Hello everyone! Thank you very much for reading, 31 views in one night! Two very nice people left some positive reviews, so I think I'm gonna go ahead and publish chapter 2. Here it is!
The next morning Alarik, heart heavy with sadness. He glanced at the sheet that covered poor Torbik's body and fought back tears. Slowly, he pulled his boots on and went riding with Torbik for the last time.
At last he found a small grove, sleepy and secluded, and it was there he made his father's funeral pyre. As it blazed away, Alarik hoped that Torbik stood at the gates of Sovngarde itself. He wiped away tears and gazed up at the sky, cursing the Thalmor bastards who had taken his father from him. At the point where all fires seem to burn brighter and stronger for a moment, Alarik thought he saw a man shaped wisp of smoke billow out of his father's blazing corpse.
When he returned home, the tear sodden cat began to pack a small bag, in which he put the steel dagger that the blacksmith in Whiterun had presented Alarik with when he went to buy supplies for the first time, some small loaves of bread, the bow his father had made him when he came of age, and his water skin. He locked the door for the last time and saddled up Falion. As he trotted away from Rorikstead, Alarik glanced for one last time at the sleepy hamlet that had been his home.
Alarik pondered upon where he could go. Perhaps journey back to Elsweyr? But he knew nothing of Khajiit culture. He had been brought up a Nord. And Whiterun was the furthest he had ever been from home. Perhaps he could find a sellsword with the meagre coin he had. Spurring Falion on, he headed toward Whiterun and aid.
He had forgotten the smell that always hit him as he entered. The smell of people, and unwashed bodies, and animal muck. The constant noise of people talking. His ears flattened against his head as various people swore at him, telling him to get his thieving nose out of their pockets. He had also forgotten the abuse that Khajiits received. Spotting the woman Adrianne, the smith who was always kind to him, in a gruff sort of way, he made his way over to her.
"Where could I find a sellsword?" he asked quietly. The woman looked at him, frowning. "What would you want a sellsword for? No-one you'd want to get involved with here, lad"
Alarik looked around. She was right. He didn't have the gut to talk to anyone with a killing tendency.
On the road from Riverwood, Alarik saw in the distance, a man fleeing from Imperial soldiers. The cat concentrated his gaze, and saw the man had shoulder length blonde hair and was wearing a chain-mail cuirass, with a blue cloak wrapped around him. A stormcloak! But before he could get off the road, the pursuing soldiers had caught up with the man and began trying to restrain him, clubbing him with the butts of their weapons. Torbik had always told Alarik that Stormcloaks would help him if he needed it. And when Alarik had got lost, at the tender age of six, he had wandered across a patrol of Stormcloaks, who had promptly brought him back to Torbik. Maybe this stormcloak could use some help.
Acting on the heat of the moment, Alarik slid of Falion and sprinted toward the group of struggling men. He hacked his way into the midst of the skirmish, and stabbed, and span, and bit. One man tried to run him through on his sword, but had a dagger shoved between his ribs and his eyes scratched useless. His battle rage clearing, Alarik shook his head. He had never been in a fight before. Five men lay dead around him, two killed by his claw and dagger, the other three by the blonde man's axe. Speaking of which... Alarik looked round at the man, who was looking back at him warily.
"Hello... I'm Alarik"
"Ralof" replied the blonde man. Alarik could now get a closer look at him. He was tall, and his armor had a battered look to it.
"Where have you come from?" questioned Alarik.
"I was caught by an Imperial patrol. We... were taken to Helgen. They were executing us... But a dragon attacked! Straight out of the legends. Only a few of us escaped."
A dragon! Torbik used to terrify Alarik with the tales of the fearsome beasts who could kill you with a word.
"I guess I should thank you for saving my hide back there." The Nord was speaking again. "You're a pretty damn good fighter, cat."
"Thanks." Alarik was glad he had saved this tall man with the axe. He seemed kind.
"You know, I never caught your name."
"Alarik."
"Well Alarik, it is a pleasure to meet you. And now I must be going. I need to find my Jarl Ulfric, and tell my sister what in Oblivion is happening."
"Please, wait! I need your help. A while ago, I found this ring, and soon after Thalmor were interrogating my father. They... they killed him." Alarik felt a burning tear gather at the corner of his eye. Ralof looked on, a sympathetic look in his eyes.
"Look, lad there's not much I can do. Let me see this ring for a start."
Slowly, Alarik pulled the ring from under his shirt and placed it in Ralof's callused palm. The Nord frowned and peered at it closely.
"There's something unnatural about this, lad." he muttered under under his breath. "Where did you find it?"
"In the belly of a deer." said Alarik.
"Something almost... demonic about this... I know someone in Riverwood who might know something about this."
"Who? Can you take me to them?" said Alarik excitedly
"Come one, I'll introduce you to him." The pair made their way toward Riverwood, the sun setting behind their backs.