Of Snow and Bone - Part Fourteen

30th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

When I awoke, it was late morning. The inn was abuzz with talk of the Dragonborn; she had climbed the seven-thousand steps to High Hrothgar and returned. She had slain two more dragon, no three, no five! Some claimed she was an Orc woman, like me; others said it was impossible for the Dragonborn to be anyone but a nord.
They looked at me oddly when I sat down to breakfast: maybe they thought I was the Dragonborn. Wouldn't that be amusing? A trader from Whiterun claimed he had seen her there: she had helped slay a dragon out by the watchtower, and she was indeed an Orc, and now she was Thane of Whiterun. When I realized he was talking about the very same battle I had witnessed when I had come to Whiterun, I started to think he might be telling the truth.
If that was the case, I hoped nobody would mistake me for the Dragonborn. Such a thing could cause problems, and there weren't a whole lot of Orc women running around Skyrim. With a hungry growl I decided to stop thinking about it and bought breakfast. Several cups of hot tea and minced horker meat pie with chunks of grilled leek.

I stopped by the iron mine just outside of Markarth, to see if I could purchase ore to smelt and practice my smithing on. They wouldn't sell it to me direct, but for 50 septims I was allowed to go inside and gather as much ore as I could dig up before nightfall.
I spent a few hours getting at all the easy veins, and ended up with enough or for nineteen ingots. I headed back to the city to forge them into simple daggers and plates. Blacktail's bags were still heavy with dozens of pieces of jewelry I had forged from the gold and silver ingots before, even though I had sold several to a jewelry merchant.
Stopping inside a general store to try and sell more of the jewelry, I discovered the shelves were practically bare of goods. When I asked the owner, a Nord woman, she said that the Forsworn had been raiding all her shipments. Then she gave me a strange look and asked if I was a sellsword for hire. I took up her offer of recovering a golden Dibella statue in  return for payment. Besides, I thought; maybe it would help her store out and next time she would have enough money to buy more than just a few of my rings.

When I spoke with the blacksmith to buy some leather for the dagger hilts, she mentioned she had gotten a few more orichalcum ingots in a shipment yesterday. I eagerly bought them up and was finally able to forge an Orcish shield for myself. It felt more comfortable and better balanced than my old Dwemer one had.
Afterwards I mounted Blacktail and set out to find the Dibella statue for the owner of the general store. I couldn't remember her name, but the store was called the Arnleif and Sons Trading Company. It seemed a pretty grand name for such a small store, but maybe it had once had better times.
She had said that the caravan had been attacked just after passing south of Rorikstead, so if I checked the caves around there I would probably find the Forsworn and her statue.

It would take a while to reach Rorikstead, so I ate a late lunch and then mounted Blacktail and was on my way, down through the rocky granite mountain passes. I took a narrow dirt path over the mountain ridge, a shortcut to Rorikstead, and stayed at the inn there. It would not be wise to go searching for Forsworn in the hills they called home at the dead of night.

Of Snow and Bone - Part Thirteen

29th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

After a breakfast of roast goat, milk, and tea, I headed out of the inn into the bright morning light. A Vigiliant of Stendarr accosted me as I passed him by, standing in front of a door set into stone. He asked me if I had seen anyone coming or going from the house, and I told him I was just visiting Markarth and had only arrived yesterday.
I asked him if he would like someone to watch his back as he investigated the house, since he seemed nervous, an offer he quickly accepted. When we went into the basement and tried to latch to a locked door, suddenly things started flying around of their own accord, and a voice in my head urged me to kill the Vigiliant. With a desperate cry, the Vigilant pulled out a steel mace and swung it at me. It glanced off my shoulder, and I slid my blade from it's sheath.
I tried to talk to him, but he just kept crying "I have to kill you to escape!" and eventually I was forced to stab him in the belly. He slid off the blade with a grunt, blood spilling from the wound. As soon as he was dead, the voice came again, telling me "Your reward is waiting for you, further down."

The front door would not budge, so it seemed I had little choice. The door in the basement was now unlocked, and it led to a tunnel and a strange altar, with a rusty mace sitting atop it. As I approached spikes shot up around me, trapping me. The voice identified itself as the Daedric lord Molag Bal. He said that a priest of Boethiah had desecrated the shrine, and demanded that I get revenge on his behalf.
Molag Bal claimed the priest had been captured. He ordered me to free the priest, so that he could return to the shrine to desecrate it once more. When the priest arrived, Molag Bal claimed he would be ready to entrap him. I of course said I would be the messenger of his will, and was allowed to leave.
An alternate plan was already forming in my mind: I would find and free this priest, but we would turn the tables on Molag Bal. Assuming the priest believed me. Molag Bal had given me the details of his location, a cave called Bruca's Leap Redoubt, to the north between Karthwasten and Dragon Bridge. I went to the stabled, mounted Blacktail, and set out immediately.

I found the cave surrounded by a wooden palisade, Forsworn milling about. I quickly cleared the camp and the cave, setting the priest free. I tried to tell him about Molag Bal's trap, but the fool rushed off saying he "Had a task to attend to!". I lost him as he jumped into the river and began swimming across, while I headed back to Blacktail. With a sigh, I realized Molag Bal might get his way after all. I had to reach the house before the priest, and warn him!
When I found the priest, he was already in Molag Bal's trap, foolishly taunting the Daedra. When I entered the shrine, a magical barrier went up behind me, and Molag Bal commanded that take his mace and use it to force the priest into submission. The priests hubris had damned us both to our fates; I could either do as Molag Bal wished, or rot here till some poor sod found my bones. The choice was unpleasant but clear: I brought the rusted mace down on the priests head, hoping to kill him in one blow. But Molag Bal's magic would not allow such a thing.
Every time I slew the priest, Molag Bal resurrected him, until at last Boethiah's faithful broke. He forsook his previous Daedric lord and claimed Molag Bal as his new one. With a cruel laugh, Molag Bal bid me to kill the priest one final time. When I had, the mace glowed in my hand, transforming into an even more cruel weapon. The Daedric lord said it was mine, and that when my enemies "Lay bloodied and broken" I should know that he would be watching.

At last, I felt the eyes of the cruel Daedra leave me. Finding a pick axe leaning against one wall of the tunnel to the shrine, I dug a deep trench and buried the mace, then fled from the house. The sunlight was a relief, and the grip of Dawnbreaker felt like cool salve to a burn after holding that wretched mace. Breathing deep of the fresh air, I headed to the inn for a strong drink or three.
The first draught of cool, strong ale did much to restore my spirits, and two bottles later I felt much better. I paid Kleppr, the innkeeper, twice what I owed him and then stepped outside to clear my head and see the city. I found my way to a secluded alchemists shop, where I traded several potions with an old, haggard woman.

