The Hunted - Story of Irvine

[Katastrophe]

A. Introduction​

​

Hello faithful reader!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I bring you yet another fanfiction/journal thread of mine. So why create a new one, especially if the character may be so similar? It will follow the story of Irvine, a young Redguard who is been living his life on the border of Skyrim and Hammerfell for some time now with his late father, Sieg. In the following posts, I will detail Irvine's backstory and his character (briefly on the later), the self-imposed rules I'm using for immersion as well as an index so that you may easily skip through the comments of others and find the next piece of Irvine's tale. Please note that this will not be told in your typical journal format, but will rather take the form of a third person narrative. I will also be taking some creative liberties when it comes to NPC interaction to make the world more enveloping rather than streamlined with the chat options provided by the game.​

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I shall enjoy writing it, and all comments are encouraged, especially those about my writing style. I've been in a bit of a slump for going on two years now, and I've found these journals to be an excellent writing exercise and I am always looking for input.​

Thanks for reading!​

Katastrophe​

 

[Katastrophe]

B. About Irvine​

Irvine Delaroso. No doubt this name means nothing to you but, in time, it will. I promise you that. All of my life, I have lived by my own two hands, side-by-side with Sieg, a man of shame. A traitor. My father. I was born at a time when Hammerfell was not part of the Empire - when it was at war with the Aldmeri Dominion. When I was but a babe, or town was attacked, all of it's inhabitants slaughtered in the night... all but us. Rather then wake my mother and defend his family, he grabbed me and fled into the night. As I grew older, he told me she died during child birth and that we had always lived this way.​

​

That man told me a lot of things.​

​

From that moment on, we lived off the land. We slept in caves, abandoned camps, the occasional inn. We ate only what we could kill or catch and made our own way through life. Everything I learned about tracking and hunting - about survival itself - I learn from that man. It wasn't until his death last year that I learned the through about who he was and what he had done. His journal explained it all - he had intended for me to read it, some passages even addressed to me. All this time, I was raised by lies. With his passing, I have nothing. Nothing but my own two hands.​

​

And so, I decided to venture into Skyrim. There is a rebellion going on - even rumor that dragons have returned. While no doubt dangerous, this land will surely be ripe with possibilities for a man of my talents, limited as they may be, to make a living. The nearest town is nestled in the woods, called Falkreath. I plan to arrive there at daybreak tomorrow morning.​

 

[Katastrophe]

C. Restrictions​

For those familiar with my previous writing, you'll know that I'm a fan of using self-imposed rules to not only make the game a bit more difficult, but mostly to make it more immersive. So, without further ado, let's get into them.​

1. Gaming Setup
   1. I play Skyrim on my Xbox 360, with the Dawnguard DLC installed. When Hearthfire comes out, I will include that.
2. Game Settings
   1. Difficulty
      1. Set to Expert at game start
      2. Increase to Master at level 15
   2. General Settings
      1. Crosshair enabled
      2. Brightness at ~50%
      3. Show Floating Markers disabled
      4. Save on Rest/Wait/Travel enabled at 5 minutes
      5. No quest may be set as 'active'
3. Game Start
   1. Proceed through Helgen as normal (Ralof)
      1. For the sake of roleplay, this never happened. It is used only to gain some initial skills.
   2. Inventory upon leaving Helgen has the following restrictions:
      1. Only the food found in the second room (with the potions) may be taken as this is the type of food one would most likely carry in the wilderness.
      2. Only one healing potion may be taken.
      3. Only one lockpick may be taken.
      4. No armor may be taken.
         1. One of the Frostbite Spiders dropped a Silver Ring. I have kept this and shall be roleplaying it as a ring that once belonged to his mother that his father wore around his neck.
      5. Only one Long Bow may be taken.
      6. Only one single-handed weapon may be taken.
      7. Only one drink may be taken.
   3. Run into the Riverwood Trader and go to the second floor. Sneak and steal the Clothes and Shoes from the dresser here. You shouldn't be wearing rags.
   4. Swim to Whiterun and take the carriage to Falkreath.
   5. Wait until 8am to begin.
4. Self-Imposed Rules
   1. No fast travel allowed, except by boat (Dawnguard DLC) or carriage.
   2. Must eat three cooked meals a day, and three beverages. The can be bought or made. Circumstances may alter this rule.
   3. Must sleep for 8 hours every night. Circumstances may alter this rule.
   4. Cannot loot anything that is marked as "equipped" from dead bodies, except arrows. They are to be presumed broken, damaged or otherwise unfit for your use.
   5. May not exceed 150lbs carrying limit.
   6. May not buy weapons or armor from any shop other than blacksmith.
   7. May not buy spellbooks or enchanted goods from anyone other than court wizards.
   8. May not buy food from anyone other than vendors.
   9. May not be potions or ingredients from any shop other than an apothecary.
   10. The above three rules also count for selling.
   11. Should I die, I must take all of my belongings except for my clothes and a dagger (if carrying one) into some barrel or something to "get rid" of them. I must also deposit all but 10% of my gold there. I must than fast travel to the nearest city, where I have presumably been brought to by some marauder who saved my life.
   12. All actions take time to be waited out.
       1. Reading a book takes one hour.
       2. Reading a spelltome takes four hours.
       3. Brewing a potion takes one hour.
       4. Enchanting or disenchanting a piece of equipment takes four hours.
       5. Crafting a dagger, gloves, boots or arrows takes one hour.
       6. Crafting a helmet or a one handed weapon takes two hours.
       7. Crafting a shield, two handed weapon or a bow takes three hours.
       8. Crafting a main armor piece takes four hours.
       9. Tanning leather requires one hour for every four pieces of leather tanned. Every four batches of strips made takes an hour.
       10. Upgrading a piece of armor or weaponry takes one hour.
       11. Eating a meal requires one hour.
       12. Every 5 ingredients harvested takes one hour.
       13. Every ore mined or session of woodchopping takes one hour.
       14. Cooking a meal takes one hour.

 

[Katastrophe]

D. Index​

​

Part I - Getting Acquainted [8/29/2012]​

Part II - The Wilderness [8/30/2012]​

Part III - Preparations [8/31/2012]​

Part IV - Back in the Wild [9/1/2012]​

Part V - Hard Work [9/2/2012]​

Part VI - Whiterun [9/2/2012]​

Part VII - Riverwood [9/2/2012]​

Part VIII - Embershard Mine [9/3/2012]​

Part IX - Bleak Falls Barrow [9/4/2012]​

Part X - All Along the Watchtower [9/5/2012]​

Part XI - There be Dragons [9/7/2012]​

Part XII - Dovahkiin [9/7/2012]​

Part XIII - Repurposing [9/8/2012]​

Part XIV - More Than a Wolf [9/8/2012]​

Part XV - Held at Knifepoint [9/9/2012]​

Part XVI - Vampires and Dogs [9/11/2012]​

Part XVII - Dog Eat Daedra World [9/12/2012]​

Part XVIII - Vampires and Vile [9/13/2012]​

Part XIX - Moar Daedra [9/13/2012]​

Part XX - Dawnbreaker [9/18/2012]​

Part XXI - Trick or Treat [9/29/2012]​

Part XXII - The Turning [10/1/2012]​

 

[Katastrophe]

Part I - Getting Acquainted​

It was the late in the morning when Irvine Delaroso finally reached the road that wound around the bend into Falkreath, the sun long ago risen but not yet high in the sky. It was a good time, truly - the sounds of people out and about, working in the town, could be heard even from out here. It was a good sign. As he began to approach the town's gate, two intimidating guards standing at either end, he could see a man chopping would not far from the entrance and Irvine questioned his purpose here. Had he come to Falkreath as just another pit stop on the eternal journey left to him by his father? Did he intend to settle here, amongst the trees and elk, and put and end to his wondrous nature? To be honest, he had no idea. So he strode forward, his clothes dirty and stained, his quiver and bow slung across his back with a small axe hanging from his hip, a courier bag of supples strapped in place at his lower back, full of meat and other gains from his journey north into Skyrim - north, into his own life.

"Staying out of trouble, I hope," said one of the guards as Irvine passed, his eyes following the newcomer almost suspiciously. Irvine gave the man a simple nod and continued into town and the guards returned their attention to the wilderness beyond. Irvine began looking at the signs hanging from the buildings around him, scanning for some sort of tavern. In his past experiences, taverns were excellent locations for the wandering type, whether you needed work, information or even just a place to rest your head. Irvine required all three.

"Ah, a traveler," said the woodchopper, as Irvine passed. He put the axe blade against the earth and leaned against it, wiping the back of his hand across his forward, slicking beads of sweat into the ground. "Falkreath used to full of warriors and travels like you," he continued, somewhat nostalgicly, his eyes focusing somewhere off in space, "but that was years ago." He shook his mane of white hair, grabbing his axe, and went back to chopping would. "Now... everyone is so... consumed... by the damn... rebellion!" As he continued, Irvine realized that he really had no part in this conversation and continued on. "Enjoy your stay!" he heard the man call from behind him, and Irvine stopped to give him a small wave before continuing on. The next sign showed two pints of ale clanking together, the words 'Dead Man's Drink' carved into the bottom - ah, sanctuary. Not surprisingly, the interior was empty. Not many people came to a tavern at this hour, evident by only the barmaid present.

"Welcome to the Dead Man's Drink," she said as Irvine approached. "My name is Valga Vinicia - what can I do for you?" Just then, there was an audible grumble from Irvine's stomach and, when it passed, the two shared a half-smile. "We serve all sorts of food here, as well as rooms." Irvine looked over her shoulder in inspect the food behind her before finally settling.

"Can I have some of your cooked beef and... just an ale?" he asked, reaching behind him to his bag to loose his few septims. His hand reached in and felt the packaged rabbit he had brought with him from Hammerfell. "Oh, and if you have any salt for sale...?"

"I can get you all those things - some nice, cooked beef with some ale to wash it down," she said, turning to the small fire behind her to cook the aforementioned beef, "and I do have some salt I can spare. All in all, 38 septims." Irvine nodded and placed the coins on the counter, stopping to examine the room around him. "If you plan on staying long," she added, looking over her shoulder as the beef made a wonderful hsss, "we rent rooms for 10 gold a night."

"That would be lovely," he replied, adding to the small pile he had began. After a few moments, Valga set a platter onto the counter, the beef still steaming and drizzled with some sort of sauce that had an aroma of cinnamon and a bottle of ale.

"When you're done eating, I'll show you to your room," she said, sweeping the gold on the counter into a small purse she kept at her waist. Irvine nodded this thanks and took his meal off to one of the many tables. He noticed a barb tapping out a beat on a drum not far from the counter - strange he hadn't heard it before - and decided to take a seat next to him, the two only sharing a nod of acknowledgement. Irvine wasted no time in tearing into his meal, which was delicious. The sauce tasted nothing like cinnamon, though it's smell was similar. It was very spicy, extravagantly so - Irvine's palette had known little beyond salt in the way of seasoning. And the ale was quite refreshing, at least compared to river water. When he was finished, Valga showed him to his room - a large one, considering the price. He thanked her and began placing his gear on the bed, organizing it. He tied the courier bag back around his lower back and looped the small axe back around his waist, but he left his bow and arrows hanging on the back of his chair. He had no intention of doing any hunting today - today was for the town. Irvine wandered out of the room and noticed the tavern had become slightly more populated: a finely dressed man eating some bread on the far end, the woodchopper drinking of a tankard at the table opposite him and the bard belting out a rendition of 'Ragnar the Red'.

"I'm looking for work," Irvine said, straddling a bar stood across from Valga as she meticulously scrubbed at the inside of a tankard. "Know of anything?" Valga noded and reached into the pockets at the front of her apron and handed Irvine a piece of paper.

"Here," she said, "some of the Jarl's men brought by this bounty letter." Irvine raised his brow, reading the letter.

"Bounty? Bandits?" he asked. The letter detailed that a group of bandits from Embershard had been 'harassing, robbing, and attacking citizens and visitors.' "Where is Embershard? I've never heard of that hold."

"Oh, Embershard isn't a hold," she said, laughing slightly at his naivety, "it's a mine, up north from here, not far from Riverwood." Irvine reached into his bag and pulled out the map of Skyrim he had and spread it across the counter. Valga took a quill from the ink well on the counter and marked a small 'x' on the map just outside of Riverwood.

"I'm a hunter, Miss Vinicia - not a warrior capable of waltzing into a bandit camp," he confessed, folding his map back up and putting it into his bag. Valga eyed him up and down for a long time before nodding.

"The way I see it, people aren't all that different from animals," she said, focusing back on the tankard she had been trying to clean. "Just a different kind of game. But you might also check with the Jarl himself - he might have other, less dangerous tasks for you." Irvine nodded, thanking her, and left Dead Man's Drink. As Irvine stepped back into town, a light rain had begun to fall, he considered her words. His father had once said something similar. One day, they had been attacked by a highwayman. The man wanted all their gold, any jewels they had found - particularly, the silver ring his father had worn on a chain around his neck. It had once belonged to his mother, and while they had given over all their other valuables, Irvine's father had refused to give the Khajiit the ring. When the robber grew violent, Irvine's father killed him. The fight lasted less than half a minute, and his father took everything of value the robber had on him, conquests of less fortunate wanderers. His father said that to kill an animal was one thing, but to take a life was different entirely. But when you had something worth fighting for, you'd fight for it. With that, Irvine walked into the general store, the sign reading 'Gray Pine Goods'.

"I can't believe we let provincials like you wander Skyrim," said a rather large Nord who pushed Irvine aside and stepped out the door. Taken aback, Irvine turned and watched the Nord leave, taking a few backward steps into the shop.

"Don't mind my brother," came a voice off to the side. Irvine turned to see it was another Nord, similar in appearance, behind the shop's counter. "Unlike him, I have no dislike of strangers. I met a lot of them when I was a Stormcloak. Name's Solaf."

"That man was your brother?" Irvine asked, motioning a thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

"Aye, that was Bolund," he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "He runs the lumber mill in town. Don't expect much in the way of conversation if you try talking to him. He doesn't talk much, especially to folk he don't know."

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Irvine replied, though he had no intention of speaking to Bolund again. “You mentioned you were a Stormcloak?”

“Aye, but that was years ago.” Solaf’s tone took on an air of nostalgia similar to the woodcutters. “I was wounded in a skirmish up near Windhelm and while I may not fight in his name, I still uphold Ulfric’s ideals.” Now his voice was taking on a more aggressive tone, the sound of a warrior discussing why he fights. It reminded him of the conversation with his father after he had killed the highwayman. “Skyrim is Nord land, and that’s how it should be ruled. The Empire has no right sticking their hands in our business.” There was an awkward silence the filled the room - Solaf, a native Nord in Skyrim, and Irvine, a foreign Redguard in Skyrim. “Did you come here to buy something, or looking to sell?”

“Browsing, actually,” he confessed, shifting over to examine what the Nord kept on the shelves of his shop. “I’m new in town. Not sure how long I’ll be staying.” Solaf only grunted in response, waving away the Redguard who offered him no real business. The shop was full of mostly junk: some produce and hides, a few crystals and jewelry, the occasional bit of clothing. Irvine began to wonder what it was he was actually looking for here, and immediately the thought of those bandits in the mine came to him. Was he actually considering going off to into the den of bandits? No - he had plenty of gold to last him for now, and no real reason to risk his life in that manner. With that, Irvine left the shop, off to further acquaint himself with the town of Falkreath. Further into town, he heard the familiar pounding of steel, the flash of sparks spraying out into the stormy afternoon from around the corner of a building - a forge.

