Huntress of Drakes Part 2- A Skyrim tale

  • The Smith's Request

     

    Ian S. McClure

     

    We walked in silence at first, the snow crunching beneath our armored boots. Hadvar seemed content to revel in his surroundings, a faint smile on his face as he led the way to Riverwood; our destination. Eventually however, he broke the quiet. “I grew up in Riverwood, you know,” he said, stopping to look at me. “I'm happy to be going back there—it's been a few years since my last visit. I wonder how Uncle Alvor is doing...” Here, he stopped, turning to face me. “What about you? Where are you from?”.

     

    I stopped as well, recalling my old home once again. “I'm from Morrowind. I lived with my family—small house, out in the Lagomere wilderness in Deshaan… They're not there any longer, though. Raiders—Argonians—came and killed them all,” I said, looking at the snow-covered ground.

     

    Hadvar sighed. As he resumed walking, he said: “You have my sympathies. Losing your home, your family, like that… It must've been tough on you. Why'd you come to Skyrim, of all places, though?”

     

    “It was an accident, actually,” I explained, likewise continuing to walk. “I was living in Cyrodiil, in the Jeralls—I hadn't noticed I had crossed the border until the Imperials mistook me for a rebel.”

     

    Hadvar snorted, suddenly. “I don't see how they could have made that mistake. Stormcloaks hate the Dark Elves—just look at that 'Gray Quarter' over in Windhelm, where Ulfric reigns. They're all miserable, there. How in Oblivion an Elf—of any kind—would go about joining them is beyond me.”

     

    “And what do you think of us Dunmer? Or of outsiders in general?” I asked.

     

    “Honestly? I don't mind. Lots of folk here like to say 'Skyrim for the Nords', but I feel like we need to stick together, all of us. Especially after that Oblivion Crisis, years ago,” Hadvar responded.

     

    “I see,” I said simply, before falling silent again. I did not feel comfortable admitting to Hadvar that Argonians in particular terrified me. At the time, my only experience with them was when the raiders butchered my family and torched my home, and of course I had heard the stories of their Invasion that cost my kind the southern lands of Morrowind and thousands of lives. I thought the Argonian race as a whole was similarly savage as a result.

     

    “Hey,” Hadvar said, snapping me out of my train of thought. “You know what I think? You should head to Solitude when you can. Join up with the Legion.”

     

    I frowned. “Why would I do that? No offense to you, Hadvar, but your Legion did try to kill me for something I didn't do,” I explained, somewhat annoyed.

     

    “Hey, I'm sure General Tullius will listen when I explain you're innocent. And if the rebels somehow got a hold of a dragon, we're the only ones that can stop them,” he responded.

     

    I hummed. “You really think that dragon was on their side? It killed plenty of Stormcloaks.”

     

    “Of course. Why else would it show up just before we end the rebellion for good?” Hadvar replied.

     

    I opened my mouth, but promptly closed it as we came across a view of the mountains—and the ruins atop them. “Impressive, isn't it?” Hadvar asked in a low voice. “Bleak Falls Barrow. Used to give me nightmares as a boy, to be honest. Who knows what's in there? Giant spiders, trolls, maybe draugr...”

     

    “Draugr? What's that?” I asked, curious.

     

    “Depends on who you ask, but really, they're a kind of undead. In between a skeleton and a zombie. Or so I've heard,” he explained.

     

    I shuddered at the thought of such monsters. The undead are unnatural, errant creatures made from the bodies and souls of once-mortals—the very thought was chilling to me, at the time. Perhaps, had I been born during the height of the Dunmer—when the ancestors would protect and watch over their descendants via the Waiting Doors and Ghost Gates—perhaps then I would not be frightened so by the dead. But I had not, and so afraid I was.

     

     

    We walked ever onwards, calmly observing the world around us. It was comforting, for I had often done the same both in Deshaan and in the Jeralls. And yet, as with all things, this came to an end. Two wolves appeared on a nearby hill, rushing towards us with murderous intent.