Then, an old man named Calcemo was ranting at me about my Dwemer shield. He offered to buy it from me, but I politely declined the offer. When I asked what he was doing here, in one of the side caverns of the Markarth keep, he claimed he was the number-one living researcher of the Dwemer, investigating the ruins of Nchuand-zel or some unpronounceable Dwemer name.
I asked if I could explore the ruins, for the Dwemer had been a very interesting race, and I was eager to view what they had once called home. At first Calcemo refused, then abruptly changed his mind, and agreed to give me the key to both the ruins and his Dwemer museum if I killed a giant spider named 'Nimhe' for him.
It seems that Nimhe had taken over part of the excavation site, and was making it impossible to continue. I had killed many spiders before of all sizes, so I eagerly agreed to the offer and set off through the huge gates and high halls of Nchuand-zel. I quickly found and slew Nimhe, then backtracked to Calcemo to get the keys, immediately setting off back into the Dwemer ruins. I just hoped I would encounter no Daedric lords, since they seemed to have a strange affinity for me.

The ruins were infested with Falmer; a veritable army sitting right under Markarth! They could have overrun the city at any time. It was fortunate for the city, then, that I had an interest in Dwemer history. I began cutting down every Falmer in sight as I made my way through the ancient stone halls. Their chitin weapons did little against my new Orcish armor beside leave scratches, but their poisons and magics were more effective.
It was fascinating to see massive pistons still working after centuries of disrepair, magical light still streaming from dusty chandeliers. How could such a technologically advanced race just disappear? The ruins were fascinating, but left me with plenty of questions, and no answers. And whatever the Dwemer alloy was made of, it was everywhere, as common as wood or stone in a normal city. Everything was made from it; furniture, cookware, weapons and armor. They must have produced it in mass quantities unheard of to modern society.
Much to my surprise, I found a cloak of metallic cloth, silky and fluid. A pattern was embroidered on it, and judging by the design the cloak must have been Dwemer in make. I had never seen anything like it, and quickly rolled it up, tying it to my waist. It was very luxurious, but looked nowhere near as warm as the thick wool cloak I had picked up in that skeever cabin near Rorikstead. I decided I would gift the Dwemer cloak to Calcemo, assuming he hadn't already discovered something similar.

When I opened an ancient chest, I found an Orcish bow of all things. I wondered if the Falmer had put it in there. When I removed the weapon and slung it on my back , tossing my old bow to the side, two Dwemer spheres popped from piped in the wall and unfolded into mechanical warriors! I had never seen such a thing.
While their metal construction and surprisingly quick reflexes gave them an advantage, it necessitated that their inner workings be poorly armored. Quick and precise slices allowed me to cut the cords strung from gear to gear like tendons, leaving them immobile. I supposed if one was more inclined to brute strength than finesse, a good warhammer could crush them into scrap metal as well.
I found two magical amulets and a perfectly cut onyx behind one of the locked gates; the other held only a suit of Dwemer armor. I continued down the halls, hissing with steam or echoing with the sounds of clanking gears. Whatever Falmer remained would be cut down or routed by my hand; something told me there were more than a few still lurking about.

The Falmer have one considerable weakness, that I have come to exploit in nearly every fight; they are easily thrown off balance. Perhaps it is due to their blindness, but even a halfhearted shield bash or powerful strike will set them off kilter, opening the way for a well aimed stab or slash. Whatever the reason, it's an advantage I use often.
Stifling a yawn as I walked through a quiet portion of the ruins, I wondered what time it was. It was impossible to keep track of the hour while underground like this. My stomach rumbled loudly, so it must be dinner time. I took a moment to wolf down a hunk of bread and a slice of cheese I had stashed in my haversack, washing it down with a few swigs from my waterskin.
If these ruins proved to go on much further, I might have to stop and find a relatively safe place to rest. Sleeping on the hard stone didn't sound very appealing, though, and the noise of distant machinery was constantly echoing through the halls.

I was just thinking it was awfully quiet when a half dozen mechincal spiders poured from sockets in the wall, attacking me with their metal pincers. Their gears were fragile and exposed, though, and they were easily disabled, though for a moment their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm me.
Shortly thereafter I found some sort of control room, with a lever connected to several complex gears and cogs. When I pulled the lever, the machinery sprung to life, turning at a furious rate. Deep in the stone walls of Nchuand-zel, I could hear ancient machines hissing with steam as they came alive. I hoped I hadn't just doomed myself.
"What in Oblivion is THAT!?" I exclaimed as I reentered the massive main hall to a battle between Falmer and ancient Dwemer machines. A massive Dwemer automaton was battling two Falmer, crushing one beneath a huge hammer. It was easily twice the size of any other machines I had encountered, hissing steam with every movement. It skewered the second Falmer on a blade the size of a greatsword, then turned it's armored face towards me, striding in my direction on huge legs of Dwemer alloy.
It hissed a great cloud of steam at me, and I cowered behind my shield. Thankfully it's blows, though powerful, were slow and easily predicted. Still, there was little room to maneuver on the high stone walkways, and I was forced to retreat at every blow. After several dodged strikes, I noticed a small spinning gyro set into the things chest. With a lung, I jammed the tip of Dawnbreaker into it, and the gears of the machine made an awfully grinding sound. It stumbled to one side, nearly taking Dawnbreaker with it as the machine fell over the side of the walkway into the dark waters fall below, falling with a huge splash of water and a great cloud of steam.
With that, I scrambled up a small side path looming over the main walkway leading back to Markarth. I lept onto it in a jumble of orichalcum, hamstringing one of the man-sized automatons as I sprinted back to the entrance of the ancient ruins.

I returned to find Calcemo still hard at work, scribbling notes into a book. When I told him of all that had happened, he stared at me in disbelief, then scolded me "You're lucky that centurion didn't pulverize you to a bloody paste!"
He softened when I presented the Dwemer cloak to him, though, saying he had never seen so much as a single scrap of Dwemer fabric before. He gave me a purse heavy with coin as thanks for the gift, and asked if the ruins were safe to research now.
"I'm not sure." I replied, removing my helmet and wiping sweat from my brow. "I killed many dozens of Falmer, but when I pulled that lever I am sure I awoke many machine guardians. If more Falmer don't creep from crevices and destroy them, who knows how long they'll keep roaming the halls?"
"Centuries, doubtless." Calcemo replied, scowling. "I will write up a full report for the Jarl. He should know how close his city was to potential disaster, the fool. We all owe you a great debt."

Bidding Calcemo a warm farewell, I went to find the inn, exhausted. Judging by how dark it was and the chill in the air, it must have been after midnight. I curled up on the stone bed of my room and fell fast asleep. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

Of Snow and Bone - Part Twelve

28th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

We explored a cave along the road to Markarth, before the sun had yet risen. Inside were men and women dressed all in ragged furs and feather headdresses, their weapons crude sharpened sticks, stones, and animal teeth. Though they were brave and fought with ferocity, they died easily. With proper equipment and a little more training they would have been deadly. Were these savages the Forsworn the man in Karthwasten had mentioned?
An old crumbling tower was the centerpiece of the huge cave, and I wondered why someone had bothered to build it there. I could understand fortifying a natural position like a cave, but a tower seemed a fairly poor choice of stonework.
It all made more sense when I discovered a ladder leading upwards, outside. The tower in the cave had just been a foundation for a tower above, connected to a series of fortifications. Several Forsworn patrolled the area, but we took them all out with relative ease.