“Hail, smith!” Irvine called out as he walked up the steps to the man’s forge. He received only a nod in reply, the fires of the forge flashing across his face. “Are you freelance, or do you work for the town’s guard? Their armor is quite of excellent quality.” That got the blacksmith’s attention.

“My loyalty is to Dengeir first, and the Empire second, if that’s what you’re asking.” The man laid down his hammer and took off his gloves, folding his arms across his chest. “Name’s Lod, by the way.”

“Well met, Lod,” Irvine said, somewhat hesitantly. This fellow was far from welcoming, much like Bolund. “I’m new in town - who is Dengeir?” Lod’s expression did not change.

“Dengeir is our former Jarl, now Thane under his nephew, Siddgeir,” he began, putting his gloves back on to get back to work. “I served as his personal guard for many years. Risked my life for his on more than one occasion. Unlike guards today, I didn’t do it for money or because I swore some oath.” He began pounding at a piece of white hot iron at this point. “I did it because Dengeir is a good man, of good values. I did it because a true Nord,” he dipped the iron into the trough of water beside him, a loud hsss and plume of smoke rising towards the ceiling, “puts honor and trust above all else. Now, if there’s anything else...?”

“Falkreath seems like a quite town,” Irvine began, glancing around. “I’m just trying to get acquainted.”

“Well, Falkreath is only quite inside it’s walls. Beyond, in the hold, is wilderness. Trying to get acquainted out there is libel to get you killed, instead. So be careful.” With that, Lod went back to work, clearly no longer interested in conversation. As Irvine turned to leave, he noticed a rather large house ahead of him, it’s door flanked with banners. Presumably, this was the longhouse for the Jarl, and Irvine entered remembering Valga’s suggestion of speaking to the Jarl if he was looking for work. Inside, banners decorated the room, a large fire pit separating Irvine from the Jarl who sat lazily in his throne.

“Yes?” The Jarl called out. The two were seemingly alone in the entire building. “What is it you want?”

“You’re the Jarl?” Irvine asked, walking around the pit towards the man. “I’m looking for work here in your hold.”

“You? Looking for work?” the Jarl asked, disbelievingly. He let out a rather large bark of a laugh. “I demand tribute before I’d consider you for any real task.” When Irvine said nothing, the Jarl continued. “How about a drink? None of that local piss - real Black-Briar Mead, fresh from Riften. Bring me some, and we will talk about... work.”

“Your lordship, I was merely asking for ways I can help - to earn some coin.”

“If you want to help, you’ll bring me what I asked!” the Jarl shouted, slamming his fist on the arm of his chair. “If you have no time for my request, than I have no time for you!” With that, Irvine turned and left the longhouse. Falkreath was growing less and less hospitable as the day went on. Having given up on finding any real work in town, Irvine returned to Dead Man’s Drink where he purchased an early dinner and sat down, eating it slowly as he absorbed the atmosphere of the room, his mind wandering.

As it stood, there were little options for Irvine, and he returned to his room to consider them. He sat in the chair beside the table in his room, spreading his map across it. If he decided to take the Jarl’s request and fetch fresh Black-Briar Mead, the journey to Riften would be a long one. There was a road the ran directly to Riften, with a small stop in Helgen early on, but nothing beyond that. The journey north, towards the mine near Riverwood, was far quicker, but Irvine wagered that fetching mead was a lot easier a task than killing off a camp of bandits. There was also the possibility that Irvine would simply be able to hunt for a living, surviving on what he was able to hunt. He could use the meat for his own meals and sell pelts and whatever else he encountered. Irvine decided he would spend the next day exploring the wilderness around Falkreath, despite Lod’s earlier warning, before making any real decision. He returned to the tavern’s main room to enjoy the bard’s music before retiring to his room early. He wanted to be up and out before sunrise.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part II - The Wilderness​

Irvine woke early in the morning, long before the sun was up. Much to his surprise, Valga was still manning the bar, her arms propped up on the counter, her head resting in the palms of her hand. She was clearly falling asleep where she stood, but had a business to run. No one was in the tavern except the bard, tapping gently on his drum, and Narri, who’s name he had overheard while in his room, the young lass that cleaned the place and always complimented him.

“Good morning, Valga,” he said, saddling up to the bar. She perked up a bit, but only slightly, pushing herself back fully onto her feet.

“And good morning to you, Irvine,” she replied, her smile faint and tired. “You’re up early, or late,” she shrugged, pulling out a tankard from under the counter and setting it on top. “What can I do for you?”

“Just breakfast, something small,” Irvine replied, waving away the glass. “A bottle of ale and just some more of that cooked beef would be nice.” She nodded and turned back to begin cooking the food. Once again, Irvine ate the delicious meal with vigor. When he was finished, he took the rest of the bottle of ale with him and, arrows and bow slung over his shoulders, stepped outside. The morning was still in it’s infancy, the sun hidden behind the horizon. Although it was raining still, the storm from the previous night seeming to still be in effect. A crack of thunder welcomed him to the outside world.
To say that Irvine’s trip was mundane would be an understatement. The venture began simple enough, collecting useful items from the road side - flowers, mushrooms and that short. Irvine noticed as he was paying for his breakfast that he had very little gold remaining - hardly enough for food and a room the next day, so he needed a way to supplement his income. Irvine recalled an apothecary shop in town, as well as an available space to brew potions back at Dead Man’s Drink. He was by no means an alchemist, but his father had shown him the basics - enough to brew some basic potions that might be able to fetch him a price. There were a few wolves here and there that were felled with ease, their pelts stripped. If they could not be sold for a good price, Irvine could at least (and probably more usefully) craft them into some sort of armor a bit warmer and sturdy then his clothing. It was shortly after his first encounter with a wolf that Lod’s warning became more clear. Up ahead, Irvine could spy some sort of collapsed fort. Although he wasn’t sure, this place was no doubt home to someone (or something) and he had no desire to get their attention. However, in the opposite direction, he could spy an odd arrangement of rocks with someone standing among them. Irvine ducked low and slowly began to skirt along the tree line and in the shadows of the bushes to get a better look.

The man stood before a sort of altar made of stones, clearly human skeletons scattered around it, blood staining the rocks a horrific shade of red. By this point, the rain had subsided and the man, dressed in black robes, seemed to be chanting as if performing some sort of ritual. As Irvine tried to get a better look, his foot broke a stick. The snap was audible enough to be heard by the man at the altar who turned and, spotting Irvine, immediately through up some sort of magic shield, his other hand preparing some sort of spell. Obviously facing a hostile man, Irvine notched an arrow and fired, striking the mage in the shoulder. The ward seemed to have slowed the arrow down as he hardly flinched. Irvine was able to get off two more arrows, each striking the man’s chest, before the mage was in casting distance, a flurry of ice shards shooting forth. Irvine was immediately covered in the frost, the shards cutting at his skin. He dropped his bow and closed the distance, drawing his axe. With one strike, the battle was over, the mage falling dead at Irvine’s feet. For a moment, he stood over the body, looking at what he had done... or rather, undone. Apparently, his survival was forth fighting for. The mage, or rather necromancer, had little on him and at his altar. A dagger, a few ingredients and a book, all of which he took.

A little farther ahead, Irvine stumbled upon some sort of circular mound, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Ahead, there was a waterfall but through the trees, Irvine was able to make out a Spriggan. During his time in the woods, Irvine and his father had encountered many of these creatures and while they weren’t as deadly as, say, a bear, they were not to be underestimated. Irvine managed to slink away through the trees and bushes unseen and continued northwest. Not far ahead, he could make out what appeared to be some sort of smoldering camp, fires still sparking and charred earth. As he approached to investigate, he realized it wasn’t a camp, but a carriage; the bodies of it’s now burnt occupants off to the side along with the bodies of the two horses. There wasn’t much left to scavenge from the scene - it would appear it was a robbery gone bad - other than a few trinkets and some gold. That was when Irvine heard growling behind him and turning, saw three wolves closing in. He was able to drop one with his bow but the other two closed the distance and forced the young Redguard to draw his axe. He stood his ground in the back of the carriage, forcing the wolves to come at him one at a time, taking the two out with ease. Once their pelts had been skinned, Irvine continued on. He was making some sort of circular path around a large spire of a rock.

As he rounded the corner, he heard movement coming from the road ahead. Peering around the corner of the rocks beside him, he saw one man looking through the pockets of a dead soldier, two more bodies lay stripped in the dirt. It was obvious this man had killed the other three, his armor and weapons resembling those of the dead body he was looting. The man looked up and noticed Irvine and drew a large axe, rushing his observer. No time for arrows, Irvine once more fought for his life against another man. Thankfully, the scavenger's large weapon mixed with his lack of proficiency with it, made him a slow and easy target. A few easy sidesteps and decisive strikes made the battle a short one and, once more, he stood in awe over the life he had ended. Once more, the awe subsided and was replaced with a survival instinct as he began rummaging through the rummager’s pockets. He had the brief idea that perhaps this man hadn’t killed all three, and this was simply a change of murders and looting that would go on and on but when no one attacked Irvine as he finished up, he deemed this the end of the cycle and continued on, a new hide helmet adorning his head, as well as a new bow. Up ahead, Irvine happened across some sort of cave or temple - it was hard to say which. A waterfall flowed into a gentle stream that ran across the path, pooling around an obviously sculpted stone. The door to the temple was built into the cliffside, lit fires at either side. Clearly, this place was still in use, but the door was locked with no obvious sign of where one would place a key. Disheartened by his inability to explore this mysterious rune, he reluctantly turned around.

The trip back to Falkreath was uneventful, for the most part. He came back to the fort he spotted earlier and this time, from his better vantage point, he was able to confirm that it was some sort of bandit camp. At the very least, it’s inhabitants did not look at all to be of the friendly nature. Much of the trip was spent gathering the local herbs and flowers and, by the time he got back to camp, night had fallen. He returned to Dead Man’s Drink, the usual crowd in attendance: Valga at the bar, already making a meal for Irvine, Narri sweeping the floor, the barb tapping out his tune, the well-dressed and elderly Nord silently sitting in one of the chairs, and the woodcutter stuffing his face. Irvine thanked Valga for the food and left a small pile of gold to not only cover the meal but the room for the night again as well. In silence, he ate his meal and tested the ingredients he had collected. He stayed up late into the night crafting a few potions that would be of use later on, if not sell for a good price. With his work completed, and feeling moderately successful, Irvine retired to his room and drifted off to sleep.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part III - Preparations​

The next day, Irvine awoke fairly late in the morning, but understandably so after his long night. Before going to get breakfast, he spread his things across his bed and examined them, reorganizing them. It was mostly a bunch of junk, really. A few daggers and ingredients, a couple of pelts... his gold count was also at an abysmal forty-two septims. Once he had gathered all his things, he once more ventured out into the tavern’s main hall. The bard was singing some ode to the Stormcloaks, Valga manning the bar, Narri sweeping another corner of the store, and some rough-and-tumble looking Nord in the back.

“Morning, Irvine,” Valga said with a smile, far more chipper than she had been last morning. “What can I get for you today? I just got a new shipment in earlier.” Irvine smiled, examining the goods displayed behind her. There was an apple pie that looked most tempting, but also most expensive. Instead, he ordered a simple chicken breast and another ale. When it was ready (also glazed with that cinnamon smelling sauce), he took it to a nearby table and began eating. He was now left with a further abysmal fourteen septims. He hoped that what he sold today would be able to fetch him a nice profit but if not... well, there weren’t a lot of options for him. He took out his map and examined it once again. He had traveled to the northwest and had pretty much scene all there was to see. He could travel further north today or the next, or perhaps off to the east and into the mountains, but the likelihood of game out that way couldn’t be much out there. There was still that small, black ‘x’ that Valga had marked on his map - Embershard Mine, with the bandits and their bounty. Last night, he had killed two men for his own survival. Granted, both had attacked him as he had been minding his own business - he hadn’t gone out looking for their death - and he had done so for his own survival. But as he folded up his map and began to leave the table, he heard his small sum of gold clank in his pockets. If there was a bounty offered for their murder, would it not also be done for his own survival...?

For the next hour or two, Irvine wandered from shop to shop in town, selling off what he had scavenged the previous day. He held off on selling the pelts, however, and ended up with just shy of 200 gold septims. It was a good amount, good enough to not require him to march into a bandit camp. Also good enough to perhaps make some better use of the furs he had gotten. So Irvine returned to Lod, who had gladly purchased the handful of daggers and the old bow Irvine brought to him, and asked him if Irvine could use his forge and other equipment.

“Planning to go back off into the wilderness again, I take it?” Lod asked, running one of the daggers Irvine had sold him against a grindstone.

“Yes, it’s how I’ve always lived.” Irvine held his hands behind his back, watching the cascade of sparks from the grindstone.

“Well, if I can’t talk you out of yet, you might as well be protected,” Lod said, begrudgingly. He nodded, throwing one hand off to the side to encompass his work area. “All yours, lad.” Irvine gave him his sincere thanks and began set into tanning the pelts he had acquired, as his father had taught him. For the rest of the day, Irvine worked alongside Lod, working well through lunch until he had forged a fine pair of hide boots and gloves. He lacked the resources to make much else, but thanks to a not-so-small purchase from Lod, Irvine was able to make a few adjustments to the imperial bow he had gotten from the scavenger before. By the time he was done, night had long ago set. Returning to Dead Man’s Drink, he ordered a simple leg of goat roast and another ale, sitting down to drink and eat. Narri joined him and the two made idle chit-chat. It became clear to him that Narri was somewhat of an airhead - just a mildly attractive homebody. She seemed desperate for a way to escape Falkreath, and it was obvious she aimed for her body to her ticket out. After only a few minutes of conversation, he excused himself and returned to the alchemy table, brewing a few more potions (they weren’t worth much) before retiring to bed for the evening. As he lay in bed and think of the next day, Irvine decided to head a little further north this time around. Hopefully there was more game to be had in that direction and while the previous day’s efforts had proven fruitful, he wondered if this would last.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part IV - Back in the Wild​

Once more, Irvine woke early, although not as early as his first day - the sun was already up and Valga still chipper. This time, he helped himself to that apple pie and enjoyed every bite of it. It was all he could do to actually bring himself to finish it and to head back out into the wilderness. He had decided that today he would head further north and see what else was out there. The hunting needed to remain good, or Irvine feared that he would soon be unable to live off the land here and would have to migrate with the wildlife. It was how his father and he had lived previously, so he knew it was possible, if not likely. But that ideal of living off the land was growing heavy on his heart - it was the life his father had thrust the two of them into, not the one he had chosen. In fact, he had never really chosen any sort of life. He had no career planned, no expert talent in any trade. As he left the road and began skirting the mountainside to the north of town, he realized this this - living off the land and hunting for his own survival - was the only talent he’d really ever had. But what did that make him - a simple hunter? That was the nomadic life that he did not want. So how could he take his simple skills and transform them into something better?

Irvine came back to the road not far from where he’d left it, the makings of a large ruin not far from the roadside. However, even from this distance, he could make out the lifeless bodies of two men. Choosing to stay clear of them, he stuck to the road and headed north. Just before reaching a fork, he spotted a large tower up on a bluff to his left and, seeing no obvious sign of aggressive life around in, Irvine decided he would check this one out. Just then, there was a rustle and clank from behind him and turning, Irvine had just enough time to dodge the axe swung at him by a walking skeleton. Frightened, if not anything else, the yet-living Redguard dropped his bow and drew his own axe, becoming locked in a struggle against an undead creature that, in all reality, had no muscles with which to exert this pressure. The creature’s eyes held some sort of other worldly blue glow to them, and it was only after snapping the skeleton’s elbow was he able to deliver the undead a strong blow to the head. The glow in it’s sockets surged and faded, the skeleton crumbling into a pile of bones by the roadside. Irvine took a moment to examine it’s axe, however. The make was old, but still good, so he decided to take it with him. After making sure the area was clear of any more undead, Irvine continued on down the road until some rather morbid markers indicated a past that appeared to lead to the tower he saw earlier.

