So I added the Dragonborn into the story as an Argonian. Why an Argonian? Why not? I got tired of the Nord Dragonborn, despite that being my character. Besides Argonians are lizards and so are dragons, makes much more sense…somehow.

That said; I've always wondered why bandits always attack you. I mean the player eventually walks around in Daedric armour and all, which should be pretty rare and is essentially a walking killing machine in game. So how do bandits and marauders not recognise you?

By then you must of have killed whole gangs of bandits with little effort and regularly kill dragons. And people in towns seem to recognise you as Dragonborn just fine; even when you're wearing a helmet that covers your face.

You think they would be afraid of the Dragonborn, bane of Alduin, the World-Eater. But no; they decide to attack you anyway. The same applies to most of the hostile mages, hired thugs, vampires, and assassins. The result tends to be the same all the time too: One Dragonborn looting the half dozen or so dead bodies on the floor of all valuables.

A lone prey ran through the dreary tunnel. Behind it; the prey could hear the heavy footsteps of its hunter.

The hunted ran on, desperately trying to escape the manifestation of death closing behind him. All of its companions were dead. Their blood now stained the dark, rock walls of their abode.

Light. It could see light emitting from around the corner. The exit out of the cave was there. It was an escape from here.

The quarry turned the corner with great speed. Its body collided with the rocky corner before it took off again. Blood and bruises, from the collision, now marked its body. But it paid no heed to the pain resonating within its body.

Wounds can heal eventually. But death, for the most part, was eternal.

The prey could see it now. There was the entrance to the cavern. It was so clo-

His body exploded in pain as the quarry came to a slow halt. He knees fell to the ground as lost the will to resist his impending death. Slowly looking down; he could see a dark demonic blade jutting out from his shoulder.

The black and red daedric sword seemed to drink his very blood. His view was turning red and black now as the life slowly faded from his body.

A heavy weight was placed on his back. Its body was pushed to the ground as the blade that took his life was withdrawn.

His body had already shut down before he felt the hard stone of the floor. He was graced on look of his killer. The being wearing charcoal black and crimson scarred armour was the last thing he saw.

Gah-Ei wiped the blood of his jagged blade on the dead marauder's tunic. The Breton had nearly gotten away so he had thrown his blade at him. It was more due to luck than skill that the throw landed.

In hindsight, it was rather stupid of him to throw his primary weapon; but the frustrations of the last few weeks needed to be released.

He was no berserker; but the thrill of fighting and the satisfaction of killing bandits was a good way to blow off steam.

The last weeks had been among the unluckiest weeks he has ever had. The journey from Solitude to Winterhold was not meant to be this tedious.

It wasn't so bad at first. He only had to kill about a dozen bandits, who thought it would be a good idea to attack the lone Argonian wearing the rare and valuable Daedric Armour. Sometimes the stupidity of bandits even astounded him.

When he started using shouts; they actually got more exited instead of scared of fighting the living legend. Apparently they were sure their superior numbers would see them through killing the aging Dragonborn. The fight only lasted a twenty minutes, with most of it spent chasing the archers.

But once he entered the hold of Winterhold; things turned around. The cold was bearable. But the frequency of attacks on his person was not.

If it wasn't a pair of Ice Wraiths looking for a fight then it would be Cultists wanting to kill him for being the 'false Dragonborn'.

Add on all the usual bandits, evil mages, wolves and even the occasional vampire and you were left with a rough trip.

And when you though it couldn't get worse; you meet an angry giant with a large wooden club.

The first blow had caught him dead on and had sent him flying away. While a normal person would have died, he was wearing enchanted Daedric armour and only the wind was knocked out of him. While he didn't suffer major injuries aside from what might be a concussion; he unfortunately landed on weak rock.

This caved in and let him free fall a short distance right into a cave. A cave that was full of bandits having their afternoon lunch. They didn't take kindly to his arrival.

While they had the advantage of him being down on the ground; it did not change the inevitable outcome. He tended to not show mercy to bandits.