As the fortifications led back into the cliff face, I discovered a strange and horrible creature. Half bird, half woman, she was caged and raved about her sister Petra taking her tower from her. She promised a valuable staff as reward if I set her loose and helped her kill her sister. I released her from the cage, though Borgakh and I kept a watchful eye.
The hagraven, as she called herself, led us through a series of traps and hidden doors, lending her magic whenever we had to fight. So far although she seemed a little insane and more than a little grotesque, she had not tried to betray us.
When we found her sister Petra, Melka entered into a magical duel with her as Borgakh and I took care of Petra's forsworn guards. With her sister slain, and tower reclaimed, Melka gave me her magical staff as promised. I also found an enchanted Dwemer shield in an old chest, and took it to replace my mundane one. I bid Melka fairwell and the best of luck with her tower, and we made our way back to Blacktail. The sun had dawned and risen bright as I mounted the gelding.

We found a small shack along the road, sitting in front of a mine. I would have passed it by, but three Forsworn jumped from the rocks and assaulted us when we approached. There were none in the shack, but I decided to check the mine just in case, to make sure no other travellers would be attacked.
We slew the Forsworn in the mine easily; all except one. His heart had been cut straight from his chest, and replaced with a strange plant. Judging by the power of his magical attacks, it seemed likely that some sort of foul necromancy was responsible.
The mine, once cleared, was rich with glittering veins of gold. Borgakh and I spent several hours collecting and smelting as much of the ore as we could find. By the time Borgakh got to Markarth, she would be drowning in wealth. In the meantime, she struggled to lug the many gold and silver ingots in her pack. Blacktail bore the weight easily on his thick frame, though. I insisted the Orc girl let my mount carry some of her weight, but she stubbornly refused.

Blacktails bags were practically bursting at the seams with jewelry, potions, gems and ingots of precious metal. I took them off to give him a break, even though he didn't seem to mind the weight, as I knelt by the river to refill my waterskins and wash up. Borgakh and I took some time to maintain our equipment and eat a quick meal, then it was back on the road to Markarth.
As I rode past a mine just outside of the ancient Dwemer city, several miners where gathered around talking excitedly.
"By the nine, what happened to you Pavo?" one of them asked.
"The Forsworn have taken Kolskegger mine!" he exclaimed. "We're all that's left."
"Kolskegger mine?" I asked, reigning Blacktail to a halt. "Is that the gold mine a few miles down the road? With a shack out front?"
When I told the man named Pavo that I had cleared all the Forsworn from the mine, he looked at me in disbelief. I had to describe the mine in detail before he believed me, then he gave me a large coin purse as thanks for my deed. I tried to tell him that wasn't neccesary, but he insisted, then bolted off down the road with a few other men.

Markarth was quite a sight, and seemed to have been carved from the very stone of the mountains itself. I handed the coinpurse Pavo had given me to Borgakh, as payment for her half of our adventuring loot. She looked inside and nodded, declaring that it was "More than fair". With a warm goobye we parted ways, me heading to the smith and her to the inn. It felt nice to be alone again.
It had been tempting to just sell the ingots of gold and silver, but I decided to use them to refine my smithing skills instead, and forged many rings and amulets from the metal. When I was done, I felt I had gained a finer knowledge of smithing that working armor-quality metals could never give me.
When I was done, I finally felt confident enough to try my hand at Orichalcum armor. I purchased several ingots from the smith, a burly and gruff Orc woman who seemed to enjoy berating her apprentice. When I was done, it was late into the night, but I had a full suit of Orcish armor; everything but a shield. My enchanted Dwemer shield would have to do for now.
I was exhausted, but very pleased, and headed to the inn to bed down. I didn't see Borgakh anywhere, and assumed she was either in one of the rooms or had left. I wolfed down dinner and then went to bed, admiring my polished orichalcum plate in the light of a flickering candle.

Of Snow and Bone - Part Eleven

27th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

I ate a light breakfast of a sweetroll and tea, lounging around the inn for a while before going to get Blacktail from the stable and set out for Markarth. The sun had risen bright and clear into a sky scattered with clouds. It looked to be a warm day. The horse neighed as he caught my scent, and I gave the stable boy a gold septim for a huge carrot, feeding it to the dark chestnut gelding as he was saddled.
I was in a fine mood as Blacktail's hooves clopped along the road. Taking a gulp of water from a skin, I examined Dawnbreaker. I had learned a fair bit of smithing at my stronghold, and even more since leaving it; yet I could not identify the metal of the blade. It was very finely grained, and if it wasn't so light I thought it might be ebony. The weight felt more like forged glass, and the color was similar to moonstone.
With a sigh I slid the shimmering sword back into it's sheath. Likely only Meridia herself knew what it was forged from. It actually reminded me a little bit of Dwemer alloy, though lighter in weight or color. I took another swig from the water skin and watched some squirrels chasing each other in the trees.

Snow began to fall lightly as I headed further up into the mountains, trying to find a more direct path to Markarth. The main road, as marked on my map, required one to travel far south, past Rorikstead and almost to Falkreath, and then back north and west. It seemed like a roundabout way to go, and I was sure one of these mountain paths must link Markarth to Solitude.
A short set of stone stairs led to an old wooden door just off the road I was following, and I decided to head inside and explore. What was I, after all, if not an adventurer? The cave was empty, and I followed it's tunnel until I reached a large room. A stone ceremonial table had been set up, with some pieces of iron armor and two books on it. Off to one side, a large brazier smoldered gently.
One of the books was a historical account, and the other described someone who had been buried here, and mentioned something about the glowing mushrooms on the walls. I noticed the charred, smoldering remains of what might have been mushrooms in the brazier, so I tore one off a damp cave wall and tossed it in.

The mushroom erupted into blinding flame, and I could hear the sounds of stone scraping on stone. When my eyes readjusted to the darkness, I could see a secret passage had opened. These people always went through so much effort to lock things up or hide them, then they went and left obvious clues or the key right in plain sight!
Past the secret door, in a hall lit by glowing mushrooms, were more of those hideous blind elf creatures and their strange chitin structures. Dawnbreaker seared their flesh with flame wherever the blade touched them. Enchanted weapons bothered me, since they required constant recharging, but I figured it would still be a good blade even once it's enchantment ran dry. I moved deeper into the tunnel, past the two corpses.
There were more of those damned poisonous giant insects, too, and I had to down a healing potion to keep from keeling over when one of them spat venom in my face. It was worth it though; one of the chitin huts had a chest, and inside was an enchanted iron dagger and necklace. I returned to Blacktail, pounded the dents out of my shield and helmet, and then continued searching for the road to Markarth.