A pair of felled wolves later and Irvine noticed a plume of smoke coming from the top of the tower. It didn’t appear to be made from any sort of uncontrolled fire, but more likely a camp fire of some kind. Perhaps the tower was inhabited after all? As he approached, it was clear the place was inhabitated, and not by anyone friendly - the remains of a spriggan marked the entrance and, without even ascending the steps, Irvine could see the bloodied remains of human bodies inside. Although all the signs seemed to point to it being another necromancer, Irvine crept slowly into the tower, his bow drawn. If this was a necromancer, he felt some strange sense of purpose in ending their rituals, to right their wrongs. He wasn’t inside the tower long before a female voice from above called out to him, saying she knew he was there. And then, there she was, magical ward up and a familiar ice spell in preparation, coming down the staircase. With a few quickly shot arrows, she was dead before she reached the landing and Irvine was free to examine the entire property. There was a tent on the roof and he momentarily considered staying here for a few nights later on, when he had purchased a stock of food, in order to increase his exploration range. However, the bucket of bloodied body parts made this idea very unappealing. Instead, he gathered what little loot there was to gather (a few gold pieces, bust mostly some juniper berries) and continued on.

It didn’t take long for Irvine to stumble back upon the waterfall grotto he spotted earlier. He had a better and more secluded vantage point this time around, so he crept a little closer to get a better view. Two spriggans indeed seemed to guard this grove but, more interestingly, the body of a man (it was too far to determine his species) was floating in the pool. His clothing was similar to that of the necromancers he had encountered thus far in his adventure and no doubt belonged to them. Spriggans, Irvine recalled, were notorious for protecting their forested regions. No doubt this necromancer had wandered a bit too close and been attacked. No doubt the dead spriggan marker at the tower back behind him helped matters much. Deciding to leave the pair be, Irvine began hiking up hill, following the stream. A few mudcrabs were all he encountered, until he came across a small camp by another waterfall. Apparently abandoned, there were two books out in the open. One just seemed like your standard publicized text, but the other was more personal and, upon inspection, revealed itself to be a journal. Apparently, the maker of this camp was an alchemist and had been investigating the fungi in the area. At the end, he mentioned that he would travel downstream to examine the effects. This was, most likely, the journal of the dead man now floating lifelessly amongst the spriggans Irvine had spied not long ago. Aside from a few ingredients kept around the place, the camp was of little use. Admittedly, this place would make as good as any to settle into for awhile, but the lack of a fire (the logs seemed burnt out and would most likely just smoke a lot) meant cooking food would be... difficult. Begrudingly, Irvine continued up stream.

He found that the stream eventually turned into a river and was coming from a lake. This river ran through a lumber mill, under a bridge and straight to Irvine who climbed out of the ravine and back onto the road, headed towards the mill. The place looked simple enough as he walked through it in attempt to get to the actual mill on the opposite side of the stream. Across the lake, Irvine could see the remains of another fort that appeared to have sunken into the water. When he got to the mill, there was a woman working there.

“Oh my, a guest!” she said cheerfully. It seemed odd that a place located directly off the road wouldn’t get many visitors.

“Hello!” Irvine called out, giving a small wave. She beckoned him over to her and he obliged. “You don’t get guests often?” he asked, stopping just in front of her.

“Oh, no,” she said, shifting her gaze around. “Mostly just patrols due to the war.” She seemed rather upset by this. “If you’re looking to stay and do some work, I can pay you for any wood you chop for me.” Irvine had a grave sense of unease about this girl. Maybe it was her eagerness to keep him around, a desire not many in Skyrim seemed to possess, or maybe it was just her bright orange eyes.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have an axe suitable for such a task,” he explained, shrugged his shoulders. “Do you perhaps have one in your shed over there?” He turned, pointing to the small shack at the end of the mill.

“Oh, no!” she said, taking a step towards him. "All that’s in there is the meat I store for my meals. No,” she shook her head, “I suppose I don’t have an axe to loan you.”

“Well then,” Irvine said, taking a step back down from the mill. “I suppose I’ll be off, then.”

“Oh, if you must,” she replied, rather disappointed. “If you acquire such an axe, the offer stands.” Irvine nodded his thanks and immediately headed back towards the road, feeling those orange eyes following him the entire way. Once back on the road, the young redguard continued northwest, away from Falkreath. The day was still young, especially since he wasn’t spending so much time picking floors and collecting fungi. As he made his way down the road, a few minutes later he spotted a deer moving through the trees to his right. Not having had much luck with these larger, more resilient deer, he took a chance and notched his arrow anyways. He lined up his shot, led the deer, and fired - the arrow struck the deer in the hip. It stumbled and gave out a cry, but ran. Not willing to give his mortally wounded prey up, he pursued the deer, and off the two ran, deeper into the wilderness. As the deer began putting distance between the two of them, there was a sudden snap from up ahead and the deer slumped over. As Irvine approached, a female hunter had already set to work skinning the deer. She heard him coming long before he saw her and she handed him an arrow over her shoulder.

“I believe this is yours,” she said, not taking her eyes off the deer. “It was a good shot - just didn’t strike deep enough.”

“Thanks,” he replied, taking the arrow and putting it back into his quiver. “My name’s Irvine.”

“Out here,” she began, pulling her knife along the deer’s hide, “we don’t use our real names. Technically,” she stopped skinning and looked up at Irvine, pointing her dagger at him, “this is poaching, and you’re a criminal.” She smirked, resuming her work. “But seeing as how the jarl can’t keep track of all his deer, people like us go unnoticed. But still, it’s a precaution. So my name’s Ivy.” She reached a hand up which Irvine shook. “And you are...?”

“Oh!” he said, stopping to think. He had never had to have a nickname before. “How about...,” he trailed off, nothing coming to him. Ivy jumped to her feet and turned to look him in the eyes.

“You’re new, but not stupid. Like a baby animal - full of instinct and no experience. Your name is Cub,” she said with a smile. “Now come on, you can have the hide if I can have the meat.” Irvine, or rather Cub, returned the smile and nodded, picking up the deer’s front shoulders and neck while she grabbed it’s rear legs and the two began walking it back to... only Ivy knew where. Only a few minutes of grunting and panting, and the two arrived at a camp site. A small shack and been built as we as a nice camp area, a bloodied table by the side of the shack obviously used for working on the kill - this is where the two laid the deer. “Welcome to Hunter’s Rest,” she said, extending her arms to encompass all there was and Irvine took it all in.

“Not a bad spot,” he confessed, admiring it. It reminded him of the few camps he and his father had blown through over the years. “Mind if I use your fire? I’ve got some of my own meat to fry,” he asked, patting the bag at his waist. She waved her hand to allow him while returning to the deer and the work ahead. For the next few hours, the two worked in silence on their separate tasks. When the two were done, they shared a meal and some light conversation. It appeared that Ivy had built this place with her father, also a hunter. It was nestled nicely between Falkreath and Rorikstead, so trade was easy enough. Also far enough off the path that it was secluded and surrounded by excellent game locations. For illegal hunters like her and her late father, this place was fairly well-known as an excellent rest spot, as the name implies. She told him that it was rare she stayed her long, mostly drifting in to work and sleep but otherwise roaming the land, trying to stay with the migration of the animals she hunted. As night fell, she offered the other bedroll to Irvine, who was only too willing to accept.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part V - Hard Work​

When Irvine awoke, the sun was far from up and Ivy was far from awake. Lacking any food worthy to call a full meal, he prepared his things to leave. All the while, he questioned whether or not to wake Ivy, if only to just say goodbye, but decided against it. He checked his map and noticed that Rorikstead was not far to the north. It was not a large town and found itself on the border of Whiterun’s hold and the area known as The Reach. Although he knew good food and drink lay back in Falkreath, he knew there was little game - he had to continue on, at least for the moment. So with a heavy heart, and a heavy pack, the young hunter left Ivy and her Rest and returned the road, headed north. The trip to Rorikstead was uneventful, to say the least. A farmer warning him to steer clear as he was on his way to offer a cow to the local giant camp, another farmer on his way to Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks and, amusingly enough, a small band of Imperials camped out along the road. They paid Irvine no mind, talking amongst themselves about how they wanted to see more action and why the joined up with the Empire in the first place. Rorikstead was a small enough town and appeared to be mostly agricultural, a rather large farm dominating a large portion of the town. The landscape around here, in this hold, was interesting. It was vastly open and yet full of rocky bluffs and crumbling ruins. It was hard to tell if such a place would be suitable for hunting or if the lack of cover would make him too easily noticeable to the animals (or anything else out there). Besides which, Rorikstead did not look at all like the type of town to have much trade. He imagined they mostly farmed and traded to Whiterun for everything else. The first thing he decided to do was check out the inn and get some a good meal.

“Welcome to the Frostfruit,” said the barkeep as Irvine entered. “Name’s Mralki, and we only take coin here - no bartering.” Irvine silently wondered if he’d ever find someone in Skyrim who was actually pleasant to strangers.

“My name is Irvine,” he said, walking up to the counter. “I’d like an ale and some... do you have any beef?” he asked, feeling nostalgic of Valga and her cooked beef.

“Aye, but as I said, coin up front,” Mralki replied, crossing his arms over his chest. Irvine nodded, putting down a handful of coins on the counter. The barkeep counted them, took the necessary amount and pushed them into a coin purse. “Coming right up.” Irvine took a seat and waited, though not long, for his meal to be brought to him. The cooked beef smelled nothing of cinnamon and tasted nothing like Valga’s. “Is there anything else?”

“Is there any work to be had around here?” Irvine asked, taking a swig from his bottle. Knowing he wouldn’t stay here long, it couldn’t hurt to gather some more coin doing honest labor before leaving.

“Aye, the farms are always looking for a few extra hands,” he said, turning back to the bar. “But you’ll have to ask them yourself.” With that decided, and apparently over, Irvine went about finishing his meal before heading back out into the town. It was easy enough to find work in the farms - there were a lot of crops. A rather righteous elf, Reldith, agreed to pay him for the crops he harvested, and so Irvine sent himself off to work. For the next several hours, the young man was elbow deep in dirt, harvest cabbages and potatoes from all over the farm. When the sun was beginning to set and Reldith was heading home to retire, Irvine cut her off and sold her the crops he had gathered. The wages were poor, to say the least, the he calculated that even if the crops grew over night, he would barely be breaking even to stay here. Somewhat upset by his meager pay, he returned to the Frostfruit and sat down to another meal.

“I saw you out in the farm today.” The voice came from a Nord about Irvine’s age. The young man sat down next to him with a small nod and took a sip from his tankard. “You’re new it town?”

“Aye,” he answered. “Just passing through, I’m afraid.”

“So you’re an adventure?” The Nord’s eyes seem to light up, suddenly becoming very interested in this conversation.

“I suppose you could say that,” he said. He would hardly consider himself an adventurer - hadn’t he just had this debate the other day? “My name is Irvine. And you are?”

“My name is Erik,” he answered, shaking the Redguard’s outstretched hand. “My father is the innkeeper, Mralki,” he said, giving a small nod to the bar where his aforementioned father stood, talking to one of the farmers. “He wants me to become a farmer like the rest of the villagers here, but I can’t stand it here. I want to be an adventurer, like you.” Irvine sized the young man up again and although he seemed to be the same as Irvine, Erik seemed to have the innocence of a child. He wondered which of them was the strange one. Perhaps Erik was truly just childish by nature, or perhaps Irvine’s life had left him cold and distant from his peers? “Perhaps you could talk to him...?” Irvine had feared this was coming. He agreed to talk to Erik’s father, though knew he probably wouldn’t be able to do much.

“Excuse me,” Irvine said as he approached Mralki and the farmer he was talking to. “Mralki, can I have a word?” The barkeep looked to the farmer and nodded, dismissing him.

“Aye,” he said, setting the tankard he had been drinking from down. “What is it?”

“It’s about your son, Erik,” he began. Mralki’s eyes widened for a moment and he looked past Irvine out into the room, spotted his son, and focused back on Irvine. “He just got done telling me how he wishes to be an adventurer, but you refuse to let him leave.”

“And rightly so,” he said, his tone growing somewhat aggressive, with a hint of concern. “He has no idea about the danger’s of the wild. Besides, we do not have much in the way of wealth. We couldn’t afford the proper gear to protect him.” Irvine nodded - it was a valid concern. “So unless you’re willing to provide my son with the best gear to save his simple neck, we have nothing to discuss.” With that, Mralki called the farmer back over and two continued their conversation. Irvine had suspected as much and turned back to Erik, gave a shrug and retired to his room for the evening. He spread out his map across his bed and examined it. The road from Rorikstead to Whiterun wrapped way to the south, but the actual distance between the two was quite small. He decided that, in the morning, he’d do some last bit of farming for Reldith before heading out across the planes to Whiterun.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part VI - Whiterun​

Irvine once more woke early the next morning, long before anyone else. He skipped breakfast and immediately headed down to the farm - for him, time was of the essence today. Life in Rorikstead was not coming cheap, and but the work was. Irvine had decided that he needed to reach Whiterun before nightfall, especially since he would be traveling off the roads. By the time he had harvested all the crops he could and had breakfast, it was still shy of noon - everything was going perfectly, and Irvine set out from town. Thankfully, it didn’t appear as if Erik was around. The last thing he wanted was to be begged to talk to Mralki again. As he set out, he thought about Erik and why he had felt so different. Perhaps it was because Irvine had been raised on this lifestyle, this distance from regular people, that he felt estranged. In truth, when Erik had said he wanted to be an adventurer, Irvine wanted to persuade him against this. This life of... wondering without any real purpose did him no good. Or maybe it was because he had had this life chosen for him, rather than choosing it for himself? Perhaps Erik was cut from a different cloth was Irvine was and could actually find enjoyment in this lifestyle.

The planes of Whiterun were beautiful and, as Irvine gleefully discovered, full of game. The number of deer and elk roaming this area was mind boggling, even though he found himself still unable to adequately hunt them. There were a few natural springs spaced across the landscape, most home to a handful of Mudcrabs. Perhaps with a little more practice hunting the sturdy Skyrim deer, this area would prove extremely fruitful. For now, however, the land was little more than a beautiful tease. Perhaps the most enjoyable aspect was that there was very little danger. A handful of wolves, sure, but they were easily dispatched. Most places, mainly caves (of which he had seen a few) were clearly marked as inhabited, sometimes even with someone outside standing guard. Irvine was sure to give these locations a wide berth, not wanting to encounter any trouble. But trouble is always encountered in Skyrim. It came in the form of a cliff overhand with obvious signs of a tent underneath. Expecting a bandit or another hunter, Irvine made his approach carefully. Careful, however, is not enough when a sabre cat is present.

