Skyrim: A Tale of Two Dragons
Chapter 3: A Whiterun Welcoming
It had taken nearly an hour of soaking in the hot water but Wulfric had finally been able to clean the combination of blood, dirt, grime and ash from himself. He'd asked Gerder to dispose of the armor he taken from the dead Stormcloak; it was ruined beyond cleaning and the last thing he wanted was to draw more attention to himself.
He scowled as he ran a wooden comb through his damp hair, attempting to loosen another snarl. He hair, once long enough to reach the middle of his back, had been too much of a gnarled mess to save. After struggling and failing to get it properly clean, he finally grabbed a nearby knife and hacked everything below his shoulders off. Luckily, his beard had managed well enough that he'd hadn't been forced to shave it off.
He was just finishing up his traditional braids near his temples when there was a knock at the door. He double-checked to make sure the towel he had around his waist was secure – not an easy feat considering his size – before answering. "Come in."
Gerder strode in, a set of folded clothes in her arms. "I managed to find some old clothes that belonged to Hod's father. He was a bit on the larger side so it wasn't too difficult to fix them up for you."
She set them on a nearby table and looked at the tub behind him. With a frown, she said. "Between my brother and you, we might need a new bath."
Wulfric flushed lightly, heat creeping up his neck. "Sorry about that. If I'd known how truly filthy we were, I would've insisted we jump in the river first."
Gerder waved him off. "It's fine. We have plenty of wood to make another one and you would have drawn far too much attention to yourselves. Now then, you should get some sleep. There are still a few hours until dawn. We don't have another bed but Hod's already laid down some extra furs for you and Ralof in front of the fire."
Wulfric gave her a warm smile through his damp beard. "That will be more than enough. Thank you."
Sure enough, dawn came quicky for Wulfric. Despite sleeping on a stone floor with only a few animal furs, he felt more rested and refreshed than he could have hoped for. Ralof laid just a few feet away from him, head resting on a curled deer pelt and lightly snoring.
Wulfric wasted no time getting dressed in the clothes Gerder had prepared for him. A simple green shirt with a light brown vest and brown pants. The clothes were simple and worn but well-made, if a bit tight across his chest and arms. Gerder had been unable to do anything about the boots so he'd been forced to keep the set he had "borrowed" in Helgen. He didn't expect that he'd run into trouble on the way but took the Warhammer and bow that he'd looted as well.
To his surprise, both Gerder and Hod were already up as he prepared to leave. Clearly, running the mill demanded a lot of them and their time. He was humbled even more by their kindness.
"I suppose I'll be off then," he stated. "I'll make sure that Jarl…."
"Balgruuf," Hod supplied.
"That Jarl Balgruuf sends guardsmen to protect your town. I will likely take my leave after that." Wulfric bowed his head to them. "I thank you for your kindness and hospitality. I will be in your debt."
Gerder smiled at the large man as he opened the door and stepped out. "Get the Jarl to listen to you and we'll be even!"
Nodding, Wulfric pulled the door shut behind him and began walking down the cobble streets. In only a few minutes he was already clear of the town, having crossed a stone bridge and was now following a well-traveled path around a large mountain.
Gerder had explained the quickest to reach Whiterun was to follow the path around the mountain before cutting through some woods and into the open fields. From that point you'd be able to see the city in the distance and be only a few miles away from the farms and stables that lay outside its gates. She told him that it should take about three hours on foot.
He seemed to be making good time as he reached the woods just as the sun was really starting to come up and warm the world. Wulfric stepped off the path and began to trek through the woods. While the ground was uneven and a few fallen trees lay here and there, it wasn't much more difficult to travel than the path.
The large man was left alone as he cut through the woods, save for an occasional rabbit or fox that darting between the trees. As the trees began to thin out, he heard shouting in the distance.
Wulfric picked up his pace as he reached the edge of the woods, hand gripping the handle of his Warhammer strapped to his back. He stopped as soon as he broke clear from the woods, starting out at the open plains before him.
