Acadian: Thankfully in Skyrim Elves Ear is a plant, not a pointy protuberance from a merish head.

Some canny behaviour on Val's part, in watching the man pull the lever and reveal the trap. Some (especially the followers in this game), would have just charged in and attacked him.

“Brains before brawn, my good man,”
Indeed.

That is some perfume!

The scroll from the Mages Guild offered us a two-for one deal in storytelling. On one hand you used it to reveal the fate of the new MG. On the other you also showed us one more glimpse of Val's aversion to magic.

Ewww, spiders. That is one thing I loath about this game.

And good old Arvel the Swift. Oblivion had Valen Dreth, Skyrim has him. And there he goes! Perhaps in the end he will prove as helpful as the first bandit was in the room with the poison darts?

I am loving the way Val's lifelong nightmares are just now beginning to tie into what is happening in Skyrim - that takes everything full circle, I love that!

I remember that first puzzle, lol.

Very much like that Val is looking through the chests ever expecting to find the claw - that makes it real. That is like the first time going into the world when we don't know what to expect - the most exciting play you will ever have is that first game when you never know what will happen next, and your story brings us there in such a way that it feels like we are going through it with Val - very Awesome Write !!!




Supurb line! You are very talented with subtle lines like that, I LOVED that! Awesome Write !!!

First things first...I apologize for not getting to the stories I have been following this week. RL prevented such, but I will get some more in on Sunday. Also, in this installment, I have...borrowed?...stolen?...used an idea of other authors and included a screenshot in the story

@ Darkness Eternal - A lesson many Nord men need to learn . . . -- Must be Val's Bosmer half.

@ Acadian - As SubRosa pointed out, In Skyrim, Elves Ear is indeed a plant. If Buffy is still alive in 4E201, she neededn't fret about Val coming for her ears! You can read about it here.

@ SubRosa - Some canny behaviour on Val's part, in watching the man pull the lever and reveal the trap. -- While playing this character in the game for this story, this was the first time I actually saw the fellow alive. He is usually dead by the time I get to that room. Thus the inspiration for that scene.

@ mALX - Very much like that Val is looking through the chests ever expecting to find the claw - that makes it real. -- This harkens back to a rant that J. Cloudy had in a comment about an earlier chapter. In "reality", Val would have no way of knowing where the claw was. I'm glad you liked that touch.

*****
@ Everyone - As always, thanks to all of you for your comments and kind words. On to the story...
*****

Previously - In Bleak Falls Barrow, Valrimor had managed to solve a puzzling lock to a closed gate, and then discovered Arvel the Swift stuck in a spider’s web and set him free, a little too successfully…

Chapter 15 – Successes

21st Last Seed, 4E201 – Continued

As Arvel turned and ran, I threw the dagger at him. He was much too quick and the knife merely bounced off the wall of the passageway. I stood there for a moment, my rage boiling over. Balls of flame burst to life in my hands. I raised my arms and yelled a curse at the top of my lungs, blasting fire down the tunnel until my inner source of power was exhausted. When I had finished, my anger had been replaced by uneasiness and concern.

What is going on with me? Why am I suddenly prone to these fits of rage? Worse yet, where is my self control?

Disgusted with myself, I started out after Arvel, picking up my dagger along the way. The air reeked with the odor of burnt dust and cobwebs, accentuating my self-loathing. The passage twisted into a room that had a raised dais to one side and several of the urns I had been seeing throughout the barrow. I did not take time to search the room, as I knew Arvel possessed what I had come for. Besides, I wanted to track the little fetcher down and have my way with him. A loud noise and a short scream echoed from the opening at the far end of the room. I continued my pursuit, following those sounds through another twisting passage that had started sloping downward into yet another chamber. Up ahead, something was moving, so I stopped and ducked into the shadows. It appeared to be humanoid, but it was definitely not Arvel. I could hear a low, guttural sound, akin to a growl. Whatever it was, it was also armed. I could see the shape of its axe silhouetted against the light of a brazier.

