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Skyrim: The Voice of the Bard (The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim)

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Uthgerd I: Bleak Falls Barrow
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    • Morndas 18th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Evening

    Uthgerd

    The name's Uthgerd. The Unbroken. It's a good, strong name that I earned because of my unbreakable will. No beast has broken it. No woman, either. And certainly no bloody man.

    So then why'm I five tankards in for the fourth night in a row?... Oh right, I killed a man. No, not a man, a boy. A whelp with a big mouth and no arm. Fuck. What's the point of all the mead if I can still remember my sins at the end of the night. I guzzle down the last swig, and slam the tankard down. "Hulda. 'Nother."

    Within a minute, the barmaid pours more mead into my tankard. And there's a queer look on her face. Worry? Disappointment? Can't tell. That's good. Not that I care anyway. I've enough coin from my last jobs to sit here for the next fortnight. Well, maybe less at this rate. Maybe I'll switch over to Honningbrew... Black-Briar is expensive.

    It's a decent night at the Bannered Mare. Busy, but not packed. Meek... Mack... The bard is making eyes at some girl while he plays his flute. Saadia is serving people. Thankfully, no one has tried to invade my lone corner tonight. Better that way...

    "Do you mind if I sit here?

    Shor's bloody bones, why do I jinx myself? "Yes, I bloody well do mind." I can see him clearly, despite my drinking. A waif of a man, not an ounce of muscle on him. Wearing robes, too. And he's pretty short. Then again, I'm damn tall myself... And he's still here. "Move along, softgut. I'm more woman than you can handle."

    He grins. "You thought I was coming over here to... What, proposition you?"

    "Why else? I'll have you know I've fended off advances from men who were twice the man as you. Literally." For some reason, he laughs at this, then takes a seat at my table. Grumbling, I wonder if it'd be worth it to ignore Hulda's warnings about scaring off any more of her customers.

    "I was just curious."

    "Curious?"

    "Aye." He waves down Saadia and orders a glass of Alto wine. Pah. Can't stomach a real drink, I suppose. "A woman alone at a tavern in a corner, whilst reveling occurs all 'round."

    "Never seen a woman drowning her sorrows before?"

    "Of course I have. But stories are my trade." He smiles at me again. I do hope he's not thinking it's comforting. "I'd like to hear yours, that's all. I've a sense for these things."

    "Really?" He nods... To Oblivion with Hulda, I'll find somewhere else to stay. "You want to hear how I ran through a boy of fourteen summers?" The look of shock on his face goads me on. "How the Companions thought it funny to face me against a child for entrance into their little club? How I watched the light fade from his eyes because he couldn't hold a guard? Or maybe when they cried I was too hot-headed, the weak pathetic cowards!?" I stand, then fall back in my seat, head throbbing.

    And then I notice now the tavern has gone silent but for the fire. Guess I was too loud. Damn it. Sure enough, Hulda is storming toward me, yelling. "Shor's Bones, this is the last straw, Uthgerd! I told you..."

    "Please! Don't, not on my account." The hell? Why is this skinny bastard arguing for me? "It was my fault, I antagonized her."

    Hulda glares at me. I turn away. "Fine. Be that way. But if she causes trouble again, I'm tossing you both out. Clear?"

    "As a summer's day, Mistress."

    She throws one last glare my way before leaving, and the tavern starts breathing again. Bastards. As if I were some bloody entertainment. "You didn't have to do that."

    "Of course I did. I felt awful." A pause. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

    I scoff. "Cant've been in town long then. It's all these gossips can talk about."

    "Only arrived today. And don't mind them. They'll forget all about it once the next juicy story comes along. Like goblins upon meat."

    "Aye." I know he's right. I try to go back to drinking, but it's no use; I can feel the angry tears pushing themselves out. "Godsdamnit!" I nearly slam my tankard down once more, just catching myself. "It was an accident. I told them. Why wouldn't they believe me?" To his credit, the scrawny git doesn't try to comfort me or anything. Just sips his nancy wine.

    Once I get a hold of myself, he speaks up again. "I suppose I should admit it wasn't solely curiosity that brought me over here. I do have a proposition for you, thought not the kind you accused me of."

    "Would you get to the point already?" My anger seems to have burnt out.

    "As you wish. I don't suppose you've heard about the dragons?"

    What? "Those old fairy tales? Is spooky ol' Farengar drumming up his 'research' again?"

    "And then some. Those old fairy tales? Destroyed Helgen."

    I give a hearty laugh. Just one. Until I notice the haunted look on his face. Like... The one I saw this morning in my washbasin. My own. "Kyne's word?" He nods. By the gods. Dragons? Helgen destroyed? That's... Shit.

    "The Jarl has contracted me to assist Farengar by retrieving an artifact of some value from a nearby Nordic ruin. But, as I'm sure you've noticed," he says, with his wry grin returning, "this 'softgut' is no fighter. I need help, and protection."

    "So what, you're looking for a bodyguard?"

    "I'd prefer someone who can think for themselves."

    Hah. A good answer. "And what's in this for me? I don't do charity work."

    "Nor does the Jarl, I assure you. He's promised me a reward for doing this. If he doesn't extend you the same, I'll gladly share with you what he gives me. But..." he leans closer to me, a fierce gleam in his eye. "More than anything, you'll earn the Jarl's gratitude and favor. And that can open more doors than a thousand Septims. Like the doors of Joorvaskr."

    If my glare could shoot flames, the man would do a fine reenactment of King Olaf. But he ignores me, sipping his wine, as though he hadn't just casually offered me my life's dream by helping him. How long had I dreamed of joining the Companions? Five years? Ten? Their deeds, old and new, are known throughout Tamriel. To join their ranks... Few things could match that honor. To be given a second chance...

    But still... Dragons. Just thinking about the word sends a chill down my spine. As if I were remembering something long forgotten. It was... Exciting. And truly, what else was holding me here now? "What's your name?"

    "Talao. And yours?"

    "It's Uthgerd. And you, Talao, shall have my sword at your side. We leave at dawn." His grin near splits his face as we grasp each others' forearms. I can't help but mirror it.

    At least until I overcorrect and fall clear off my chair. Damn mead, I think, as Talao guffaws in his chair. Gods, there aren't enough drinks in the world.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Uthgerd II: Bleak Falls Barrow
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    • Tirdas, 19th of Last Seed 4E201 Early Morning

    Uthgerd

    I've never understood why some people play jokes on others. Once, when I was seven, some kids my age gave me a stick, telling me it was a magic wand that would make my mother give me extra treats. Needless to say, it didn't work, and the boys laughed at me when I told them of the spanking my mother gave me when I ordered her to give me another sweetroll after dinner. They stopped laughing when I broke one's tooth and blacked the other's eye. So no, "pranking" has never been a past time of mine.

    Why, then, did I feel such joy over the sight of Talao leaping out of his bed, drenched in water? Revenge, maybe. Well, not my problem he hadn't woken up earlier. I toss the now empty pail at him while he sputters away. "You overslept. Get into your traveling gear, get your pack, then meet me at the gates of the city in ten minutes, or I'm leaving without you."

    The sound of his hurried steps follow me until I exit the inn. Then nothing. It's always bothered me just how quiet a city can be before dawn. Out in the wilderness, you're surrounded by noise. Insects buzzing, elk bleating, rivers flowing. Here, not even the most optimistic vendor has yet set up. I wrap my cloak more tightly around my armour, and set out to the gates, boots crunching against the frosty ground. Whiterun is warmer than most of Skyrim, but the province's famous chill is never far off, especially at night. I learned that the hard way a long time ago...

    A patrol passes me by, and talks to the guard standing beside the gate. Shift change, most likely. I can see them throwing glances my way from inside their helmets, like they're expecting me to attack them. I ignore them, leaning against the wall. No doubt they recognize me and... What I did. I suppose getting out of town is the best I could do. Give the rumours time to die off, like the bard said, and for me to put it to rest in my own soul.

    Before long, I see Talao walking swiftly toward the gates. I notice an odd hitch in his step, and a cane or staff in his hand, as if he were hobbled. Great, he's a cripple too. That's going to increase our travel time. I seriously cannot catch a break.

    "You said we were to leave at dawn! It's well before then!"

    Hmph. "I said dawn, not sunrise. There's light enough in the sky to see the path, and the sooner we leave, the sooner we can get to... Wait, where in Kyne's name are we headed?"

    "Oh." He seems embarrassed at his oversight, as the gates close behind us. "Bleak Fall Barrow, just overlooking Riverwood. It'll take us most of the day to reach Riverwood, so we should spend the night there, or make camp near the base of the mountain."

    "Fair enough." The road out of Whiterun is smooth, from the thousand of wheels, horses, and feet that use it every day. I see, out of the corner of my eye, Talao keeping pace with me, no difficulty despite his odd gait. An old injury then, one he's spent a long time with. Somehow I doubt I'll see him sprinting anytime soon, but at the least, we won't take threefold the time to get anywhere. Hopefully, he holds up as well on the mountain.

    The Khajiit are up and moving as well, the fire from their camp burning brightly. I eye them with a cautious respect. I've bought supplies from their caravans many a time to make my travels easier, and it takes some guys to wander a country during a war. But I drew my cloak tighter around myself anyway, not from the chill. They aren't allowed within the city walls for a reason, after all.

    "Wares for the weary traveler?" A grey-ish brown cat asks me, his eyelids half-open, but attentive. A sign he's relaxed. At least, I think that's what it means. All I really remember about Khajiit behaviors is that you should run if they "smile" at you, unless you like bite marks on your ass. "Ah, but this Breton Ri'saad remembers. It is Talao, yes?"