He was standing on the peak of a tall, grassy hill overlooking the flatlands below. In the distance he could see the city of Whiterun, gradually cascading up a tall hill before reaching the end of the cliff, a large castle mounted at its peak.
Even from afar it was easy to see how the city was divided into different districts. The first was the lowest on the hill, it's roofs just barely visible over the wooden fence surrounding the city. The next district looked to be full of large homes and a temple or two. The mead hall Jorrvaskr stood out like a sore thumb, it's upturned ship of a roof unlike anything else in the city. The castle itself – Dragonsreach, Gerder and Hod had called it – made up the final area of the city.
Nearer to him, he could see the road that wrapped around the city, extending beyond what he could see. Several farms and stables followed the road for a way, clearly parts of Whiterun even if they were outside of its gates.
What really caught Wulfric's eye through was the massive body a giant sprawled out onto the road. A small group of people surrounded it but looked to be making their way back into the city.
Wulfric relaxed his hand but kept a steady pace down the hill, making his way towards the dead beast. He'd heard stories of Skyrim's giants from his father but had never had the chance to see even a drawing of one.
Wulfric came to a stop at the giant's feet and took in the sight of it. It was a male – he assumed anyway, given that it had a large, bushy beard – with only a simple bit of cloth and fur to keep him modest. There was a massive club, nearly the size of a small tree, discarded nearby. The giant itself had to be at least twenty feet tall.
If Wulfric hadn't nearly been killed by a dragon the day prior, he would have been awed by the sheer size of the beast.
He carried on quickly, making his way up the winding path to the city's entrance. The large wooden gates had just come into sight when he realized that he'd given little thought about how to speak to the Jarl. He knew what he needed to say to the Jarl – Gerder had been very direct about that – but he never thought about how to get to the Jarl in the first place.
'Oh well,' he thought. 'Time to wing it.'
"Halt!" A city guardsman barked at him as he approached the gates. "City's closed with the dragons about. Official business only!"
"I wasn't aware that you could just shut down a city," Wulfric remarked, frowning down at the guard. "I have news for your Jarl about the dragon attack on Helgen."
"You know about Helgen? Fine, you can enter." the smaller man relented. "But we'll be keeping an eye on you."
"Delightful."
The guard signaled for the door to be opened at Wulfric strode through. A few different guards did a double-take at his size, no doubt sizing him up if he started any trouble later on.
The large man passed through the first district of Whiterun at a steady pace. The main path of the city inclined slowly up a hill as he went, leading him towards the middle district. He passed an Imperial solider speaking to a blacksmith, temporarily freezing him before he realized the man had no idea who he was and he continued on.
'Damn Imperials have got me all jumpy now.' He thought.
He entered what looked to be the main marketplace of the city. It was a large cobblestone circle, surrounded by an apothecary and a general goods store. A stone staircase led up to the city's inn, large and made of beautifully aged carved wood. Various small stalls filled the rest of the merchant's circle. He could see the people preparing to open for business, restocking their stalls with new cuts of meat, fresh vegetables and fine jewelry.
Wulfric eyed a delicious looking sweet roll, still steaming from the oven but carried on despite the protesting of his stomach. Leaving the merchant's circle behind, it wasn't long before he came to another, much larger stone staircase that led him up to what he believed was the second district.
Sure enough, his first glance at the city had been correct. The second district was full of homes, a few drastically larger and more intricate than others. There was also a temple dedicated to Divine Goddess Kynareth. In the middle of the city square was a massive tree, the Gildergreen.
Wulfric frowned, looking up at the tree. It was nothing like what his mother had described. The Gildergreen was famous throughout Skyrim for its immense size and importance to Kynareth. His mother had always described the tree's thick green leaves and beautiful pink blossoms, especially when talking about meeting his father.
This tree, while big enough, looked like a cheap imitation. It was completely barren and its bark had faded into a sickly dull brown-white color.
Shaking his head, he pushed past the dying tree and continued onwards. He noticed Jorrvaskr off to his right but knew that it would have to wait, same as the Skyforge.