I eased back further into the shadows to plan a strategy. The room appeared to be a mausoleum, with open sided shelves for interring the deceased. Some of the shelves were empty and others were occupied. The hairs on my arms and neck suddenly stood at attention when one of the occupants began to move! I quickly nocked an arrow and shot at the creature that was now standing, hitting it in the center of its chest. It kept coming, growling and glaring at me with glowing blue eyes. I sent a second arrow through the creature’s sternum and it dropped to the floor, presumably dead again. One of its roommates must have been alerted by the noise, as it too rose from the dead. Two arrows later, it was also down, but now the original creature I had seen was charging at me with its axe raised and growling fiercely. It swung just as I dodged to the side and the axe blade missed me by mere inches. I back pedaled as I nocked an arrow and shot, missing the charging corpse completely. It was on me again in an instant, with a persistence that would rival the living. I used my bow like a shield while drawing my sword. With one good parry, I was able to knock it off balance. Now that I had the advantage, I pressed the attack, beating the undead creature backward until I was able to find an opening for a final thrust. It soon joined its comrades in what I hoped would be eternal rest.

Taking a moment to catch my breath, I surveyed the crypt for more attacking dead things. None were about, so I sheathed my sword and continued my chase. The pursuit was short and was completed when I reached the other end of the chamber. Arvel the Swift, who had once been Arvel the Stuck, was now Arvel the Deceased. The Dunmer was pinned to a large spiked gate. Points of iron protruded from his body, most notably the one between his eyes. Those eyes were still open, rolled upward and exposing nothing but the reds. His mouth hung open, having released its final scream minutes earlier. The thief must have snagged a trip wire or hit a pressure plate during his sprint and released this trap, which in turn must have roused the first creature I had seen.

I quickly searched Arvel’s body, being careful of where I stepped. He did indeed have the claw, as well as a journal and some coin that he wouldn’t be spending any time soon. I took all of this and placed it in my pack. I checked again for more undead antagonists, especially down the passage that I had not ventured into yet. Part of me was curious about something Arvel had said while he was still Arvel the Stuck.

“Yes, yes, the claw…I know how it works…The claw, the markings, the door to The Hall of Stories…I know how it all fits together,” he had said. He had also said something about great power that the ancient Nords had left behind. It must be something truly valuable for him to throw caution to the wind and run deeper into the barrow the way he had. I pondered all of this for a few minutes, seriously debating if I should finish what Arvel had started.

Forget it. You succeeded in getting the claw. Get out of this Gods forsaken hole and return it to Lucan.

I pulled a torch from my pack, lit it, and headed back for the main entrance to the barrow. During the walk back, I took the time to examine my surroundings more closely. The first thing I looked at was one of my dead again attackers. The creature appeared to have been human once. Where it had gotten the strength to heft its axe the way it had was beyond me. Its body was shriveled and desiccated, almost mummified. There was no blood at all where it had been wounded, even where I had delivered the killing thrust. I shuddered with a sudden chill and moved on.

Most of the walls and columns were etched deeply with swirling patterns that made no sense to me. They reminded me of the whorls that one has upon their fingertips. The room that had the dais must have been some type of burial preparation room. Odd shaped tools and bundles of old linen were lying about. Ancient stains on a table top gave the impression of dried blood. By the time I reached the bandit camp near the entrance of the barrow, I was tired and hungry. I decided to rest here before returning to Riverwood. I pulled some bread and cheese from my pack and had a small meal, then washed it down with some water.

Gods, I would dearly love some ale right now…

With that unanswered prayer, I bedded down and tried to sleep. The thought of what happened after I threw the dagger at Arvel crept into my thoughts. I had promised myself a long time ago that such an incident would never happen again, and now it had happened twice within a day. I rolled over and forced those thoughts away into a fitful sleep.

* * *

22nd Last Seed, 4E201

After a quick breakfast of apples, cheese, and bread, I headed out for Riverwood. The snowstorm had passed, and I had to squint against the sun glare off of the fresh snow. It was still windy and bitterly cold. I would definitely need to invest in gloves and a scarf when I returned to Lucan’s shop. The trip back was uneventful, but wading through thigh deep snow was arduous. It wasn’t until I neared the snow line on the mountainside that the walk became easier. The rest of the downhill walk might as well have been a leisurely stroll in the woods. When I entered the settlement, I saw Hod walking toward the mill. I waved and smiled, but he just nodded back and went about his business.

