Faranirr reached the gates of Riften in only a few short hours. Apart from his chance encounter with the Dragonborn, there'd been no other occurrences to make his journey unpleasant. As he prepared to enter the city, there was a distant beat, like the sound of ceremonial drums.
"What in Oblivion is that?!" One of the guards asked. Faranirr looked over his shoulder and saw a massive creature of pure muscle and power descending from the sky. The horned beast landed atop the stables and let out and earth-shaking roar that scared off the horses- as well as half of the posted guards. It radiated a chill that Faranirr could feel in his bones, and smelled of the ice capped mountains. Its pale blue eyes locked with his and Faranirr felt the desire to empty his bowels.
Instead, Faranirr ducked behind a tree as it let out another roar- this one backed up by a stream of ice that froze the tree he his behind. He rolled away from it and began to sprint away from the city. 'To Oblivion with Riften!' He thought as he leapt over a burial mound. He ran past Spriggans, Sabercats, and spiders until he stopped in a clearing a good distance away from the city.
He doubled over, his sides aching as he struggled to catch his breath. 'Is it far enough?' He thought. He looked around. The smell was gone. So was the beast. He let out a sigh of relief. He had enough supplies to last him a trip to one of the northern towns. If there were no more dragons, he'd be okay.
But then, like a middle finger to his life, Faranirr heard a familiar sound. The beat of ceremonial drums, the heavy breaths, the scent of destruction, blood, and death. He stumbled backwards as not one, but two dragons landed in the clearing. This new one was of a darker coloration and smelled of the embers of a dying fire. It eyed him with hungry yellow eyes as the pair began to circle him, toying with him. Faranirr was desperate, so he did the only thing he was good at.
"Now, I know you… scaly gentlemen would very much like to eat me, but perhaps there is some way we can come to an agreement. You see, I am in possession of some very nice Void Salts, and-" He narrowly avoided one of the beasts snapping at him. He took out his Skyforge Steel sword and his Elven sword, preparing to do the only other thing he was good at.
The ice breather took to the skies with two powerful flaps of its wings while the other ran at Faranirr with a roar. Faranirr ran at him, sliding underneath the beast and preparing to stab upwards at the base of the long throat. He did, but he cried out with surprise as his blade only inflicted a superficial cut. The beast's natural armor was much harder than he'd anticipated. And now he was right under it.
It didn't take long for the dragon to recover. Faranirr avoided its jaws only by the hair on the tip of his tail. When the other dragon saw him come from under its companion's cover, it breathed ice down on him. Faranirr hissed as the frost breath bit into his back. He wished he'd picked up some armor before now- anything would've been better than the clothes he wore. But that was a concern for another time- if he escaped this one.
Faranirr ran at the fire dragon with a shout of his own, using its snout as a base so he could run onto its head. He stabbed down at the base of the head and rolled off a sword short as the beast roared in pain. He knew he couldn't stop. He charged at it again, slashing violently with the one Elven blade. The beast bit him once on the arm he wasn't using. If it wasn't for the fact that its teeth were crooked, he'd likely be an arm short for the remainder of the battle.
With a final slash, Faranirr killed the beast. It rose up with a roar of agony… and fell down on top of him. Faranirr- now under the foul smelling corpse- was fairly certain he'd broken his arm, leg, and back. He was in a fair amount of pain and knew death would claim him soon. 'It has not been so awful a life.' He thought. Sure, there'd been crippling poverty, nights where the only shelter he'd had was the freshly slain body of a cave bear, and the constant racism, but… on second thought, his life had been horrible. 'At least it will be over soon.' he consoled himself. If his death under this dragon did not come of starvation or his injuries, the other would land soon, roll over the body, and devour him faster than a stolen sweet roll. All that remained now was choosing a Divine to offer his final prayers to.
There was a sudden warmth, and a gentle glow. Faranirr smiled and closed his eyes. It seemed his time had come. There was a sound like a peculiar gush of wind… and the warmth was gone. Faranirr opened his eyes to a pile of bones he now laid under. A familiar figure in Daedric armor leaped onto the frost dragon's head and stabbed down. The beast died immediately. The Dragonborn hopped off of its head and stood nearby, waiting for something to happen. Its body began to dissolve into curling bits of flame. Strands of light raced towards her body, infusing her with a aura of colors that exuded warmth.