The beast was enormous - like a bear in cat form. It was something Irvine had only read about, but had been fortunate enough to never encounter, until today. The beast had been aware of the Redguard long before he was visible as it came out of the cavern at a full sprint. Irvine was able to get off two arrows as the beast charged him, one sinking in along the creature’s right side, the second in it’s front right shoulder. This second arrow cause the beast to stumble, bit it continued forward. As it lunged, Irvine narrow missed the swipe of it’s massive paw as he threw himself to the side. He could hear the beast skid to a stop and change direction as he scrambled to his feet. He didn’t dare look back - Irvine just ran ahead, towards the cavern or, to be more precise, the edge. He could hear the sabre cat tearing up the ground behind him, wounded from the arrow in it’s shoulder. As he reached the slope of the cavern, he threw himself up onto the rocky bluff and rolled, grabbing the old axe at his hip. In an instant, massive paws and the cat’s face came up onto the bluff. As he had hoped, the creature didn’t have the power to jump or climb - just to run. He rolled to the creature’s head and embedded his axe into it’s skull before rolling out of the way to avoid it’s massive paw. The creature howled and fell to the ground, Irvine grabbing his bow and notching another arrow. As he took aim, the cat struggled to it’s feet before an arrow pierced it’s throat. It let out an airy roar before slumping to the ground, dead. Just incase, Irvine struck it with another arrow - it didn’t move.

The spoils of war were excellent. The cavern had indeed belonged to a hunter, his bloodied and mauled corpse not far from a bloodstained bedroll. The real treasure the vast amount of pelts that this hunter had been keeping. There was a chest as well that was locked, but he couldn’t find the key on the hunter - just some lockpicks. Irvine wasn’t much of a thief - truth be told, he had never stolen anything in his life - but he had picked locks before. Mostly for gates to get through areas otherwise closed to the public. Picking the lock on the chest was a simple task, and he was rewarded handsomely for the effort with sixty-two gold septims, nearly doubling his money. With his pack heavy with rewards, Irvine continued on. The sun was still high in the sky and judging by the position of the small mountain across from him that was on his map, he was roughly halfway to Whiterun. In fact, as he came around the trees, he could see the hold off in the distance. So Irvine continued on, the rest of the journey to Whiterun being entirely uneventful. It wasn’t long from the dead hunter’s camp that he came across a road and followed it back to the hold. As he came past the farms and the stable, he noticed a small camp set up outside of Whiterun, a handful of Khajiit roaming around, doing odd work here and there. One was sitting patiently inside a tent, calling out him.

“Hello there, traveler,” he said, reaching out a clawed hand. “Come, come. See what Ri’saad has to offer.” Irvine’s father had warned him of Khajiit, especially after that infamous bandit his father killed. Khajiit were skilled in many things and were looked down upon by most and to underestimate them was to welcome death. He had said that despite all this, on the whole, they were good people. Irvine walked over and offered his hand to the trader.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ri’saad,” he said, shaking the Khajiit’s clawed hand. It felt warm, covered in fur. “My name is Irvine.”

“The pleasure is mine,” the Khajiit replied, smiling a fanged smile. “Together, with my friends Atahbah, Khayla, and Ma’randru-jo, we are a trader’s caravan. How may we be off assistance?”

“Traders, eh? Wouldn’t business be better inside the hold?” he asked, turning to look over his shoulder at the giant stone beast that was Whiterun behind him.

“Indeed it would,” he answered, shaking his head. “Sadly, the hold has been closed to outsiders since the dragon attacks. That and,” he looked around, lowering his voice, “we are not the most welcome group in these lands. No Khajiit is.” Irvine frowned, shaking his head and taking a seat in front of Ri’saad. Despite the apparent prejudices of Skyrim’s inhabitants, Irvine found the Khajiit quite friendly. Possibly the most friendly person he had met, except maybe Narri. But she was a tramp, so she didn’t count.

“I know how you feel, in a sense,” Irvine admitted, thinking back to the mill worker back in Falkreath. “Let’s do business. My father once told me that all great friendships begin with business.” Irvine reached behind him and undid his pack, laying it’s contents out before him.

“Your father sounds like a wise man,” Ri’saad said, pulling out a bedroll from the content and unrolling it to display his goods. Irvine let that one slide. The trading that followed was a long but prosperous effort on both sides, even though Irvine ended up spending far more than he had made. He had traded off a variety of worthless trinkets he had acquired in exchange for a few more lockpicks and animal hides, as well as permission to use the camp’s tanning rack. The Redguard was growing tired of always feeling vulnerable and his encounter with the sabre cat had proven that.

“So is it true?” Irvine asked, standing up with his business concluded. “Is Whiterun really closed off to all outsiders?” Ri’saad nodded, clearly wishing it wasn’t the case before his ears perked and he gave a small grin.

“For us, yes,” he said, waving a hand up towards the hold, “but perhaps for you, they shall make an exception?” Irvine shrugged; it was worth a shot. He bent forward to shake hands with Ri’saad once more.

“Thank you for your business, Ri’saad,” he said, smiling. “I hope we can do further business in the future.”

“Of course, of course!” the Khajiit said with a large smile. “You will always be welcome here, friend. May your feet always find warm sands.” Irvine smiled at the odd saying before turning, marching his way up to the hold. The walls were lined with hold guards, each eyeing him suspiciously. The sun was setting and no doubt the guards were on edge. Irvine had only been in Skyrim for less than a week, and how many attempts had been made on his life?

“Halt!” called on of the guards as he approached the front gate. “City’s closed to outsiders with the dragon’s about. Official business only.”

“But I have nowhere to go, and night is falling,” Irvine pleaded, his hands motioning to encompass the darkness creeping around them.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you pass, friend,” the guard replied with a shrug. “Orders are orders. Night is still a few hours away. If you hurry, you might be able to make it to Riverwood along the south road. Now, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.” Irvine frowned and shrugged - what else had he expected? Defeated, he returned to Ri’saad and their camp.

“No luck?” Ri’saad asked, still sitting inside his tent. Irvine shook his head. “Come, come. For tonight, you may sleep here, amongst us. Amongst friends.” Irvine graciously thanked his new friend and spent the next hour working to tan some of the hides he had collected. By that time, night was falling, and Irvine crawled into the tent to lay down and sleep after a small meal of wine and rabbit. For the moment, he was not welcome in Whiterun and therefore, hunting the planes around here and profiting from it effectively wasn’t really an option. He would have to return to Falkreath - at least there, his life was profitable. As he laid down to sleep, he thought of Erik again. At least his life was successful and safe, no danger of sabre cats and necromancers. No worrying about where he’d sleep or how he’d be able to afford his next meal. Something had to change for Irvine, and change soon.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part VII - Riverwood​

The night with the Khajiit caravan was a rough one. The beds were horribly uncomfortable, and the Khajiit barely slept, if they ever did. Their talking around the fire went on long into the night, and Irvine rose around sunrise. In an attempt to lighten his load, he set to work early to tan the hides he had into smaller, more compact sheets of leather. All in all, the process took roughly three hours before Irvine was ready to leave for Riverwood.

“Well, friend,” he said, standing beside Ri’saad once more. “This is goodbye, for now.”

“Yes,” Ri’saad replied, nodding solemnly. “Tonight, we shall leave Whiterun and head west to Markarth. It is a journey we make regularly, for business.”

“Well, be safe,” he said, clapping a hand of the Khajiit’s shoulder. “I’m going to head south, to Riverwood. Then back to Falkreath, I suppose, until Whiterun opens anyways.”

“Then you be safe as well, my friend,” Ri’saad answered, waving his hand. “Now go - you don’t want to get stranded at night again.” Irvine smiled, giving him another pat on the shoulder before heading down the road, waving a farewell to the other Khajiit. The road out of Whiterun was just as pleasant as the road that came in. The clouds looked dark, possibly rain coming, or maybe it was just too early, still. A little ways up the hillside headed south, Irvine spotted to Alik’r warriors talking rather aggressively to a Redguard female.

“Hey!” he shouted, sprinting over to them. The two Alik’r stopped talking and turned to face Irvine. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re looking for a woman,” one of the warriors answered. “She’s a wanted woman, and we believe she’s hanging out in Whiterun somewhere. Unfortunately, this one lacks the scar,” he said, jabbing his thumb back at the woman before turning to his partner. “Come - she isn’t the one we’re searching for.” The two turned and headed away, one on either side of Irvine. The redguard woman grunted a thanks before returning to picking flowers along the roadside. For a moment, he thought about inquiring further, but thought better of it - it’s better not to get involved in Alik’r affairs. With that behind him, he continued on south to Riverwood. When the small town along the river finally come into sight, he sprinted forward, the rumble in his stomach almost unbearable. Luckily, the first building he came across was a place called the Sleeping Giant Inn. As he entered, he overheard the owner, a man named Orgnar and the woman, who later Irvine noticed was some sort of house keeper, talking about how the ale had gone bad. When it came time to order his food, Irvine opted for the mead over the ale. Orgnar was a man of few and rough words, so Irvine didn’t pry him for conversation - asked only permission to use the alchemist table, which allowed him to craft a handful of potions and poisons. After eating and brewing, Irvine left the inn with spirits renewed as he heard the familiar clang of a forge hammer.

“Hello, friend,” Irvine called out to the man from the street. The forge worker was a large Nord, broad shouldered and intimidating. He put his hammer down and gave a rough hello. “I was wondering if I could use your forge?”

“Use my forge?” he asked, laughing slightly. “Only if you have the skill to not break anything can you use my forge. Come on up, son,” he said, waving his hand. Irvine obliged, coming up onto the porch with the large man. “Name’s Alvor,” he said, extending his hand. Irvine took it, introducing himself. The man had a strong grip. “Now, if you want to use my forge, I’ll have to know that you’re not gonna kill yourself. Bad for business, you know. So, I’ll give you the materials, and you make what I ask. Do it well enough, and you can use my forge whenever you like. Deal?” Irvine accepted the man’s terms and, for the next four hours, the two worked the forge together, Alvor belting out orders and Irvine doing as requested. He finished up just as the son was setting and showed Alvor the fruit’s of his labor, putting them up for inspection. For a while, the man inspected the dagger and helm to a greater detail then Irvine ever would have before finally saying that the two were excellent.

With the sun setting, Irvine returned to the Sleeping Giant and rented a room. He was forced to sell off a few of his traveling food and ingredients in order to afford another pint of mead. It was official - Irvine was broke, not a septim to his name. Only a surplus of leather. As Irvine laid down to sleep, he knew he had to work tomorrow and Falkreath would have to wait. He’d forge some armor to sell, enough for another day in Riverwood, and set aside some to form some proper equipment. Then, he’d able to leave. For the moment, it would appear as if he was stuck in Riverwood.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part VIII - Embershard Mine​

For the next three days, Irvine did nothing but work, eat and sleep, Alvor always at his side (except for the sleeping part, of course). Life in Riverwood was not cheap, and he wasn’t even hunting anything. Working as a smith hasn’t easy work. The time required for each piece of equipment made the hourly rate almost unbearable. Alvor agreed to buy everything Irvine made, but even he could tell that Alvor was going to make a killing on all this equipment when he sold it to others. Irvine didn’t even care that the man was swindling him - it was gold, and that put food in his stomach and a roof over his head. Despite the long stretch of time he spent in Riverwood, he didn’t get to know much about the town or the other inhabitants. He kept far too busy. Orgnar continued on with his usual ‘strictly business’ demeanor, Delphine taking care of most of the work around the place. There was something odd about that woman, Irvine wondered. When he ate and drank at night, he often roamed around the hall, restless. On occasion, he had glanced into her room and every time she had swooped down upon him and shooed him away. Obviously, there was the point of privacy to be made, but her reaction was exceptional. Not willing to cause trouble with the only place that offered him a room, he didn’t bother to investigate.

He got to know Alvor quite well, however. He had lived in Riverwood with his wife and daughter for as long as he could remember. He had a nephew, Hadvar, who was an Imperial soldier that had been garrisoned in Helgen when the dragon had attacked. Alvor hadn’t heard anything about his nephew since and feared the worst. He had also seen a decline in business to his lack in raw materials ever since a group of bandits moved into Embershard Mine further south. Once again, here was talk of the mine and the bandits. Apparently, the group had moved in a few weeks ago and made it their home. They acted as any bandit would, but left the town alone, only going for travels. If this didn’t make business bad enough, they were actually mining the ore from the mine but for what, he didn’t know. They never tried to sell it, at least not in Riverwood. Irvine never mentioned that he had gotten a bounty letter for their defeat from Falkreath although, on his last night in town, he stared at it in the darkness of his room. He had worked late in order to leave first thing in the morning and the sun had set long ago. In the darkness, he patted his small coin purse at the side of his bed. His very, very small coin purse. He thought of those bandits and how much trouble they were causing, how many people they were hurting. How much gold they were worth.

It was really no surprise to himself when he was walking along the road headed south from Riverwood, adorned in his new leather armor and a hefty quiver of arrows, his course set for the mine. The journey there was simple enough and the path was fairly obvious, marked with a few stone steps embedded into the hillside. In his experience, there was almost always a look out. He thought about creeping around to get a better vantage point, but something in him had changed. For this moment, his hunter instinct was gone and replaced with something more violent. He walked up the steps, his hands on the ancient axe tied to his hip. As expected, there was a rather large Orc bandit at the entrance to the mine who, upon spotting our hero, drew his sword.

“You best move along, friend,” he said, his lip snarling. He obviously did not consider Irvine to be much a friend. He ignored the request, and kept a slow, steady pace towards the orc. “Hey! I said get lost!” he shouted, his voice now containing a hint of, surprisingly enough, panic. Irvine thought himself to be hardly intimidating in his leather armor with an axe that was at his hip that was easily older than the two men combined. When the Orc realized Irvine wasn’t going to stop, he let out a roar and charged the Redguard. He brought down his sword and in a single, fluid movement, Irvine sidestepped, reaching out with his left hand to grab the orc’s wrist and keep it down, drawing his axe and continuing his rotational sidestep, driving the axe’s blade into the bandit’s neck. He pulled it loose and rotated in the opposite direction, pulling the orc closer by the wrist, striking him on the other side of the neck. The orc let out a muffled scream, blood spurting from the two cuts, his body slumping into the dirt. Irvine immediately picked the dead bandit’s pockets, your typical small amount of coin, lockpicks, and even a jeweled circlet. With the lookout killed, Irvine drew his bow and headed inside the mine.

As expected, it was dark. The right side of the path was lined with wooden planks, a few torches burning in iron holders nailed into the support beams. Just a few feet inside, Irvine was able to make out a small trip wire, rigged to the rafters above that held a rather large quantity of rocks. He stepped to the side, going around the trap, and continued on around the corner. As he got closer, he heard voices and quickly reached up to snuff out the nearest torch so he wouldn’t be seen.

“This again?” said the one bandit. Irvine crept up to the wooden fenced and peered down below. There was a small campfire and some bedrolls, apparently just a small gathering room here at the entrance. Most of the bottom portion was water. “How many times do I have to remind you, we’ve got a guard out front, not to mention that rock trap. No one is just going to wander in here." Irvine smirked at the irony. “So stop your worrying, and get some rest. Your shift is coming up, and I don’t want you dozing off like last time.” With that, the conversation was over. One bandit went and laid down in one of the bedrolls below while the other moved up to the walk way and entered a small cavern to the back, reappearing on a ledge across the room from Irvine. There was a level there that most likely controlled the bridge that was currently raised, separating this portion from the rest of the mine. The moment the guard by the lever stopped moving, an arrow struck him in the chest. He let out a muffled yelp as he collapsed backwards. The other bandit never woke up. With the area clear, Irvine examined the lever room, but nothing of any real value was there. He snuffed out the torch here and pulled the lever, the bridge coming down with a bang.

“What’s the bridge doing down?” a voice asked from the distance. Apparently, there were more bandits.