Soon after he came across the final stone staircase that would lead him up to Dragonsreach. Clearly a lot more work had been put into this one; it was carved out of the mountainside itself, winding up to the castle in three distinct sections. Waterfalls burst from the nearby walls, falling into a pool below and filling the air with a light mist and rainbows.
He reached the summit of the stairs in no time at all and was surprised to find the entrance unguarded. Shrugging, Wulfric gave himself a quick once-over. He was hardly concerned about appearances but it wouldn't help to look like a common beggar before a powerful man in Skyrim. Deciding he was clean enough, he pushed the large wooden double doors open and strode inside.
Allowing the doors to slowly swing back shut behind him, Wulfric took in Dragonsreach for a moment.. Large pillars and archways lined the massive room, each carved with ornate Nordic symbols and patterns. A thick rug covered the middle of the walkway leading to wooden steps that lead to the main hall. Large carved chandeliers hung from the ceilings, illuminating the upper level of the castle.
Wulfric noticed two guardsmen behind him, each positioned on a side of the door. While they bristled a bit when they did not recognize them, they did not move to stop him from continuing on.
Wulfric took the steps three at a time and quickly reached the dining hall of the castle. The enormous long tables lined each side of the room covered with fine cutlery that Wulfric knew did not come cheap. In the middle of the room, between the two tables, was a massive fire pit. Easily the size of full-grown bear, the fire illuminated the entire room in warm light and warmed him down to his bones.
Wulfric looked past the fire pit to see a man, a Nord from the look of him, sitting on a throne dressed in regal attire and taking to another rapidly nodding Breton with a balding head.
If that didn't signify a king speaking to an underling, Wulfric didn't know what would.
The large man walked past the fire pit, eyes set on the Jarl. He would tell him of the dragon attack, convince to send troops to Riverwood and then be off to see the Skyforge. With any luck, he could be leaving Skyrim by tomorrow. Things just may be looking up.
Wulfric felt the cold bite of sharp steel at his throat and went rigid.
Wulfric carefully turned his eyes to the sword pressed to his neck, following the blade back to its owner. He had missed her in the shadows cast by one of the pillars. Her dark skin blended into the darkness seamlessly but the bright red eyes shone out like beacons. Her frame was lithe but strong, clad in polished leather armor. Her fierce expression was enhanced by her angular face, framed in dark red hair. She was a Dunmer, a Dark Elf.
"Who are you to approach the Jarl unannounced?" the woman asked, voice as sharp as the steel pressed to his throat.
Wulfric refused to let his concern show. "I come with news from Helgen about the dragon attack."
"I see." The woman withdrew her blade and sheathed it. "You had best speak to him then. I am the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth. We have been waiting to hear anything more than rumors about Helgen."
She gestured him to follow her, leading him to the front of the throne. Jarl Balgruuf dismissed the Breton as Irileth approached. "What is this about, Irileth?"
"My Jarl, this man claims to have information about the attack on Helgen."
The Jarl clapped his hands together in excitement. "Excellent news. We've heard nothing but rumors and have seen nothing but smoke. I am Balgruff the Great, Jarl of Whiterun Hold. Tell me stranger, who are you and what do you know about Helgen?"
"I am Wulfric White-Wind," he said. "I was about to be executed by the Imperial Army when a dragon attacked."
It was calculated gamble on his part but he needed to be honest if he wanted the Jarl to believe him. Besides, he had never been a good liar.
Whatever Balgruuf had expected to hear, it wasn't that. The man sat back in shock from the bluntness of his words. "I see. You're certainly…open about your history."
"It was all a misunderstanding. What's important is that the dragon leveled the entire town. There were at least 80 Imperial soldiers that I saw with my own eyes. The dragon attacked the town directly and there was little anyone could do about it. Last I saw, it was flying into the mountains looking no worse for the wear."
Balgruuf gave a heavy sigh and leaned onto his knees with clasped hands.
"This does not bode well for anyone in Skyrim. Truly these are ill times. Proventus," he looked at the Breton nearby. "What is the current standing of our guardsmen?"