    "Aye. Pleasure to see you, Ri'saad." He waves to the other caravanners, who return the gesture. Interesting how at ease he acts with them.

    "Ri'saad is please to see Talao as well this morning."

    "Is it morning?" he grumbles. "It still feels like night to me."

    The cat - Ri'saad, I try to remember - hums, like a purr almost. "Ah, the Breton does not enjoy losing his rest. Khajiit finds dawn most invigorating. The slow rise of the sun, and of the sounds of the day, the smell of the dew upon the grass."

    "Just smells strange to me."

    We're getting off track. "We need to get moving if we want to reach Riverwood by nightfall, Talao." My pack is still rather full from my last outing, but I buy a few potions and some hardtack, just in case. Talao does the same, also grabbing a flask of wine, happily chatting about how alcohol can be just as helpful as a fire on a cold night.

    Despite my best efforts, the chatty Khajiit drags Talao into another conversation. "Ri'saad has noticed that Talao is no longer wearing the robes sold by this one. Did the bard forget them in some fair maid's home?"

    "Nothing quite so titillating, Ri'saad, but infinitely more interesting," Talao chuckles. "I was capture by Imperials, but then saved by a dragon!" The cats murmur in the background, as Talao spreads his arms wide. "Picture it: A misty dawn in Falkreath Hold. The sleepy town of Helgen awakened by a brigade of imprisoned Stormcloaks, preparing for sentence from their Imperials captors. Among them, a lone innocent, a victim of circumstance. He awaits, hopelessly, his inexorable fate. The chopping block taunting him with freshly spilled blood. But fate has other plans, unbeknownst to him as he is forced upon the block. A great roar resounds through the valley. The innocent looks up, past the gleaming executioner's blade, and a monstrous beast descends, clad in armor darker than blackest night, gleaming in the first rays of the morning, as if from Aetherius itself! Saving the innocent from the cold bite of death by mere seconds, and the chaos affords him the opportunity to escape."

    "Hmm. Ri'saad believes this is the most outlandish story Talao has yet shared."

    Silently, I agree. The man has a way with words that makes Mikael seem a brutish oaf in comparison, but the story is absurd. Although, there must be a reason the Jarl entrusted... A man like him with such an important task. Unless he's embellishing that as well.

    "Outlandish, yes. But every word true."

    The Khajiit strokes his chin, continuing, "This one has, however, heard rumours of the return of the winged lizards, few though these rumours may be."

    "I've only seen the one," Talao responds, "but if one dragon survived supposed extinction, there could be more. And one is more than enough, if that one was anything to go by. It destroyed an entire town, holding an Imperial garrison, by itself. I'd hate for our next meeting to be with a burnt corpse, so eyes to the sky."

    "A life without risk is not one worth living, friend. But then, it is best to remain alive to witness it in its entirety. Khajiit will take precautions."

    "That is all I ask." Enough of this drivel. I nudge Talao sharply and begin walking off. He spits out a hasty farewell, "May your roads lead you to warm sands," and catches up.

    The sky has brightened a bit, though the sun has yet to rise. I notice the head of Talao's cane, shaped like a dragon. A staff then, not a cane. "You a mage, Breton?" I ask, gesturing at the staff.

    "Ah, no. A gift from Farengar. Sadly, I have very little aptitude for magickal arts."

    Now that was odd. "A Breton with no magicka?"

    "Aye, strange, I know." He grins ruefully. "I'm a bard. I don't think I mentioned."

    "No, but after your story, I might have guessed. Still..." The question was still burning in my mind, so I decided just to ask. "Why would the Jarl choose you to go into a Barrow, famous for active Draugr sightings, if you have no combat expertise?"

    "A fair question," he replies, shrugging. "I suppose I did think it odd how quickly he trusted me, but given the direness of the situation, perhaps he thought there was not enough time to find a more suitable person. Farengar did mention not wanting to spread rumours, and seeing as I was one of the survivors at Helgen... Hold up."

    "What?" We've reached the bend at the White River, just at the bounds of Whiterun's farmland. Talao stops, staring up the hilly road to the south, but I see nothing. "What? Is it the hill? You can't expect me to believe..."

    "We should get off the road."

    "What are you...?"

    "Now!" He shoves me toward a bush - or at least tries to, considering I'm twice his size - on the side of the road, before hiding himself in it. I sigh wearily, looking up the path. Still nothing. So now he's a coward as well as defenseless. Or possibly insane. I settle into the bushes, lamenting the fact that it is going to take us until the next era to reach Riverwood at this rate.

    A moment passes. Then another. A few torchbugs buzz around our heads. A wolf bays in the distance. And still nothing stirs along the path.

    "Talao..." He places a hand on my mouth, the other pointing. And then I see it. Or something. A hazy blue glow, still far in the distance, swiftly approaching. Mage light, perhaps? The closer it gets, the more I feel a sense of dread creep over me, and I understand why Talao had us hide. Whatever was approaching, it wasn't natural. My hand clutches the grip of my sword, ready to draw the instant anything happens.

    Finally, the blue haze is defined enough to make it out, and my blood freezes. I've seen ghosts before, but this... An armor-clad specter, astride an equally spectral horse, flying across the ground faster than anything I've seen, fog trailing in its wake. And most unnerving, the ghost faced forward... But with no face to speak of, nor any head at all.

    The specter is still heading directly toward us down the path, at an impossible pace. Then it slows. My breath catches, and my anxiety jumps. Some ghosts were weak to steel, but I doubted this one would be, were it to come to blows. The horse halts at the crossroads, and the headless figure shifted in its seat, as if checking its direction. My hand aches from its painfully tight grip upon my sword, but I dare not make the slightest move.

    Suddenly, a piercing pain rips through my skull, and the ghost faces our hiding spot. Talao is yelling beside me, as the horse walks forward slowly, the figure pulling a large axe off its back. I try to do the same, but I'm paralyzed, held in place, unable to move or even fall from the pain. The horse whinnies loudly, as if laughing, and the ghost lifts the axe high. This can't be how it ends!

    Suddenly, a blazing shaft of light bursts through the specter's body. He halts, his form slowly dissipating. At once, the presence lifts, and I fall forward, gasping for air. The sun finally peeks up from down the White River. Dawn has arrived.

    A haunting laugh echoes through my head, and a phrase lingers in my mind as the ghost vanishes; "Such an abrupt end to our game." A chill runs down my spine, despite the warmth of the sun upon my face. A game? One I'd rather never play again.

    Talao is a few feet away, on his hands and knees, retching. I can hardly blame him. Makes me glad that I skipped an early meal, else I'd likely be joining him. "By the blood of Orkey, what was... that?"

    "I... I don't know. I've never heard of any tale like this." He stands shakily, heaving great breaths of air. "It was so... angry. Vengeful. I heard... 'All living shall fear the dead.'"

    "What did we wander into?"

    "A legend." Talao whispers. "One I'm not sure I want to be part of. But one I'll definitely write about. Someday."

    One last stretch unravels the knots in my back, and I shoulder my pack once more. A quick glance around, but all seems quiet now. Without words, we set off down the path, the sun lifting our spirits. But I know that feeling at the base of my spine will stay with me for a while yet.

    For once, I was looking forward to an uneventful trip.
     
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    • For the curious, Uthgerd worships the traditional Nordic Pantheon, rather than the Eight Divines. Kyne is, obviously, the parallel of Kynareth. Orkey is generally considered the parallel to the Daedric Prince Malacath (rather than Arkay as you might think) and an enemy of the ancient Nords, hence its use as a curse.
     
    Uthgerd III: Bleak Falls Barrow
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    • Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Afternoon

    Uthgerd

    "Any ideas?"

    Talao ducks back behind our overlook of the entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow, where four bandits stand on guard. If their associates from the outpost down the mountain were anything to go by, they wouldn't be much trouble, but for their superior numbers.

    "A few," he says. "Surprise will be to our advantage here. So try not to go yelling at them first this time."

    I grimace, despite his neutral tone. The bandits at the outpost hadn't attacked us, but when one had called me a mud-crab lover as we left... Well, I suppose I was lucky there had been only one unseen bandit. I can still feel the sting in my side from the mace blow, despite my steel plate armour. "Of course. They're likely on alert in the first place, and we won't be able to approach too closely.

    "Can we wait for nightfall?"

    "Not possible. There's a storm on the way, within the next hour." In truth, probably sooner. The air is already more bitterly cold than it was just an hour ago. The sky is completely covered by dark, flat clouds, and the wind is picking up. "We need to be inside that barrow before it hits."

    Talao crosses his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. "We can't go 'round the other side, thanks to that cliff, and they've two guards watching the path. Do you think the brush will cover us long enough to get within bow range?"

    Another peek over the ridge. "If they aren't focused on it, yes. If I can make it to that tree, I'll have enough cover to draw.

    Talao nods. "Likely our best choice. The guard overlooking the valley is isolated, and if you're lucky, his death won't alert the other three."

    "Aye, if I'm lucky. I'd prefer another bow-hand rather than relying on luck." Blast, my mouth got away from me again. I don't really blame him, but it's frustrating enough.

    "The only strings I've plucked are instruments', as I've told you before," he responds crossly. "My hands create art, not violence."

    I notice snowflakes drifting into my vision. Damn. "No time. We can figure out how you've not died yet later, but it's now or never. Wait here; I don't need you getting in the way." And before he can reply, I slip over the ridge and slide into the sparse brush along the path. The coming winter has killed most of the foliage, but these shrubs stubbornly hang on to their leaves. No movement from the path guards, thankfully. They seem to be looking out on the plains, to the oncoming storm. My armour blends in a bit with the rocks as well, which helps.