     

    “Hadvar,” I said warningly, drawing my bow. My arrow hit one of the wolves in the shoulder—Hadvar was quick to end its misery. The other attempted to bite me, but I was not to be killed by such an animal. I bashed it with my bow, disorienting it, then stuck an arrow through its' eye, felling it.

     

    “You alright?” Hadvar asked, sheathing his sword.

     

    “I'm fine. Are we almost there?” I asked calmly.

     

    Hadvar smiled, but did not answer with words. Rather he pointed to the distance. The town's entrance was a stone arch, beyond which I saw the townsfolk mill about. Immediately, I was struck with the fact that, for all appearances, I was an Imperial legionary. I swallowed nervously, and decided to just stick with Hadvar for now—surely he could smooth things over with his fellows should the need arise.

     

    The house was just inside the walls. Outside, on the balcony, I spied a smith, surrounded by the tools of his trade, eating an apple. He turned a lazy eye towards the two of us, but soon he was looking right at us, with an expression of utter shock. “My gods,” he said, rising from the chair he had been sitting in, “Hadvar. You… Look terrible. Are you on leave from—”

     

    Hadvar interrupted. “I'm fine, Uncle. But I'd prefer to speak inside—my friend and I have been on the road for a while, now.”

     

    I looked down, seeing the state of my 'borrowed' armor—stained with the blood of rebels and beasts, and quite dirty. I felt a tad embarrassed—Father had always taught me to keep my equipment in as good shape as possible. Which, clearly, my armor was not. I sighed, writing it off for now—I'd need new armor, anyways.

     

    I was returned to reality by Hadvar's uncle turning his gaze to me. “And who's this? Friend of yours?”

     

    I found my voice, then. “Vevsa Athrel. A pleasure,” I said.

     

    “Yes, she's a friend. Saved my life in fact,” Hadvar added.

     

    The smith nodded. “Well, any friend of Hadvar's a friend of mine. Alvor is my name. Come on inside, both of you. Sigrid, my wife, won't mind a few extra people at the dinner table. She's been worried sick about you, Hadvar—we all have.”

     

     

    “Oh, Hadvar!” Sigrid cried, kissing him on the cheek. “We've been so worried about you! Sit down, sit down, I'll serve you both some stew I was making.”

     

    I placed my longbow beside me, sinking into the wooden chair with relief. The fireplace was already doing wonders for the chill that had entered me, and I loosed a sigh of relief. Alvor and Hadvar likewise sat, Sigrid serving us the hot stew in simple bowls. I began to eat, relieved, as Alvor looked at Hadvar.

     

    The soldier took a spoonful of his stew, eating it happily, then sighed. “Well… Where to start,” he said. “You all know I was assigned to guard the General. We stopped in Helgen. There was an attack. By… Well, by a dragon.”

     

    Alvor scoffed. “Dragon?” he asked, raising a brow. “Have you two been drinking, by chance?”

     

    I paused my eating. “It's true, I'm afraid. It wrecked the whole town. We were lucky to have survived.”

     

    Hadvar grinned. “Luck didn't have much to do with it,” he said. “You're a damn good fighter, Vevsa.”

     

    I smiled, grateful, as he continued, his grin fading, “I really don't know if anyone else made it out. Town is definitely ruins, now. I actually can't stay long—need to get back to Solitude, let them know what's happened. Could Vevsa and I stay here a while?”

     

    Alvor looked between us. “Aye. You're both welcome here. Any way I can help, just let me know.”

     

    I hesitated, then asked, “Actually. Could you fit me some new armor? Nothing too heavy—maybe some nice leather. I'm not with the Legion, and I'd like to avoid confusion.”

     

    Alvor nodded. “Aye. I can make you a good set of studded armor. I imagine you'll be keeping that bow? Seems to be in fine condition, though I've not seen its' like before.”

     

    I looked to my weapon—familiar it was to me, but I imagine the Nords had never seen something like it. It was a study, quality weapon, crafted by my father with typical Dunmeri bonemold, and made in the traditional, angular style of my people. I eventually replied, “I am keeping the bow, yes. Bit of sentimental value, there.”