"We have nearly 100 men active right now, sir, patrolling both in and out of the city. The rest are currently on reserve in case of a surprise by either side, with a few more scatted at the small towns and villages in the hold. Those are mostly local volunteers though."
"Call every one of them off reserve immediately." Balgruuf tone harbored no argument. "I want every watchtower's patrol doubled. Increase patrols around the city's walls as well; the Battle-Born farms outside the walls will be the most vulnerable to attack. Contact Olfrid and have him come speak to me."
"It will be done, my Jarl, but the entire Battle-Born clan is still unhappy about your decision to stay neutral in the war." Proventus said. "You know how many skirmishes the guardsmen have had to separate with the Gray-Manes just this week alone."
Balgruuf snorted. "Tell him that if he wants his farms protected then he will come."
Proventus nodded and hurried off.
Wulfric stepped in before anything else could happen. "Jarl Balgruuf, you need men sent to Riverwood. I came from there and it is completely defenseless to a dragon attack."
Balgruuf nodded in agreement. "Aye. As soon as plans are finalized here, I will send a contingent of men to Riverwood. I will not have my cities burnt down on my watch." The middle-aged man gave another heavy sigh and ran a hand over his face wearily. "First this damn war and now a dragon appears for the first time in a thousand years."
"My Jarl," Irileth spoke, interrupting the Jarl's solemn mood. "Wulfric here is a survivor of a dragon attack. Perhaps he can be of some assistance to Farengar?"
Balgruuf thought for a moment before nodding his head and rising from his seat. "Indeed, please follow me." He gestured to Wulfric and began walking off to side room of the main hall.
Wulfric followed behind him, Irileth nearly in lock-step with him. It was obvious that she was still on guard about him, but perhaps that was just a housecarl's job.
"Farengar Secret-Fire is our court mage," Balgruuf explained. "He's always had a fascination with dragons but I've had him really searching for any additional information he can find about them since news of Helgen reached us."
Balgruuf led them to a small room with a large map of Skyrim splayed out. There was a large desk with various scrolls and gems scattered across it. Two hooded figures – one in deep purple and the other in a dark brown – were hunched over the table, fervently discussing something in hushed tones. They didn't even notice when the three of them entered the room.
After a moment of being ignored, Balgruuf spoke out. "Stubbled across something interesting, Farengar?"
The figured in deep purple jerked back in surprise, knocking a nearby ink well onto the floor. "My Jarl!" the figured exclaimed, standing upright and revealing his face clearly. He was an older man, clean shaven with pale white skin. "I didn't hear you approach. We've made a huge discovery!"
Balgruuf looks skeptical. "What kind of discovery?"
"It's about the dragons." Farengar explained. "I came across a coded cypher a few years ago that I was unable to crack. After much research, I realized it was related the dragons of Skyrim's past. Still though, I could not figure out the message of cypher. I realized that I was missing the keystone to all of it, something called the Dragonstone."
The figure in the brown hood has busied themselves on the other side of the table. After gathering a small collection of papers and fixing the fallen ink well, they grabbed a nearby coin purse and ducked out of the room, heading for the exit. Balgruuf paid them little mind but Irileth watched them go with a keen eye.
"With a little luck, I managed to find a decent enough adventurer to seek out the Dragonstone for me. Now that I have it, I've been able to read the cypher. My Jarl, it's a burial map!"
"A burial map of what?"
"Of dragons! It tells us the locations of all the buried dragons throughout Skyrim. Jarl Balgruuf, there is so much we can learn from this, so many mysteries that have been lost to time…you must allow me to seek these locations out!"
Balgruuf frowned. "I am less concerned about dragon bones than I am about the one that just attacked Helgen. What can your map tell us about that?"
Farengar faltered. "My Jarl, there's nothing recorded about dragons in the modern era. A proper dragon sighting hasn't been recorded since the Blades were wiped out back in the third age."
"Then it is of no use to us. Focus on the here and now, Farengar. You can explore the past once this dragon is dead."
"Of course, my Jarl. I'll begin looking for something immediately." The purple hooded man began to head for a back room but Balgruuf held out a hand to stop him.