    The tree, when I reach it, is near a hundred yards from the guard, at my estimate. Not terribly far, but nothing to scoff at. I stand, nocking a steel arrow on my Orcish bow. Cost me quite a few Septims, but worth every one. I keep a second arrow held between my fingers as well, for quicker access. Two is all the time I'll get. The wind hasn't picked up yet, but there's a small steady breeze coming from the plains. I adjust my aim. The bandits are all wearing fur, so I go for a safe body shot.

    Inhale. Pull.

    Hold. Steady.

    Exhale. Release.

    The arrow is thrown through the air, and my second is nocked even before the first reaches its target. It lands true, punching deep into the bandit's chest, and he collapses without a sound. I quickly set up my second shot for the closest guard, before any of them notice. Just as I let it fly, I feel a slight gust, and curse as the arrow moves from its path, striking the guard in his left arm.

    His screams of pain are clear over the wind, and I duck behind the tree once again. Is it worth drawing another arrow, or do I charge now? They're sure to know my general position now, but three on one odds are not easy to go against, however unskilled they might be. The longer I stall, the more organized they'll be, so I decide to drop the bow and charge the guards before they can rally.

    I've always wondered what goes through the minds of bandits when they see a Nord woman as tall as they, sprinting at them in full plate armour, greatsword waving above. The first always seems surprised more than anything. This one is no different. The yards disappear and I finish the job my arrow started, driving my blade into the injured guard's gut before he can draw his weapon. He falls to the ground, silenced, and I move on.

    Two left.

    The last have finally drawn their weapons, though too late to save their fellow. They're also smart enough to approach me spread out so that I can't move them into each others' paths. No matter. Before they can attack, I shout a battle-cry, swinging at the guard on my right. Despite their shock and fear, he manages to deflect the cut with his own sword, though the force drives him to a knee. I send him sprawling back with a kick to the chest, turning just in time to parry a cut from the other guard's axe. I take the momentum into a downward cut, hoping to cleave off his arm, which he blocks with his shield. Surprisingly, both he and the shield hold steady, and he scores a solid hit to my already injured side. I lose my breath, pain shooting through my side, but I can tell the armor has held strong. I feint to his side, then flip my sword around his guard and thrust the tip through his neck.

    The second always dies with fire in their eyes, cocky in the face of danger.

    A shout from behind draws my attention back to the other guard I'd been fighting. I manage to dodge a wild thrust from his blade, but he tackles me, and I lose hold on my blade as he forces me to the ground. Still unrecovered from my last injury, losing my breath again so quickly after the last, I struggle to take in any breath at all, stars dancing in my vision. The bandit rips off my helmet somehow, or maybe it fell off from the impact on the stone ground, and he punches me in the face once, twice, sword seemingly forgotten, and I can see the terror in his eyes as I grab his forearm to stop him, even though I can't gain any leverage against him. Suddenly his free hand is on my throat and I still can't breathe, my vision is going black from the edge, and my ears sound filled with cotton, so I can faintly hear a shout, as the bandit looks up and then a dagger is sticking out of his eye

    All at once I can hear and see and feel pain again. I yank the dagger out of his eye, and plunge it under his arm where I know his heart lies, and then the world is blessedly silent again but for the ragged gasps of my own breathing.

    The last one always dies in fear, a coward to the end.

    "Uthgerd! Uthgerd! Are you alright?!" Gods, that bloody bard will be the death of me, I can tell.

    "I'll... I'll live," I gasp. He appears in my vision, offering an arm up. I wave it off and sit up, a wave of curses rolling off my tongue that would've had me over my mother's knee for the rest of my life. Okay, pain. Where? Side, obviously. That needs some attention right away. Throat, sore, will bruise terribly, but not life-threatening. Face, couple of knocks. Some blood from my mouth. I spit. Shit, there goes another tooth. That makes... Three now? Well, I've had worse scraps.

    Talao is kneeling over the dead bandit by my side, and the details of the fight click in my head. "Did you throw that dagger?"

    He starts, as though I'd interrupted some deep thought. "I... Yes, I did." He acts even more surprised than I feel, as if he doesn't believe it himself.

    "Well... Damned fine aim there, I guess. Suppose you aren't useless in a fight after all." Slightly less useless, at least.

    "But... No, I didn't mean to... I was only trying to distract him, not... It was an accident."

    "Accident or not... You saved my life, Talao. For that, I'm grateful."

    He perks up at this. "Yes, you're right. He wouldn't have hesitated to kill us both." A pause, the wind echoing around us, slightly muted by the towering entrance of the barrow. "Do you suppose they're here for the same reason as us? The artifact?"

    I struggle to remember what Talao had told me about the treasure - bit difficult to think at the moment - the "Dragonstone." "A map of ancient dragon burial grounds? Highly doubtful, I should think. They aren't after something with no clear value like that. I imagine only the Jarl's wizard knows anything about it, let alone have any interest in it. They'd be after burial tributes. Gold and valuable buried with the deceased."

    "Then why post so many guards? It's like they expected people to follow them... Perhaps there's some other treasure down there?"

    Hmm. It's an interesting idea. But the light is quickly dying as the storm picks up. "We can discuss this further inside if we need to. Right now we need to take shelter."

    "Right," Talao replies. "I'll grab the packs and your bow, and meet you at the door." I stand, grunting, as he heads back toward the ridge. I look out toward the plains of Whiterun Hold. On any other day, the sight would have been beautiful, but the oncoming storm robbed the vision of anything but dread. I've never really thought of the weather as anything great than that, or the influence of Kyne upon Nirn, but I can't help but feel as if this is a terrible sign - of terrible things to come. A herald of truly dark times.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Intriguing, justifying the game's skill increases as an instinctual aptitude for picking up and increasing skills is a nice touch.
     
    Arvel I: Bleak Falls Barrow
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    • Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

    Arvel Swiftpinch

    I wasn't always a bandit, you know. I used to be a merchant on Solstheim. Successful. Respectable.

    Boring.

    So I ran off to Skyrim, hoping to find something interesting to do. Nothing too adventurous, but anything beat counting Septims behind a counter, I thought. But all I found in Windhelm were a bunch of racists with anger issues. At best, I was ignored. At worst... Well, let's just say I joined this group of bandits mostly so I could get back at every Nord I could find.

    If I'd known I was going to end up as a spider's diner, maybe I'd have stayed in Solstheim. It was my own damned fault, I suppose. A Draugr popped out of nowhere, and I panicked before Harknir or Bjorn could even react. I'm no bloody fighter; just a gossipmonger with a talent for picking up valuables, which is how I got this damned key in the first place. Its terrifying, rattling breath and strange language unsettled me enough without them jumping off the damn walls, and when I looked over my shoulder to see if it was following me, I ran straight into the largest web I'd seen in my life. The more I struggled, the worse it covered me, so I resigned myself to waiting for my compatriots. So I waited.

    And waited

    ...And waited.

    Did the Draugr kill them? I'd never been inside a Nordic ruin before, but surely no undead was sturdy or strong enough to kill two Nords. Every moment that passes is another closer to a pair of pincers in my neck. Was the spider still alive? The web seems recent enough. But why hasn't it come to check on the movement? And where are those bloody Nords?!... What if there was another path? They might have completely missed me. My heart starts beating furiously. I could die down here. No! I will not let Dagon have me! I will survive.

    As if by providence, I suddenly hear footsteps from the hall, and voices - live ones. "Is... Is someone coming? Harknir, Bjorn, is that you?" The voices dim, but I can hear them moving about, more hesitant than before. "Look, I know I ran ahead, but the Draugr... I need help!"

    Finally, two people appear in the doorway. But neither of them are Harknir or Bjorn. One is a skinny man in robes, and the other is... The biggest bloody Nord woman I've ever seen. Shit. Dagon is truly testing me this day. "Who are you? Oh, never mind. Cut me down before that thing comes back for us!"

    "Us?" the Nord scoffs. "The only one I see in trouble here is you, bandit."

    I shove aside the numerous curses running through my head; this could all turn to ash if I can't take control of the situation. "What happened to those idiots I left behind? I don't suppose you've killed them." The Nord continued to sneer at me, but the other one acted more neutrally. Whatever they were here for, he was my ticket to living... Or at least to keep the woman from running me through. "I won't lie and say they forced me to help them or anything, but I never hurt anyone! I was just an ear. The worst I ever did was palm a few items from a villager or two."

    "Really? Such as a certain golden claw?"

    For the love of... Can I not catch a single break? "Yes, yes, the claw. I know how it works, the claw, the markings, the door. I know how they all fit together. Just help me down, and I'll show you."

    "Why don't you just tell us now, ash-face?"

    Ash-face. How unoriginal. "Because I don't fancy you leaving me to die here while you run off. And the claw is in my pocket anyway."

    "He has a point."

    "Talao..."

    The man - Talao, I suppose - pulls a dagger from his belt and approaches me. "He's one mer, Uthgerd. And covered in webbing. I doubt he'll be any trouble even if he wanted to be." Smug little n'wah. The Nord joins him after a moment, but the webs are absurdly thick, taking much longer to cut than I would have thought. "So," the... Talao says, "I'm a bit curious how you made it through that puzzle trap earlier. It was locked when we came through."

    Puzzle? "I've no clue what you're on about. There was no gate or anything when I came through." Although I do remember a loud crash soon after I took off. I'd assumed it was the Draugr knocking over a pot or something.

    "Hm. Perhaps it was rigged to close behind the first person to come through. I'm sorry to say it actually killed one of your fellows. Perhaps the last one of them, unless any escaped that Draugr. Nasty buggers, aren't they?" he asks me.