It took him the rest of the day and most of the night to finally get the general directions to the exit from this infernal cavern complex from a Dunmer kind enough to tell him before he died. It took some persuading but he eventually got his way.

He encountered a second band near the tunnel to said exit. Once again they attacked him on sight only to be killed off in quick order until there was only one ill equipped Breton remaining.

The last one had abandoned his allies and fled. Any others within the cave complex were unceremoniously pushed into him, to but time for the fleeing Breton to make his escape.

If there was one thing he disliked more than the excessive amounts of bandits that Skyrim seemed to breed; it was cowards that left their allies to die.

A black gem shone briefly in his hand. The Breton would eventually make himself of use to him, whether he wanted to or not.

Still, at least now he didn't need to look for the exit himself.

Sheathing his blade Gah-Ei stepped out into the light. The crunch of snow marked his departure from the cave.

He was high up on a small slope. Down below him he could see the main road again. And off into the distance he could see… a column of dust.

He made his way back to the road, taking all the time he needed to wade his way through the walls of snow.

By the time he arrived at the stone path; the source of the dust became clear. It was a procession of riders, all wearing the silver white of Winterhold. Bannermen rode stoically on their mounts, their flags proudly flapped with the wind.

He took off his helmet and lifted his hands in greetings. When the column came to a halt he was mildly surprised. But then; someone equipped in full Daedric armour wasn't something you see every day.

"Great-Eyes! It has been a long time my friend." A familiar voice called out to him.

The Jarl of Winterhold led his grey stallion towards him. The Imperial Thane and the Archmage of the College of Winterhold rode beside him; on their respective chestnut and white horses.

He had met the Jarl through his acquaintance with Arlerus. Back then, he was younger and the small rundown town was still only beginning to transform into the prosperous city it was today.

Like most land-striders, the Nord couldn't pronounce his name properly and had taken to giving him a Colombian name.

"It is good to see you again, Dragonborn." Arlerus politely greeted.

"Indeed. I had not expected to see you anytime soon; Gah-Ei" joined the Archmage, himself being one of the few land-striders capable of pronouncing his Argonian name.

"And you too my friends." Replied the Argonian.

By then the whole column of riders had stopped. The soldiers of Winterhold pulled on their reins to rein in their horses. The burden of their heavy equipment had little effect on the horses.

Battlemages were located all along the line of horsemen. Their dark blue armoured robes standing out among the white cloaks and grey steel plate of the regular troops.

Dead centre of the column, guarded on all sides by the horsemen, was a series of supplies brought forward by wagons. Half a dozen of spare horses were tied to the back wagon, the sudden stop making them jittery.

"This is quite a group that you have brought with you; Jarl Kraldar." Commented Gah-Ei as he inspected the waiting convoy.

"It is required to make a powerful first impression on the Tristain Crown." Said Motabe.

Tristain Crown? What was that? He was well travelled and he had not heard of this Tristain.

Seeing the confusion on his face; Motabe asked. "Did you not notice the change? Where have you been the last few days?"

"I've been busy; the bandits make life difficult for me to travel."

Arlerus cursed softly. "Only a few days of confusion for our men and the bandits are already out in force."

"You are more than a match for a normal band of looters, that couldn't have possibly distracted you that much." Noted the Archmage.

"A giant contributed. Where I landed after said giant hit me; was quite annoying. I had to spend most of the last day getting out of that cave."

"Well you got out at a perfect time. There's a blizzard coming just behind us, so you may as well mount up and join us." The Jarl's offer was more of a statement of fact than an offer of hospitality.

Inwardly; Gah-Ei swallowed. Horses were beasts he had trouble riding. His tail often getting in the way of him mounting and the uncomfortable position he often finds himself on.

Glancing behind the column; he could indeed see a cloud of white descending on them. And slowly but steadily it edged ever closer.

It was either be uncomfortable on a horse or be caught in a blizzard. To be honest weathering the blizzard sounded more appealing than sitting on a horse.

Unfortunately he had no real choice in the matter; as one of the spare horses were brought up to him.

