Morgan
Well-Known Member
[I've seen a couple others post entertaining IC journals here, and thought I'd join the fun with a daybook of a my most recent file. Rest is IC:]
I am an Altmer, a high elf, assigned to Skyrim as part of the Aldmeri detachment. That's right, contrary to the Imperial lieutenant's assessment, I WAS a part of the Thalmor embassy. I made the fatal mistake of asking why we cared if the Nords worshipped their god-king. It's their land, isn't it? Unfortunately, even entertaining this notion was enough to brand me a traitor in the eyes of my brethren, and I was sent to an Imperial chopping block on trumped-up charges. But no one foresaw the coming of the dragon.
The attack was chaos. I was bound, gagged, and could barely see for the dust and smoke. Voices cried out from every direction. Two in particular called for me to follow. Without magic, without my hands, I stumbled through the smoke towards them, and almost unbelievably somehow navigated through the fire and death to the relative safety of the town keep. Still, the monstrous attacks of the dragon outside shook the very stone foundation of the place. One of my fellow prisoners, the one who had spoken of the Nordic afterlife, "Sovngarde," on the cart, had somehow worked his hands free, and it was he that I had followed into the keep. The kindly Imperial lieutenant had beckoned me, but kindly or not, he was still an officer of the Empire, and therefore a threat to return me to the Thalmor or the block. Either had the same result.
The Nord's name was Ralof, and he quickly cut me loose. Together we fought through a few confused Imperial guards and into a natural escape tunnel under the keep. Making our way along it, we eventually found our way to a culvert that let out to a hillside behind the town. We emerged just as the dragon flew away over the mountain to the northeast. Ralof claimed there was a village nearby, in the same direction the dragon had flown. His sister lived there, and he promised she would grant us succor and hide us from any searching Imperials and marauding dragons. You can trust that we set off at a run, given our situation.
Despite a few good souls like Hadvar, I know that ever being caught by the Imperials will mean my death, as the Thalmor will have ordered them to capture or kill me on sight. Ulfric's "Skyrim for the Nords!" attitude is known far and wide. He is sure to distrust anyone of another race, and me doubly so as a high elf, a mage, and a former Thalmor agent. I am quite certain that Ulfric will never accept me, however much he profess it. As you can see there is no right side for me in this war. For the time being I can make do as a sellsword. But the war, once resolved, will be my death. If one side is the victor, I will be killed as a traitor, the other as a spy. My only hope is to find refuge at the College of Winterhold or in an Orc stronghold, or perhaps form a gang of deserters and ruffians and take to the hills as bandits. But for now I will follow the lesser of two evils: the Stormcloak. They, at least, will not betray me to the Thalmor.
Day 1. Ralof and I arrived at the hamlet of Riverwood. Ralof ran ahead to alert his sister to our arrival and, I suspect, prepare her for the appearance of a Thalmor mage. I dallied a moment to chat with one of the woodcutters, a Nord who introduced himself as Sven. He seemed perturbed by another of the town's inhabitants, a wood elf, who was showing interest in Sven's beloved, an Imperial woman named Camilla. Such diversity for a tiny village! Sven was worried that the Bosmer's attention would turn his girl's head. I suggested he do something about it, by which I meant he do something arrogant, like challenge his rival to a duel, or romantic, like take the girl into the bandit-infested hills for a picnic. Sven elected to ask me to deliver a forged note, containing I cannot imagine what sort of nonsense purportedly written by the elf. So much for the reknowned Nord forthrightness! I later learned Sven aspired to bardhood, which explains it a bit. All bards, no matter the race, tend to talk when they should remain silent, and would rather sing and stroke a lute than fight or take a lover in rough trade. In any case, I could have gone to the elf with the note, but given the history between our two races, I thought the better of it. I did seek out the lady's brother, the local shopkeeper, as Sven had told me he had possible work for a sellsword.
The shopkeeper, Lucan, did indeed have a job. His store had recently been robbed by bandits holed up in a local barrow, which Nord superstition had filled with wights and walking dead, all that sort of thing. Foolish of course, but if it made them willing to pay someone else to go after the claw, so much the better for me. While in his shop, I told his sister, Camilla, about the duplicitous note. She was understandably aghast and vowed never to speak to Sven again. He bore an ill will against me the rest of my time in the village, but what did he expect? I will not lie for anyone, much less a total stranger. He was a fool to even ask such a thing of someone he had met that very moment. Camilla had suggested I find the Bosmer, Faendal, to beg a reward for refusing to betray him, but I felt this deserved nothing as it was nothing I did. I had to find Ralof and his sister, Gerdur, in any case. They were expecting me, and I was uncomfortable with the attention I was already garnering.
When I found Ralof, he was telling Gerdur and her husband about our escape from the block and from Helgen. Understandably, they could scarce believe the story of the dragon, but in the end Gerdur admitted she had seen it flying over in the distance after the attack. She offered me the hospitality of her home and some supplies, all of which I gladly accepted. She did ask in return that I speed to Whiterun and alert the Hold's jarl to the danger of the dragon. I was worried about Imperial presence, but the family promised that Jarl Balgruuf had so far remained neutral in the war, had no great love for the Thalmor, and would not report me to them or the Empire.
I don't know where my future lies, or how this war will affect it, but for now I will run Gerdur's message to Whiterun, then find this shopkeeper's claw. Be assured though, that my hood will be pulled low when I stand before the jarl!