    "Uh... Yeah. I was running from one, like I mentioned. Got me stuck here. Frightened the life out of me."

    "Is that so? Well, you seem plenty alive to me. Stick with us, and we'll keep you that way," he says, grinning. Charming fellow. I feel calmer already. Another moment passes, and I feel the last rope release me. Finally.

    Now, to figure out how best to ditch these fools.

    Click-click.

    Azura be praised.

    I don't even need to fake the fear as a monstrous spider descends from the ceiling, finally drawn to the struggling of its trap. I scream "oh gods, don't let it get me! Kill it!" They both turn to face it, the woman drawing her weapon. When she charges forward, I accidentally trip Talao as I run further into the ruin, screaming loudly. Perfect. I keep my eyes firmly ahead, searching for any more webs I might run into. Now all that's left is to get to the wall, open it, and find out how to lock it behind me. Then I'll have all the time in the world to...

    Snap

    What was tha
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Uthgerd IV: Bleak Falls Barrow
  • Threadmarks
    • Middas 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Evening

    Uthgerd

    "I still can't believe how... Messy that trap was."

    Talao, head still in the journal we lifted from the... Remains of the bandit, looked queasy still. "Can't say I disagree with you on that one." The sight of a man pinned against a wall, impaled by wooden spikes was... Gristly, to say the least.

    He sighed, turning a page. "Shame. I did try to warn him there could be more traps, albeit subtly. I suppose I'll have to be more direct in the future."

    "You did?"

    "When I mentioned the puzzle trap from earlier."

    "Ah." Frankly, the coward was asking for it, barreling through a ruin the way he did. Who wouldn't expect something to happen? He might've been able to outrun Draugr, but one dead end and he would have been helpless. Not to mention his obvious attempt at escaping. Served him right. Talao grunted, distracted again by the book in front of him. For some reason, I found myself comparing the two of them, what little I knew at least. They were both small and skinny, obviously, with no talent for fighting, but that was it. The dark elf had run at the first sign of danger, where Talao had stayed, despite his weakness. No to mention how he saved me at the entrance earlier. And the bandit was fool enough to run into a trap despite being warned, whereas Talao...

    Hang on. Talao was smart enough to realize there would be traps, and to warn the bandit about them. Was he naive enough to just tell a possible enemy that, and expect him to not take the selfish route of taking the treasure for himself? Or did he do it to give the elf a choice to stay with us, safe, or run off and die? It seemed at odds with the peaceful presence he usually put forth. Seems there's more to this man than first I thought.

    "We're here."

    My thoughts cut short, I look up at an imposing wall. Nordic designs cover it, and there are large circular plates with pictures on them, as well as an odd dish in the center, with three holes set in it. But most importantly, it was a dead end. "So where's the door? You sure this is it?"

    "Yes. The 'Hall of Stories.'" Rather than the wall ahead of us, Talao stares at some of the murals on the side walls. "Fascinating bas-relief sculptures. Very early Nordic, nearly Nedic. I suppose it is a Hall of Stories, after all. I wonder what this one tells of."

    "Which one?" I look. "Seems to be about a local Dragon Priest."

    "Really? How can you tell?"

    Something the 'bard' doesn't know. What a novel experience. "Well, see this figure here is the Dragon Priest. They all were depicted as having some special mask, which supposedly held great power within them, and were part of the source of their own powers. The first panel shows him performing some feat of magic, and the Nords below are cowering in fear. This second one shows them worshiping the Priest, and tithing gifts to him. And this last one," a picture full of the screaming and dying, "shows those same people being destroyed by their supposed deity."

    "Huh. I'm impressed."

    "Really?" Is he making fun of me?

    "Well, the Dragon Cult isn't the most widespread of stories. Few have heard tell of it, or its adherents."

    "Maybe not in High Rock, but all of Skyrim was once under their rule," I say, gesturing to the wall. "You bards sometimes seem to forget that all stories have some person's history wrapped up in it."

    "I would never..." he stops.

    Did I just render him speechless? That'd be a first, and I feel quite a bit of pride for it. For all Talao's bluster, he's human too. "Come on, let's get this door open. Does the journal say anything about it?"

    "Um... Ah yes. The bandit, Arvel, writes about 'the power of the ancient Nordic heroes,' as well as the man he stole it from - a Lucan Valerius? Let's see," he ruffles the pages again, as if searching for a specific spot. "Key, Bleak Falls Barrow, Hall of Stories, legend... A test to 'keep the unworthy away." I'd desperately like to know where he heard all this. Ah, here. 'When you hold the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands.'"

    I wait a moment, until it's clear no further information is coming from Talao. "Well that's frustratingly vague." And therefore probably accurate. No one would call the Nords a subtle race, but we're as fond of our wordplay as any other. I hold out the claw, talons pointed away from me, inspecting it against the wall. Three nails, three holes. Clearly where the "key" goes, so I try placing it within, and twist it as if it were an actual key. No response. It doesn't budge at all. However, I notice that the gold of the claw isn't completely smooth. "There's a bunch of odd runes on it. Nothing I can understand."

    "Let me see. Hm, it seems to be late Nedic. All traits they valued, I suppose. This one says 'pride,' and this is 'valor.' Nothing about a door."

    "What about those carvings on the door itself? What do those mean?"

    "Odd... These aren't runes at all, but pictographs. Just animal murals with no deeper meaning."

    I'm stumped, and so is Talao, if the strange look on his face is anything to go by. What did that bandit know that we don't? "'The solution is in the palm of your hands,'" I mutter.

    "The palm... Wait. What if it's meant literally?" Talao exclaims. "We keep holding it like this, with the talons pointed away so we don't stab ourselves. What if the solution is in the palm of the claw, where our own palms have been?"

    He turns it over, and we both look. While Talao is translating more of the runes, I notice something out of place. "Look there, in the middle. Three of those pictographs, hidden in the runes."

    "By Y'ffre, you're right. The empty space makes out the animals. Good eye, Uthgerd. I see... From top to bottom a bear, a... Butterfly? Maybe a moth? Then an owl."

    I look at the wall again. "The pictures up here are out of order, though."

    "They probably move or rotate." He's right; the large circular segments run along some kind of rail, grinding smoothly, despite their age. "So... Bear, then moth, then owl." Each one clicks into place. "Now, try the claw."

    Again I insert the claw into the central disk, pushing it in. I feel something catch, and it twists to the right. I expect some kind of door, but instead the entire wall begins to slowly descend into the floor. "Amazing."

    "Magnificent." It's quite exciting. But, oddly, every inch the wall falls, I feel more... Fearful. As though I'd forgotten something. Something... dangerous.

    "Uthgerd." Talao says. "You don't suppose... Might there be a Dragon Priest interred here?"

    Now that was a frightening thought.. "The mural."

    "Aye. It suddenly occurred to me how simple getting here was. The traps were definitely to deter intruders, but this wall... It seems built more to keep something in rather than out.

    "And maybe the 'ancient power' buried here is not some artifact, but a being of power instead."

    CLUNK

    We both jump, as the wall hits the floor. Beyond is a cavernous chamber, muted moonlight flowing in from holes in the ceiling, illuminating a large, stony structure in the back. The awe-inspiring sight is spoiled by the sudden tension in the air. After a moment's hesitation, I draw my blade, and Talao holds his staff in front of him. We move slowly into the cavern. An underground brook gurgles by. A colony of bats screeches by after we startle them. The structure, a semi-circular wall, stands upon a worn podium. Along with an ornate treasure chest. A table.

    And a coffin.

    My heart jumps. Something is here. I can feel it. Nothing happens as we mount the stairs. The coffin remains still. Don't plan to let it out of my sight, though.

    "Did you hear that? Talao says.

    The wind. The stream. A falling rock. "...hear what?"

    "I can hear... It's like it's both within and without me at once. Bum... Bum bum. Like drums."

    Bum... Bum bum

    Faintly, I hear it. Or... Feel it. Everywhere at once like Talao said. I could feel it in my bones, in my lungs.

    Bum... Bum bum

    Where is it coming from? Every step I take, it builds, louder and louder.

    Bum... Bum bum

    "The wall," I say. "Look at it." The moonlight falls directly on it, standing like a monolith. But it seems to glow brighter than it should. Magic?

    Bum... Bum bum

    "These markings..."

    They don't look like the ones on the claw," I say. We move closer to the wall, the drums pounding through my body. "Just... Scratches."

    BUM... BUM BUM

    "No. This isn't a human language at all. Or mer, or beast. It's much older." He looks at me, eyes wide with wonder.

    BUM... BUM BUM

    "It's dragon."

    ...

    "The drums have stopped." Talao ignores me, set on the wall in front of him, even more than with the journal. We're close enough to touch it, but it feels... Irreverent to do so, somehow. "Dragon, you said?"

    "Aye," he responds. His eyes move back and forth in short bursts. "The oldest language recorded. Except for perhaps the Elder Scrolls themselves."

    "Can you read it, then?"

    "Words here and there. I've never actually seen the language written properly, only glossaries or dictionaries. Dragons never wrote on parchment, after all."

    "Why?"

    "Why?! He scoffs incredulously. "Do those markings look to be written in ink? No. They were carved into the stone by claw. This... This is a living testament to the existence of dragons. One stood, once, right where we stand now. And it left this. For us."

    By Ysmir. I can hardly wrap my mind around the idea. "So... What does it say? Is this the 'Dragonstone'?"

    "It'd be rather difficult to return to Farengar if 'twere. But no. I don't see any... Directions or anything related to burials. Except maybe this line. 'Het nok faal vahlok.' Here lies the... Something, but it's not 'dragon.' 'Deinmaar' is keeper, or holder. 'Dovahgolz,' dragon... something. Maybe stone? Yes, it must be 'Dragonstone.' 'Unslaad' I know means 'unending' or 'innumerable.' Rahgol ahrk vulom'... Anger and black? Dark?"

