Helgen
Middas, 7:43PM, 13th of Last Seed, 4E 201
This morning as I stepped out into the crisp air I could not help but feel excited. Today was the day I was to leave home, and set out for Skyrim; my birthday in fact. In the back of my mind though sat immense guilt. Behind me my parents stood, my father standing strong and proud with a smile on his bearded face. My mother rested her hand on his chest, a steady flow of tears running down her face. Her mouth quivered as she smiled at me, and she raised a hand.
"Goodbye my child, and be safe." She said in a shaken voice.
My father hesitated and then boomed. "Watch your tongue and your money, and you'll do alright."
He held my mother tightly in one of his strong arms. Despite his spirited expression I knew he was ill at ease. The summer harvest had brought in an unusually low profit and things would be hard for the family in the coming winter. If the portents be right a harsh winter is ahead. This, of course, causes me to despair. I feel that I am betraying them; to leave when I am needed most. My parents, though, had urged me to go to Skyrim when the time came for me to make my own way. It is the land of our ancestors and a good place for a Nord such as myself to build his home. I hold the opinions and advice of my parents above much and this scenario caused me to become extremely perturbed. I contemplated both paths thoroughly during the days leading up to this; on the one hand I could stay and aid my parents in the coming winter against their wishes, probably offend my father's pride (Father doesn't want me to stay and help because he thinks he can manage himself and doesn't want to be treated like a frail old man. He can be stubborn.), and risk my own future in the process, or I could leave them as they wish to start my own life and face my own problems in the far north. I discussed the decision with both my parents on several occasions. My mother seems to believe that it is time for the chick to leave the nest and spread its wings, and my father wants me to become the man I was born to be and 'forge myself in the harsh alps of our homeland.' Of course, the decision was finally reached. I stood there for a while, reflecting on my life, my family, my friends. I was leaving everything I knew behind to venture into an unknown and dangerous land.
I lifted my eyes from the slush covered stones. “I will, but father, give me your blessing." I gazed into his frosty eyes. "I don't want to leave home - maybe for good - without it."
He folded his arms and nodded. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time. I am just as proud, if not more so, as the day you came of age, son." He smiled and placed his bear paws on my shoulders. "Wilric Ingvar, Son of Talric Ingvar.... you have my blessing." He pressed his forehead against mine. In that moment time seemed to lull and I felt more connected to my father than ever before. Soon, though, he stepped back.
My mother looked up at him with glistening cheeks and then turned to me. "Our blessing." Mother corrected.
She rushed forward and I received her in an enormous bear hug. The all familiar smell of her garments filled my nostrils and a tear came to my eye. Despite my height, I still felt like the small child all those years ago who used to hide away from strangers behind her skirt. I kissed her cheek and felt her salty tears on my lips. After a moment I pulled away.
That moment felt surreal; cliche even. My proud parents seeing me off as I leave for a new life. I met their eyes one last time. With that I gave a confident hoist of my pack and strode on down the street. The old stories came to mind, how the young warrior set out from home to forge a path of glory leaving his family behind. It felt so unreal. I was leaving home. I could hear my mother begin to sob loudly and the comforting voice of my father as I passed between the low wooden houses that squatted on the slush covered tiers and neared the western gate.
A forceful gust caught me as I stepped out of the city. I lost my balance and fell against the base of one of the stone towers. Not a great beginning to such an adventure. Orick, one of the guards whom I know well, helped me back up after he recovered from the blast of wind.
"Off to start an adventure are you?" He inquired, well knowing that this was the day I was to leave for Skyrim.
I looked up at him slightly embarrassed. "I hope so." I said, gazing over the brownish white landscape. Trees coated the lower valleys and, higher up, many boulders crouched on the hills, surrounded by drifts of slush. "It's been a long time coming." Finally my life was my own.
I felt the excitement flowing through me (as I still do now) and every ounce of my being wanted to get started as soon as possible. I did not feel sad, instead I longed for adventure.
"Well I wish you all the luck in the world, friend." He patted my shoulder as I stepped away. "And watch yourself! I won't be there to get you out of trouble!" When we were boys I would always let my curiosity get the best of me, but Orick had always been there to sort of fish me out, after laughing of course.