I spotted a squad of Altmer ahead, one in robes and two in elven armor. It was something I had seen before, and I expected to pass them peacefully as I had done before. Then out of the blue the one in robes started shooting lightning at me! I quickly galloped ahead, dismounted, and then doubled back.
I had no idea what I had done to provoke this attack, but I wasn't going to let it go unanswered. I killed the two in armor with brute strength and unrelenting blows, but the mage proved more difficult. Even behind my shield, her lightning made my muscles scream in pain. Eventually she ran out of magicka, and came at me with a dagger. A foolish mistake.
I took her cloak and robes, since they were enchanted and would sell decently, and stuffed them into Blacktails saddlebag. In the pocket of her robes was a note; an execution order with my name all over it. I wondered what the hell I had done to piss them off, then shrugged and burned the note with a flame spell.

We ran across some ice wolves, too, near an old collapsed watchtower. Blacktail struck one in the head with a massive iron shod hoof, killing it instantly, and I skewered the other on Dawnbreaker as it jumped for me.
I cursed as I reached the end of the path a short while later; it looked like it had once led through a tunnel, but a rock slide had closed off the entrance. I pulled out my map and tried to figure out where I was. As best I could tell, I was plenty far west, almost directly North of Markarth. Maybe I could just head south cross-country.
Backtracking to the fallen tower, I found a path south that wasn't too steep for Blacktail to climb. The sky had cleared, and the sun streamed brightly down, reflecting off the snow with a blinding light. After carefully plodding up a rocky slope and down the other side, we emerged in a green valley with a dirt path leading to what seemed to be nothing other than an orc stronghold.
I felt a pang of homesickness as I approached the wooden palisade, taking off my helmet and cradling it in my lap. I was welcomed inside by a woman on small wooden platform,  she called their stronghold Mor Khazgur. I was taken to see the chief. The homesickness didn't last long; he reminded me much of the one I had left behind. All talk about keeping all the women for himself and murdering anyone who challenged his authority.
But there was a woman warrior there, practicing swordplay. She reminded me of myself, and when I greeted her she spoke with regret of her fate of being married off to some other chief.

She claimed her name was Borgakh the Steel Heart, and I explained that I had left my stronghold, though for different reasons. When I asked if she would like to come with me, she claimed that it would be too great a dishonor to her chief and mother. I offered to pay a fair dowry, 200 septims, in order to buy her freedom. Borgakh was thrilled, and ran off right away to give the gold to her chief.
Before long we were on our way south, her walking beside Blacktail as I rode. We talked about life in the strongholds, and I warned her that I led a dangerous life. "Perhaps it will be best if we part ways at Markarth." I suggested. Borgakh grunted, and asked "Do you think there will be honest work for me there?".
I shrugged, and told her she could probably find work escorting caravans, or at the very least go to Solitude and join the legion. We travelled in silence after that, and I had the feeling she was weighing her options. I wondered if she regretted leaving the stronghold.

When I found another set of stone steps leading to an old door by the side of the road, I asked the Orc if she would prefer to stay outside. She gave me a fierce look and charged ahead through the door. I followed with a small sigh. Hopefully she wouldn't get killed.
Just inside the entrance, an Imperial man was fighting a glowing white spider. When we helped helm slay the thing, he said there were enchanted spiders prowling the halls, and that he was leaving while he could. I guess he was scared of the things. Still, it was strange. I had never heard of animals being enchanted before.
Borgakh tried to charge ahead, but I grabbed her arm and stopped her.
"Don't be an idiot. You can still fight honorably without charging off to your death."
Borgakh looked at me with distaste. "Malacath teaches us to face our deaths without fear."
"I have been on many adventures since I left my stronghold. And I have killed many men that were so afraid of giving into their fear that they nearly threw themselves on my blade with courage. Stay behind me and if we're lucky you won't set off a trap and be impaled on spikes."
I let go of her arm, and with an angry scowl she fell in behind me. She was too much the stereotypical stronghold Orc, and it irritated me. I would definitely be leaving her to her own devices once we reached Markarth.

We encountered a strange puzzle involving four levers that raised or lowere several bars blocking our path. I pulled them all randomly for a while, then reset them and began to go about it methodically, scratching each combination I tried into the stone. This worked much better, and the fifth combination pulled back all the bars and cleared the way.
There were many potions of magical resistance scattered about the area, and I stuffed them into my sack. Perhaps they had been used to enchant the spiders, somehow. I was also able to collect a large amount of spider silk and venom, which would sell for a decent price. Borgakh had pulled her bow off her back and was using it against the spiders; if nothing else, she was an excellent shot.
Eventually we found an Altmer mage, who nearly shocked me to death before I could even get to him. When I did, though, I put all my strength into finishing him. Unfortunately he had retreated into a hallway, and Borgakh couldn't get a clean shot at him without hitting me. Either way, he was dead.
I nearly died again, and Borgakh as well, when two huge spiders, one enchanted with ice, the other with fire, spun down on webs from the walls and assailed us. I had to retreat into the hallway to heal, the spiders were too large to fit inside. Borgakh charged them with her sword, and when she fell to the ground panting, I was sure she was dead. When I killed the two spiders, darting in and out of the hall, she stood up and I have her some healing potions. She refused at first, saying that a true warrior let their wounds heal naturally. When I told her she was no use to me nearly dead, Borgakh relented and drank two potions.

In what I can only assume were the Altmers quarters, I found a beautiful engraved gold necklace with a large diamond set in the middle. It would sell for a pretty penny, and I promised Borgakh I would give half the coin I got for it when I sold it in Markarth. She seemed pleased at that.
As we walked south, continuing along the path, Borgakh asked me if I did that sort of thing often. I told her it was rare for a day to go by where I wasn't exploring some cave or another, or killing bandits, or doing some random job for someone. I pulled out Dawnbreaker, which I had seen her looking at when we were battling the spiders, and told her how I had come across it.
I also told her how dangerous adventuring and tombraiding was. About Meeko, and the two Vigilants, and the many close calls I had had. I could tell it had little sobering effect though; she had been enraptured with the idea of adventuring ever since I had found that diamond necklace. So much for all that talk of honor!

The path ended up being a dead end, stopping at the banks of a river. We just turned south and followed the river instead. It led us to a mining town, Karthwasten, where some miners were arguing with some mercenaries. From what I could gather, the miners had been told they were hired to protect the mine from Forsworn, but in actuality were just there to bully the miners into selling to some family called the Silverbloods.
Apparently, the Forsworn were some sort of native hill tribe that constantly harassed anyone living in or around Markarth. It seemed silly to me: after all this time, this land didn't belong to them any more than it did to the Nords. I could understand fighting for your homeland, but it seemed to me that at this point the Forsworn were just fighting because that was what their parents had done, and their grandparents, and their great-grandparents. It was foolish.
There was no inn or anything, so I shared some slaughterfish with Borgakh and we ate a quick lunch on some wooden steps. I got the feeling from the way the miners were looking at me that they wanted me to do something about the sellswords, and I spoke with a man named Ainethach, the mine's owner. He said if I got rid of the sellswords, one way or another, I could have all the silver ore I could carry. It seemed like a fair enough deal.
I approached Atar, a Nord man in charge of the band of mercenaries. When he refused to leave peacefully, I pulled out my sword and challenged him. Fight me or leave. He drew his weapon, and I unleashed a flurry of blows, battering away his shield and then slaying him. We cleared the mine of his men, and then went to inform Ainethach.