    "Well, that's not foreboding at all." Sounds like our treasure is here. But where? And what is "keeping" it? Oh please, please, please don't be a Dragon Priest.

    "Hang on, there's another word here... It's like my eyes slipped over it before. Hmm. FUS."

    It happens quickly. The gentle breeze becomes a whirlwind, screaming through the cave, blowing me off balance. I see Talao, standing tall within the wind, as though it were focused around him. And then I see the wind, full of energy and colours somehow, stream into his nose and mouth, as he breathes in so much, I fear he may burst from the volume of it all.

    And then it ends. The air falls silent once more, and Talao falls to his hands and knees with a mighty gasp. But only air.

    "What in the..."

    He breathes in.

    A loud crash echoes behind me, and I turn to see the lid of the coffin fall aside. A hand reaches out, pulling with it a large Draugr, blue eyes glowing beneath an ornate helm. Well, at least it's not a Dragon Priest, thank Kyne. Small victories.

    I can hear Talao breathing raggedly behind me as I size up the enemy. The good thing about Draugr, to me and anyone else, is that they're slow. All I have to do is dodge its swings, and strike while it recovers. They might fight on without legs, but so long as...

    "FUS!"

    I stumble backwards, barely avoiding catching myself on the wall. Did that thing just... shout at me? And force me back? It staggers toward me much quicker than I anticipated, but its attack is so widely telegraphed, I avoid it with ease. A shower of sparks flies from where his blade meets stone, and I regain my bearing, carving into its left arm. The wound does nothing. It doesn't bleed, or feel pain. Nothing short of cutting body parts off will do anything to stop it.

    So, that's what I do. I close distance, keeping it from using its strange magic upon me again, and keep hacking away. Its left arm is first to go, dropping to the floor. Then I sever its legs. I few more swipes and I disarm it as well, then behead it with one fell swoop. The blue glow flickers and dies. Anti-climactic, maybe. But I think I've had enough thrills for the day.

    I turn back to Talao. He sits, back against the wall, staff lying by his side. Staring into the distance, and quieter than I'd ever seen him. His breath has gone back to normal. "Talao? Are you alright?"

    He looks at me, and I nearly flinch away. I feel... Utterly intimidated. There is a power behind his gaze that wasn't before. "I am. Alright, that is. At least, I think so."

    "What happened? I mean... What... happened to you?"

    "I'm not sure. I read that last word and then... It was like I was being filled with... I don't know. Like potential... Fus." He stared back into the darkness, his eyes unfocused. I wonder if he's in shock.

    "Fus... The Draugr yelled that at me as well. Wonder what it means."

    "Force. It means force."

    I looks at him oddly. "How do you know?"

    "I don't know. I just... Know. Or maybe I always knew, and I remembered it just now."

    "Well, is that all you 'remember?'"

    He rubs his face, then covers all but his mouth and recites:

    Here lies the guardian,
    Keeper of the Dragonstone.
    A FORCE of unending
    Rage and darkness.

    "The writing on the wall?" I ask.

    "Yes. It's like it's imprinted in my brain. The knowledge. Maybe FUS was like a key that unlocked it."

    I stand, running my hand along the word that Talao had touched. It wasn't only because I was feeling uncomfortable keeping eye contact. Fus... It resonates in my toes, sends a shiver down my spine. "Why didn't it happen to me as well, then?" Not that I was terrible interested or jealous in the same thing happening to me.

    "Who know? Maybe only the first person who touches it is granted the knowledge. Someone who already knows some of it. Or some other criteria unbeknownst to us. This is beyond my stories."

    A moment of silence. Talao stands up and moves to the now empty coffin stepping over the re-deceased corpse "I'll wager our treasure was interred with our dead friend here. A-ha. A bit bigger than I'd imagined." With a heave, he lifts a large five-sided stone tablet from within the coffin, and places it on what I suppose is (or was) an embalming table. "Yes, it's an actual physical map of Skyrim," he says as I lean in beside him. "Not to scale, clearly, but you can see the relation between the burial sites and nearby landmarks. Probably not exact in order to keep it somewhat secret, were it to fall into the wrong hands. Such as ours, most likely."

    "Fascinating, I'm sure." It wasn't much to look at. But valuable enough to Farengar; he can have it. I open the chest I'd noticed earlier - I'd killed the guardian of the ruins, so by right of trial by combat, its treasures were now mine - but it was disappointingly sparse of any valuables. A handful of old Nordic gold and silver coins. Not Septims, but they might fetch a decent price from the right person. An old axe, corroded beyond repair, and at the bottom, a horned helm, similar to the one worm by the Draugr. A trophy fit for my victory, if nothing else. Talao had better have been truthful about the Jarl's reward.

    "We'd best be going, Uthgerd." Talao scans the back wall. "These ruins usually have a secret exit that leads to the entrance or out the back. With luck, we can make it back to Whiterun, and our reward, within two sundowns."

    Well. That sort of zeal is new. But welcome, compared to his usual sober pace. I shoulder my pack, heavier one Dragonstone, and catch him up near the back wall. All in all, our trek seems to have been a resounding success, and I'll be glad to return to Whiterun to tell everyone of the tale.

    But...

    I glance at Talao again, his eyes shining with confidence. Things have changed by our being here. I wonder if it will be for good or ill. I suppose only time will tell in the long run.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Even considering the accepted idea that the Dragon Claw keys were only meant to keep the Draugr IN their tombs, I always found the puzzles overly simplistic; I sincerely doubt the Dragon Cult or their imprisoners wanted the Lords/Priests released by any Joe Schmoe. So I made them slightly more interesting, at least in my mind. Putting the solution within the negative space created by the runes gives the Claws a bit more substance as a ritualistic or decorative piece, and makes it actually quite easy to overlook.

    I will hold off on any commentary regarding the Word Wall for now, but hope you enjoyed the scene; it was one I was very much looking forward to and, as Uthgerd unconsciously notices, marks a significant turning point in Talao's development. Suffice to say, "game mechanics" will be very much different in my fic.
     
    I am very interested to see what you do with the word walls, I wonder if it's something to do with how Paarthurnax and the Greybeards can shout words into stone. I assume he'll still need a dragon soul to figure out how to Shout.

    Wonder if he'll actually be able to debate using his Thu'um like the lore claims dragons do.
     
    Farengar II: Dragon Rising
  • Threadmarks
    • Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 Afternoon

    Farengar

    It grates on my nerves, sometimes, how often I have to interact with simpletons during the course of my research. If I could, I'd simply sit in my study, and have a runner retrieve books for me until my voice disappeared from disuse. Luckily, with most of the people, using small words and stroking their ego is enough to get what I need, and I need never speak with them again once our business is concluded.. The ones I can't stand are the brutes with just enough brains to be knowledgeable in one thing they desire, but care for naught else.

    Such as Delphine.

    "You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other, later texts." The text in question - The Holding of Jarl Gjalund - wasn't... completely useless. It was certainly valuable thanks to its age, but the only insight it gave was a loose translation of old places that could help decipher other texts. Useful only in conjunction with other texts, but no real intrinsic value to speak of.

    But, of course, none of this matter to Delphine. She requires direct answers, careless of such subtext, unless it informs exactly what she wants to hear. "Good. I'm glad to see you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

    Ah, yes. Delphine's mysterious 'employers.' People with an odd number of old, supposedly lost, manuscripts and information. Would I could meet them in person rather than work through this willfully ignorant intermediary, but she insists that they insist that secrecy is imperative for their survival. Imagine how much progress I'd actually make then. Ah well, I suppose not every scholar can count on a Jarl to guarantee their safety. "Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research." No more inventing cantrips to keep skeevers out of the food stores. Thank Julianos.

    "Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back." I frown. Another thing I don't like about Delphine; while her employers might have a wealth of knowledge, she herself is more than abrasive and ignorant. I can tell she has no interest in the actual research itself. No interest in knowledge for understanding's sake. So why pursue it? Doubtless for destructive purposes, like so many of her kind. I worry what she personally might do with that information. Not until I myself understand more.

    "Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable..." A few loud voices from the hall distract me, but only for a moment. "Now, let me show you something else I found... Very intriguing." I duck beneath my desk, looking for that scroll with the Dragon Cult information. I could have sworn I left it here... "I think your employers may be interested as well."

    "Farengar," Delphine says suddenly. "You have visitors."

    "Hmm?" By the Eight, can't I have a single meeting uninterrupted? The price of my research finally being important, I suppose. "Who is it?"

    "Cheers, Farengar!"

    That voice. I bang my head against the desk standing up, but sure enough, standing in the doorway is... Blast, I knew I'd forget his name. "Ah, yes, the Jarl's protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

    "Never felt more alive, Farengar. Thought the same can't be said for that necromancer we found in Brittleshin Pass, eh Uthgerd?"

    The woman standing beside him, who I vaguely remember from the inn a few weeks back, scoffs, "Please, the man was dead inside long before we stumbled upon him. Didn't stop you from screaming like a child when you saw those skeletons."

    "They startled me! And of course you wouldn't mention those ice runes I saved your hide from."

    "You're just upset that I let him spark your ass once because you wouldn't stop trying to tell me how to fight."

    They both laugh, and I notice Delphine seems amused by their banter. However, more important things are at play here. "Did you retrieve what I sent you for?"

