The husky Nord stretches himself out, painfully by the hearth, his joints creaking and popping in harmony with the spit and crackle of the fire.
'All you adventurers, romanticising the mercenary life; well, I used to be one of you, like you. I was a pretty big hot shot, if I say so myself - owned property in Whiterun and Winterhold (here's a tip - never let a wizard sell you real estate, or if you must, make sure they go cast their fancy magic some place else), had beaten up every challenge in every brawl in Skyrim, and had a finger in every guild's pie. So when Balgruuf wants Erik the Rood's bandit army taken down a peg? He talks to me. Sure, he could get the first two-bit mercenary to walk into Dragonsreach to do it, but let's face it. Poor fool's not going to live long. So when there's some real work that needs doing, I get called in, and I head on out.
They don't know what hit 'em. Serves 'em right for living in a cave, I suppose, with only one guard posed outside. I down him with a single arrow through the helm, and then was free to loot all the flora they had stored outside, as well as a whole roasting skeever. Never know when I'm going to be hungry, I suppose, and so it pays to stock up wherever I can, whenever I can - especially when lawbreakers are picking up the tab! So I go in, and slaughter my way through them. Loot their bodies for a little extra cash, because who doesn't do that when they can, they've put aside Orkey's protection already, they don't get any special respect after death. I burst forth into the main cavern, and begin putting them down. There are dozens of them all around me, but I don't care, I can handle this, I can handle all of it. I don't care for those clunky two-handed weapons, so I've got one hand free to carry my shield and take their blows - and I do, all the while lopping off heads, limbs, torsos, you name i.
But then they got me. I dodged, danced away from, stepped out of the path of so many arrows, until they began to saturate my position. I blocked so many with my shield, that Julianos hisself musta' been with me that day, and my shield was more porcupine than buckler, so many were the shafts protruding from it; but then they became wiser, and began to encircle me, loosing cowardly volleys from every which way, that I couldn't block all of 'em. Even so, I was clad from the top of my head to the tips of my toes in that fine steel from the Skyforge, and I don't need to tell you that nothing, nothing gets through Eorlund's work, let alone his thick skull!'
He pauses for some desultory laughter at the obvious joke, that he's long since worn thin and threadbare.
'But lads - come on - look at me - I'm not a bloody Dwarven Animunculus. I'm not a statue - I've got joints - I'm not one whole bleedin' piece of metal. There are gaps in Eorlund's armour, unavoidable gaps, tiny gaps, but gaps nonetheless. And these bandit scum - yeah, they saw them alright. After I'd dodged a quarter of their arrows, blocked a quarter with my shield, and a quarter had clattered off my plate - they still had a few left for me. And they knew where to put 'em now. They're lousy shots, the lot of 'em, and couldn't hit the long side of Jorrvaskr, let alone a chink in my armour - but put enough of them in one place ... well, let's just say some of them did hit. Most of them still pattered off, but one - one lucky blighter managed to wedge an arrow between my cuisse and my greave - right into the soft tissue in my leg joint. I took his shot right to the knee, I did, and by the Stormcrown, it hurt. I mean - not enough to stop me killing all of them in retaliation (even if I did have to hop after a few of them - not very dignified, but can be done). I finished the mission the jarl sent me on - still here after all - and made a tidy sum off it, plus a military pension. He's good Balgruuf is.
But after that leg shot, I was never the same - never able to range across the reach on my trusty steed, and if it's raining, then forget it - the wound still cramps up so bad I'm reduced to quivering jelly. There! I admit it! I suppose it's a scar honourably earned though, that's got to count for something in Talos' eyes. And there's still hope of dying in glorious battle yet - I signed myself up for guard duty, watching the city gates. My cousin says it's weak, women's work, but let's see whose laughing when he gets mauled by a Dov. I don't have to move around, clambering through dungeons and ancient Dwarven ruins like all you 'adventurers' - been there, done that, now content to stand here and wait for a good bandit raid to come right up to me. It's a good enough life - what I need about now.
And that, brothers, is the story of how I used to be an adventurer like you - but then I took an arrow to the knee.'
