Old Habits Never Die

• Posted by Dreema December 8, 2011 - 778 views

  I made my way out of Riverwood – I was rather welcome to leave the place for Ralof and his people had been not-so-subtly hinting I should look into joining the Stormcloaks; a ridiculous prospect as the Stormcloaks believed Skyrim was for Nords only, and I doubt they’d be particularly happy to allow a Bosmer in, of all races.  Their memories were long, and the story of how the Wild Hunt had slain their kin was well remembered.  I may as well have been one of the monster-hordes in flesh to many eyes, and well I knew it.  No, all I wanted to do was keep my head down and get out of Skyrim as quickly as I could.  But I knew that meant I was going to have to do a few favours, and speaking to a Jarl did mean I’d have a bit of leverage.

  Still, with all this whirling round in my head, I took a moment or two to scan the terrain, and then found myself rather taken by the view.  Skyrim is a rugged yet beautiful country – not enough trees for a Bosmer, of course, but the mountains peaks are taller than any tree, the wildlife here is strong and wild, and even the brushy plains can burst into brilliant colours of purple, white and orange.   Dangerous, true – I could see how Skyrim had shaped the Nords themselves.   It struck me that our people were not so different – fiercely proud, moulded and shaped by our surroundings, wild and free.

  A nice place, really.  Shame about all the snow however.  And the dragon.

  That last thought was sobering enough that all thoughts of view-gazing were gone, and I continued on the road, keeping an eye out for trouble – although I should have known that trouble would find me instead.

  The roads here are treacherous – and it’s not just beasts you have to worry about; ahead of me I could spot a camp.  Tents made of skins, and an orc and two Nords wandering round a fire.  I didn’t like their look; they awoke some memories I didn’t really care to think about, and I was already considering which way I could go to get round them.

  But Skyrim isn’t Valenwood; I wasn’t used to so little cover, nothing but rocks and stones.  I was off my game and off my guard – and I was already too close.  These people knew this terrain, and even though I ducked for cover and tried to look for a way round, I made too much noise.  They were alert, and I could hear them stirring and starting to circle the camp, seeking out whatever had made the noise.

  Cursing under my breath, I scrabbled for an arrow, and put it to the string.  I was underfed, undertrained and out numbered, but if I could strike very quickly I might be in with a chance.

  A Nord woman, dressed in studded, poorly-tanned hides, came round with a crude iron axe, spotted me in my hiding place and prepared to give a shout.  She never made it.  At this close range, it was easy to put an arrow in her eye, but it turned my stomach even so to do it; so I hadn’t lost all my skill in that dank galley after all.

  At that point I knew I could have retreated and tried going round, but now I warred with myself.  These were rogues and brigands – it was obvious enough…and it takes one to know one.  In other words, no one would miss them.  More to the point, whatever swag they had purloined from the hapless travellers this way was probably in the camp somewhere, and who knew, it might come in handy.  But I’d have to kill to get it, something I swore I’d never do again.

  The decision was made for me, as the Orc and other Nord cleared round the boulders from the opposite side.  How in all the world did they do that so quietly!?  Skyrim had shaped them, of course, and they moved as stealthily as cats.  I only just ducked a savage swing from the orc’s hammer as we squared off, two to one, and me still weak from bad commons and poor health.

  Any hesitation I previously had was now gone.  It was me or them, and I fought with a fury I could barely credit myself.  The Nord felt from a savage swipe with my axe  in his guts, but the orc kept coming, as orcs are wont to do.  Wounds only infuriate them – they are a good enemy, but I was running out of energy to fight.

  In desperation, I used the rocky terrain to my advantage, leaping up onto an outcropping and snatching for my bow once more.  The orc cursed and struggled up after me, faster than I would have credited him capable.  Still I had the advantage.  No one outshoots a Bosmer, and first one, then another arrow struck home.  The orc finally collapsed with an arrow in the throat, and I panted and fell to my knees, dizzy but victorious.

  So then, I was a killer once more, but idealistic oaths it seemed had no place in Skyrim, and I was going to have to come to grips with it.   I cursed, and sighed, fighting the sinking feeling in my gut.

  In Valenwood I would have eaten the orc, but I had no time.  Only enough time to riffle pockets and gather gold – there was even a few silver trinkets and an amethyst, a few lockpicks, and some better leather boots.  I tugged these on, even snatching the skewered meat which was roasting on the fire to eat on the way, and off I went.

  I could see what I assumed to be Whiterun in the valley before me just as the sun was setting over the plains.  A gutteral rumbling caught me off guard for a few moments and I scanned the skies, but realised there were some guardsmen fighting a massive creature dressed entirely in skins – I was to learn later these were giants, normally a tribe the Nords left in peace unless their herded mammoths trampled into local farmcrops.  I winced as the huge creature fell into the dust, but all the commotion allowed me to slip toward Whiterun’s gates without a struggle.

  Well, almost without a struggle; the guards tried to give me a shakedown for money at the gates, but I wasn’t having it.  I can bluster with the best of them, xenophobes or not.  I called the bluff and managed to make my way inside the gates of Whiterun, and for a moment I stood amazed.  I had always thought of Nords living in small villages, but Whiterun was rather large, with a huge keep upon the rise, approachable by a steep staircase built in stone.

  I attracted a lot of attention – I suppose a Bosmer always will, and that alone was rather problematic.  A bystander however asked if I was a relation to Elrindir.  So maybe I’m not the only Bosmer about – although being as rare as all that I decided I wasn’t going to try and claim too many connections before I was due.  I had a message to bring, and an urgent one at that, so off I went, bounding up the stairs to Dragonsreach, and presented myself to the Jarl’s court.

  Again, I wasn’t expecting the sheer size of the place – again, old habits made me scan the place immediately on entry for corridors, guards, and stairways, before I shook my head and forced my brains out of that old groove.  I was here to case the stronghold, I was here to speak to the leader, and the Jarl and his court were now aware of my presence – and I could feel the suspicion long before I approached the Jarl’s dias.   The Dunmer at the Jarl’s left hand glared as I bowed as low as I could and tried to think of what to say.

  “Well, Bosmer?” the Jarl asked gruffly.

  I took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly.  ”Honoured Jarl, I come from Riverwood, my message is urgent.  The dragons have returned.”  I raised my voice as the incredulous cries began, and the Jarl’s eyes narrowed as he sat up in his throne, staring hard at me.   “And I know how strange this is, but I have seen it with my own eyes.   Helgen is destroyed.”

  The arguments began, of course – the steward and the Jarl going back and forth for some time.  However this Jarl was more levelheaded than I would have given him credit, and he actually took what I was saying into account, immediately setting out orders for investigation.  The hall was soon abustle, but with considerable efficiency.

  “No one is to speak of dragons outside of these halls until we have this information confirmed, have I made this clear, Bosmer?”

  What else could I have said?  At least they weren’t clapping me in irons.  It would do to stay on the side of the Jarl as Whiterun was a neutral town; no Imperials here!  However I knew this was going to mean doing more favours the Nords, and sure enough, the Jarl told me to have a word with the Court Wizard.

  “In the meantime, you have free rein to stay in Whiterun; explore it, and do as you will, provided you stay out of trouble.”

  Well, I told myself somewhat grimly, maybe it would mean I’d get a bit of work, though with the way the Dunmer was staring at me with hardly a blink, doing the old work was probably going to end up with me chained to another oar.  So…no freelancing then.  Who knew, maybe I wouldn’t need it?

  Not a total loss; I was given some septims for my troubles, and with a bit of clink in my pockets, I decided to pay the wizard a visit.