    Still chuckling, the woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a tablet. One look confirms it, if Delphine's suddenly hungry look hadn't. Old artefacts always have a certain gravitas about them. "Aaahhh, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow. Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

    She places the tablet on my desk, as I pull out a roll of parchment and charcoal. Tracings are more useful for casual investigation; no need to lug the tablet to and fro to see this or that detail. And I'm sure Delphine's employers would love a copy as well.

    "What about our reward?"

    "You'll have to see the Jarl about that," I say, eyes not leaving my half-finished tracing. "Perhaps his steward, Avenicci. I'm sure one of them will pay you appropriately. My... associate here," I use the term for Delphine for lack of a better one, "will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me." Delphine, naturally, pointedly ignores my glare as I continue. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friends here to thank for recovering it for us."

    For her part, Delphine looks appreciatively at the pair, though she seems more focused on Uthgerd than... The bard. Tedo? No, that's not it. "So you went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work."

    She starts to speak again, but out of nowhere Irileth suddenly runs into my study, shouting my name. We all stop, and I notice a commotion in the throne room, guards scurrying everywhere. What in Tamriel could have sent the ants into such a flurry? "Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby. You should come too." The last part is said to the adventurers, as if an afterthought, but I hardly care. My pulse quickens. A dragon!

    "A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

    Irileth, ever the stick in the mud, replies, "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." Always the pessimist. There's a skull staring at us right this moment that shows us it's possible. Rather than respond, I follow Irileth up a set of stairs to the Jarl's map room. The crowd is short of overwhelming, a dozen people all vying for attention at once, but I simply must find out more.

    The Jarl finally manages to quieten the room, and addresses a guard sitting near the table, guzzling a skein of water. His face was pale as snow, as though he'd seen a ghost. Or, I suppose, a dragon. Much more intimidating and accurate. The guard's conversation with the Jarl was short and informative; a dragon sighted near the Western Watchtower, circling it, but not attacking it. Though, if that behaviour is aught to go by, that might easily have changed since then. I could better tell if I had been there, or had the information been more detailed. But still. A live dragon. That's all I need to hear.

    When the Jarl finishes informing his housecarl to rally the guards, I approach him with purpose. "My Jarl, I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon myself."

    "No." His response is instantaneous and sharp. "I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against this dragon."

    I almost retort a number of rebuttals; my need to know better firsthand the capabilities of dragons, the inaccuracy of secondary accounts, the usefulness of my own knowledge to help the guards. But his words to Irileth, about coming back alive and not becoming a martyr, give me pause. Delphine mentioned before that my research is no longer merely academic. A dragon, full of fire, sharp fangs and claws, and possibly rage, is just outside the Hold's borders. Perhaps my observations would be done best from a safer distance. I nod to the Jarl, to show my agreement with him, and head out. I had best find a suitable vantage point from the ramparts to oversee the events unfolding. And, with any luck, perhaps I'll have more than mere bones to examine once all this is over.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Irileth I: Dragon Rising
  • Threadmarks
    • Fredas 22nd of Last See 4E201 Early Evening

    Irileth

    "One last thing, Irileth. This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with here."

    Balgruuf's last words to me echo within my mind. It isn't the first time he had said them to me. I doubt it shall be the last either. And my response was also the same as ever. "Don't worry, my Jarl. I am the very soul of caution." An exchange as old as our partnership in the Imperial Army.

    And yet... The very nature of my mission causes me to wonder if this might indeed be the last time this exchange passes between us. This eve, I fight no man, no mer, but an ancient beast older than civilization itself, one not fought since the First Era, when myths and legend roamed Nirn freely. Is it possible for mere mortals to fell such a creature?

    Well, there is a skull in Dragonsreach that claimed such was indeed possible. And, more importantly, it is my job to convince the dozen guardsmen arrayed in front of me that we are not all marching to an early grave. Perhaps easier said than done. While none would call the Nordic peoples faint of heart, the men and women before me are guards, not soldiers, I doubt many have seen more action than the occasional bandit raid.

    The guards are on-edge already; no doubt they're aware of the situation at least somewhat. "Here's the situation, men. A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower." Exclamations of shock rippled through their ranks. "You heard right! I said a dragon!" I raise my voice to grab their attention and restore what little order they possess. "I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!"

    "But housecarl, how can we fight a dragon?"

    "That's a fair question. None of us have ever seen a dragon before, let alone expected to face one in battle. But! We are honorbound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes... Our families! Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

    "We are so dead."

    I had hoped to inspire them all with my impassioned words, but for every glimmer of defiance I saw, I also noticed as many with fear in their eyes, the kind that led to deserters in the midst of battle; far more dangerous than any tangible foe.

    "Housecarl?" Behind me is Talao, along with the woman he had returned with. "If I may?"

    "Why are you here?" I ask him in an undertone.

    "Well, Uthgerd and I are following you to the watchtower, so that..."

    "No. I mean, why are you here?" I reply bitingly. "We are about to possibly engage in battle with an ancient beast of destruction. I need no liabilities on the field of battle, lest your weakness cause another's death."

    Uthgerd scowls, but rather than cowing the Breton with my words, his eyes harden and he whispers back, "I may be no warrior, nor a soldier of your experience, but I am far from helpless on the battlefield, I assure you. I am also the only civilian in this city to have seen a dragon in action, and can give you information during a fight with such a foe, unless you would prefer to lose your guards while you learn how to best fight it. But, more importantly, right this moment, your speech has hardly inspired your guards, and that is definitely something I have a gift for."

    Well. I certainly prefer this Breton to the silver-tongued fop I met a few days past. I should almost question if he were the same man, did I not remember him so clearly. And he was right. To lead the guards with such a mindset would be dangerous. I nodded to Talao and stood aside, leaving him to address the men.

    "Guards of Whiterun! You don't know me, but my name is Talao. I'm a Breton and a bard. But more importantly, I'm one of the few survivors from when the town of Helgen was razed to the ground by a dragon. And I will tell you that I have never been as afraid as I had been then. A beast from eras past, the size of twenty men, raining fire upon an unsuspecting town, destroying walls with a flick of its mighty tail. I was helpless, a prisoner with hands bound, running to survive. I watched that town crumble.

    "And unless we are successful today, someone else will tell the same story about Whiterun."

    The muttering among the guards grows heated as he pauses briefly, ad I almost stop Talao before he scares them all the the hills. But I hold out hope that he will turn the tides yet.

    "I tell you this not to frighten you, but to ensure you do not underestimate what may await us out there, thought I doubt you would regardless. And also because of what else I saw that day; men and women fighting for their lives. Saving one another, and driving the dragon back! I could stand here and try to convince you that you could become the next Olaf One-Eye, slaying dragons like the heroes of eld. But what truly drives us to greatness is not glory for glory's sake. It is to fight for those who cannot, to save those you care for! Helgen was taken by surprise, unarmed but for a regiment of soldiers who had no recourse but to save those they could and retreat to safety. We are forewarned and forearmed, ready to fight.

    "You ask how you shall fight a dragon? The same way you fight a bandit or a bear. You fight with fire in your hearts and pride in your home. You fight for your spouses, your children, your friends, and your Jarl. You fight so that no person shall e'er feel an ounce more loss than they must! And every one of them shall remember your name, no matter the outcome!"

    The change in the mood of the crowd is astounding, as though lightning coursed through every man's veins. Myself included. I jump atop a low wall nearby and shout, "Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?" The roar of assent was deafening as we charged through the gates. I find Talao's eyes and give him a brief salute before we are all swept away. I only hope the triumph in his eyes lasts the day.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Menrig I: Dragon Rising
  • Threadmarks
    • Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

    Menrig

    Unlike many of my fellows, I had grown up wanting to be a town guard.

    For sure, the stories of heroes and adventurers enthralled me, but the thought of such danger all the time filled me with dread. Becoming a merchant sounded far too dull, and farming even more so. Despite my friends' jokes about "taking an arrow to the knee" and settling down at their spouse's behest, guard duty seemed to me a safe, but interesting job to maintain.

    So how in the name of Talos is it that we have this day fought a dragon?

    We'd all heard the rumors, of course, but it still all seemed like mere fantasy, far away from our actual lives. But those thoughts vanished when we reached the Western Watchtower. Not even the local giants could have done such damage, nor caused the stones themselves to catch fire. If anyone had doubts still, they flew when a scout called out a dragon approaching from the southern mountains. We all desperately moved to defensible positions, drawing bows, as the dragon descended upon us at impossible speed. I called upon Akatosh to protect me from his child, and Talos to grant me valor in battle, and to the old warriors of legend, the Dragonborn. And then it was upon us.

    "You are brave. Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor."

    It was... Madness. I have no other word to describe what happened this day. It was unlike any fight one could possibly imagine. As our foe was airborne, our first attack was a volley of arrows thrown on the Housecarl's mark. A few hit their mark, but they hardly seemed effective, beyond the beast somehow avoiding most of them. Irileth had said something about forcing it to land, but such thoughts have a way of being forgotten in the heat of battle.

    There were no ranks to close, no manner of file that would work against an enemy that could fly over your head to flank you. So when the voice of that Breton screamed out to 'ware the dragon's fire, you found cover where you could. The few archers stationed on the remains of the watchtower were lucky to merely hide behind the arrow slits, but those of us on the ground scrambled to find rubble large enough, raise our shields, and pray to not be cooked alive. The heat was still unbearable, and the stone turned cherry red at our backs, but all of us stood still after that first pass.

    The next few minutes passed the same; Let fly an arrow, the move 'round cover before the dragon returned the favor a hundredfold. Once, it lit upon the tower, and with one sweep of its tail, leveled the entire top floor, but its brief pause gave us the chance to loose several dozen arrows directly into its back, forcing it to take flight once more. Soon after, the beast landed, whether from injury or frustration at its lack of success in the air. We abandoned our bows, drew our blades, and now we were able to move together. We might not have been soldiers, but our bonds of kinship as Nords were instinctual.