Ainethach gave me 600 septims for my work, and I was pleased he was not upset that I had killed the sellswords. Some people had weak stomachs when it came to such things, but every mercenary knows the risks when they take a job. One of those risks is that a better mercenary might be hired to kill them. Someone like me.
I split the septims with Borgakh, and we both spent the remaining daylight mining and smelting silver. By time we were done Blacktails saddlebags bulged and clinked with a dozen small ingots of the soft shiny metal. Borgakh had at least that many, her pack must weigh a ton.
We bedded down in the smaller of Karthwasten's two mines, and chatted as we ate dinner. I decided that Borgakh would make an excellent caravan or personal guard; she had sharp aim, quick reflexes, and good eyes. But the moral ambiguities of being a sellsword or adventurer did not fit her well.  With any luck at all she could get a job guarding silver shipments from Markarth.

Of Snow and Bone - Part Ten

26th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

The gem I had picked up yesterday, at the ruined towers, was acting like a compass. It pulsed faintly to the Northwest. I decided to turn around, and follow it's direction. I assumed it was pointing me towards Mount Kilkreth, or wherever it was that Meridia's temple was located. Then I mentally kicked myself as I realized I had completely forgotten to deliver the letter while I was at Whiterun! The air was cool and pleasant in the hours before daybreak, and Blacktail clopped along placidly as we retraced our steps from the previous day's journey.

I left Blacktail tied up at the stables and entered Whiterun on foot, checking the letter to remember who I was supposed to deliver it to: someone named Danica. After a little asking around I found her, she was a priest of Kynareth up at the temple. Danica gave me some coin for my troubles and then returned to healing a wounded man. I was surprised she was up this early; something told me she didn't get much rest.
Stopping by the forge, I purchased a hammer and some steel punches to do field repairs on my armor, patched up the holes the necromancer had given me, then returned to Blacktail and set off West as the sun began to rise behind us.

I decided to stop and investigate an old crumbling fortress I had passed by when I had been coming from Rorikstead. Bandits had put up straw soldiers, to make it look as if the walls were manned. That made me chuckle softly. There were five bandits in the courtyard, all armed with bows, and by the time I had killed them all I must have looked like a porcupine!
The combat inside was more to my liking, and after I had slain a man and a woman wielding rusty iron greatswords, I found an old woman. She appeared to be a maid, "I just cook and clean and do whatever they ask of me!" she exclaimed. I thought it was odd, but I wasn't going to cut down an unarmed old woman. I had this terrible feeling she was going to blast me with a fireball or electrocute me as soon as I turned my back, but she just huddled on her bed.
Past a series of skeever traps baited with old cheese, I confronted an old, grey-bearded nord man. He swung a steel greatsword with ferocity, and I had to flee and heal myself at one point. He parried every blow I gave and countered with one twice as strong. Finally, after an eternity of blocking and dodging his blows, he was tired enough to give me an opening. I slashed at his arm, cutting to the bone, and he dropped his sword. With a grunt of effort, I drove my blade into his chest and finally put an end to the battle. A worthy foe, I wondered what he was doing among the other bandits, who had barely put up a fight.

I cleared the fort, but found little of value besides coin, potions, and a spell scroll. Remounting Blacktail, who was chewing some brown grass, we continued to head West. I stopped at a quiet inn at Rorikstead for a lunch of brown bread and chicken stew, washing it down with a mug of brown ale. While Blacktail munched some grass growing along the road, I pounded out the dings and gashes in my armor, and cleaned and oiled my sword. Then it was back onto the road.
Meridia's gem led me to her temple, and as I approached she bid me to place the 'beacon' as she called it in a cradle at the foot of her statue. When I did, I found myself lifted hundreds of feet into the air on a beam of light. There, floating in the sky, a ball of light I can only assume was Meridia, ordered me to cleanse her temple of a necromancer named Malkoran. I hurriedly agreed, since I did not wish to be dropped from such a height at the whim of a Daedra. On the plus side, the view was amazing.

Meridia set me down at the doors to her temple, and I entered. The halls were filled with a swirling purple miasma, charred and butchered corpses of Imperial and Stormcloak soldiers littering the halls. Several beacons, similar to the one I had found, reflected beams of light. When I arranged them to line up, the door to the next room swung open. I repeated this several times as I progressed through the halls, slaying several strange shadow creatures along the way. When the path took me outside, I found a chest containing several pieces of jewelry, an enchanted circlet, and a spell book. At least I would be making some money from this adventure.
At last I found Malkoran, surrounded by a guard of shades. I slew the shades quickly, then focused on the necromancer. He let loose a whirling ball of ice from a staff that knocked my from my feet and chilled me to the bone, but though his attacks were strong he was physically weak. It took only a few quick slashes to bring him down, but when his body was slain his spirit rose as a shade. I forced it back into the beam of Meridia's light, where it writhed in agony and then vanished to dust.
With the necromancer slain, Meridia spoke to me, telling me to take her sword, Dawnbreaker, from it's pedestal. When I did, I found myself consumed in light, and suddenly I was floating in the air again. Meridia instructed me to use Dawnbreaker to spread her light across Skyrim. I told her I would, it was a good straight blade, with a glowing gem set into the guard. Centuries of wear had left it a little dull and tarnished, and when Meridia set me down at the entrance to the temple I set about sharpening and polishing it. When I was done, it gleamed as brightly as any dawn.

I hurried through the temple to grab the necromancers staff and enchanted cloak, for both would surely sell well, and strapped them to Blacktail before setting out for Solitude. I was amazed at how much the mount had cut my travel times, and was sure we would reach the city before nightfall.
I spent the remaning hours of daylight trading and working the forge, practicing my smithing and repairing my armor yet again. As the sun set behind the mountains, I headed to the inn for dinner and sleep. Blacktail was being seen to down at the stables. Laying down to sleep, I decided that tomorrow, if nothing else came up I would head to Morthal.