"Mount up. We ride for Driftshade." Called the Jarl.

Gah-Ei tried to refuse but was ignored by the yelling Jarl. He looked to Arlerus and Motabe but they had conveniently turned their heads to stare at something off in the distance.

Between the loud Jarl's orders and his so called 'friends' lack of support; he reluctantly mounted the horse given to him. His tail got strafed the horse's side causing it to buckle slightly. After a minute of struggling he managed to right himself on the saddle.

The column shifted into a slow start and then a full gallop as the progressed. His tail, hanging behind the horse's rump bounced up and down; as he managed to run across every bit of uneven ground there was.

It was a game of sorts as he half focussed on Motabe, who was explaining what he had missed to him, and on keeping himself from falling off.

This was going to be a long trip.

And it was that indeed. Instead of thanking them and leaving the group after they arrived at Driftshade Refuge, he was convinced into travelling with them all the way to the Academy of Tristain.

Both his and the horse's backsides were bruised. The scaly tail constantly hitting the rump of the horse was unhealthy for both of the Argonian and his mount.

After half a day's rest they pressed on. Gambling on being able to outrun the snow storm, they resumed galloping at full speed, much to the dismay of him and his horse.

Ultimately that gamble failed as the snow overtook them. No-one tended to die in these storms; the inhabitants of Winterhold long being prepared for them.

But it did split their group up, the flurry of snow blocking everyone's line of sight. Only the hoarse screaming and shouting of the riders kept them from being completely separated. Just follow the sound of someone cursing aloud and there was certain to be someone.

Gah-Ei eventually managed to weather out the storm. The power of the storm faded as they got closer to Tristain. Beside him was a pair of Winterhold soldiers, both shivering from the cold but otherwise unharmed.

Looking around he saw they were now in a dense forest and bush. The layers of snow seemed to be decreasing the further in they went. This was undoubtedly Tristain. While it was winter in Winterhold, as it always is, it was currently spring in Tristain.

Hearing the sound of voices nearby he motioned for the two to follow him as he dismounted. Leading his horse, he moved closer to the voices. Recognising one of them as belonging to the Jarl, he dropped caution and moved swiftly to reach him.

His sudden appearance from the bush spooked the three soldiers and lone battlemage with the Jarl. The warriors instantly drew their blades to face him; while the battlemage fired off a spear of ice which narrowly missed his head and impaled itself onto the trunk of a tree.

The warriors lowered their weapons at the sight of him while the battlemage flushed slightly as he apologised for his mistake.

"That was probably not the best decision I've made." Said Kraldar as the two warriors, being him, burst out of the bush in a rush, weapons first; the spear of ice being an indicator for trouble.

"But it's not your worst, nor is it likely to be your last too." Gah-Ei commented.

His retainers did not like how the Argonian Dragonborn was belittling their Jarl, but Kraldar didn't seem to mind.

"And that's why I like you Great-Eyes. It's hard to find someone actually willing to speak their mind without having to worry about being politically correct." Kraldar gave a sad smile as he said that.

With their party now up to eight members they journeyed through the foliage in search of a road or any indicator of their whereabouts.

A dirt road was found only an hour later. Trekking down the road had them encounter more of their missing companions and one of their wagons.

Now with fifteen of them plus one wagon, they continued their search. The battlemages stayed seated on the wagon as they used some form of magic to try and locate the others.

And then they stopped. A large stack of logs barred their way. Nearly thirty or so armed men came into view around their group. Six of them were holding what looked like a long club and the two more well-dressed ones wielded a short stick. The rest was armed with what you would normally expect of bandits: rusted blades, short axes and crude shields.

"Well strangers; I'll make this quick. Hand over all your goods and valuables and we'll let you live. Refuse and you'll die. So what'll it be?" asked one of the stick wielding men.

"Look friend. We're no seeking any trouble. Just let us pass and you lot won't have to die." Answered the Jarl, confident in his men's abilities.

The highwaymen laughed at what they assumed to be false bravado. They were less than a third their number with some old men sitting on the wagon. The thought of them killing all of their ambushers was laughable.