    "Krif krin. Pruzah! I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"

    If fighting a flying dragon was madness, then fighting it on the ground felt like being in Oblivion itself. The beast was even larger up close; its maw could have easily fit a man's torso within it. I know this for certain, as it snapped its neck forward, pouncing upon a man too slow with his shield. The sight of a man being tossed about like a rabbit, the sound of cracking bones; it will haunt me forever, I'm sure. It tossed the corpse aside like a rat, and backed away from our line, as we attempted to flank and encircle it. Despite a warning from Talao, its tail knocked a few of us over several times, one of the fallen men roasted alive when we were a moment too late to recover, but we soon felt the flow of its attacks. Half our number would block a fang or claw, and then they other half dart forward and score as many cuts as possible while the dragon is vulnerable.

    The dragon screeched at us after one particular foray, and our line staggered back at the sheer force behind it. It tensed up, and I could tell it was about to regain the air. To flee, or to take advantage of our open position, either one would be devastating to us, but we seemed powerless to stop it. Until Uthgerd broke rank and charged forward with a battle-cry that put the dragon's to shame. With her tremendous greatsword, she clove directly through one of the beast's wings.

    The sound that issued forth from the dragon... I have never heard, nor ever shall hear, a sound so visceral, so terrifying, so piteous, as the sound of pain that came from that dragon's throat. It reared back from Uthgerd, but the damage was done; its wing fell uselessly by its side, blood gushing from the wound, as it screamed, "Dii viing! Hi sunvaar, zu'u fen krii hi! Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!" It staggered around on its three remaining limbs, madness and fury in its eyes. A living avatar of the unbridled force of Nirn itself.

    And that insane woman looked at the thrashing, screaming dragon, smiled, and charged forward again.

    I half expected to be cleaning her corpse off the ground later, but she skillfully evaded the dragon's desperate flailing, and leapt atop its back, plunging her blade deep into its flesh, again and again. With every thrust, the dragon's screams became softer, and its thrashing slowly eased. She dropped off the dragon's back, then held up its massive head, a dagger in hand. The gleam in its eyes is dim, searching past us, when they widen and I hear it say "Dovahkiin? Nid!" It tensed up once more, as if to deny its fate, and then the woman shoved her dagger into the base of its skull. The light died, and it went limp.

    Now, the dragon's vanquisher gives another great cry, a feeling of victory rather than challenge, and the guards all follow suit, realizing we had done it. We had done the impossible, the stuff of legends; we had slain a dragon!

    The housecarl's quick tally of our troops was somber, though not terribly depressing. Of the dozen guards that had made our group, only two had died. Kjeld was the poor soul who'd been nearly eaten alive, and Sorarke the one who had fallen to flames. One of the archers in the tower, Ingmorn, had his legs crushed, but would live. The two guards who'd originally been stationed at the tower, Hroki and Tor, had not made it either. The rest of us all had minor burns and other wounds, but nothing serious. Our ordeal was finally over.

    Or so I thought.

    It happened when Irileth had stepped forward to inspect the corpse. Even in death, the dragon was magnificent, despite its wounds. Its teeth a blinding ivory, majestic horns upon its skull, its bronze scales still gleaming. And smoking. Smoking?

    We all back away, murmuring, as the dragon's flesh seems to fade and burn. Was it coming back to life? I hear a death rattle from its chest, as if exhaling for the last time again, and a queer wind blows from it, something more than air, and flowing toward a surprised looking Uthgerd. No, not to her, through her. Past her.

    I hear another scream. And I see him, the Breton who had inspired us not an hour ago, who had warned us of the dragon's actions in the heat of battle, had descended from the ramparts. And now the wind was burrowing itself in his chest, as he screamed, no loudly, not in pain, but an odd mix of fear and surprise. Before my eyes, the dragon corpse has suddenly decayed by weeks. As if all the life had been drained from it, or its vitality.

    Or its soul.

    Something clicks in my mind; an old story I'd heard, but as though I'd forgotten until this moment. As Uthgerd helps Talao up, panting and sweating, eyes wild with emotion, one word is at the front of my mind. "It can't be. You're..."

    After today, perhaps I'll take up farming after all.
     
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    • Translations:

    Balaan hokoron - Worthy enemies

    Krif krin. Pruzah! - Fight courageously. Good!

    Dii viing! Hi sunvaar, zu'u fen krii hi! Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde! - My wing! You monsters, I'll kill you! My overlord will devour your souls in Sovngarde!
     
    Balgruuf II: Dragon Rising
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    • Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

    Balgruuf the Greater

    "You heard the summons. What else could it mean?"

    I never thought I would willingly wish for a return to the tedium of daily life. Of taxes and tariffs and petty farmer disputes. By Talos, I'd even prefer the veiled threats I've gotten from Ulfric these past few months. Politics, I can handle. I've years of experience dealing with diplomats, insults, and compromises. But this week of dragons and barrows and... It's all so overwhelming. I thought I might have had a reprieve when a scout returned with news of the dragon's demise, and the survival of Irileth, and of Uthgerd and Talao. I'd dismissed the rest of his report as a flight of fancy, or a hallucination, until...

    "The Greybeards..."

    I could still feel their call reverberating in some deep part of my being. The Voice is a blessing ingrained in all Nords, though it is something that takes years and longer to manifest. A gift from Kynareth herself. Or so the stories say. I made the pilgrimage of the Seven Thousand Steps once in my youth, but I had already too many commitments to consider studying under their tutelage. Nor do I believe I would have had the temperament for such training. I'm too overfond of speaking when it suits me.

    "We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you."

    And now, the moment of truth. Hrongar sends Talao and Uthgerd to me. I'm eager to hear my suspicions confirmed. Strangely, the two do not seem as though they'd just slain a dragon. Or perhaps not so strange, considering. To be sure, they are both covered in grime and ash, exhausted and triumphant, but it's an undertone to a sense of... bewilderment. Confusion and perhaps a bit of fear. The Breton in particular looks to be in distress, as though he can't focus on any one thing in particular.

    I decide to feign ignorance, keen to hear a firsthand account. "So... What happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?"

    "The tower was destroyed," Uthgerd says, "but we killed the dragon. I damn near cut its head off."

    I'd think her bragging if my scout hadn't said the same. "I knew I could count on Irileth. But there must be more to it than that." An awkward pause. Neither seem willing to talk about it for some reason. "Did something... strange happen when the dragon died?"

    "...Aye. When the dragon died... I absorbed some kind of power from it." To my eternal surprise, it was not Uthgerd who spoke, but Talao. Everyone in the room is stunned. Everyone here knows what it means.

    "So it's true. The Greybeards were summoning you. You're... Dragonborn."

    I can count on one hand the number of times my hall has been completely silent but for the crackling of the hearth fire. It always seems louder than the usual chatter somehow. It never lasts for long. Everyone explodes into chatter at once, cries of confusion, anger, "Impossible!"

    "Pardon me, Jarl," Talao manages to make himself heard over the commotion "But how is that possible?"

    "Well, tell me what you know of the legend of the Dragonborn, Talao. You are the storyteller here."

    "I... Well... Dragonborn is a term used to describe the Septim dynasty of the Empire. A blessing from Akatosh, that those whose veins flowed with the blood of dragons remained in covenant with the god, beginning with St. Alessia's founding of the First Empire, and ending with the death of Martin Septim at the hands of Mehrunes Dagon at the end of the Third Era. Those are the documented 'Dragonborn Emperors.'"

    "True, but spare us the history lesson." He puzzles me. He's become increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation goes on. "Why are you skirting the issue, Talao?"

    "I'm not! I just... The Dragonborn also refers to a warrior, or rather, warriors of ancient Nordic legend who could... Absorb the souls of dragons slain in battle, gaining their knowledge and power. But I recall no pact-making, nor am I descended from the Septim bloodline! I'm not even..."

    "What, not a warrior?" I ask heatedly.

    "...a Nord," he finishes lamely.

    I lean back, looking at Talao over steepled fingers. Why he continued to deny the obvious baffles me; what else could explain the spectacle earlier, or the call? "The Greybeards are masters of 'The Way of the Voice.' They live in seclusion, high on the slopes of the Throat of the World. The Dragonborn," I raise my hand to stifle any objections, "is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. IF you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use that gift."

    My brother, ever excitable, interjects. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the Voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar. This hasn't happened in... Centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned, when he was still Talos of Atmora."

    "Calm yourself, Hrongar. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as he may be, I don't see any signs of him being this, what, Dragonborn." Shor's bones, does Proventus never keep counsel to himself?

    "Nord nonsense? Why, you puffed up, ignorant..." Hrongar looks angry enough to tear Avenicci's head clean from his shoulders. And I must say, I mirror the sentiment. "These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"

    While seeing Proventus cower before the rage of my brother is entertaining, it would be poor form to allow his anger to get the better of him. Especially with guests present. "Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci."

    For once, Proventus wisely backs down. "I meant no disrespect, of course." Liar. "It's just... What do these Greybeards want with him?"

    "That's the Greybeards' business. Not ours." Everyone was looking at Talao now. He still seems unsure, but far less uncomfortable than before. I suppose, as a bard, he is more than used to being the center of attention. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they, of all people, think you are Dragonborn, who are we to argue?"

    "I suppose, one way or another, they'll have answers I need to hear. I hope. It's as though..." Talao shakes his head. "Forgive me, I'd prefer not to speak of this now."

    "I understand. One last thing, Talao. The dragon; was it the same one you saw at Helgen?"