Of Snow and Bone - Part Nine

25th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

I awoke feeling fuzzy and contented from good sleep. The sun was not yet out. Warming the last of the venison by the hearth, I ate breakfast, drinking the last of the alto wine from last night. According to my map, Rorikstead was not far to the south, and then Whiterun lay some miles to the east. If I kept a decent pace, I might make Whiterun by noon.
I left before dawn, with Masser a huge crescent in the sky. Rorikstead was silent, a single guard patrolling with a torch just as dawn began to break, the sky lighting a soft violet and pink on the eastern horizon. As I walked down the road, a Khajiit, dressed all in black leathers, jumped from behind a rock and assaulted me with sword in one hand, dagger in the other.
She had none of the good humor Mai'q had shown, and got several minor glancing blows on me before I took her head clean off. I must be getting stronger. A small coin purse and a simple note were all I took from her. The note held scant information: only that I was to be killed, and that failure would not be tolerated. With a grunt, I crumpled the note and tossed it aside. They would have to do better than that if they wished me dead.

Discovering a cave along the road, I paused and wandered inside. I was making excellent time towards Whiterun, and my bloodlust was up from the assassin's attack. Adventure called.
It proved to be a near fatal mistake; a vampire clad in elven armor had risen several skeletons from their crypts, and I had to flee and heal myself before I was able to kill her. Another vampire, deeper within, I took by surprise as he slept, and was easier to kill. I got some gold and jewelry for my efforts, and an enchanted amulet that made me feel a little more energetic. The entire ordeal took perhaps only ten minutes, and before long I was back into dawn's light.

I noticed a film of rust on my blade, and felt a pang of shame. The blade was nicked and chipped in several places, and my armor was full of holes, gashes, dents and scrapes. I vowed to do no more adventuring until my equipment was back in top shape, and headed to Whiterun at a brisk pace.
A band of three merrymakers passed me going towards Rorikstead on the road, and a Redguard with a Nord accent offered a bottle of Honingbrew mead. With a hearty thanks and a toast to the enjoyment of fine drink, I downed the bottle and bid him a good journey. It was nice to meet some friendly people on the road, for once. When I offered a few septims for the brew, he declined and said it was his pleasure to spread joy.
A thief attacked me as Whiterun grew in the distance, but I slew him with ease. Blocking his initial flurry of attacks, I lashed out with shield while thrusting with sword, blade shearing through his tarnished and worn elven armor. Thankfully I reached Whiterun without any further trouble, and found a Khajiit caravan camped outside it's gates.
They were very polite, and more serious than Mai'q. I traded several small things I had picked up on the way from Solitude; soul gems, potions and poisons, small gems of low quality. It reminded me that I needed to pick up a cure for diseases at the alchemists, after my earlier run in with the vampires, and I headed inside the city.

I traded for the disease cure and downed it, and also purchased several healing potions. Afterwards, I quickly made my way to the smith; the sun was still fairly low in the sky, and if I was lucky I could complete my gear repairs before noon. The smith had several Dwemer ingots, and I was able to repair and even reinforce my armor. I honed my sword to a razors edge, and sewed up some tears in my pack and haversack. The smith woman did not have enough raw materials to forge a shield of Dwemer alloy, but had one already made by her hand. Purchasing it, I took the last bit of Dwemer metal and tweaked it to my liking.
With my equipment seen to, I headed to the general store to sell off the last of my goods, a few pieces of jewelry and some magical spell scrolls. The owner of the shop, a Breton man, grated on my nerves, but he paid me a decent enough price.

When all this was accomplished, I stopped at the inn for a light supper of bread and cheese and tea. Then I continued on my journey east, deciding to visit Windhelm, and explore anything of interest along the way. On a whim, I stopped by the Whiterun stables. One thousand septims for a horse, which seemed a reasonable price, especially since it included two saddlebags, the saddle, and a horse blanket. I picked a likely looking dark-haired gelding, and with some instruction from the stable keeper and an hours practice, was soon on my way.
The stable keeper told me the horse's name was Blacktail, since his tail and mane were darker than the rest of him. Although knowing my luck, he would soon be slain from under me! I hoped Blacktail lived a good long time, otherwise my coin was wasted. When a wolf sprinted down from a cluster of rocks to attack us, Blacktail only startled a little, and I was able to lean down off my saddle and hack the wolf to death. I was grateful the horse was proving well-behaved and easy to handle.

I found Mai'q along the road again, and hailed him. This time he claimed he had heard it was dangerous to be my friend, and that the people of Skyrim were more open minded than people of other places. I supposed both of those things were true to an extent. I told the Khajiit that I hoped to see him again soon, and lead Blacktail onwards.
The road along the White River was infested with wolves, but Blacktail did well. Still, he received several bites to his legs, and I had to soak a cloth with healing potion and apply it to his wounds. Perhaps, if I got the chance, I would need to learn a spell to heal others. It would certainly help with these sorts of situations. When I noticed two ancient stone towers, one on each side of the river connected by a thin bridge, I tied his reigns around a rock and went to investigate.
A few bandits had taken up residence, and many arrows thunked into my new shield. I slew them all easily enough, though, even the one who appeared to be their leader. He was too cautious, and barely fought back. An old chest, hidden in the tower on the far side of the river, held a strange gem. When I picked it up, a voice flooded into my head; it reminded me of when Vaermina had tried to get me to kill that Dunmer priest in Nightcaller Temple.
This voice claimed to be Meridia. She demanded that I be her new champion, and cleanse her temple at Mount Kilkreath of invaders. Why the Daedric goddess could not just banish them all to Oblivion, I did not know, but it is said they often work in strange and insane ways.

With a shrug, I put the gem into my haversack and began looting the corpses of their coinpurses. The findings were meager, but the fight was thrilling, even if it was easy. Slipping a rough, unpolished amethyst from one of the bandits pockets into my haversack, I returned to Blacktail and continued down the path. It was nice not having to carry a pack around all the time; I just strapped my equipment to the horse.
When a troll appeared around a bend in the path, Blacktail nearly bolted. I yanked him around and galloped the other way for a time, then quickly dismounted and ran back to face the troll on foot. It took several deep hacks, and one of it's blows nearly tore shield from arm, but soon it was slain, and Blacktail and I were back upon the trail.

A while later, when the sun was beginning to get low in the sky, I took a detour up a small dirt path. At the top was one of those ancient Nord burial tombs, and I decided to explore before bedding down for the night. The half rotten doors creaked and showered the stone floor with rust as I opened them, and much to my surprise a Nord man sat beside a fire just inside the entrance!
He jumped up, startled, and said he thought I was a necromancer. The man said his name was Golldir, and his aunt had gone inside to kill a Dunmer necromancer who was raising his ancestors from the dead. He begged my help, and I gave it gladly, saying that in truth I had planned on exploring the tombs anyway. Golldir seemed nonplussed at that, but he unlocked the door to the tomb and we went inside.
Most of the risen corpses proved rotten and frail, falling apart in just a few blows. A few of them were tougher, and took a bit of effort, but it was nothing I couldn't handle, especially with Golldir providing backup. Sadly, we found the torn body of Golldir's aunt, laying in a pile of blood in the middle of a larger room.

