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Blood of the Dragon Jul 11, 2015***
I burst through the Jarl's longhouse door, resplendent in blood. All were silent as I strode with the poise of a bull up the stairs, toward Balgruuf the waiting. Sven slipped in like a mouse through the crack of the closing door. According to Sven, my eyes went white after absorbing the dragon's soul, as white as a blind man's. Yet my sight was clearer than ever. I was changed. I felt like one of the God-heroes of old that I'd read about as a child. Like Pelinal or Morihaus.
I am Dragonborn. Akatosh will only bless those destined for the greatness of legend. I felt disembodied from my own voice as it explained the events of the watch tower to the Jarl and the implications as he listened in stunned silence. Proventus the steward broke the reverie, asking Balgruuf if he believed any such Nord nonsense. I snapped my gaze toward the steward, the force of it nearly knocking him flat, his voice stuck in his throat. For my deeds I had been made Thane of Whiterun, granted the Axe of Whiterun, and my own Housecarl, Lydia.
Lydia. We had women warriors where I came from, of course, yet this one was truly cut from a different cloth. She introduced herself as I approached, said she'd give her life for mine. I turned to Sven and told him to go home, his services were no longer need. I allowed him to keep the equipment I'd given him, but I took his bottle of mead. I was suddenly very thirsty.
There was a house for sale in the plains district, but I could not yet afford it. Thane of Whiterun and Dragonborn hero, I was about to go mercenary. I learned of a bounty that'd been placed on the head of a bandit leader, and set off to collect.
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