    He shakes his head. "Nay. Mirm... This dragon was a sort of bronze color. The one at Helgen was pitch-black, with glowing red eyes."

    So it is as we feared then. One dragon could be coincidence, but two different dragons? "My thanks. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. But, before you do..." I stand, and descend the steps. "You've done a great service for me and my city. Both of you. By my right as Jarl, I name you both Thanes of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant." Uthgerd seems astonished, and Talao nods, as though perhaps he expected something. "I regret that the matters of your housecarls and badges of office may take a few days to settle, but your actions are deserving of all I can give you; it would not feel right to delay a reward for any reason. You both have gone above and beyond what was required of you, and I speak for all of Whiterun when I say that we are honored to have you as Thanes of our city."

    "I... I know not what to say my Jarl," Uthgerd stutters. "Thank you."

    Talao inclines his head respectfully. "Passing gracious, my Jarl, I humbly accept."

    A wide smile crosses my face. "Now come! Enough of this heavy talk. We have this day slain a dragon, and must celebrate properly! Let's to the Bannered Mare, before Irileth returns and tries to keep me away from the festivities. All hail Uthgerd and Talao, slayers of dragons!"

    For such a small group, the cheer is strong and vigorous. Even Farengar joins us as we walk down the steps to leave the hall. Uthgerd seems proud enough, but underneath Talao's cheerful face, I can see the undercurrent of uncertainty lingers. For good reason. A Dragonborn, in this day and age. I'm sure this is what I sensed in him our first meeting, this destiny of his. But the question lingers; why bestow such a gift upon a mortal now, of all times? To slay one dragon? No. Something far greater lurks over the horizon. Talao knows it, and I know it.

    Ah, well. Heavy thoughts for another day. Tonight, I plan to drink as much as I can before Irileth spoils my fun. I see little enough of my people these days. If my hangover is as strong as Vignar Gray-Mane's, I'll consider the night a success. And, hopefully, distract myself for at least one night.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • A/N: Last "canon" chapter for a while. Slight hints to the nature of Dragon Souls in this fic are being dropped, but any true explanation will be quite far off still.

    Jarl Balgruuf adheres to the Imperial pantheon of the Eight Divines, though it is known that he also secretly worships Talos. But as a good politician, he must put up a front for the Aldmeri.

    Uthgerd was glanced over for reason. Namely, that reason being that Balgruuf was way more interested in Talao at this point in time. For those who question why Balgruuf entrusted Talao with his task... well, why does he trust any protagonist with it? Doesn't matter what kind of character you roll, or how you appear, you'll be sent on a mission for merely having survived Helgen. So, there must be another factor at play. Just instincts.
     
    Uthgerd V: Dragon Rising
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    • Fredas 23rd of Last Seed 4E201 Late Evening

    Uthgerd the Unbroken

    I'd never seen The Bannered Mare as wild as now. At least not in my time, that I can remember. So many people packed in tighter than a skeever den, shouting and cheering. Hulda and Saadia were busier than ever, but even still, they joined the celebrations as much as the rest, somehow. Whiterun had slain a dragon. Every man and woman had been recognized, even myself. I thought the parade of well-wishers - the same that had only last week openly despised me - would never end.

    Of course, it hadn't lasted.

    Because as more people heard the full story, their gazes moved toward one man in particular, and they excused themselves to go speak to someone more interesting than the woman who'd climbed atop a dragon, killed it, and lived to tell the tale. And that's how I wound up nursing a drink alone at my usual table while the crowd bustled around Talao, the Dragonborn.

    Dragonborn. Pfah. Even now, hours later, the thought seems absurd. Every Nord knows the stories of the Ancient Dragonborn, even before Talos had been called to the Throat of the World. They were all that we aspired to be; proud warriors of great strength, fighting insurmountable battles and overcoming the odds to stand atop the corpses of their enemies.

    And I'm to expect this... Waif of a man is the inheritor of the legacy of my people? The man who prefers a lute to a blade, who lives his life in robes rather than armor? That he who raised no hand in battle against a dragon now possesses the soul of that beast?

    Ridiculous.

    And as if that weren't enough, the bastard had all but stolen the glory of the day for himself. I had seen it, seen the dragon tense, seconds from taking flight, and how everyone had cowered before it. Only my courage had kept it from running to lick its wounds and continue its reign of terror elsewhere. I charged forth and crippled the beast and struck it low. And then Talao had walked forward, stealing its soul and the credit. Balgruuf had barely spared me a single glance when we'd returned, his focus solely on the legend in his midst, the call of the Greybeards of far more concern than the savior of the entire city, his reward to me a seeming afterthought, whatever his words might have been. Gods above did it anger me

    Saadia walks by, pouring me another drink without asking. Good. Didn't feel like asking, but I needed another.

    At least the Companions had had the grace to give me my due. A messenger had brought me before Joorvaskr, where Kodlak and his compatriots had congratulated me on my deed. I had performed a feat worthy of Ysgramor himself, they said, and invited me to join their ranks, apologizing for the ordeal they had put me through before. Invited me, not as a novice, but as a fully-fledged member, mere steps from the Inner Circle itself. A tremendous honor; one which I accepted immediately.

    But...

    And their faces had fallen, and I had basked in their dismay of thinking perhaps the first dragonslayer of the Fourth Era might not join their famed company - which would do as much for their reputation as mine - and I said that I must first accompany Talao to the doors of High Hrothgar as repayment for his help in elevating me to my position. Because...

    I look over at Talao, surrounded by admirers, men and women, strumming on a lute and singing a tale he named "The Break of Dawn," The story of a man and a Daedric Prince, and an artifact of great power.

    "Midst the prizes, a pearly orb,

    Gleaming and glimm'ring 'spite the gloom.

    Radiance ablaze in Celann's eyes,

    His hand descends to claim his haul."

    Because, as much as I despise the face that a Breton bard of no martial prowess of any kind might have inherited a title of legend and power that most could only dream of, that Talao himself was not to blame. He had not forced Akatosh to bless him, had not conspired with the gods to be at the destruction of Helgen, nor known that joining us at the watchtower would draw the attention of every man and mer in the province.

    "Guide my lucence through the temple

    Lay open the central sanctum."

    Eager, Celann accepts this charge,

    Promise of power and glory lured."

    No. He was merely a man who had been caught up by fate, who dove willingly into danger, saving my life many times, and the lives of all those in this city, despite not being able to truly protect himself. Whatever destiny had been set before him, one could not force a man to be so selfless and inspiring as Talao.

    "Fatigue forgot, Celann steps forth,

    and claims the blinding daedric blade.

    Light engulfs the shrine once again,

    The shroud of darkness now lifted."

    And so I told Kodlak and the Companions that I must needs delay their honor until I properly thanked the man who had unknowingly helped me to deserve it. And Kodlak smiled, said he understood and that I had proved further that I deserved a place among them. That they would expect me before the next week's end and that they would celebrate with the proper ceremony, and a feast that would put the Jarl himself to shame.

    "Before the statue, once again,

    Celann stood in awe, triumphant.

    Dawnbreaker in hand, purpose clear,

    To purge all undead from this land."

    Applause as Talao finishes and bows. I do not join in, because despite knowing he is not at fault, the day's events still annoy me. But mead... Ahhh, mead has never betrayed me.

    "Not drinking too much, I hope."

    I raise my brow at Talao, who's somehow managed to shake his admirers. "Hmph. You know perfectly well I could drink you under the table without a second thought."

    "You could at that. So long as you aren't drowning your sorrows as last time."

    "Maybe I am. You're certainly having enough fun for us both." Which was true enough, if the color in his cheeks was any sign.

    He chuckles, falling heavily into the chair beside me. "Aye. They certainly enjoyed my tale enough."

    "You have talent, I'll admit. Far more than that two-septim Mikael. Care he doesn't take offense to you stealing his admirers away. Especially Carlotta."

    "Ah... I think Heimskr would have more chance of that than Mikael." We both laugh at that. Hulda walks by, refilling our drinks, a rare smile on her face. "Though tonight I find myself desiring a bit of solitude."

    "Is that so? I assumed you'd be... In your element, enjoying your fame and success." Well, that came out a bit harsher than I'd thought. So perhaps I'm still a bit bitter.

    To this, he merely shrugs. "What exactly did I do? Get lucky, be in the right place at the right time?"

    "Are you less deserving of honor because of that?" I retort. "The hero in your story was given opportunity by chance, even thought it was at a Daedra's hand. You have been blessed by Akatosh himself."

    "Aye, but he had the skills to take advantage of his fortune. He earned his reward; it did not drop out of the sky 'ere he completed his task. I? I have done nothing.

    "Nothing?" I ask, amazed. "Leading half of Helgen to safety? Helping the guards of Whiterun with your knowledge, keeping them from death? Do you not think these deeds worthy of reward? Or, perhaps your gift is the opportunity, and your reward is further away."

    "Nonsense. I follow heroes, and sing lays of their exploits not... Participate in them myself! I'm a bard, not an adventurer."

    "Whatever you say. I say the gods gave you this gift for some unknown reason, and you ignore at your own peril. Oooohh..."

    Talao glares, as I wiggle my fingers at him threateningly. "You certainly didn't act this way last time you were drunk."

    "I'm not nearly as drunk as I was that time either. Now go," I shove him lightly, "enjoy the night while you can. I doubt your time with the Greybeards will be nearly as fun."

    "I suppose you have a point there. May as well get in my fair share before spending weeks away from civilization."

    "That's more like it." I watch him go off, happily. And, perhaps with enough ale, I can convince myself that pang of jealousy doesn't exist. "Hulda!
     
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