Renartus
A soft bump on the road awakened me from my sleep. I shifted my head up and saw the pale light of dawn just beyond the eastern mountainside. I looked around and realized that we were still moving and that the caravan had already past the Jerall Mountains.
Thank the gods. I thought we would never cross that mountain pass. The temperatures up there made Bruma look like a winter retreat, and that was something I rarely say about the coldest city in Cyrodiil.
I took a moment to take in to my new surroundings. Everywhere I see were rows of thin birch trees with brown leaves. I caught a glimpse of a river on the far left of the road, the orange-blue sky reflected off its surface. The air here was temperate, still cold but not freezing cold. Somehow, it reminded me of Anvil during the night, where the breeze from the sea would come and cool the land.
I sighed at the brief memory of the city. It wasn’t like there was nothing left for me there to do. She was gone because I couldn’t see pass my pride. The fever took her. She died without me beside her. My hand instantly moved to the ring that was hung from a thong around my neck. It was my wedding ring, one of the few things that I had actually bought with honest gold. I kept it around as a good luck charm, and to remind me of her.
Going to Skyrim wasn’t the best option I had in mind. But like any thief looking to make a quick escape, you have to act fast and grab what you see first.
My brother, Darius Vulpin, had visited me one night at the Count’s Arm and offered me a chance to get my life back on track. “The guild in Skyrim has been running into some difficult times lately.” He had said to me as we shared a flask of wine. “They’re half as capable as they used to be and they’re barely making any fortune from their heists. I’m thinking you should go there. They could use someone like you, given how much you have done for us here. Maybe it can also help cope with your grief.”
So here I am in Skyrim, the coldest province in all of Tamriel, home to the Nords, giants, mammoths… basically everything that’s hairy and smells like piss and ale. Yeah, I really don’t have much of a positive view on this place, hence why I said it wasn’t the best option I had in mind. But nevertheless, it was better than staying in Anvil and drowning my sorrows late at night.
The caravan I was travelling with belonged to a wealthy Breton merchant by the name of Pierre who had been a ‘friend’ of Darius. We had left Bruma about four days ago. Three wagons loaded with goods and wares to trade bound for the city of Riften in southeastern Skyrim. We didn’t travel alone though. Six riders protected us, two between each wagon, moving at the same lumbering pace. They were sellswords, experienced ones. Best money could buy.
Wanting to know where we were, I turned my head around and asked one of the sellswords, a big tough-looking Nord in steel armor.
“The Rift,” He replied, “probably a few more hours before we reach the city.” With that, the conversation ended as the Nord spurred his horse forward, probably trying to avoid any more unwanted interactions.
Almost there…
Rather than resuming my sleep, I decided to do something else to pass the time. I reached out for my satchel that was hung on the side of the wagon and pulled out a copy of Of Crossed Daggers bound in old leather. I brought quite a handful of books for the journey, most of them concerning about the province’s history, customs and laws. It never hurts to know a thing or two about a foreign land.
Halfway through my reading, the caravan came across a couple of farmhouses. Workers who were tending the crops paused for a moment to watch us pass by. The sounds of farm animals were a nice welcome for me after the long days on the road.
I looked at the seat opposite of mine where a young girl was sleeping soundly. Darius had insisted that I have someone to accompany me during my stay in Skyrim, and who better than his favorite little thief and protégé: Katlynn.
It was not long before we arrived at the gates of Riften, the southern gate to be precise, with the sun set high above the clear blue sky. The lead caravan stopped, the rest including the sellswords followed.
I woke up Katlynn with a gentle shake. She opened her eyes – a mix-matched pair of brown and gold eyes – and yawned. She gave me a look that said, “Are we there yet?”
I nodded. “C’mon, let’s go find this guild of theirs.”
We grabbed our belongings – a satchel and two knapsacks containing food, spare clothes and other basic necessities – and jumped out of the wagon.
When we approached the lead caravan, Pierre was talking to a female Bosmer, which I believe is the city’s customs officer. She was surrounded by two guards in mail and purple cloth; lightly-armored, very different than the steel-plated guards back home. Might need to see how well they can do in a chase sometime soon.
Pierre and I exchanged glances, as we passed by. I made a two-finger salute, thanking him for the ride. From here on now, it was just me, Katlynn and whatever the Thieves’ Guild of Riften has to offer us.
Next
Comments
"So here I am in Skyrim, the coldest province in all of Tamriel, home to the Nords, giants, mammoths… basically everything that’s hai... more