I am an Altmer, a high elf, assigned to Skyrim as part of the Aldmeri detachment. That's right, contrary to the Imperial lieutenant's assessment, I WAS a part of the Thalmor embassy. I made the fatal mistake of asking why we cared if the Nords worshipped their god-king. It's their land, isn't it? Unfortunately, even entertaining this notion was enough to brand me a traitor in the eyes of my brethren, and I was sent to an Imperial chopping block on trumped-up charges. But no one foresaw the coming of the dragon.
The attack was chaos. I was bound, gagged, and could barely see for the dust and smoke. Voices cried out from every direction. Two in particular called for me to follow. Without magic, without my hands, I stumbled through the smoke towards them, and almost unbelievably somehow navigated through the fire and death to the relative safety of the town keep. Still, the monstrous attacks of the dragon outside shook the very stone foundation of the place. One of my fellow prisoners, the one who had spoken of the Nordic afterlife, "Sovngarde," on the cart, had somehow worked his hands free, and it was he that I had followed into the keep. The kindly Imperial lieutenant had beckoned me, but kindly or not, he was still an officer of the Empire, and therefore a threat to return me to the Thalmor or the block. Either had the same result.
The Nord's name was Ralof, and he quickly cut me loose. Together we fought through a few confused Imperial guards and into a natural escape tunnel under the keep. Making our way along it, we eventually found our way to a culvert that let out to a hillside behind the town. We emerged just as the dragon flew away over the mountain to the northeast. Ralof claimed there was a village nearby, in the same direction the dragon had flown. His sister lived there, and he promised she would grant us succor and hide us from any searching Imperials and marauding dragons. You can trust that we set off at a run, given our situation.
Despite a few good souls like Hadvar, I know that ever being caught by the Imperials will mean my death, as the Thalmor will have ordered them to capture or kill me on sight. Ulfric's "Skyrim for the Nords!" attitude is known far and wide. He is sure to distrust anyone of another race, and me doubly so as a high elf, a mage, and a former Thalmor agent. I am quite certain that Ulfric will never accept me, however much he profess it. As you can see there is no right side for me in this war. For the time being I can make do as a sellsword. But the war, once resolved, will be my death. If one side is the victor, I will be killed as a traitor, the other as a spy. My only hope is to find refuge at the College of Winterhold or in an Orc stronghold, or perhaps form a gang of deserters and ruffians and take to the hills as bandits. But for now I will follow the lesser of two evils: the Stormcloak. They, at least, will not betray me to the Thalmor.
Day 1. Ralof and I arrived at the hamlet of Riverwood. Ralof ran ahead to alert his sister to our arrival and, I suspect, prepare her for the appearance of a Thalmor mage. I dallied a moment to chat with one of the woodcutters, a Nord who introduced himself as Sven. He seemed perturbed by another of the town's inhabitants, a wood elf, who was showing interest in Sven's beloved, an Imperial woman named Camilla. Such diversity for a tiny village! Sven was worried that the Bosmer's attention would turn his girl's head. I suggested he do something about it, by which I meant he do something arrogant, like challenge his rival to a duel, or romantic, like take the girl into the bandit-infested hills for a picnic. Sven elected to ask me to deliver a forged note, containing I cannot imagine what sort of nonsense purportedly written by the elf. So much for the reknowned Nord forthrightness! I later learned Sven aspired to bardhood, which explains it a bit. All bards, no matter the race, tend to talk when they should remain silent, and would rather sing and stroke a lute than fight or take a lover in rough trade. In any case, I could have gone to the elf with the note, but given the history between our two races, I thought the better of it. I did seek out the lady's brother, the local shopkeeper, as Sven had told me he had possible work for a sellsword.
The shopkeeper, Lucan, did indeed have a job. His store had recently been robbed by bandits holed up in a local barrow, which Nord superstition had filled with wights and walking dead, all that sort of thing. Foolish of course, but if it made them willing to pay someone else to go after the claw, so much the better for me. While in his shop, I told his sister, Camilla, about the duplicitous note. She was understandably aghast and vowed never to speak to Sven again. He bore an ill will against me the rest of my time in the village, but what did he expect? I will not lie for anyone, much less a total stranger. He was a fool to even ask such a thing of someone he had met that very moment. Camilla had suggested I find the Bosmer, Faendal, to beg a reward for refusing to betray him, but I felt this deserved nothing as it was nothing I did. I had to find Ralof and his sister, Gerdur, in any case. They were expecting me, and I was uncomfortable with the attention I was already garnering.
When I found Ralof, he was telling Gerdur and her husband about our escape from the block and from Helgen. Understandably, they could scarce believe the story of the dragon, but in the end Gerdur admitted she had seen it flying over in the distance after the attack. She offered me the hospitality of her home and some supplies, all of which I gladly accepted. She did ask in return that I speed to Whiterun and alert the Hold's jarl to the danger of the dragon. I was worried about Imperial presence, but the family promised that Jarl Balgruuf had so far remained neutral in the war, had no great love for the Thalmor, and would not report me to them or the Empire.
I don't know where my future lies, or how this war will affect it, but for now I will run Gerdur's message to Whiterun, then find this shopkeeper's claw. Be assured though, that my hood will be pulled low when I stand before the jarl!