"Wait Farengar, I have someone here you might want to talk to. This man is a survivor of the attack on Helgen. He saw the dragon first-hand."
That got the mage's attention. "You really saw it? Can you give me a description of it? The rumors have been too inconclusive to get an accurate description."
"Yeah, I can tell you what I saw." Wulfric said darkly. "It was larger than a house with a thick armored hide. Its scales were like ebony, gleaming and black and covered in wicked spikes. It had red eyes that burned like the Red Mountain with teeth the size of a man's arm. It shot flames hot enough to roast a man alive before he even knew he was dead. It was something not of this world."
Farengar looked at him in a stunned silence before hastily writing his descripting on a spare piece of parchment. "I'll get to looking into what dragon this could be immediately."
The mage made a bee line for an adjoining room lined with book cases. Balgruuf watched him go before turning back to Wulfric, a grim smile on his face.
"I think you may have scared the day lights out of him but at least he knows what to look for now. Thank you for telling me of the attack on Helgen. I will have Irileth set you up with some armor as a token of your service to my hold. You are free to go."
Wulfric nodded with a slight bow, surprised at the gift. As far as he was concerned, he was paying off a debt to Gerder and Ralof. Still, he wasn't one to turn down free armor especially since he'd lost everything when the Imperials had taken him.
While Balgruuf made his way back to his throne, Irileth took Wulfric into Dragonsreach's armory. It wasn't easy but they eventually they found a banded iron chest plate that fit across his broad torso. Irileth also handed him a small coin purse as she escorted him to the door.
"A small token from me as well," she said solemnly. "Balgruuf agreed to lock down the city until we had better information but was reluctant to do more than that. Now he will be better prepared to protect the hold and its people. Please use this money to get yourself a room at the Bannered Mare for the night."
"Thank you," Wulfric told the Dark Elf. "I was actually planning on leaving Whiterun tomorrow morning and heading back to Wrothgar."
"I see. I wish you safe travels then." Irileth said as the guards opened the doors out of Dragonsreach. Wulfric nodded politely and left.
After leaving the castle, Wulfric made his way over to the Bannered Mare as Irileth had suggested. He reserved a room for himself for only a few coins, which surprised since Irileth had given him significantly more. All the more gracious to her, Wulfric ordered a large brunch to be brough to his room as well.
After finishing off enough food for a small family, the large Nord set out into the town again. He wasted no time in making his way to the very thing that had drawn him to Skyrim in the first place.
The Skyforge.
He already knew it was near Jorrvaskr but was delighted to find that the two were practically intertwined. He wasted little time, marching through the city and up the stone stairs near the Companion's hall to find the fabled forge before him.
It was as wonderful as his father had described. The forge was rested atop a large circular plateau overlooking Jorrvaskr with several copper braziers around the edges for additional lighting at night. The massive stone eagle, easily as big as a house, carved from time immemorial before any man ever set foot on Tamriel loomed over the lit forge like a silent guardian. The forge itself emitting a heavy red glow even during mid-day from its large pit of burning embers.
This was the forge discovered by Ysmir of the 500 Companions during the founding of Tamriel. It was said that the native elves of the time were terrified of it. This was the founding place of the Companions, the largest part of his father's life in Skryim. From the Skyforge and Jorrvaskr, came Whiterun itself and the eventual meeting of his parents.
Wulfric had always felt like he was connected to the Skyforge in some spiritual way. Like it was partially responsible for his creation and existence. Of course, stating that out loud had just caused old Grendis Rolovo to smack him upside the head with a snort.
"Looking for something?"
It was only then that Wulfric noticed a man standing near the base of the forge. He was old in appearance but held a quiet strength. Long grey hair trailed down his back and black soot coated his hands.
"You must be Eorlund Gray-Mane?" Wulfric asked, already knowing the answer. Eorlund was one of, if not the most decorated blacksmiths in all of Tamriel. He had been the one to tend the Skyforge even when Wulfric's father, Vulwulf White-Wind, had been a Companion.
