baton and start smashing the lizard's skull in.
Cries off sheer anguish exploded from the Argonian's lips. Blood trickled down his face. Our praefect was not relenting.
The tribune ended the beating, but not until the damage had been done. "Torin, stop! Stop what you're doing now!"
Torin managed to get in one final hit, then stopped. The lizard was curled on the ground, crying, covered in his blood.
"Torin, report to the officer's quarters and wait there for me. This is unacceptable."
Torin shrugged and walked off.
"In the mean time," the tribune continued, "the third platoon will join up with the second for the time being. Praefect Abllio?"
"Yes, sir?," a young officer asked.
"Take the recruits to the waters. Commence training. And have those two Bosmer brothers in the front take the Argonian to the infirmary."
"Of course, sir. Recruits, follow me!," he shouted into the dawn air.
We headed out of the castle yard, roughly a hundred and eighty of us. We marched three-by-three through Solitude. Nobody was out, and the city was deserted. After ten minutes of marching, we were at the Solitude Docks, right by the shores of the waters. Cold, frigid, water.