When the lights vanished, she made her way towards Faranirr, giving him a slow once over before determining he was alive, though barely. "So you killed a dragon. First time?" She asked.
Faranirr could only give a small shriek of discomfort as his answer.
"Thought so. This is going to sting a little." She said as she sheathed her weapons. She leaned over his body and snapped his arm back into place. Faranirr shouted once and the Dragonborn looked at him. "Quit your whining. No one likes a crybaby."
So, Faranirr was forced to bite down on the edge of his tunic while she set bones back. The process was agony. When she was done, she removed a Master Healing Potion from her bag and held up his head so he could drink it without choking.
Faranirr's wounds closed and a buzzing numbness, not unlike being drunk, spread throughout him. He felt giddy and alert as he drained the last bits of the potion.
"Thank you," he rasped.
"How are you with doorways?" She asked suddenly.
Faranirr looked at her suspiciously, "I walk through them?"
"Perfect. Let's go." The dragonborn hauled him up with an amazing amount of strength and patted his shoulders. "You're my new companion," she said with an air of certainty.
"No?" Faranirr wanted nothing more than to not travel with the most dangerous person in Skyrim. He had enough trouble on his own.
"I'm the Dragonborn, do you really want to say no to me?"
"Yes!" He said.
She sighed, "Is this about gold?"
Faranirr thought back to the 'crippling poverty' aspect of his life and said, "Khajiit has wares if you have coin."
"What?"
"Khajiit has wares if you have the coin." He said again, far more slowly. He wondered if the dragonborn had taken one too many bandit blades to the helmet.
"No, don't do this."
"Khajiit has wares if you have coin," he said.
"This is the most annoying thing about you khajiits." She sighed, "What have you got?"
"Fifty three Giant's Toes." He said.
"Why is that all you've ever got?"
"I work very hard to fight giants so that I may cut off their toes. Now that may not mean much to you, but to a traveling merchant like myself-" He began to say.
She cut him off, "What in Talos' name is your level?"
"My… level?" He asked.
"Yes. Your level." She said again. "Every warrior has a level they gauge themselves with. What is yours?" She asked.
"I am not sure what you me-" She headbutted him. There was a 'crack' and Faraniir saw the stars, the constellations, and a number. 59. He stumbled away from her and said with a slurred voice, "Fifty nine?"
The Dragonborn nodded. "You're far stronger than the usual traveler, probably from all of the giant slaying. I've need of a companion to share adventures and loot with- and to understand how a door works." She muttered the second part under her breath. "What say you, cat? Will you join me?" She asked as she held out a hand.
Faranirr could see no way out of this, short of forcing the Dragonborn to dislike him. So, he decided, that was what he would do. "Very well." He said as he shook her hand with a smile.
"Good. Here's some better gear so you won't be totally useless." She said as she handed him new armor and weapons. "We're heading to Winterhold, so I hope your business in Riften wasn't important."
He thought of the hundreds of fishermen who would now lose their jobs because he failed to deliver the important documents from the Jarl in time. He took the notes out and ripped them to shreds. "No. Not important in the least," he said.
"Let's head off before it gets too dark," she ordered.
Faranirr followed her, quickly saying, "Would you mind if I practiced some… experimental poetry whilst we travel? I'm hoping to gain entry into the Bard's College soon."
"Oh gods." She whispered.
"Mountain flowers are blue. As well as pink. I'm a khajiit and I'm not very good at poetry… I think," he said. When the Dragonborn said nothing, he continued. "Roses are red, Daedra are black, I lost all of my land, loved ones, and friends in a dragon attack and I'm honestly struggling so please support me or I'll be forced to ask Nazeem- that arrogant prick in Whiterun- for a loan-"
"By the Divines, shut up." She groaned. "I'll cut off your tongue and use it in a potion." Needless to say, the trip was very quiet from that point onward.