"Aye," the old man answered, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. His voice carried a bit of a thicker accent than Wulfric had heard from others he had met in Skyrim. "Was there something you needed?"
"No," Wulfric answered. "I was making my way from Morrowind to High Rock and I wanted to see the Skyforge. It's been a dream of mine for a long time."
Eorlund nodded in understanding before turning back to the Skyforge. "That I can understand. I have been blessed enough to work the Skyforge for many years. I'm surprised that you would come all this way to see it though. Not many these days appreciate its beauty."
"My parents were from Whiterun," Wulfric explained, walking closer to the forge as Erolund worked. "My father always described the Skyforge as this magnificent thing. It was one of the reasons I became interested enough to take up smithing."
That got Eorlund's attention. "So, you're a smith then?" The older man cracked a wide smile. "Gods be praised! You would understand the beauty of the Skyforge then! Come, come, let me show you how she works."
Erolund gave Wulfric a tour of the ancient forge. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. There was no standard feeder for the forge itself, the heat seeming to come from nowhere at all. Erolund even stated the he never had to feed any sort of fuel into the forge as it was always hot. The real trick of working the Skyforge was working with steel at a constant high heat without ruining it.
The two smiths talked well into the afternoon, sharing stories of apprenticing accidents and difficult jobs. Erolund also made it a point to show him the renowned Skyforge Steel. The sword looked no different than any other steel sword, but Erolund swore that it would cut clean through an iron shield.
"It's all from the Skyforge," Erolund explained. "It imbues a life into its steel, empowering it more than any magics that a mage ever could."
Wulfric graciously thanked the older smith before parting ways the day slipped into late afternoon. Not quite ready to head to the inn for the night, he made his way to a local tavern called the Drunken Huntsmen.
The tavern was small and mostly quiet – a surprise to Wulfric given its name – which allowed Wulfric to enjoy peaceful dinner and a few drinks. The bar's owner, Elrindir, was a Bosmer with a good sense of humor and a hilarious tale about how the tavern got its name. Wulfric was finishing off his third ale of the night when a rowdy group of hunters showed up. One of them, obviously in high spirits, slammed a coin purse onto the bar and ordered a round of drinks for the group.
Wulfric steadfastly ignored the group, focusing on his roast elk and leeks. Still, it was impossible to not overhear them in the small area.
"Just have a look at it. It's gorgeous."
"I've never seen anything like it, Idolaf!"
"I have but only on the highest ranking Thalmor! The ones who wear that golden armor!"
Wulfric spared a glance over at the group and found them all talking about a golden sword that one man, the one who paid for their drinks, was holding. Wulfric turned his keen eye more to the sword. It was of Eleven design; Wulfric was sure of that but something looked off.
He'd made Eleven swords before. Elves, particularly the few Altmers who opted for a weapon over magic, preferred using weapons and armor made of refined moonstone, an ore available enough to supply an army but also one primarily in their control. Not many other groups choose to using something like moonstone, preferring the simplicity of steel.
"Hey stranger, you got a problem?"
Wulfric brought his eyes from the sword up to its owner. Idolaf they had called him. The man was glaring at him while the rest of his group had gone quiet. The man's face seemed familiar. It was only a moment before Wulfric recognized him as the Imperial soldier he had seen when he first entered Whiterun. Instantly, Wulfric was on edge.
He snorted in response. "No problem here. Just trying to figure out why you're so excited about a cheap sword, is all." Wulfric turned back to his meal, ignoring them.
"Cheap?!" Idolaf bellowed at him. "You must be mistaken. This is an Elven sword taken as a trophy from the Battle of the Red Ring! I paid nearly a thousand Septims for it!"
That earned an even larger snort from Wulfric. He noticed Elrindir slowly backing away from the bar even as the man stormed over. He thrust the sword under Wulfric's face, not near enough to be a proper threat but far closer than what would ever be considered polite.
"Tell me, milk drinker, does this sword look like a fake to you?" he hissed, the heavy and distinct scent of alto wine rolling from his mouth. Wulfric grimaced and snatched the sword away.