We cut through a small army of dusty corpses, fighting to reach a secret passage Golldir knew of, since the necromancer had barred the main door. At last we fought our way to the Dunmer, and he summoned one Draugr after another, until at last we slew him. My armor had a few new holes, where the necromancers ice bolts had pierced, but Golldir gave me a large coin purse and the key to a chest as a reward for my efforts. He proved to be tougher than he looked, and I commended his fortitude.
The chest held a circlet of copper and moonstone, an enchanted hunting bow, and a spell tomb. I left the bow and took the other two items, stuffing them into my haversack, which already clinked with some random potions and other loot to sell. I joined Golldir at the fire by the entrance to the tomb for the night, tying up Blacktail nearby. I slept uneasily, hoping bandits would not attack us in the night and slay Golldir like had happened to the Vigilants. I seemed to be bad luck for other people.

Of Snow and Bone - Part Eight

24th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

I awoke and entered the streets of Solitude in the cool light of the stars. The sun would rise within an hour or two, and I scratched Meeko between the ears as I wondered what to do today. I still had the letter to deliver to Whiterun, from Igdrod the Younger. Perhaps I could drop it off, and then follow the White River, north to Windhelm, or south to Riften, whichever struck my fancy. And on the way there, if I was to explore a cave or ancient ruin, who was to tell me otherwise?
As my feet hit the cobblestone, it suddenly struck me how much freedom I had. I was beholden to no one, no creed or army. I was free to travel wherever I wished, take any job offered, fish any river or hunt any valley. I felt uplifted at the thought, as if a great burden had been removed. With a pat on Meeko's rump, I began to sing that Dragonborn tune softly under my breath.

Just outside of Dragon Bridge, a strange Khajiit greeted me. He commented on several random things, such as worrying about where the snow falls, and searching for calipers. Mai'q, as he gave his name, was the first Khajiit I had ever met. I wondered if they were all this way, and bid him a warm farewell.
Past Dragon Bridge, a wagon lay with it's horse dead in the reigns, a Redguard woman pierced with strange chitinous arrows beside it. A bandit attack, most likely. I lifted the woman's hand; stiffness had only just begun to set in, and there were only a few flies around the mouth and eyes of the horse. The attack had been recent. The arrows indicated the attack had come from the southwest, though I could see no tracks. I set off to see if I could find the attackers location, more out of curiosity than any desire for justice.
All Meeko and I found was a sabrecat sitting in front of a cave. It's claws swiped across my armor more than once, but we still put it down fairly easy. Meeko was smart enough to wait till I had it's attention before attacking, but I am concerned one day he'll run head first into an axe swing. I suppose it's his choice, though. Nobody is forcing him to stay with me.

A now-dead Reguard had set up camp near the entrance to the half flooded cave, his body curled up on a bedroll, but I could find no injuries on him. We waded through the water, deeper into the cavern; straight into a massive cauldron of spiders. Meeko did well, and my blade cut through their chitin. We slayed a half-dozen in the first room, and several more in other tunnels.
Then we found them; pale, hunched, gaunt elf-like creatures. They had no eyes, and carried chitinous arrows like those we had found near the wagon. Meeko slew one armed with a bow, and I took down another holding a sword. The third, armed with axe and shield, proved far more challenging. He slew Meeko, driving the cruel spike of his axe through the hounds chest, piercing his heart. As I moved to take advantage of the opening, and avenge Meeko, the elf-beast brought his shield up faster than I could have imagined.
We traded blows for several seconds, it's blade biting through my Dwemer armor to draw blood twice, until at last it fouled itself with its shield; brought it up too close, so that it could not strike well with its axe. I pressed against it with all my weight, drawing my blade up high and driving the point down between it's neck and shoulder. I felt a pang of sadness for Meeko, and was glad his death had at least been swift. After I was done clearing these tunnels of cruel creatures, I would take him outside beneath the open sky and burn him, as I had his master.
It was not the only difficult battle I would encounter. One of the creatures blasted me with frozen winds, and strange beetles with razor pincers spit poison at me. I took one of their strange shield for my own, and a bow as well. Whatever it was these creatures used to craft their weapons and armor, it was effective.
I found a note, written by Firir, on a dead Nord man, in a cage of chitin. It seems he had been part of a caravan assaulted by these creatures, and they had dragged the survivors into these tunnels to feed them to their insectoid pets. I would make sure they never murdered another person again.
After several close calls and desperate retreats to heal myself, I had finally cleared the extensive tunnels and caves of these horrible beasts. I carried Meeko's body outside, and burned it upon a pyre. I had only known the hound two days, but he deserved that at least.

Continuing east along the road, I felt a little lonely without Meeko, but had a feeling things would soon be back to normal. I had travelled longer without him than with him, after all. Out of nowhere, as I was refilling a water skin by a small waterfall, a Nord woman charged at me, sword held high. I blocked her first strike, and followed it with a flurry of my own, never letting her lower her shield. Just as she began to recover and ready a counter, I stepped right and cut her neck to the spine. I wondered what had possessed her to attack a fully armored Orc warrior. Perhaps she was just stupid.
Not long after the Nord's suicide assault, I found a wooden palisade set across a small gorge the road passed through. Along the steps and walls of hewn pine, several bandits eyed me warily. I found myself filled with an inexplicable rage, an insatiable bloodlust as I let out a roar of anger and charged up a dirt path off the road to the fort's entrance. A startled woman guarded the gates, my sword splintering her shield, then her shield arm, and then shearing into her left side.
She fell with a bloodied gurgle as I rammed the gate with my shield, bouncing away with a sharp crack of the wood. I charged again and the gate burst open in a shower of splinters. Bandits rushed to meet me with steel in hand, while archers on the wooden ramparts took aim. I tore through them with a ferocity I had not thought myself capable of.