“I thought we had a guard posted?” asked another voice. Yes, more bandits indeed.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” said the first, “and check over there. I’ll check the entrance. I don’t think we’re alone.” Irvine, from his small shadowed corner of the lever room, notched another arrow and waited, the weapon aimed down the passage leading into the room. After a few moments of silence, a large Nord wielding an ever larger sword came around the corner and caught an arrow in the chest, collapsing. Quickly, he notched another arrow and rounded the corner, dropping the other bandit with a shot to the back. Once more, the room was all clear. After gathering some more semi-useful loot from them, he continued across the bridge. Admittedly, he had not expected this level of depth to the mine, nor this number of bandits. In honesty, he was surprised at how natural this all felt - sneaking around and taking out his targets. Valga was right - it was a lot like hunting. He hated to admit it, but it was more fun than hunting. Animals simply ran for their lives people... people fought for them. There was a rush in the knowledge that if he missed, he could very well die. Like bears armed with steel and armor - a terrifying thought in it’s own right. As he crossed the bridge, he activated the lever here and brought the bridge back up. He didn’t want any surprises.

A few feet further into the mine, he saw a light ahead. Some wood planks had sectioned off a small corner of this passage, a rather large window looking into it. The place was filled with a few coins, a book, weapons and lots of storage containers - it must be their store room for their food and equipment. As Irvine continued to look through the window, he spotted the back of another orc, sitting in a chair just off the side of the door into the room. He smiled, notching an arrow, and letting it loose somewhere near the Orc’s kidney, between the bars. He slumped over in his chair, dead. There was a small key around his neck that opened the storage room easily enough, and Irvine took his fair share. The book turned out to be a spell time, but he didn’t have time to read it now. He took a few of the ingredients that were being stored here, passing by the produce, but at last, he turned his attention to the chest. A large sum of gold aside, there was a pair of iron gauntlets inside that held a sort of strange glow to them. It took awhile before he recognized it for what it was - enchanted. His father had never really dabbled much in magic, let alone enchanting, but he had shown Irvine how to recognize it. Knowing they’d have some value, he put them in his bag before moving deeper into the mine.

The next room, the largest one, provided a challenge. Irvine took out the handful of lights here and pressed himself up against a pillar, examining the room. There was one bandit, a Bosmer, roaming the rope bridges in the middle, a bow always in his hand. This scared Irvine the most. He knew himself to be a good archer, but compared to a Bosmer? He wasn’t so sure. Another bandit was off on some alcove to the left, seated at a table. The last bandit, and by far the most interesting, was below Irvine, standing at a forge. So, that’s why they’re mining the ore, Irvine thought to himself. They’re using it to improve their gear. How effective. Killing these three bandits, preferably without being seen, would be quite the task. The most immediate threat would be the one at the forge below him, but the greatest threat was the Bosmer, although his death would be most visible. So Irvine notched an arrow in his bow, took aim at the bandit at the forge, and watched the Bosmer like a hawk. When he was at the opposite end of the cavern, Irvine let his arrow fly, the dead bandit crashing to the side of the forge. No one knew what happened. The Bosmer continued his rotation back and, when he stopped, an arrow from the shadows sent the wood elf tumbling impaled head over heels into the water below. The last bandit off to the side stood up so fast, he sent his chair crashing to the floor. He raced over to the edge to check on his friend, drawing a warhammer and then catching an arrow into his chest. With this last part of the mine cleared, all of the bandits dead. Irvine proceeded to loot the place of all it’s valuables. Between the gold he found and the jewels kept in back, Irvine now had more wealth than he had ever dreamed of having.

He continued on out through a back entrance to the mine, wishing he had known about this from the start. It could’ve made his life easier, but no sense in crying over spilt ale. As Irvine stepped out into the wilderness and stop to enjoy a meal (courtesy of the former bandits of Embershard Mine), he thought about what he had done. In the space of a few hours, and for no real reason other than personal gain, Irvine had killed nine men, left their bodies to rot in the mine and had no remorse for what he had done. He had justified the trip, initially, to help the people in the area who were suffering due to these bandits. But in the end, he had enjoyed it... not so much the actual killing, but knowing that he could. It was empowering. With that thought in his mind, he headed back to Riverwood. It was getting to late to hope to make it to Falkreath in time, so he decided to stay one last night in Riverwood, to sell his earnings from the mine and continue on. As he came back, Alvor greeted him.

“Hello again, Irvine,” he called, waving from his forge. His daughter, Dorthe, was by his side, also waving. Irvine returned the gesture and headed over. “I thought you were headed back to Falkreath this morning. Is everything alright?” Irvine nodded and pulled out the bounty letter from his bag, handing it to Alvor to read.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he explained, taking the letter back when Alvor had finished reading it. “I had no intent on doing it - I’m a simple hunter, by trade. But hearing you talk of how these bandits were making you all suffer here... I just had to do it.” Alvor nodded, smiling.

“I’m sure the bounty didn’t influence at all, eh son?” He laughed, clapping Irvine on shoulder. “If you think I’d be disappointed in you, quite the opposite, in fact. You’ve done everyone here a great service, especially me.” He hunched over a bit to get eye level with Irvine. “I won’t forget this.” The two shared a smile and clasped hands before Irvine dove into his sales pitch, selling the bandit’s used gear to Alvor for a small sum of money. When Irvine mentioned the jewels, Alvor waved him away. “I don’t handle that kind of merchandise, son. Across the street, at Riverwood Trader... he’ll give you a fair price.” Irvine nodded his thanks and headed across the street to sell the last of his spoils.

“And what do you plan to do about it?” asked a female voice as Irvine entered.

“I said no!” shouted the man from behind the counter. “No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!” With that, his eyes found Irvine. “Oh, a customer. Sorry you had to hear that. How may I help?” Irvine and the other man did business for a few moments, Irvine selling off his precious jewels, before he finally asked the store keeper.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, what were you two arguing about?" His glance shifted from the girl and the man at the counter.

“Oh, uhm,” the man stuttered. Nervous our ashamed, it was hard to tell. “We did have uh, a bit of a break in. Robbers didn’t take much - only one thing. A solid gold ornament, shaped like a dragon’s claw. We don’t sell it - it’s just a decoration for the shop.” He had only just defeated an entire man of bandits than another group of bandits appears to be plaguing the same town.

“I’ll retrieve the claw for you,” he said. He looked at the female at the table. She had obviously been trying to go herself, or get someone else to go. He decided to spare her the trouble. Plus, his previous adventure into a bandit den had been so simple and fruitful, he couldn’t pass it up.

“Really?” the shop keeper asked, excited. “I’m getting some coin in from my last shipment. It’s yours if you bring the claw back!” Irvine agreed to the terms, but the woman did not. She insisted she be his guide, but both Irvine and the shopkeeper refused. Instead, she’d point him in the right direction at the edge of town. In the mountains, across the river to the west of Riverwood, there was an ancient Nord tomb, known as Bleak Falls Barrow. Apparently, this was where the bandits were presently at. She went on to say that she was Camilla, and her brother, Lucan, ran the shop. The bandits had broken in and taken only that claw, and neither knew why. The claw had been in their shop for as long as she could remember and was used merely as decoration. Aside from probably being valuable, she had no idea why anyone would want it. With that, he thanked Camilla and she headed back to the Riverwood Trader and Irvine headed into the Sleeping Giant to get some food and sleep. Inside, he bought what he hoped would be his last meal from the never pleasant Orgnar and the always secretive Delphine. As he ate, a woman approached him.

“Excuse me, are you Irvine?” she asked. He nodded and motioned for her to have a seat beside him, which she did. “Alvor told me what you did for us, about the bandits. My name is Gerdur, I’m somewhat of the owner of Riverwood. My family founded it.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gerdur,” Irvine said, wiping his mouth with a cloth rag. “It’s a lovely town.”

“Thank you, but I’m not here for pleasantries. I have a favor to ask of you, even though you’ve already done us a great service.”

“Ask away, Gerdur.” He was already digging back into his meal.

“It’s about this dragon and what happened at Helgen,” she began, her voice obviously concerned. “We’re very close to Helgen, you see, but we’re defenseless. If a dragon were to attack, there’d be nothing to stop it. If you could go to Whiterun and speak to the Jarl, tell him that I’ve requested his aid, we’d be forever in your debt.”

“I’m afraid to tell you,” he said, swallowing a large mouthful of wine, “that Whiterun is closed to outsiders like me. I’ve already tried to go there.”

“I’m sure if you tell them it’s related to the dragon, they’ll let you in. The Jarls simply must speak with you and help us.” Irvine nodded his consideration before finishing the last bite of his meal and turning back to Gerdur.

“I’ve already agreed to reclaim Lucan’s stolen ornament from the bandits up at Bleak Falls Barrow. I’ve spent the past weak roaming the entire countryside between Falkreath and Whiterun, Rorikstead and here, and I’ve seen no sign of any dragon. The moment I’ve returned Lucan’s claw, I’ll head to Whiterun and do what I can.” Irvine smiled and Gerdur returned it, the two rising from the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get an early start. It looks like tomorrow will be another busy day.”

 

[Katastrophe]

Part IX - Bleak Falls Barrow​

It was around sunrise when Irvine set out of Riverwood and began trekking up the hillside towards the ominous structure that ever loomed from the hillside - Bleak Falls Barrow. The path was, to his surprise, fairly evident. He had noticed that very few paths in the area around here were ever clear cut and often it was easy to wander. This one, however, was as clear cut as they came. As he made his way up, he noticed a tower off in the distance. This wasn’t part of the Barrow and he hadn’t seen it from Riverwood. In honesty, however, had hadn’t really been looking for any additional structures. The sun was just beginning to rise but a snow storm was blowing across the mountainside, giving the hunter extra concealment as he slowly made his way from stone, to tree, to stone again, approaching the tower. As he suspected, it seemed to be some sort out of outpost or lookout for the bandits at the Barrow ahead. Immediately, he could spot two bandits, lazily keeping watch and he wondered how many of them there were in total if they could spare two lookouts instead of one. Regardless, he notched his first arrow and fired at the bandit by the tree.

The arrow struck the man in his cheekbone. It hadn’t been what Irvine was aiming for, but it did the job. The bandit, however, howled in pain before collapsing, the other bandit on the bridge to the tower alerted. She turned and raised a bow of her own, spotting Irvine crouched behind the rocks and fired. Thankfully, the shot went a foot or two above his head. He stood and returned fire, striking her in her breast, sending her spinning to the ground. He sprinted over to the bodies, immediately searching them for valuables (there really wasn’t any) before he began creeping into the tower. While anyone in the tower would have heard the scream of the man who took the arrow into his sinuses, Irvine had learned from his past encounters that bandits were far more clever and devious than he had initially perceived. So that’s why when the mace crashed into the stone wall next him, he wasn’t that surprised.

A big and heavily armored bandit stood in Irvine’s way, armed with a large mace and a shield. Irvine drew his axe and sidestepped the bandit’s blow in time, hacking at the bandit’s exposed arm with the axe. He let a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, keeping a grip on the axe. He raised it again but Irvine slammed the handle of the axe into the man’s face, a small splatter of blood spurting out in harmony with the sickening crunch of bone cracking. With another fluid motion, Irvine drew his axe across an exposed line in the man’s armor between his helmet and chest, a spray of blood dripping down the smooth and gray iron armor as the man slumped and slid to the floor. With the tower finally clear, Irvine took off his helmet and wiped some sweat off his brow, tossing the thing to the floor and looking around. That had been too close, and he knew it. These bandits were not only well armed, but equally dangerous . They briefly about how the bandits in Embershard Mine had been crafting armor and weapons down there, yet they all seemed to be wearing fur armor. Where had their efforts gone? Had they been part of this group, and were simply arming their primary force here in the Barrow? It was a possible and frightening possibility. As Irvine pocketed a few gold coins and put his helmet back on, he thought that perhaps he was making a very big mistake.

The actual Barrow loomed ahead like a monster, old and feeble, but still unwilling to go down without a fight. The snow storm had picked up and Irvine’s own visibility was diminished greatly. He suspected there would be more bandits outside, but he couldn’t tell for sure. The snow was just too thick and the Barrow was just too far away, but there was little to no cover between his location behind a crumbled rock structure and the staircase leading up. For what seemed like hours, Irvine tried to get a better view, an assessment of what was up there waiting for him, but no luck. Growing frustrated, he notched an arrow and fired it against a stone pillar that had collapsed at the top of the stairs. Within a few seconds, three bandits had come over to investigate. They were talking, but it was too far to hear what was being said. He didn’t need to, though. Three arrows found their way through the snow and into the bandits, one by one, their bodies leaving a grizzly trail up the staircase. The rest of the Barrow’s exterior was empty, so Irvine proceeded to slip in through the massive doors inside.

Inside the Barrow was an even more horrific sight than the one Irvine had left out there. The bodies of skeevers, giant rats, littered the ground, complete with a pair of dead bandits. Two more stood, alive, by a far on the opposite end of the chamber but two quick arrows saw to that, and Irvine was free to address the situation. It seemed odd that bandits would have found up dead fighting these skeevers. Although he hadn’t encountered any in Skyrim yet, he couldn’t imagine that they would last long against a group of bandits, even in these large numbers. Unless, of course, the bandits weren’t prepared. Which raised the question why bandits would come to this place and see this level of infestation yet continue on? What was some important here that they didn’t stay at the tower or make camp outside? Whatever had brought these bandits here was obviously important - important enough to die over. Irvine shrugged that forboding feeling off once again and continued deeper into the Barrow.

The place was indeed some sort of burial chamber, though he didn’t see any bodies. A few tombs and urns here and there, some old offerings, but otherwise just spooky. A few more skeever bodies littered the path, but things were tame until he rounded the corner and nearly fell down some stairs into another bandit. Irvine pressed himself back around the corner and peeked around - he didn’t appear to have been noticed. He watched as the bandit advanced into the room and pulled the lever that was there. There was a pause, the sound of grinding stone and then countless arrows shot forth from the walls, striking the bandit. His body twitched and flailed before falling dead to the ground, his head back and eyes staring up at Irvine as he walked down the stairs cautiously. The room was small enough, three pedestals with images carved into them to the left, two similar ones hanging above the closed gate, a third seemed to have come loose and crashed into the floor below, and the lever. Irvine assumed that the three (well, now two) images hanging above the gate must be some sort of passcode for the pedestals that were to his left and, upon a hefty push, the pedestals rotated to shower other images. Once he was sure that the two sets matched, Irvine walked over and pulled the level. The gate slid up with ease.

In the next room, there wasn’t much - a few gold, a jewel and book. He collected the things and proceeded down a spiral wooden staircase. There was a commotion beneath him and, peering over the edge, he throw three small, gray bodies climbing the staircase towards him: more skeevers. Irvine grabbed the axe at his hip and went to work as the three rodents climbed over each other to reach him, his axe slowly but surely cutting them down. With the rodent problem taken care of, he continued on down into the chamber.

“Is someone there?” as voice in the distance called out. Irvine stopped at a large table, sure he hadn’t made any noise. Had someone heard the cries of the skeevers? “Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?” Irvine continued on, the voice sounded desperate, in need of help. Therefore, in no position to harm him and so, he continued on. “I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need help!” And so, the plot thickened. Rounding the corner, a thick web blocked the path into the next room. Once more putting aside that foreboding feeling, the hunter took out his axe and chopped the web down, stepping into the next room. That was when the massive spider descended from above. “Kill it! Kill it!”