He examined it up close for just a moment, confirming the things he thought he'd seen. Spinning in his stool to face the Imperial, Wulfric held the sword out in front of him in both hands.
"Yes, it does. The color is wrong. Refined moonstone, unless rigorously polished will lose its luster after only a few years. This sword is gleaming as though it were made yesterday. I would guess that it has refined moonstone but there's also a solid amount of copper and even some gold to really bring the color out.
"If you look near the hilt of the blade, you can see a few stress fractures. No Thalmor soldier would be caught dead taking a compromised sword into battle. If I had to guess, a smith tried to emulate this style but wasn't used to working with something a touchy as moonstone. That, and he used magic to heat his forge."
Idolaf looked murderous, but a few of his fellows were peering around him to see the sword in question. One asked "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Yeah," another one piped up. "What's wrong with using magic to heat the forge?"
"Glad you asked," Wulfric said, flourishing the sword in front of him. "Magic fire, while great for many things, is a terrible source of heat for a forge. The fire itself is magical in nature, meaning that it burns different, consumes the forge's fuel different. The properties of the blade are altered dramatically, if you know what to look for. To an amateur though, you never know it until you tried to quench the blade or, Gods forbid, took it into battle."
Wulfric moved the sword so that he held the hilt in his right hand and just above the decorative guard in his left.
"You see, magic makes any type of material brittle."
With a simple twist of his wrist, the golden sword snapped in two.
Wulfric set the shattered weapon on the bar top with a small shrug. "Sorry about your luck, but you got scammed big time."
Wulfric turned back to his meal, relishing the sudden silence that had fallen over the tavern. He got two bites in before a dagger was stabbed into the bar in front of him.
"Just who do you think you are?!"
Wulfric pushed his meal away and stood up, facing the Imperial soldier. His size made the Idolaf's companions flinch back but the man held his ground. "You broke a sword that cost be a thousand Septims! I demand that you pay me for it."
Wulfric chuckled at him. "One, I'm not paying you for anything. You got scammed by some two-bit thief, not me. And two, would you have rather me let you wear that sword into battle? You'd have found out it was a fake the hard way so if anything you should be thanking me!"
"I'll thank you with a broken jaw, milk drinker!" Idolaf threatened. "I am Idolaf Battle-Born, proud supporter the Empire and member of the Battle-Born clan! I demand your name now! The guards will hear about this!"
"My name is Wulfric White-Wind. Get your guards then, I'm still not paying for it."
"White-Wind? Did you say your family name was White-Wind?" Idolaf suddenly asked. When Wulfric nodded, Idolaf's face split into a large grin.
"Well, the Gods have certainly blessed me tonight! We've got someone a bit famous in the Battle-Born clan here tonight men!" He gestured to his men with a large smile and outstretched arms. "It would seem like a bastard has finally returned to Whiterun to sully his family's name even further!"
Wulfric glared at him, confused. "What are you getting at?"
"Oh, you don't know?" That seemed to make Idolaf even happier. "Everyone around Whiterun remembers the great Companion Vulwulf White-Wind. Or rather what he did."
"Keep my father's name out of your mouth." Wulfric glowered, but growing more confused by the second. Obviously, he knew about his father's time in the Companions but what had he done to be remembered so much?
"Simple, your father knocked up a priestess in training and fled the city with her. He had to flee with her, harlot that she chose to be, to prevent her family from killing him. They even gave him a new name afterwards; Vulwulf Yellow-Tail, caused he pissed himself as he ran away."
Wulfric felt his blood begin to boil. How dare this man degrade his parents like this.
"You take back everything you said." Wulfric told him, his anger making it nearly impossible for him to speak. "Now."
"Oh, what's the big deal?" Idolaf asked with a scathing grin. "After all, your father ran away with my aunt. Welcome to Whiterun…cousin."
Wulfric was too surprised to avoid the wine bottle as it smashed into his face. He staggered back, tasting wine and blood before all Oblivion broke loose.
Sorry about the bit of a longer delay on this chapter. Work has been especially busy lately.