     

    “Ah, I understand. Well, I'd be glad to help you out. Come by later, I'll measure you for the armor.” he replied, before sighing. “But I'd like to ask your help in return.”

     

    “What do you need?” I asked, already grateful for his hospitality. “I'll be glad to help.”

     

    “What I need—what Riverwood needs—is help. Without guards, we stand no chance against a dragon, should it decide to attack,” he explained. “If you would go to Whiterun, tell the Jarl there about the situation, we'd all be in your debt.”

     

    I ate another spoonful of stew, nodding. “Of course,” I said once I had swallowed, “I'd be happy to. I'll need directions though—I'm new to Skyrim.”

     

    “Just follow the road,” he explained. “Whiterun is just down the path leading out of town. You'll see it before long.”

     

    “Then I'll be off as soon as I'm ready.” I replied with a smile.

     

     

    A bit later, at the forge outside of Alvor's house, the smith took my measurements for the armor he was to make for me. As he did, he asked, “So. You're no Imperial, I can tell. What do you do for coin?”

     

    “Ah, I'm just a huntress.” I responded.

     

    Alvor hummed. “Then why'd you help Hadvar like you did? I'm grateful, of course, but it seems like it'd be risky, from his description of what happened.”

     

    “Well, circumstances demanded it. More than that, though, he seemed a good person.” I explained. “I usually like to help good people. That's why I'm headed to Whiterun. Speaking of which, where can I get supplies? Food, water, the like?”

     

    “Try the Sleeping Giant, here in town. Usually pretty empty around this hour, except for old Embry.” Alvor said. “And I might just have armor that fits you already—I like to practice, and I have some gear lying around that would fit you nicely. I'll find it while you go to the inn.”

     

    The inn was not far from Alvor's home. There, as I walked in, I saw a woman walk up to the bar, where a burly Nord stood, clearly bored. “Orgnar!” the woman cried, annoyed. “Pay attention, got something to tell you.”

     

    “It's hard not to pay attention.” Orgnar replied, rolling his eyes.

     

    “We need more Alto Wine, we're running low.” she said.

     

    “Bah. Who in Oblivion drinks Alto? Not even Embry touches that swill.” Orgnar said, before sighing. “But I guess you're right. Never know who'll come by these days, what with the war and all.”

     

    As the woman nodded and left, satisfied, I walked up to the bar. “Hail there.” I said.

     

    “Hail. Haven't seen a Dark Elf 'round here in ages.” Orgnar said, still sounding bored. “In fact, only Elf 'round these parts normally is Faendal… Anyways, what can I get ya?”

     

    “I'd like some supplies. I'm headed to Whiterun soon. So I'd like food and drink that'll last a while.” I said.

     

    The man nodded, procuring various provisions. As I payed, I swore I saw the woman in the corner of my eye, observing me. Unnerved, I quickly left the tavern, stepping outside into the frosty nighttime air, and quickly took refuge in Alvor's home. There, Hadvar was sleeping already—clearly, he was exhausted after the day's events, much as I was. I quickly took an unoccupied bed, and let sleep wash over me.

     

    That will suffice for this entry, I think. Until next I write…

     

    -Vevsa Athrel

     

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Comments

5 Comments   |   Sotek and 1 other like this.
  • Tenebrous
    Tenebrous   ·  October 12, 2016
    Updated with Sotek's corrections!
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  October 12, 2016
    Haha don't worry Tenebrous.
    Everything I know about writing I learned in The Story Corner and by posting Blogs here. The major flaw in the edit thread is it's limited to those who look there. You'll get a much wider audience and with some luck a bro...  more
  • Tenebrous
    Tenebrous   ·  October 12, 2016
    See, this is why I should've listened to the little voice saying: "Post it in the editing thread!"... Don't know why I didn't. Thanks, Sotek!
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  October 12, 2016
    Awwwooo
    I hope you don't mind but I thought I'd point a few small things for you to think about regarding your first paragraph. Instead of tearing into it like a pack of wolves here, I'll post it in the Blog and Editing Thread.


    ...  more
  • Tenebrous
    Tenebrous   ·  October 10, 2016
    OK, two parts now. :P