Irvine drew his bow and began launching arrows into the spider as it descended down into the room. The moment it’s legs touched the ground, the monster seemed to lunge forward at Irvine, swinging it’s front legs around in a desperate attempt to shoo the hunter away, who would have none of it. Somewhat surprising himself, Irvine stood his ground, drawing his axe and slicing at the monster’s legs to keep it at bay. The battle between the two was a bit of a stand off, neither wanted to get close to the other, but the spider’s long legs were becoming bloodied and broken. Ultimately, the creature lunged forward at Irvine, it’s two, massive fangs reaching out. Irvine leapt back to avoid the attack and brought his axe down into one of them. As it roared back in pain, he drew his bow and quickly loosed an arrow into one of the creature’s eyes. As it stumbled back in pain, he continued to fire arrow after arrow into the reeling monster until it finally slumped to the ground, small streams of green blood oozing out from it’s many wounds.

“Excellent!” cried the dark elf bandit. He had spent the encounter tangled in a web that the spider seemed to have woven earlier, no doubt saving the bandit for a later. “Now cut me down!” Irvine laughed, ripping the axe from the spider’s dead corpse.

“Now why would I do that?” he asked, glancing down the blade of his axe and then back at the bandit.

“You mean, you weren’t sent in here by Harknir?” he asked, still struggling against the binds.

“I was sent by Lucan,” he explained, approaching the elf. “The man from whom you stole the golden claw. Now where is it?” At this, the dark elf stopped fighting the webbing and seemed to straighten his posture within the web, an air of arrogance taking him over.

“I’m not telling,” he said, his tone sounding like a spoiled child.

“Then I’m not cutting you loose.” The elf seemed to consider this possibility, and perhaps more importantly, the possibility that Harknir and the others were dead, before nodding.

“Alright, if you cut me down, I’ll tell you everything,” he said. “The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories - I know how they all fit together. You won’t believe the power the Nords have hidden down here.” So now he knew why the bandits had stolen only the claw and chosen to head into the Barrow, despite it’s many dangers - they were actually looking for something, something that Lucan and the others in Riverwood most likely knew nothing about. Irvine nodded and began cutting at the webbing with his axe until it broke free. Irvine was less than surprised when the bandit, now free, turned an ran. He made it all of ten feet before Irvine’s axe became wedged between the bandit’s shoulder blades, causing him to fall and slide on his face a few feet. Irvine searched the bandit and found not only the claw, but a journal that seemed to mention the claw being some sort of key deeper in the Barrow.

Tossing the journal onto the bandit’s body, Irvine continued deeper into the Barrow until it opened into a large crypt. Small beds had been carved into the sides of the wall, bodies of ancient Nords resting within, some still dressed in their armor while others were bound in a cloth, others still simply skeletons. As he progressed, there came a clanking sound behind him and, turning, he barely had enough time to dive out of the way of the greatsword that was coming down upon him. He now stood before three ancient undead Nords, all wielding weapons and all bearing down on him. Luckily for him, their long time asleep seemed to have dulled their ability to move fluidly, their steps slow and waddled, their swings prolonged and stiff. The battle was easy enough. He utilized the torch he had kept with him since Embershard in order to keep these Nordic ghouls at bay, his axe doing most of the actual killing work. When the three undead were dead once more, he noticed that the axe he had been carrying from that skeleton back near Falkreath was of the same make as the weapons wielded by these monstrosities. Was their some sort of relation between the necromancer presence in the area, or had the skeleton simply been from the same period as these ancient Nords? Irvine pushed the thought to the back of his mind and continued on.

The rest of the Barrow was much of the same - ancient Nords awakening from their slumber to repel the invading hunter, traps of all makes and varieties littering the place and very little useful treasure to be had. There was the occasional potion and coin, but most of what remained here was old embalming and burial equipment with the occasional symbolic (but useless) offering or decoration. Irvine had the claw in his possession - all he needed to do turn around and return it to Lucan and that would be the end of this. He could collect his money and go along on his adventure, but he couldn’t. Something, namely the bandit’s talk about the power held here, kept him going further. He did not have any sort of hunger or desire for power and, in fact, perhaps this power was something that would be better left alone. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. So when he opened the door to a low and wide tunnel, that since of foreboding turned to the pit of his stomach. The hall was lined with torches and ancient carvings that were frankly beyond Irvine’s ability to comprehend or understand. At the end, three stone dials with a centerpiece marked with three holes barred his path.

This must be the door, he thought, examining it closely. He recalled that in the bandit’s journal, it mentioned the claw would be some sort of key. He took it out from his bag and, indeed, the talons of the claw matched the holes of the center piece, but nothing happened. The three dials around the center piece each depicted an image: a moth, an owl and a bear. Upon examining the claw, Irvine noticed that in it’s palm were three identical markers: bear, moth, owl. He set the claw down and began rotating the dials on the door to match the pattern depicted on the claw and this time, when he inserted it into the centerpiece and turned, there was a click. The two outer dials spun so all three matched owl and slowly the door began to descend into the ground. Ahead was a staircase and, after climbing that, a massive cavern awaited.

Massive was perhaps and understatement. As he proceeded through, it only grew larger. There was even a small waterfall to the left that created a stream that separated the main cavern where he had come in from a more constructed center area. There was a large and decorated wall, full of carvings that appeared to be some sort of writing in a language the hunter did not recognize nor understand. One word in particular, however, stood out. It looked familiar yet he knew for a fact that he had never seen this language before. There was the sound of shifting stone behind him and Irvine turned to see the lid of a casket, one he hadn’t noticed, shifting open. He couldn’t move. He wanted to, but something about this new undead seemed terrifying, that foreboding feeling he had felt through this entire journey now fully realize. As it rose, those blue, flaming eyes focused on Irvine and it reached to it’s back, drawing a large axe that seemed to glow an icy blue. It took a few steps before the hunter drew his axe and rushed the undead.

“FUS,” the guardian seemed to draw in a great breath, “RO DAH!” It shouted out the air it had drawn in at Irvine as he sprinted forward, and somehow this air took on new life. It wasn’t simply shouting, but something more. It seemed to expel a gust of wind so strung that Irvine was sent stumbling backwards. It must have been some sort of incantation. The hunter struggled to regain his balance just in time to step back and avoid an incoming axe blow. Thankfully, like it’s predecessors, this undead suffered from the same sort of sluggish movement. However, it’s incantation was useful and it used it liberally. As the fight went on, he noticed that when it shouted the spell at him, the gust of air was actually visible with the way it tossed the dirt up into the air. He noticed that it was actually much smaller than he had imagined, seeming to only be truly effective in a small bubble area directly in front of the guardian. Beyond that, it was little more than a breeze. Add to that it’s inability to keep pace with him, Irvine once again relied on his ability to out maneuver to lead him to victory. Whenever the creature raised it’s axe are inhaled for the spell, he stepped out of range, leaping back into the fray immediately afterwards to carve at it with his axe. Eventually, the guardian collapsed and Irvine began picking through it’s remains and the chest that had sat beside the casket.

There wasn’t much, but what there was was valuable. It would appear that the weapon the undead had been using was enchanted, much like the gaunlets Irvine hadn’t sold, having not found the price suitable. More interesting however, was the stone tablet he found on it’s body. On one side, it seemed to show a very crude map of Skyrim while on the other there was more of the writing he had seen on the wall. At a glance, the tablet was completely invaluable to him. However, it did serve a purpose in that it was some sort of portable transcript of this language. Perhaps he would find someone who knew how to read it, but for not, it rested nicely in his bag. Gathering his things (and enjoying a small meal), Irvine headed up the staircase at the back of the chamber and soon found himself outside on a cliff side. Looking around, he recognized the lake ahead of him as the one that the lumber mill had been built on - the one owned by the woman with orange eyes. He wasn’t far from Riverwood.

Heading back, Irvine had a lot on his mind and tried to sort all of it out. He had to bring the claw back to Lucan and then try to enter Whiterun again for Gerdur’s sake, to request aid. Beyond that, he was still no better off than before, except he had more wealth, better armor and was now aware of the fact that killing to earn his money was viable option in this world. He was also now in possession of a presumably rare stone tablet that was carved with an ancient language and a marked map of Skyrim. What, exactly, these marks were far, he had no idea. Perhaps he could, after returning the claw, venture our in search of them. As Irvine stalked his way along the river back to Riverwood, he came across a cabin in the middle of nowhere, built in the shadow of the Barrow, an old women tending the garden. The two exchanged a smile and nod, and that was that. Any old bitty willing to live in the shadow of such an monstrous place had best be given a wide berth. Beyond her however, there was a man on a hill battling some skeletons. Before Irvine could approach and help, the two skeletons were little more than a pile of bones.

“Another scourge of the daedra defeated,” the man said with a smile, swiping his hands clean. “And how may this Vigilant assist you?”

“Vigilant?” Irvine asked, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand. “Of what, exactly?”

“Of Stendarr, my friend. Have you not heard of us?” The man looked obviously perplexed.

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” he answered, “My name is Irvine, by the way.”

“Well Irvine,” he began. The man looked quite thrilled to be able to talk about his group. “Our order was founded after the Oblivion Crisis. To put it simply, we dedicate ourselves to protecting the land from daedra.”

“I see,” he said, motioning back behind him towards the south, “Are you here to investigate the necromancers, then?”

“Aye,” he said, somewhat suspiciously. “You’ve... encountered them?”

“I have,” he answered, shrugging. “I’ve happened upon them a few times now by accident while exploring the area surrounding Falkreath. I wouldn’t say they’re harmless, but they’re not all that deadly. Still here, aren’t I?” The Vigilant chuckled, nodding.

“Aye, well then friend Irvine, I wish you the best on your adventures, and stay safe,” he said, heading off towards the south.

“And you as well,” Irvine replied, walking off towards the north. It was until late in the evening that he finally returned to Riverwood. He decided to hold off and running back to Lucan immediately and instead spent a few hours stripping leather from the pelts he had received and brewing a few potions before finally walking into the Riverwood Trader.

“You’re back!” shouted Lucan, half surprised and half relieved. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon, or at all, to be honest.”

“It wasn’t easy,” said Irvine as he stepped forward and took out the claw from his bag, “but I got it back.”

“My claw!” he exclaimed, joyously snatching it from Irivne’s hands. “Oh, we’ll never forget this! You’ve done a great thing for me and my sister. Here’s the gold, as promised.” Lucan handed over a purse containing an astounding 400 gold coins. Irvine was amazed. In a few short days, by risking his life, he had earned nearly 2000 gold coins. Perhaps adventuring was a new line of business for him after all?

 

[Katastrophe]

Part X - All Along the Watchtower​

When Irvine woke the next morning, he was surprised when Sven, the bard at the Sleeping Giant, approached him. “I want to talk to you about Camilla.” Irvine had been awake for all of fifteen minutes and was sitting down to a lovely meal when Sven helped himself to the seat beside the hunter. “I’ve seen you poking around her shop the past few days.”

“I’ve hardly been poking,” he responded, taking another swig of ale. “I was retrieving their claw.”

“Aw, I see,” he said. It was obvious he had expected something else. “I was just making sure you weren’t like Faendal.”

“Pardon?” Obviously, this bard was going somewhere. There was just something about his tone that made it clear he wanted something but was too proud to simply ask.

“Faendal, that home wrecking elf,” he said, lowering his tone so only they could hear. “He’s been spending a lot of time with my Camilla.”

“Oh, you’re married?” he asked, but he knew the answer already. It was that tone of his.

“No, but we-”

“Courting?” He was enjoying this.

“No, but-”

“Then, if you ask me,” he said, standing up to dismiss himself from the table, “it sounds like you're the one that’s the ‘home wrecker’.”

“That’s not it at all!” he said, standing up to look Irvine in the eye. “I was seeing Camilla long before that elf came here, and he’s not welcome. She trusts you,” he began digging into his pockets and produced a letter, “I want you to give this to her and tell her it’s from Faendal.”

“I’ll think about it,” he replied, taking the letter and heading outside, immediately starting to read it. It basically made Faendal out to be a member of the Aldmeri Dominion and rejecting Camilla based on her being an Imperial. He snorted a laugh before heading to the forge where Alvor was hard at work. “Oi, Alvor!” he called, waving to him from the street. The smith looked up and returned the wave. “Do you know a Faendal?”

“Aye,” he replied, pointing behind him to the mill, “he’s usually over chopping wood for the mill.” Irvine nodded his thanks and headed off, but didn’t have to go far. There was only one elf at the mill, chopping would. He stepped over and tapped the elf on the shoulder handing him the letter.

“What’s this?” he asked, reading it over.

“Sven wanted me to give Camilla this letter on your behalf,” Irvine said, shrugging. “I didn’t think it was the right thing to do.”

“Oh, well thank you!” he said. He produced a bit of parchment of his own and began scribbling on it, handing it back to Irvine. “How about you give that letter to Camilla instead, and say it’s from Sven?”

“All is fair in love and war,” he replied with a smile. As predicted, Camilla was not a fan of ‘Sven’s’ letter, and Faendal was various gracious, even giving Irvine a few coins for his troubles. With that little adventure settled, Irvine headed back up the road to Whiterun in hopes that Gerdur’s request for help would be enough to grant the hunter access to the city. He dreamed of those open planes and wild game the way Sven probably dreamed of Camilla - a beauty that was beyond his reach. In fact, he dreamed of it so much, that he didn’t notice the figure slinking ahead in the shadows until she was in his face, swords drawn - a female Argonian dressed in a black and red armor. The battle was a short but deadly one and when the Argonian finally fell to his blade, the hunter was left with a nasty wound on his side. Pressing his hand against it, it came back red. Wincing, he pulled out a vial of potion he had made and poured it into the wound, causing a stinging sensation at first, but the pain quickly dulled as the liquid coagulated over the wound, sealing it. Irvine proceeded to loot the entirity of his attacker’s possessions, including a note. Apparently, someone had performed the Black Sacrament and wanted him dead. The note was signed ‘Astrid’, a name he did not recognize, but the ritual he did - the Dark Brotherhood.

But who would want him dead? It was food for thought as Irvine gathered his things and continued on the road to Whiterun. He was fairly certain he hadn’t done anyone wrong, unless you wanted to count the handful of bandits and necromancers he had killed. Sven was, if any, the only real person who could be haboring any great ill will towards him but even so, to perform the Black Sacrament and have the assassination arranged on such short notice would be nearly impossible, unless Sven just happened to have human remains somewhere on hand and an assassin had just happened to be living in town. Regardless, the letter had stated that his death had been paid for - no doubt more assassins would be coming. Irvine spent the rest of the journey back to Whiterun on high alert and thankfully made it there without incident. Much to his joy, the familiar tents of the Khajiit were once more pitched outside the hold’s walls, Ri’saad sitting silently inside one.

“Hello again, friend,” Irvine said, reaching down to shake the trader’s hand.

“Ah, Irvine,” he said, musing slightly as he examined the Redguard, “It is good to see you. You look well, much stronger. How has Skyrim been treating you.”

“Good,” he replied, sitting down beside Ri’saad. “I’ve been making a good amount of coin,” he said with a smile. “Which leads us, again, into business.” The Khajiit laughed and nodded, pulling out his bedroll of goods, and the two traded while Irvine caught his friend up to speed on his adventures. Irvine mostly just sold off the belongings of the assassin and bought a potion to replace the one he had used. When there business was concluded, Irvine leaned forward. “Ri’saad, can I trust you with something?”

“Of course, friend,” Ri’saad answered, looking as concerned as his feline face would allow. “You can always trust Ri’saad.” With that, Irvine produced the assassin’s note, handing it to the trader. He allowed him a few minutes to read it before speaking.