I looked back with a raised hand, "Thank you!" Then continued away from the city, wanderlust being my pilot.
Much of the morning’s journey was spent climbing up the wet, muddy, and slush covered hills. It's late summer and in Bruma County the snow never really melts away, instead the County becomes a large glob of white and brown mush in the northern most end of Cyrodill. I tried to ignore the terrible route I was taking, but with every step my foot would slip and I’d have to dance around like an acrobat trying to regain my footing. Every once in a while I would fall completely over, soaking myself and colliding my head into one of the boulders which dot the steady hill. I did, however, manage to reach the top of the soggy hill and push into the rocky crags of the Pale Pass. As I crested the slope I looked behind me. There I could see the old ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple, tattered banners flew from the crumbled stonework and, over the parapets, I could see weeds poking out of the slush in the once well maintained courtyard. The chard remains of the keep sat piled on the stone foundations. A once regal fortress, I was told. Beyond that, Bruma. I could see the spirals of smoke curling upward from the wooden and thatched roofs, and the great steeple of the chapel which rose high above the stone walls. With another hoist of my pack I turned and began walking through the Pass.
The air was chilly there and I had to stop to pull my cloak out of my pack. The wind picked up speed, funneling through the pass like a tunnel, causing my cloak to blow out behind me. My wet pants began to freeze and my knees began to ache as the icy fabric chafed against them. I moved onward, ever wary of what might lurk behind a tree, or a boulder. I know all to well what can happen to a distracted hiker. One day in Bruma the year before last, a visitor came rushing into the local inn with an injured companion. He claimed they had been attacked by a creature in the Pass, a brute of a beast that had crushed his friend’s arm. Today, at the thought of this I swallowed and looked up from the path with a nervous eye. The old men in the city always sit about the hearths on dark nights, when the sky is veiled and the wind strong, telling of the fell howls that can be sometimes heard on the air. I never put much stock in the tales, but at the time I figured that it never hurt to be safe. I gripped the leather bound hilt of the sword I had forged myself and wiped my brow. I would stop after each step, listening for anything. After a few hours of nothing but the constant wind and icy air I began to get distracted wondering what I would do once I got to Skyrim, or where I would go. I'm a farmer, so even now that seems like the most logical answer, but I want adventure. I've grown up farming and frankly.... it's boring.
I continued to walk, my mind filled with thoughts of the future when I was stopped dead in my tracks. I heard a great bellowing cry echoing in the Pass which stood the hair on my neck on end. I couldn't think, I was completely terrified. Then, a creature that I had never seen before came into view. A tall hairy beast with a large wooden club, probably the remains of an uprooted tree. It hefted it’s weapon as I spotted it’s muscles rippling under the thick meaty skin. Instinctively I drew my sword, but the thing came at me in a dash. It moved surprisingly fast for something so burly. All the techniques my father taught me and all the training I had done went out the window. I gripped my sword with two hands and struggled to think what to do as the massive Ogre charged me. Instead of fighting, I fled as quickly as I could in the direction of Skyrim, the crusty snow cracking under my feet. True Nordic courage, that. My steps would break through the thin layer of crust, slowing my movements. I glanced back and the snow didn't have any similar effect on the approaching Ogre. I ran and ran but it seemed hopeless. Then, as inevitable as it was, my foot snagged on a harder piece of crust as I tried to lift it causing me to sprawl and tumble down on my side. My body slammed into the snow with a crunch, creating a small crater that shaped to my body. I rolled onto my back thinking this was the end. The Ogre was surely going crush some part of me like that poor man’s arm. I cringed at the thought but opened one eye to peak. If I was to die I wanted to see it coming.
I don’t know why, I've just always thought that way. Perhaps its an inbred sense of honor.
When my eyes opened I noticed that the Ogre had stopped giving chase, probably a long time ago, for I could no longer see its massive form among the rocks and trees. The thumping I heard in my ears must have been my own heart beating. I gulped a mouth full of air and then burst out laughing. I'm sure if anyone saw me they would have assumed me to be a lunatic.