"Not how it works here I'm afraid. Me and my friend here are mages so I don't think you'll be killing us anytime soon." Replied the leader as he finished laughing.

Ah. If all nobles were mages then that would make these men… disgraced nobles? In that case it would be alright to kill them; seeing as though their common bandits now.

"Well if you want to die that badly… then Sovngarde take you!" With that he drew his trusty blade, an old memento from the Civil War and rode his horse at the bandit leader. The rest of his men followed suit and the mages jumped off the wagon.

The disgraced noble smirked as he flicked his wand. A torrent of fire burst out and headed towards the Jarl. Flames consumed the Jarl as the rest of his men now engaged the commoner bandits.

Thinking the old man was finished, the disgraced noble turned his attention away from the burning corpse. Said burning corpse burst out of the flames, singed but mostly fine. Roaring he shook off the embers on his cloak as he continued his charge.

"Hah! You call that fire? My hearth's fire burns better than that." Mocked the Jarl as his horse jumped over the roadblock.

The fallen noble startled in surprise and attempted to cast another spell, but was cut off as the blade descended on him. The cold steel easily cutting through the cloth, flesh and bones that made up the mage.

Back at the caravan, Gah-Ei was making short work of their would-be killers. The bandits seemed to have discarded armour for lighter attire which would allow them to move faster. They were regretting that now as they died by his hands.

He ducked under another clumsy swing and gutted the poor man. The bandit stood there for a moment as he if he struggled to understand what had happened. Then an axe descended on his neck, as one of the Winterhold soldiers finished him off.

Seeing no more immediate threats he surveyed the small battlefield. Bodies littered the ground and the undergrowth of the forest. And all of them were bandits. Two of their own side had limped their way to the mages, who were multi-tasking between healing them and firing off bolts of lightning and ice.

Beyond the roadblock the Jarl was joined by two others and was in the process of gutting the one who boasted at being a mage. The other mage had joined the fight and had thrown as blast of shredding wind at one of the soldiers.

It had the effect of knocking him off his feet and earning him a few scratches as he landed in the undergrowth. But like the Jarl, he was relatively unharmed by what was meant to be deadly magic.

The rest of the trained and disciplined soldiers of Winterhold were dispatching the remaining bandits with relative ease and efficiency. The amateur fighters stood little chance. This wasn't much of a fight.

Several large cracks sounded off and a small force rebounded off of Gah-Ei's Daedric armour. Looking down the Argonian spotted two small balls of metal dripping off his armour.

The six bandits that hanged back were now quickly fiddling with their sticks which were now emitting some traces of smoke. Not wanting to see what the balls would do to someone with less durable armour; he ordered the mages to focus on them.

Unused to his commands the mages hesitated, unsure on whether to follow it or not. This allowed the bandits to finally finish whatever they were doing and aim their sticks at the mages.

Once again the sound of thunder filled the battlefield. One of the mages screamed in pain as his arm gushed out blood from an invisible wound. This broke the mages out of whatever stupor they were in and they finally attacked the ball shooters.

A mixture of thunder bolts and ice spears were rained down onto the bandits. Dropping their thunder sticks they broke and ran. They didn't get far as the spears of ice impaled them while the bolts of lightning crippled their body with super charged electricity.

And it was over. Only four of their number had been hurt, the most serious belonging to the mage hit by the metal ball. On the other hand; the bandits came out poorly. Of the original thirty-two only three remained, the trio throwing down their weapons and wand, in the case of the disgraced mage, while begging for mercy.

The Jarl rode back around the roadblock. His blade still in his hand as the blood dried up on it in the midday sun.

"Not much of a fight, but welcome nevertheless. As Jarl, you don't get to see much action, especially when you reach my age." He said, more for himself than anyone in particular.

While the Nords congratulating themselves, Gah-Ei went to pick up one of those sticks that spit metal balls. He wasn't alone as one of the battlemages joined him in inspecting them.

"That thing packs quite the punch." The mage commented.