“I don’t know who or why, but I need it to stop,” he said, the panic that he had been feeling on the walk here boiling over. “I can’t live being hunted like this.” Ri’saad remained silent for a few moments before handing the letter back, leaning in as well.

“Ri’saad... knows people,” the Khajiit began, glancing around them. “These people... also know people. Ri’saad will speak to these people and, hopefully, a deal can be made. Ri’saad makes no promises,” he said, holding up a hand to wave away Irvine’s joyful expression, “but he will see what can be done.”

“Thank you, Ri’saad,” he said, nodding. “I understand. Unfortunately, I cannot stand on ceremony - I must ask you one last thing.” Ri’saad nodded, and this time Irvine produced the stone tablet from the Barrow. “Do you recognize this tablet? Does it mean anything?” The Khajiit took it and studied it for a good time before handing it back.

“Surely it has great meaning, but to Ri’saad, it has none,” he answered, obviously disappointed. “I will tell you this - if you do enter the city, speak to the mage about the tablet, and the innkeeper about your assassin problem. You would be surprised, I think, what people know.” Irvine smiled and thanked his friend for the advice before he turned and started heading back up to the gate. Once more the guard called for him to halt and began explaining the situation but Irvine stopped him, telling him he had been sent by Gerdur to speak to the Jarl and request aid. The guard sized him up and nodded, allowing him in.

Whiterun was the largest city Irvine had ever set foot in. There were so many buildings and people walking around that it was almost a shock to his system. As soon as he entered, two people were talking about an order of weapons that were to be made for the Legion, a conversation Irvine ignored - he was set on talking to the Jarl and making his peace with Riverwood before getting answers about this tablet and the assassins that were after him. He continued on to Dragonsreach, the Jarl’s long house where he was rudely greeted (why did he expect otherwise?) by a dark elf.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” she demanded, her sword drawn. The Jarl was just a few feet further, talking to someone. “The Jarl is not receiving visitors.”

“I’m here on behalf of Gerdur, from Riverwood,” Irvine explained, wishing she’d put the sword away. “She requests aid in light of the recent dragon attack at Helgen.”

“As housecarl, it is my duty to attend to matters which threaten the Jarl and his people,” she explained, her sword still drawn. “So you may have my attention.”

“With all due respect,” he said, eyeing her sword, “I was told to speak directly to the Jarl.”

“And I told you-”

“Irileth!” The Jarl shouted, his previous conversation finished and the man now standing at his side. “I would hear what he has to say.” Irileth, obviously frustrated, sheathed her sword and returned to the Jarl’s side, leading Irvine to approach him. “Now what’s this about Riverwood being in danger?”

“Gerdur requests your aid,” he began, growing tired of the formalities of explaining everything. He could see now why he had never ventured into larger cities before. “Helgen was destroyed by a dragon and she believes Riverwood could be next.”

“Ah, Gerdur,” the Jarl said, stroking his chin as his eyes followed the smoke of the fire in the center of the room up to the rafters. “Owns the lumber mill, yes? Pillar of the community... not one prone to flights of fancy. But is she sure it was a dragon, and not a Stormcloak raid gone wrong?”

“I cannot say, personally,” he answered, shrugging, “I have not seen any sign of dragons personally. But from your hold to Falkreath and to Rorikstead, I have heard talks of dragons and the destruction of Helgen. If it is not true, it is an elaborate and quickly spreading rumor.” The Jarl considered this before turning to look at the man he had been talking to early.

“What say you, Proventus? Is Whiterun fit to defend against a possible dragon?”

“My Lord,” said Irileth, pushing Irvine aside, “we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It is the most immediate danger, and if that dragon-”

“The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation,” the man named Proventus responded. “He’ll think we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him. We should not-”

“Enough!” shouted the Jarl, slamming a fist on the armrest of his throne. “I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!” He paused, turning to Irileth. “Send a detachment to Riverwood at once,” he turned back to Proventus, “and return to your duties. There will be no more talk of this.” The two nodded and dispersed, leaving the Jarl alone (save the two guards on either side) with Irvine. “Well done,” he said, his tone calming. “You’ve done us a great service, but there is something you could do for me... something fit for someone of your... particular talents.” He smirked coyly, eyeing Irvine and his appearance. He stood up, motioning to Irvine to follow. “Come, let us find Farengar, my court wizard. He has been looking into these rumors of dragons.” He led Irvine to a side room just off the main hall where a man in purple robes stood, obviously having overheard the conversation and expecting them. “Farengar, I think I have found someone who could help you with your... dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in with all the details.”

“So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?” he asked, looking Irvine over. He wondered why everyone seemed so fascinated with judging him by his appearance. “Specifically, in regards to the dragons?”

“I suppose so,” said Irvine. Although he was glad to be talking to the man Ri’saad had recommended for the tablet, and indeed, he seemed to be his best bet, he had little desire to run more errands for people he didn’t know.

“I could use someone to fetch something for me.” He knew it. “Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may, or may not, actually be there.” Irvine felt a rush in his gut, but couldn’t tell if it was bad or good.

“What ruin? What tablet?” Irvine was already reaching to his pack for the tablet he had recovered from-

“Bleak Falls Barrow,” Farengar said, interupting Irvine’s thoughts. “The tablet is called a ‘Dragonstone’, said to be a map of ancient dragon burial sites.” Irvine was shocked - the tablet that he had stumbled upon, the one with the map of Skyrim, had to be the one Farengar requested. Ri’saad had been eerily spot on.

“It just so happens that I come from the Barrow,” Irvine said, placing his bag on the table. “The trader in Riverwood, Lucan, sent me there to retrieve an item some bandits had stolen from him. Inside, I found this,” he pulled out the tablet and placed it on the table. “Is this the Dragonstone you seek?”

“Ah, it is!” Farengar said, smiling. “You...” he laughed lightly, smirking, “You are cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the Jarl foists on me.”

“And so what now?” Irvine asked, leaning in over the tablet with the court wizard. “I’m very curious about this stone, because you see-”

“Farengar!” The voice of Irileth rang out through the main hall and as Irvine turned, sure enough, there she stood in the doorway, her breath heavy. “Farengar, you must come at once. A dragon has been sighted nearby. You should come, too,” she added to Irvine.

“A dragon! How exciting!” Farengar exclaimed, running over to her. “Where was it seen? What was it doing?”

“I’d take this a bit more seriously, if I were you,” she said, leading the two of them out behind here. “If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don’t know if we can stop it. Let’s go,” she said, motioning to one of the hold guards who stood by the base of a large staircase that she began leading them up. At the top, the Jarl and another man, a deadly looking one, stood waiting.

“Irileth tells me you come from the western watchtower,” the Jarl said, speaking to the guard who confirmed this.

“Tell him what you told me,” Irileth instructed, stepping back with Farengar and Irvine. “About the dragon.”

“Uh, that’s right,” the guard began. “We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“What did it do?” the Jarl asked eagerly. “Was it attacking the watchtower?”

“No, my Lord, it was just circling overhead when I left.” For a moment, Irvine thought back to the deserts of Hammerfell and the birds of prey that would circle dying animals, waiting for them to finally die so that they could feast. A feeling of despair sunk deep into his gut. “I never ran so fast in my life - I thought it would come after me for sure!”

“Good work, son,” said the Jarl. “We’ll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest - you’ve earned it. Irileth, you’d better gather a battalion.”

“I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the main gate,” she said smugly.

“Good, don’t fail me.” The Jarl turned towards Irvine, shaking his head. “There’s no time to stand on ceremony, friend - I must call on your aid once again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon.” Irvine remained silent, dumbstruck. Hunting deer? Fine. Hunting sabre cats? Acceptable. Hunting dragons? Suicide.

“I would like to go as well,” Farengar said, obviously letting his excitement cloud his judgement.

“No, I can’t afford to risk both you,” replied the Jarl, most likely referring to Irileth instead of Irvine. “I need you here, working on ways to defend the city against the dragons.” Farengar reluctantly agreed and began down the staircase. “One last thing, Irileth. This isn’t a death or glory mission. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Don’t worry, my Lord - I’ll be the very soul of caution,” she said, turning to Irvine. “Come along.” With that, the two set out of Dragonsreach and through Whiterun, down to the front gate. Surprisingly, the people in the town continued about their business. There was no panic or frenzy or hysteria and then it dawned on him that that was because there was no knowledge - they hadn’t informed the town that a dragon was circling a tower full of their guards not far from them at this very moment. A man and woman arguing about money, children bullying each other in the street and a collection of guards standing at the ready by the front gate, and no one questioned anything. “Here’s the situation,” she called out as the two approached the guards. “A dragon is attacking the western watchtower.” There was a cry from the guards and Irvine was suddenly aware that none of them had known what they were being called for until just now. “You heard right - a said a dragon! I don’t know where it came from or who sent it, but I do know that it’s made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!”

“But Housecarl, how can we fight a dragon?” asked one of the guards.

“That’s a fair question,” she said, pacing before them. “None of us have ever scene a dragon before, let alone expected to face one in battle. However, we are honor-bound to fight it, even if we fail.” Irvine recalled something the Jarl said about this not being a ‘death or glory’ mission, but apparently she did not. “This dragon threatens not only us, but our homes and our families! Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?” While most of the guards shouted no, one of them leaned over to Irvine and remarked that they were all going to die in a blaze of dragon fire. “But it’s more than honor at stake here, think of it: the first dragon in Skyrim since the last age, and we we have the glory of killing it! If you’re with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon!” There was an angry cheer from the guards (except Captain Optimism, of course) and Irileth led the charge out of the hold’s main gate.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part XI - There be Dragons​

So we ran. For as much as Irvine was terrified, it felt good to feel like a part of something. For this brief instance as he ran to his apparent death at the hands (or claws) of a fire-breathing monstrosity, he was no longer alone. However small, that mattered. The rest of the world just had the volume turned down and all Irvine could hear was his breathing and his heartbeat as he looked around at the other men beside him and knew that they couldn’t possibly be feeling what he felt. These men worked and served together - they were prepared to die together, if it came to it. Though a stranger amongst them, Irvine felt a sense of unity nevertheless. When they ran out of the city’s walls and past the Khajiit camp, Ri’saad did not move but simply watched. For a brief moment, their eyes met and the two friends exchanging knowing nods, and then Ri’saad was behind him. Although he knew little about the intelligent and knowledgeable caravan leader, his acknowledgement had been reassuring. Perhaps Irvine wouldn’t die after all, and he’d simply have another story to tell his friend.

“No sign of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he’s been here,” said Irileth. The group had stopped just shy of the watchtower, or what remained of it. The wall connected to the actual tower was broken and crumbled, fires still burning on the grass, thick columns of black smoke slowly rising into the air. She was right, at the very least - it definitely did look like a dragon had been here. “I know it looks bad, but we’ve got to figure out what happened,” she said, turning to face the guards. “And if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere... spread out and look for survivors,” she ordered, drawing her sword. The guards did the same, Irvine drawing his bow. “We need to know what happened here.” Irvine and another guard ran into the courtyard and discovered, much to Irvine’s horror, that it wasn’t the grass that was on fire - it was bodies.

“Kynareth save us!” shouted a guard that had emerged from the tower. Apparently Irileth had found survivors. “Here it comes again!” He was pointing off to the mountains from the south and all those present stopped and turned. High above the mountain range to the south, beyond which lied the familiar lands of Falkreath, something was in the sky, soaring along the wind towards them, growing ever larger. From this distance, it’s wingspan was roughly as long as the giant pine trees that dotted the range and it was these wings that dominated it’s figure, leathery and black, like an oversized bat.

“Find cover and make every arrow count!” shouted Irileth from somewhere behind him. In answer to this, the dragon let loose a roar that reverberated across the plains. Despite her orders, Irvine couldn’t move. He felt himself rooted to the spot by fear. The dragon came in, fast and low over the tower, creating a gust of air the made the young hunter stumble backwards, enough to wake him from his horrific daydream made reality. The battle that followed was one Irvine would have rather not participated in. In that short span of time, he witnessed the dragon land and take one of the guards in it’s mouth, trash it’s neck back and forth and then hurl the man’s lifeless body off across the plains. It would fly overhead, breathing down a burst of fire that sent all them scattering for more cover. Arrows and spells tore through the sky in it’s wake and when the beast had been wounded too much for flight, it walked across the ground, breathing even more fire in every direction, roasting guards alive. Aside from his initial stumble when the dragon flew overhead, it had not once made an attempt to attack Irvine. The man had simply stood in the doorway of the tower and poked out long enough to fire off a few volley’s off arrows before retreating back in the doorway as the beast flew overhead. When it was finally dead, killed by several arrows and spells from the guards and Irvine, it let out a final roar before slumping to the ground.

“Let’s go see if that overgrown lizard is truly dead,” said Irileth, motioning the guards and Irvine over. He wasn’t surprised she had survived the fight. “Damn good shooting, boys.” As the group strode over to the body, a few of the guards ran ahead, a bit more eager to see it up close. Captain Optimism, who had surprisingly survived, lead the charge to the dead monster, remarking how he couldn’t believe they had survived. Irvine looked to the side at the mangled body of one of the guard’s, deep puncture wounds from the dragon’s teeth across his torso, limbs bent in unnatural ways...

“What’s happening?” asked one of the guards and Irvine stopped. The dragon’s skin was beginning to flake, in a way. Pieces seemed to burn off from it like the outer portions of a burning long, curling and folding away, floating up into the air and eventually burning out. Irvine knew dragons were magical, but for them to simply decompose so quickly like this seemed out of place. Irileth called for everyone to get back, but Irvine stood his ground. The underbelly of the creature began to glow red and soon ignited, the entire dragon’s body seeming to be burned from the inside out. In a final burst, it erupted into a flame that drifted into the sky and then halted, twisted and turned, and then shot back through the air at Irvine. He didn’t have time to react. The flame, though it had lost that appearance and looked more just like a warm light, struck him in the chest, but he felt no pain. It burst across his chest and sent tendrils of light around his body, hues of red and blue that encased him and then sunk in as Irvine took a heavy breath in, the lights seeming to suck the air out from him. He collapsed to one knees and the guards rushed to his side, helping him up.

“I can’t believe it,” one of them, looking at Irvine in amazement as he helped the hunter to his feet. “You’re... dragonborn.”

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

This is pretty good It's actually pretty similar to my own current character as well

 

[Katastrophe]

This is pretty good It's actually pretty similar to my own current character as well

Thanks man.

Hopefully as I leve further, and progress his development, he'll start to have a bit more of a unique style.

 

[Katastrophe]

Part XII - Dovahkiin​

I’m a what?” It was all Irvine could stammer out. He was completely lost. Unlike any other animal or creature he had killed, this dragon’s body had just burst into flames, leaving nothing left but some charred hide and a skeleton. What was more perplexing is that these flames had morphed into some sort of light that had seemed to absorb into Irvine’s skin. Aside from that, he felt find. Absolutely wonderful. He just survived a dragon, after all.

“In the vary oldest tales,” the guard began. You could tell he was excited. “back when dragons used to roam Skyrim, the dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their powers. That’s what you did, isn’t it? Stole the dragon’s power?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” he protested, motioning to the pile of bones behind him. “The damn thing nearly exploded and there was just... some light. That’s all. I don’t have any sort of dragon power.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, the excited tone suddenly gone and replaced with something more solemn. “Try to shout. That would prove it.”

“I have been shouting!” he yelled back. The guard laughed, shaking his head.

“No, shouting is what dragons do - it is their power. Only the dragonborn can learn to shout the way they can without training. Like old Tiber Septim himself.”