After I had recovered, brushed myself off and straightened myself out, I found a nice sheltered spot among some tall boulders and began to ready a fire. I placed my pack down but kept my sword near as I looked about for suitable fuel. Eventually I had gathered enough wood to make a meager fire. I settled myself down on my cloak and pulled some travelling rations from my pack. They were slightly mushed from my fall and crumbled in my hands. I didn't ask mother what she put in them, but despite their questionable appearance, the food tasted just like any other home-cooked dish of hers. The pleasing aroma of Mother's kitchen filled my nostrils and I smiled. Soon, though, the smile left my face when I realized that any nearby creature, wolf, ogre, or otherwise, might find the smell pleasing as well. After finishing my lunch, I quickly kicked snow upon the remnants of my fire and scattered the coals with my foot. I then grabbed my pack and moved on.
I slowly, and more attentively this time, pushed on through the Pass. After many hours of trekking I finally made my way to the Skyrim boarder crossing. The gateway spanned the width of the narrow Pass, and there was a small walkway atop it where I spied two Imperial Legion sentries. They spotted me approaching and waited, arms crossed, wondering if I was there to cause trouble. I stepped up to the wooden palisade and one of the sentries called down to me.
"Who are you, and what is your business." He spoke in a thick Nord accent.
I looked up to him, squinting as flakes of snow fell onto my face. "My name is Wilric Ingvar. I 'm a farmer wishing to make a new start in Skyrim."
The guards chuckled. "You what?"
I raised a brow. I felt like a small boy, being played the fool by some bullies. I've experienced enough people laugh at me for reasons that I couldn't comprehend. "You heard me." I paused, waiting for a reply as the sentries looked down at me with highly amused expressions, and then I shrugged. "Are you going to let me in?"
The guard slowly nodded. "We will, but its your funeral."
I didn't know what to make of that at the time, and still don't. What is so bad about Skyrim? Is there some kind of beast roaming in the area? Is there a war? I've heard rumors of a Civil War but the Legion doesn't seem to want to release any real details.
"Well, whether its my funeral or not, I’d like you to let me in." I demanded whilst shifting on my feet.
The guard looked to his companion and shrugged. "Alright..."
He shouted down behind the wall and the gate began to open. Two other guards pushed open gate. The large wooden doors creaked as bits of ice and snow fell from them. The doors pushed against the snow on the path, sweeping it off to the side. I nodded to them and passed through. As I proceeded down the road I could feel the watchful eyes of the guards at my back. What is going to be my demise here? So far it seems peaceful, I haven’t encountered anything within the boarders to worry me, except for a few wild animals.
The rest of the day was spent walking down a wooded hill. I could hear the sounds of seemingly invisible birds in the pines around me, and the hum of a lone Nirnroot poking out of the snow. Its leaves gleamed an ethereal hue that I couldn't place. The rhythmic droning soon ceased as I made my way further into the country. At long last I came to a small town built around crossroads. The village is surrounded by crumbling stonework walls. The old walls are topped by timber walkways where a guard or two can be seen patrolling, shielded by clapboard roofing. The town is dominated by a low stone keep and several weathered towers which rise high above the courtyard in the south-western end of the town. The place is called Helgen, and its where I've stopped for the night. Most dwellings are huddled around the road which passes through the town center, thatched hovels with boarded walls. The people seem peaceful here and welcomed my coin at the local inn. The barkeep Vilod gave me a special brew of his; mead with juniper berries mixed in. It was actually quite soothing, and helped relieve the stiffness in my joints, having walked all day. Of course, I was asked where I’m from and who I am; all about me really.
"Not everyday we get visitors from Cyrodill." Vilod explained, then muttered “At least not nowadays...” which I barely caught.
I told them only about my journey, not wanting to reveal any... personal information, though all the patrons got a kick out of hearing my story of the Ogre encounter.
Yes, today has been long and wearisome and I need some rest. Right now Vilod is setting up a room for me. Things seem pretty bright right now, though I’m getting a strange feeling from the villagers. Behind their grins and friendly talk they seem extremely worried, like they’re going to die any second, or that something terrible is going to happen. I've become extremely curious, but I can’t bring myself to ask Vilod what’s going on... I don’t know, maybe I just don’t want to ruin my mood, or feel like my dreams are for naught.
Forget it, it’s probably just my imagination, I mean what could really be so bad about Skyrim.
Vilod is calling me, and I'm exhausted. A good night’s sleep will do me a world of good.
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