The first to meet me as I stepped through the gates was a large Nord man, armed with a crude iron battle axe. As he charged, raising the axe high overhead, I thrust my sword forward into his gut. It pierced him through, and as I kicked him away a gaunt Imperial mage began casting tendrils of lightning at me, making my muscles tingle more and more with each passing second. Until I raised my chitin shield, dispersing the tingling to a dull prick. I charged toward him as an arrow glanced off my helm, another embedding itself in my pauldron with a metallic 'plunk'. I could feel the tip just barely grazing against my shoulder.
The mage panicked as I charged him, abandoning his spell for a short sword on his hip. I cut his face from temple to cheekbone, two inches deep. An instant death. Shield raised against a hail of arrows, I charged up wooden steps to face the two archers. One of them planted a steel arrow straight into my chest at the last second, the bladed tip biting through the Dwemer breastplate and past the padded leather to be stopped by my sternum. I barely felt the pain through the heat of battle.
Cutting down the archers, two blows to the first, one to the second, I headed down the bridge of ropes and logs to what I thought was the final bandit. He raised a simple iron shield and prepared to stand ground; I bashed him with a shield of my own, making him lose balance and stumble back. That was all the opening I needed, and I lunged forward with a twist of the elbow and flick of the wrist, opening his throat.
I heard nothing but the sound of heavy boots on the bridge, warning me just in time of my final enemy. Her shield slammed into me, snapping off the shaft of the arrow in my breastplate and sending me tumbling. Clad all in steel armor, forged in the Nordic style, this must have been the leader. The others had all been using rusty steel or furs, but she had decent equipment.
Her charge had left her slightly off balance as well, and she was a moment too late in delivering a follow up blow as I rolled, the momentum taking me to my feet. We faced each other, shields raised, heads down. I struck, my blow deflected by her shield, and she countered by slamming it's steel rim into my helmet. I felt her blade scratch across my breastplate, not cutting through. We traded a dozen blows, and I fled, throwing the broken gates of the fort closed behind me as I put all my reserves into my simple healing spell. Slowly I felt the pain dissipate, my strength returning slightly.
It was a small respite, and she was on me again in seconds. This time, though, she had grown arrogant. Certain her victory was assured, she lowered her shield and pulled her sword arm back, for a final powerful blow to end our duel. I parried her strike easily, and jammed the edge of my shield into her face with all my strength. I felt bone crunch as the guard of her helm gave way, crushing her nose. Stumbling backwards, she dropped her shield and brought her hand up to her face, unable to see through the pain.
I thrust at the soft spot, where the buckle met the chest plate. The tip of my blade glanced off the edge of the buckle and slid into the gap, through the leather and into her guts. She died as blood streamed down from her broken face.

It took an hour, but I healed myself using magic, slow but sure. Stripping off my damaged armor, I repaired it as best I could, using a round stone to hammer out the dents and holes on a wooden bench. At this rate I would need to start carrying around repair tools, a hammer certainly, and perhaps some steel punches of various size. I would have to remember when I got to Whiterun.
A large wooden shack had been constructed withing the fort, but it held little of value. Hidden in one corner was a cellar door leading to some caverns. Beside a lantern on a wooden table lay a leather bound journal; it seemed to have been written by the bandits previous leader. Whoever it was had seen an eminent split of leadership coming to the band of robbers, and had begun skimming gold from every take. They had stashed it 'on an island to the south, by an old tree stump.'
I would go try to find it. I tucked the journal into my haversack, having dropped my pack by the entrance to the fort, and made my way out of the cave, grabbing a small coin purse on the way. Gathering my things, I checked my map. There was a large island just south of the camp, but after scouring it I could find no treasure. Just as I had given up hope, I noticed a tiny island in the middle of the river, with a large rotted stump. Next to it, half buried, was a chest.

The chest had some large gold septims in it, and an enchanted two-handed sword of Dwemer metal. I took the coins and left the sword, not wanting to lug it all the way to Whiterun. Not much of a haul for all the effort, but at least the bandits wouldn't be raiding any more caravans.
With a start, it suddenly occurred to me how lucky I had been. Not just in this battle, but ever since I had left the stronghold and entered Skyrim. So many others had died; the Vigiliants of Stendarr I had met that second day, Meeko, and countless creatures and bandits. To be sure there had been close calls, moments when I was certain death waited for me. But my healing spells, potions, and shield had always saved me, staving off death just long enough to assure victory.
I felt very tired all at once, and sat down on the chest, watching the waters of the river flow by. Was I special, or just damned lucky? I was a good fighter, certainly, but surely not THAT good. Was Malacath looking out for me, or one of the divines, or some other god or spirit? Removing my helm and letting it fell to the damp earth beside me, I rubbed my face wearily. What did it matter, anyway. Whatever the reason, I was good at this business of killing, very good.

With a sigh, I picked my helmet up and brushed of clumps of dirt and sand, placing it back onto my head. Lucky or not, gods or not, it didn't matter. Eventually my luck would run out or the divines would grow bored with me. Might as well make the best of it in the meantime. No man (or woman) knew when death might come for them, only that at some point it inevetably would. Rising, I jumped from stone to stone back across the river and continued on to Whiterun. Judging by the sun, I had a few hours of daylight left yet.
A mile or two down the road, four bandits milled around a hand cart holding a chest. I slew them all easily, two blows each, a thrust to the chest and then back around for a slash across the face. The chest had about a hundred septims worth of coin and a silver ingot, which I took, then continued down the path. I longed for a piece of hot roasted meat, dripping with juices, and a tall mug of cold, dark ale. A warm bed, and maybe a comely lass or lad to share it with.

Strangely, there were no brothels in Skyrim, no streetwalkers even. Maybe I just didn't know where to look. Either way, I doubted I would be making it to Whiterun before nightfall, so it would be another night in the wilds. That wasn't so bad, either, but the thought of salted slaughterfish, grainy bread, and riverwater wasn't very appealing. If I set up camp early, maybe I could use my bow to take some fresh game.
I found a small hovel a while later, swarming with skeevers. A dead man lay on the bed, obviously chewed at by the pests. A fire still burned in the hearth, a burnt stew hanging over the cooking spit. He couldn't have been dead more than two or three hours. Flinging the skeevers out the door by their tails, I set more logs on the fire and took the stew pot from the spit, setting it aside. I left my pack inside and dragged the man out, leaving his body to be scattered by whatever scavengers were hungry. There were few trees nearby to build a pyre for him, and it would take too much effort.

Hefting my bow, I set out in search of meat not gnawed on by skeevers. There was the river nearby, but I was sick of fish. For a time I found naught but half-starved wolves and a sabrecat; stringy, tough, and not very tasty. Then, out of nowhere, a stag came charging at me! There was no time for the bow; I dropped it and drew my sword just as it's antlers impacted me, knocking me off my feet and denting my armor. I chopped at it's legs from the ground, before it could trample me, and the beast fell. I finished it with a blow to the neck, then slipped my knife from it's belt sheath and carved off a large flank from each side. There was no reason to waste time dressing and butchering the beast when I had no need of all the extra meat.
I cut the meat into thin steaks and roasted it well, to purge whatever disease had driven the stag into madness. The meat was tough, but much better than sabrecat or wolf. I filled my stomach till I felt I would burst. Two bottles of mead, and some alto wine, all chilled in the river while the meat was being prepared and cooked, topped off the meal.
As I sat, contented before the hearth fire, my eyes roamed around the cabin. Everything that had been in reach of the skeevers was chewed, torn, and scattered, but an item on a cabinet shelf caught my eye. It was a folded fur, shimmering faintly with the magic of an enchantment. Unfolding it revealed a long, trailing cloak of finely woven, thick grey wool, lined with silk and trimmed in fur. An oversized fur hood was sewn into the collar.

A wonderful find! I tossed my old brown cloak onto the bed, and draped the new one over me as I crawled into bed. Something about the cloak seemed to make my movements quieter, perhaps it was the magic. The cloak seemed to reach out to shadows and blend with them. But I was tired, and had no desire to ruminate over magic I knew nothing about. My heavy eyes closed, and I drifted into a contented sleep of great battles and epic feasts.