“I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons,” replied another guard, walking over after examining the bodies off one of the half-eaten.

“That’s because there weren’t any dragons back then, idiot,” said the first, sounding like a spoiled child. “They’re just coming back for the first time in... well, forever.” Not exactly helping the spoiled child case at all.

“What do you say, Irileth?” asked the second guard, looking over to the dark elf who had remained near the pile of bones, examining it. “You’re being awfully quiet. Tell us - do you believe in this dragonborn business?”

“Some of you would be better of keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don’t know anything about,” she said bitterly, scoffing. “Here’s a dead dragon - that’s something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them.” She stared in silence at the dragon’s skull, laying across the stairs of the crumbled wall. “I don’t need some mythical dragonborn. Anyone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Housecarl - you ain’t a Nord,” replied the first guard, shrugging.

“I’ve been all across Tamriel!” she shouted, clearly angered by the guard’s dismissal of her words. “I’ve seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this! I’d advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends.” The guard just stared at her blankly for a few moments before looking back at Irvine. He wished he hadn’t.

“If you really are dragonborn, you ought to be able to Shout,” he said again, regaining that excited tone. “So can you? Have you tried?”

“No, I hav-”

“Well try!” He was just trying to egg him on at this point, but Irvine obliged, taking a few steps back. He had never heard of shouting - dragons, sure; hadn’t all children? - but shouting as a way to describe their magic was something new, entirely. If shouting meant literally speaking the dragon language, even in it’s crudest form, he was utterly screwed. He couldn’t read or even begin to pronounce anything in dragon, as Bleak Falls Barrow had... and that was it. Bleak Falls Barrow. The tablet, the wall, the guardian - remnants from a time where dragons still existed. When that guardian had sent him backwards, had that been shouting? It had certainly shouted, but was it actual dragon shouting? He tried to remember the words - there were three, but he only focused on the first. He looked at the cluster of guards in front of him, took in a deep breath and, as loud as he could-

“FUS!” The words came out stranger than he had meant to, along with a peculiar rumble in his throat, as well as a strong burst of air that forced all of the guards to stagger to regain their footing.

“That... that was shouting” cried the first guard, that while excitement back in full swing. “You just shouted! You really are dragonborn!"

“I’m no such thing,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just a hunter. I just was repeating something I had heard when I-”

“Enough of this,” commanded Irileth, finally stepping away from the dragon’s remains. “The dragon is dead. This dragonborn business aside, we need to return to Jarl Balgruuf and report to him at once.” A silence fell over the group and they all nodded, starting to disperse around the area and head back up the road. A few lingered behind to gather the dead, a task for which Irvine did not envy them one bit. There was a lot on the young hunter’s mind as he walked back to Whiterun, and no one there seemed to be all that concerned about the ancient monster that had just attacked a watchtower and killed a handful of guards not a few minutes walk away. As he neared the actual hold however, there was a clap of thunder that seemed to shake the vary earth and from somewhere far away, yet very near, there shouted a voice.

“Do-vah-kiin!” The cry ripped through the night with as much power as thunder and created a similar rumble. For a few moments, he just stood in the middle of the road, dumbstruck. His world up until this afternoon had been so simple and normal. In the past 24 hours, an assassin had been contracted to take his life, he had fought and killed a dragon, and now the local guards believed him to be some sort of mythical figure just because he could mimic some ancient Nordic pile of bones. Redguards weren’t exactly the most magically inclined of the races that called Tamriel home, but they certainly weren’t immune to it. Perhaps he had always just had this magical potential, but had simply never tried. That must have been it.

“What is going on?” asked Ri’saad as Irvine past his tent. “You look confused, friend.” Irvine didn’t stop, he couldn’t stop. His body had shifted into auto-pilot while his mind wandered the vast sea of possibilities that surrounded him, the shipwreck of confusion tossing him out into the unknown. For this reason, all Irvine could muster was a silencing hand gesture. He knew he’d be understood. Inside Whiterun, a guard was arguing with two Alik’r, if not the two he had encountered a few days past. A dragon had just been slain outside their city, and this was what they were concerned with. Irvine didn’t stay long enough to inquire about it - he broke out into a sprint. He ran up through the town all the way to Dragonsreach where he burst through the large double door and continued to the Jarl.

“Good, you’re finally here,” said Proventus, his presence forcing the hunter to stop. “The Jarl has been waiting for you.” He stepped aside and allowed Irivne to approach before moving back to his usual place at the Jarl’s right hand.

“You heard the summons,” the Jarl was speaking to the large man who had been present when the dragon situation was discussed upstairs. “What else could it mean? They Greybeards...”

“We were just talking about you,” said the large man. “My brother needs a word with you.” He motioned to the Jarl and cleared up the confusion as to who he was.

“So what happened at the watchtower?” he asked, his tone urgent. “Was the dragon there?”

“It was,” he answered, his voice seeming to becoming from a place far away. “It destroyed most of the watchtower. A lot of... a lot of guards are dead, but we killed it.” The Jarl observed a moment of silence before replying.

“I knew I could count on Irileth,” he said, relieved. “but there must be more to it than that for the Greybeards to take notice.” Irvine had no idea who or what these Greybeards were, but he could tell that he wasn’t going to get out of this. Besides, it was only a matter of time before word came back to him.

“When the dragon died, it erupted,” he began. “I absorbed something from it.”

“So it’s true,” the Jarl said, sitting up in his chair. “You really were summoned by the Greybeards.”

“Who, or what, are these Greybeards?” Irvine asked, becoming more and more annoyed. For all of the day’s events, he had anticipated none of it, nor did any of it make sense. No, instead, this was all confusing the hell out of him. When he had asked for a life other than that of a nomadic hunter, this was not at all what he had in mind.

“Masters of the Voice,” the Jarl began, nodding slowly. He assumed that like the dragonborn story, this was going to be an old and deeply Nordic tale that was going to go right over his head. “They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World.” This seclusion part appealed to Irvine - if these Greybeards were anything like him, they lived up there to escape this nonsense. “The dragonborn is said to be uniquly gifted in the way of the Voice - to be able to focus it into a Thu’um, or Shout, without training. If you really are dragonborn, they can teach you how to use that gift.”

“Didn’t you hear that thundering sound not long ago?” asked the Jarl’s brother. He nodding, know what the warrior was referring to. “That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Grothgar! This hasn’t happened in... centuries, at least - not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!” As predicted, this was steadily going right over his head.

“Hrongar, calm yourself,” pleaded Proventus. He had remained silent through the discussion. “What does any of this Nod nonsense have to do with our friend, here?” That did it, and the Jarl’s brother turned to Proventus. “Capable as he may be, I don’t see any sign of him being this ‘dragonborn’.”

“Nord nonsense!?” Hrongar shouted. “Why you puffed up ignorant... these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!”

“Hrongar,” said the Jarl, stirring himself from his thought. “do not be so hard on Avenicci.”

“I meant no disrespect, of course,” Proventus explained, more to the room than to Irvine. “I just mean, what do the Greybeards want with him?” Irvine did not like being spoken to as though he weren’t in the room.

“That’s the Greybeard’s business - not our’s,” the Jarl said before turning his attention to Irvine. “Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they believe you to be dragonborn, who are we to argue? You had better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There is no refusing the summons of the Greybeards - it is a tremendous honor.”

“It is an honor I do not want,” Irvine said. This seemed to take them all by surprise and none of them spoke. “I came to Whiterun as a favor from Gerdur, to get Riverwood the protection they rightly deserved. I did not come here to slay dragons and have ancient legends thrust upon me simply because was there and helped kill it! It was not even me who dealt the final blow. You do not require a mythical dragonborn to kill these dragons, and I shall not bear that burden of being your martyr. Greybeards or not, I am Irvine Delaroso and I am not your champion!”

 

[Katastrophe]

Part XIII - Repurposing​

The morning light woke Irvine from his deep and half-drunken slumber in his bed at the Bannered Mare. He sat up and run a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp and rubbing at his eyes before stumbling out of bed and onto the sort of patio off his room. It was a small deck that overlooked the main floor of the tavern and he enjoyed it immensely, especially the previous night when he had been eating and drinking well into the morning. Not longer had he sat down than he reached for the half empty jug of Alto Wine from the previous night and began drinking again. To hell with this dragonborn plops, he thought, drinking deeply. The previous night remained much of a blur. Although disappointed, the Jarl had named Irvine to be thane of Whiterun, allowed him to purchase property, and even designated him a housecarl named Lydia, whom Irvine had left behind at Dragonsreach without so much as a hello. What good would a housecarl be, after all, without a house?

It was when Irvine had cracked into his third bottle of ale last night that the idea had struck him that he had still yet to collect on the bounty in Falkreath, yet was already fabulously wealthy. Not even to purchase a house mind you, but to live? He was set for quite some time on food, a warm bed and especially ale. Though he had never been much of a drinker aside from with his meals, it was growing on Irvine. He took another swig and put his boots up on the table, letting out a large belch as he did so. To hell with legends and dragons and Skyrim. The hunter downed the rest of the bottle and returned to his room to go through his belongings. His armor had been packed up the other night - for some reason, he didn’t want them on. The rest of his bag was just potions, ingrediants, smithing items, the enchanted gear he aimed to eventually sell or something... then his hand fell upon the letter, the note from the Dark Brotherhood assassin. It was at that moment that he realized that he couldn’t simply stay in Whiterun and get drunk every night, because he was being hunted. That reminded him that while Ri’saad had said he would look into the matter, it would be best if Irvine did his own digging - that he would be surprised what people knew.

“I need you to...” Irvine began, but trailed off. He had walked up to the bar with his pack ready and had gone to ask her about the Dark Brotherhood, but he paused, belched loudly, and then continued. “The Dark Brotherhood... have you heard anything about them?”

“That’s a strange thing to ask,” the innkeeper said, wiping the countertop. She was obviously very dissatisfied with Irvine’s demeanor, but not with the amount of coin he had spent last night. “Most people don’t exactly go looking for trouble, you know”

“Trouble found me,” he said, growing irritated - a side effect of all the ale. “I aim to find it back. Now have you heard anything?” She paused to consider before giving a small nod.

“Just rumors, mind you, from travelers stopping in from the road, before the dragons,” she began, stopping her cleaning and putting both hands on the counter, looking Irvine straight in his bloodshot eyes. “I’ve heard of a boy, Aretino, up in Windhelm... say he’s trying to contact them.”

“What would a child want with a bunch of assassins?” Irvine asked, skeptical. It didn’t make sense why I child would attempt such a thing, let alone for such a prolonged period of time. Why had they not answered? It was his understanding that all contracts were taken.

“What would anyone want with them?” she asked, going back to her cleaning. “I’ve heard talk that the guards are concerned for him, locked up in his family’s home. He’s an orphan. Poor thing is probably died, for all I know.” Irvine nodded and muttered a thanks before going to the nearest table, collapsing into a chair and spreading his map across it. He wasn’t in a good position at all, really. No doubt he could hire a caravan to take him to Windhelm but he didn’t want to risk another’s life should he be attacked on the road. No, he would have to take a long way - a very long way. First, however, he’d need to prepare. He returned to his room and dawned his gear, stopping to give the innkeeper a generous tip for both her information and forgiveness, before heading out the door, his path leading him back to Dragonsreach. Inside, the Jarl and Proventus were talking, Irileth and Hrongar standing silently in the background. Lydia was eating at the table and absolutely none of them seemed to notice him and, for that, he was thankful.

“Farengar?” he asked, knocking gently on the doorway. The man in the purple robe looked up from his seat by his desk and beckoned the hunter in, asking what brought him there. “How good are you with enchantments?”

“Ah, enchantments are something I’m quite familiar with,” he said, nodding as he inspected the pieces of equipment Irvine produced. “It has always been enchantments that make certain items stand out amongst the rest. Look no further than this axe,” he held up the axe the Jarl had given him as his badge off office. “On the exterior, a simple axe of even simpler design. However, it is imbued with a magical property that makes it unique. While this particular piece is easily duplicated, some more advanced magick can make them quite unique. As well as deadly. So, what is your question, exactly?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“These pieces mean little to me and the prices I’ve been offered are not what I would expect. If not for my own use or profit, could they serve any greater purpose?” Irvine had hoped he could get more out of them than just a few gold coins. To him, they seemed to represent so much more potential and, thankfully, Farengar knew this.

“Aye, of course,” he said with a coy smile, motioning to a table behind him. “Enchantments can be learned from pieces such as these, at the cost of the piece itself. You see, the magic binds this item - breaking that bind is to break the item. However, if you deem the knowledge to be worth it, feel free.” He waved his arm out to allow Irvine access to the table, and he began. For the next two days, Irvine and Farengar worked together in his small study to disenchant and reverse engineer every piece of enchanted equipment that the hunter had come across in his travels which, oddly enough, was quite a bit. He even disenchanted the axe he had been given as his badge of authority. It wasn’t until he left on this third day in Whiterun to visit the blacksmith that things got interesting. As he approached, he noticed the two Alik’r still hanging around by the door, several guards nearby but they weren’t their for the Alik’r - they were there for the bodies.

“What happened here?” asked Irvine, confused. How had bloodshed happened within the city.

“Damn vampires,” answered one of the guards as he picked up what appeared to be a bandit under the arms while another got him from the legs. “Snuck into town last night, but these Redguards here held them off until we came. Off to burn the bodies.” All in all, there were three bodies: two that appeared to be regular bandits, and another that was obviously their leader, judging by his dress.

“Would you believe that we save them and they still won’t let us into the city?” asked one of the Alik’r, loud enough so that the guards heard clearly, even though they were ignored.

“Why are you two not allowed in?” Irvine asked, turning his focus back to the two men as the guards dragged the bodies out of sight.

“We had a third, currently serving time in prison,” said the other, shifting his stance. “For his actions, this is as far as we may come.”

“I remember you two from the road - said you were looking for someone with a scar? A redguard woman?” The two Alik’r exchanged glances before more closely examining Irvine before recognizing him.

“Ah, yes,” the first one said, nodding. “We’re looking for a woman as you described here in town. She’s wanted for betraying her kingdom to the Aldmeri Dominion and we believe she’s using a false name. If you find her, brother, seek us out in Rorikstead where we will be waiting.” Irvine nodded and the two left out through the gate, allowing a small Breton man to enter. He stopped, looked around, focused on Irvine and ran over.

“Excuse me,” he asked, reaching into his bag and producing a letter. “I’m looking for one... Eyervine Deelarusso? Do you know him?” Irvine rolled his eyes and extended his hand for the letter.

“That’s Irvine Delaroso, and I am he. Who are you?”

“Just a simple courier, sir,” he said, handing the letter over. “It’s from the Jarl of Falkreath - he’d like to speak to you.” With that, the courier was gone and Irvine was left to read the letter. Apparently, the jerk of a Jarl that Irvine had spoken to about work in Falkreath had heard of him and his adventures and wanted to talk about the possibility of him being thane there. Irvine laughed at that and pocketed the letter before returning to business. Being able to use the forge at the blacksmith was a simple matter of delivering a sword for the Jarl from Adrianna to her father, Proventus. His third day in Whiterun was spent crafting his raw materials into more arrows and armor to sell to her in order to put some more gold in his pockets. Although it was a small amount, it was an amount nevertheless. With night setting, he retired to the Bannered Mare. As he ate his supper in the silence of his small balcony over the hall, his eyes fell upon Saadia, the Redguard woman who cleaned and cooked for the place. His eyes fell upon her scar.

 

[Therin]

Finally caught up on reading this. I'm enjoying your interpretation of Skyrim and your character's motivations.