Gah-Ei nodded his head in agreement. With the battlemage, they picked rounded them up and took them back to the cart.

By then the healing of the wounded mage had brought out another metal ball. The magically restored flesh and blood had rejected the foreign object. As a result, the ball had to be forced out by the body as flesh and bone regrew.

Dropping the weapons on the wagon, he lifted one back up and took it to the prisoners they had. The two commoners had been tied up while the disgraced noble had one of the battlemages draining magicka and fatigue off him, to ensure he had no energy to cast.

Holding it up for the prisoners to see, he asked what his was.

"T… Tha…That's an m…muskoot, musket! I mean musket." Was the response he received. The sight of the man-lizard armoured like a devil had made him extremely fearful. This thing had killed eight of them like nothing. His armour still seemed to be drenched in their blood too.

Seeing that interrogating a prisoner that was scared witless, would take too long the Argonian placed the musket back onto the wagon. They still had to find the rest of their group and shouldn't waste time.

Normally the punishment for being and outlaw was death; but seeing this was Tristainian lands they really shouldn't just execute them. The trio of prisoners were painfully dumped onto the wagon. The threats of death should be enough to keep them there.

The battlemages then cleared the road using telekinesis. The heavy logs generating dust clouds as they were dropped off the road. The small party, led by the Jarl, then set off again.

Two hours later, they found the Archmage, or rather he and Arlerus, along with the majority of their men, found them. They had a more eventful trip, their larger numbers scaring off any threat.

It was the sound of dozens of horses galloping behind them that alerted the Jarl and his group. Swords were half drawn as the men prepared for another attack.

The attack never came as the incoming party bore the banners of Winterhold. The emblem of the Helm of Winterhold was clearly marked on the grey flags. At the fore front rode the Archmage and the Thane of Winterhold.

Relief was seen on all their faces as the two groups closed the distance between each other. As per usual, the tales of what each other did was shared before they continued on.

The detour the Jarl had and the time the rest of the entourage had spent looking for them; meant that by dusk, the Academy was nowhere in sight.

Seeing no alternative, they decided to set up camp and sleep under the alien stars and moon for the night.

Moving off the road and deeper into the forest, the pitched up tents and organised a night watch. Small trees were felled to make room and the wood was put to good use. The fires that night shone brightly.

That was when they broke out the mead and ale. The men with the Jarl told exaggerated stories of their prowess against the bandits. Many toasted the Jarl himself for valiantly killing the bandit's leader.

Said bandits were retied to trees. Given only the refuse from their captor's meals, they resigned themselves to their unknown fates.

Gah-Ei had long taken off his armour. While it was the hardest and sturdiest armour he has ever owned; sleeping in it was impossible. The jagged edges tended to tear up beds and sheets.

Beside him, an intoxicated Arlerus had fallen asleep on him, his arm still wrapped around the Argonian's shoulder when he had toasted with him; and was refusing to let go. Initially he had wanted to not wake his friend, but seeing he was unable to move away and knowing how he was a heavy sleeper, he smashed a bottle of cold mead over his head.

The Imperial was hard-headed and he was sure he could take the blow. He knew some restorative magic just in case though.

The Imperial awoke instantly and choked as some of the alcohol entered his mouth. He was scrambling for a towel while the Argonian quietly left. He was screaming about how it was bleeding and directed a number of obscenities at him as Gah-Ei entered his designated tent.

Perhaps this journey wouldn't be so bad after all.

Another thing that doesn't make sense to me. Somehow it's possible to eat food during the middle of battle to heal yourself. Said food is also capable of healing wounds. So enough carrots could save a dying man.

Also the races of Tamriel must have some immunity to magic in general. You could burn them, impale them with ice and shock them with high powered electricity; and more likely than not they'll just shrug it off.

That being said Halkengenian magic still works on them. If an Earth mage throws a boulder at a Nord, I'm fairly certain the Nord will be crushed. And Ice Spears will work to some extent. The people of Skyrim have developed a certain level of resistance to this specific spell, being able to survive even with solid ice piercing through important organs and occasionally their head.