Alright, so I just found this site and joined up and instantly fell in love with it and with the story corner. I’ve been reading most all of the discussions posted and I must say that they are truly awesome. I’ve also been reading that the site nearly closed down, which saddens me. And I feel like I am hurting the site more than I am helping it by just signing on to read stories like Amber’s Notebook. Which, if you haven’t read it, is a fantastic story and I recommend it to any, and everyone. So I decided that, in the spirit of helping the site and for my own writing pleasure, I’d start a story too. Like I said, I’m new to this site and I’m not even sure if this is where I post new stories. So just be patient with me while I get used to the site and work all the kinks out. So without further ado, here we go;
DIFFERENT. I’ve always been different from everyone I’ve ever known but now I feel as if I’ve bit off more than I could chew. Coming to Skyrim was a mistake. The Nords here hate my kind. Beyond that it is cold, wet and far from home. I miss the warm forest of Valenwood and the embrace of my family and friends. I remember their shining faces and it gives me hope; hope to press on. But what am I doing here? Of all the places I could’ve gone, why did I choose Skyrim? I could’ve gone to the Summerset Isle, my native land.
“It was a stupid decision to come.” I think as I take another drink from my mug. I look up from where I had been sitting for the past few hours. I look around and what I see is a sorry excuse for a corner club. Nevertheless, at least they are welcoming of my kind. Hell, they are the closest thing I have to a family anymore. The Dark Elves that run this bar are more accepting than the Nords over at the Candlehearth Hall. But no one here knows me and no one can miss me when I’m gone. I take another drink as I plan on drinking myself to death. I’ve got nothing to live for anymore.
“You get used to it you know.” I hear a soft voice come from behind me. “Pardon me?” I respond. I turn to find young Dark Elf lass close to the same age as I. She is dressed in a gown that is old and ragged with an apron tired around her waist. “Since when did bar maids double as mind readers? Or are you just a master in the arcane art of illusion?” I sarcastically reply in my slight drunkenness.
“Ha!” she burst out. Apparently mastering illusion was somewhat of a joking matter to her. “Hardly” she continued. “No sweetheart, but I’ve worked this job long enough to tell when a newcomer to Skyrim is drinking themselves away.” I look up at her from my glass. She wasn’t the prettiest thing I’ve come across but she was fairly attractive.
“How do you do it?” I asked? “This place, it hates our kind; elves that is. Why do you stay here? I’ve been here a week and I already want out.” I look into here red eyes, searching for a reason to have some hope of carrying on. She draws a long breath and speaks softly. “Windhelm is not a city of elves. Hell, it’s not even a city of men. It’s a city of cowards and hypocrites.” We carry on through the night discussing war, politics, and cheap ale. Laughing by the fire and singing songs. And for a while, I felt happy.
In the morning I wake at the same bar that I was at the night before. I look around and not a soul is in the place except for the barkeep and I. A pile of broken glass lay strewn about. Tables were flipped and food covered the ground. I Rub my eyes and stagger to my feet. My head is pounding and my jaw is sore. I make eye contact with the keep and the keep just grins. “Boy you sure know how to make friends.” He smirks.
No sooner than finishing his sentence, the door violently flew open and there a Stormcloak soldier stood. “You!” He shouted. “High Elf, you are coming with me.” He advanced forward. I thought of grabbing a chair and defending myself, but after counting at least six other soldiers file in the doorway behind him, I decided to stay my hand. “By order of the Jarl, I am placing you under arrest.” I was surrounded by men and my hands were bound. As they lead me away I caught a glimpse of the young lass I had drank the night away with. She was standing in the back room of the corner club, creeping around the doorway. It dawned on me that I didn’t even know her name, nor she mine. Our eyes meet and we stare at each other until I am foisted out of the door and marched to the palace.
I was mocked by a few of the locals on the way. They spit at me, cursed, and some even threw things. “I don’t know why you elves won’t just leave us be.” One of my captors said to me at they lead me into the castle.
As we entered the throne room I could see a man sitting at the far end of the room. I presumed he was the Jarl of Windhelm. I swallowed hard and a fear overtook me. What did I do last night? I don’t even remember what happened or why I’m being arrested! Whatever it was, I knew I had gotten myself in a tight spot.
I’m thrown to my knees in front of the man on the throne. I look up at him, trying to avoid eye contact. He lifts himself off the stone chair and comes down to me. He grabs me by the hair and pulls my head back so that I have no choice but to look at him.
He looks at me a while and studies my behavior. Then he slowly opens his mouth and with a low, rumbling voice he speaks. “So you’re the Thalmor spy.”
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