Son Of Skyrim Entry #3

  • 4th of Heathfire, 4E 202


    Ragnar shrugged on his travel gear as he prepared for the journey ahead of him. Lisbet had pointed out a redoubt to the north as the most probable place that the ambush had taken place. Ragnar glanced at himself in the mirror and smiled. The steel armor and axe that he bore had been fashioned by his own hands, and were in an almost constant state of polish. Twenty-four arrows in his quiver, and a long recurved bow from a local oak were strapped to his back, along with his shield.


    He was ready to face any threat be it bandit or Forsworn. He was about to leave his room when he heard voices.


    “He’s not useless, he’s just distracted!” That was Ghorza.


    “Smithing is an art-form. You can’t be distracted. Face it, Ghorza. This will never be more than a means to an end for him. He wants to learn to craft his own weaponry. Not to be a blacksmith.” That would be Moth, Ghorza’s brother.


    “My job is to teach him the craft, not to tell him what to do with it.”


    “Tacitus was more devoted to the craft than him! All it took for him to get his act together was a book. Ragnar got a book and now he’s just more distracted. Muttering under his breath, warping good metal!”


    “Gods, I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight.” Ragnar said as he exited the room. Moth glared at him before leaving the house presumably to go to his forge in the Underkeep. Ghorza barely glanced at Ragnar before going back to tying her apron on. “So, I’m heading north. Reclaiming a shipment for Lisbet.”


    “You shouldn’t hang out with her so much. There’s something off about that woman.” Ghorza growled. Ragnar raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. She was, after all, rather weird. “Listen, Ragnar. I’m perfectly fine if you want to stay here in Markarth with me, but if you’re looking to better your craft. I may not be the best bet to teach you. Especially with the Nord metals. Orchalcum and Ebony are my passion, Malachite if I can get it. You should go to Whiterun and have Gray-mane teach you, if you want to stick to Steel.”


    “Ok, I’ll take this trip and decide when I get back. Lots to think about.” Ragnar stared determinedly at his feet. Ghorza nodded, standing awkwardly between Ragnar and the door. Ragnar walked past her, casting a farewell over his shoulder as he stepped out into the pre-dawn. Fenris, his war-dog, leapt up from the fireplace and took his place by Ragnar’s side.


    He walked down the stone streets, his metal covered foot-steps echoing throughout the alleyway. His hand absently rubbed at the top of his war axe. He closed his eyes and set his mind on something else besides his upcoming homelessness. The book. He quickly pulled it out as he continued through the streets of Markarth.  By the time he was at the gate, he had only managed to read a single portion.


    ‘Focusing One’s voice into a shout is something done by meditation. The most basic of the shouts, Unrelenting Force, is comprised of three words. Emperor Tiber Septim learned shouts just by reading them off of the ancient word walls hidden deep under Skyrim. Most however learn very slowly via great meditation. The most practical way to learn is to submit yourself as a pupil to a Tongue or perhaps even to a Dragonborn.’ 


    And with that, he left Markarth.


    8th of Hearthfire, 4E 202


    Ragnar crouched just outside of Druadach Redoubt, or so Lisbet called it. Fenris growled menacingly as the two watch a couple of Forsworn patrol. Ragnar pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow quickly. The hunting bow had been a gift from Aela during their time together. One of the forsworn had that deer skull covering his face, the other was a woman without a helmet. Her mistake.


    A snap and a whistle later, and there was an arrow protruding from her eye. He had been aiming for her chest, but now wasn’t the time to lament his aim. He drew out his war axe and stalked closer as the other Forsworn ran into the cave. A moment later, two more Forsworn had joined him, along with a goat. How odd, why would they bring a goat? Ragnar would never find out as he and Fenris charged into battle.


    One of the new Forsworn whipped out a bow and fumbled for an arrow in his near empty quiver. Ragnar charged straight into the man to the far right, shield first. He crumpled to the ground before he could even pull out a weapon. He wasn’t dead, not yet. Ragnar turned his eyes swiftly to the archer. Just in time, he shifted his shield to cover his chest. The arrow ricocheted off into the darkness.


    Fenris had pulled one of them into submission. Ragnar closed the distance between himself and the archer quickly. The archer’s eyes went wide as Ragnar’s axe cleaved his head from his shoulders. Ragnar turned to see that the man on the ground still hadn’t pulled out a weapon. He sheathed his axe, paying no mind to Fenris who had dragged the third onto a nearby spike, impaling her.


    He grabbed the last man and shoved him against the cliff behind him, before ripping the idiotic pseudo-deer helmet off. The man underneath was pale and shaking heavily. Ragnar drew his dagger from his belt and held it to the man’s face.


    “Four days ago, you guys ambushed a wagon destined for Markarth. On board was a statue. Where is it?” Ragnar snarled.


    “I don’t know…I…I…I…Maybe in Gaeth’s chest? He was our briar-heart.” The man squirmed. The word briar-heart chilled Ragnar to his soul.




    “He…He went mad…Started talking about being cheated. Said Madanach was still in charge, despite what the hagraven promised.”


    “Madanach?” Ragnar’s mouth went dry. Madanach was considered the deadliest Forsworn in history, according to some, others said Faolon either way…this wasn’t good.


    “He just went mad and attacked all of us. We…We killed him. Oh gods, we killed Gaeth!” The man was beginning to foam at the mouth. Ragnar made it quick. One slice, one kill.


    Ragnar shook his head to reorient himself before plunging into the cave. It was a rather simple cave with a single opening in the ceiling to let light in. There was crops and trees and an underground camp. The adaptability of the Reachmen would never cease to amaze him. He scampered up the tiered hills quickly to find the aforementioned chest. Sure enough, inside was the golden statue of Dibella.


    10th of Hearthfire, 4E 202


    Here’s the statue. I also found an iron dagger with a fire enchantment, as well as a briar-heart’s…well…heart.” Ragnar said as he pulled them out of his pack. The shop-keeper smiled broadly and slid him about 100 Septims. Ragnar grabbed the money and strode out. He turned down one street and came to the place he had called home for seven months.


    He quickly strode into his room and began throwing everything into some bags. As he picked up his pants from the day before, a small note fell out. It was the note that that one Breton had given him. He stuffed the pants into a bag and picked up the piece of paper. Unfolding it he scanned its contents before walking out of his room.


    ‘Meet me at the Shrine of Talos.’


    Ragnar knew where that particular sanctuary was located. He had frequented it every two weeks. In order to gain Talos’ blessing before heading out. He stormed up the steps to the Shrine. Night was just beginning to fall.


    As he entered the dimly lit room, he noted the single lit candle at the feet of the four meter tall statue. His axe scraped out of its sheathe as he peered around the corners.


    “Hey, Ragnar.” A voice echoed out of the darkness. The man from before stepped up to him. “I’m Eltrys. I think we have a problem.”



1 Comment   |   The Wolf Of Atmora and 1 other like this.
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  July 8
    Hold on......
    The hunting bow had been a gift from Aela during their time together.

    What time together? 
    Ermmm what I mean is......
    A note to meet someone at the shrine of Talos? Wonder what th...  more