Shrugging off Hod’s cold shoulder, I went straight for the inn. Lucan could wait a bit because I wanted a drink. Orgnar was at his customary station behind the bar. He smiled – if you could call that grimace of his a smile – and motioned for me to come over, saying, “I have something for you to try.”

I pulled up a stool as Orgnar filled a tankard from a cask in a rack behind the bar. He placed it on the bar and said, “Enjoy! First draught from a new cask is always free.”

Ahhh…finally succeeded in getting some ale!

I raised the mug and took a sip. It was delicious! The ale had a smooth flavor punctuated with a tangy aftertaste. I asked him what it was.

Screenshot

“That, kind sir, is Sleeping Giant Ale,” beamed Orgnar. “When I got ready to toss the bad ale, I discovered that I still had this one cask left that hadn’t turned. After our discussion the other day, I figured you to be an ale enthusiast. So, what do you think?”

“It’s great. What gives it the tanginess?” I asked.

“It’s Snowberries. I dry them and mix them in with the hops. Not too much, mind you, but enough to give it that little pop at the end.”

I finished that one and had two more, along with a bowl of soup. Feeling much better, I gave Orgnar enough money for the ales, the food, and a room for the night. I wanted to clean the foulness of the barrow off before going to see Lucan. When I went to my room and unloaded my gear, I came across Arvel’s journal. I took a seat in the chair and read it. It didn’t shed much more light on the subject of what he was looking for. It did have one line in quotations that caught my eye, “If you have the Golden Claw, the Key is in the Palm of your Hand.” It was cryptic, to say the least. I took out the claw and examined it closely for the first time. There were three long talons, all curving to near perpendicular with what would be the palm or sole of a hand or foot. The detailed workmanship was exquisite. I flipped it over and discovered three symbols on the underside. There was an owl, a bear, and a butterfly. Arvel had mentioned markings. Could this have been what the quote referred to?

Bah! Let Lucan figure it out. He can go spelunking amongst the walking dead if he wants. Maybe he’ll pay extra for the journal.

I put the claw back in my pack and cleaned myself up at the basin. Feeling very refreshed after food, ale, and soap, I left the inn for Lucan’s shop. When I entered the Riverwood Trader, Lucan smiled and said he was glad to see I had made it back. I started to reply, but he cut me off with an inquiry about the claw. I pulled it from my pack with a grin and proclaimed, “Feast your eyes on the sweet sight of success!”

Whew! Thanks to you and SubRosa for putting Buffy at ease that her big ears are not on someone's alchemy list.

A tense fight with some undead surprises!

Arvel the Deceased with open lids showing only the reds of his eyes! I loved that Dunmerism. Yup, traps and ‘the Swift’ don’t mix well in dungeons.

Finally, home safely and a great screenshot of Val enjoying a celebratory mug.

And we’re left with a couple mysteries. First, will Val sort out his temper and what has recently caused it to resurface after apparently being rather controllable for quite some time. Secondly, I wonder if he’ll simply hand the claw to Lucan and be done with it, or if he’ll become involved in its alluring puzzle.

Val is still losing his temper. In a spectacular fashion too. Though at least this time there were no bad consequences.

Val's first encounter with draugr went pretty well.

I see Val decided that discretion is the better part of valor. Or as the saying goes: There are old adventurers, and bold adventurers, but no old bold adventurers.

Gods, I would dearly love some ale right now…
I get the feeling that is coming up soon...

I loved your description of Orgnar's smile as being a grimace. It adds some flavor to him.

And there is the ale!

I get the sneaking suspicion that Val is not through with Bleak Falls Barrow just yet. But we shall see...

Loved the screenshot, is that a pose mod to catch him drinking ale like that? Very nice!

Looks like Hod is still carrying a grudge over a grasped arm, lol. Don't tick off a Nord, lol.

Speaking of not ticking off Nords, it is really interesting that Val is just as concerned and curious as the reader over his temper bouts, hope he didn't inherit some bad gene from his father's side!

Snowberries in the beer, Val needs to carry that keg with him and sip it while fighting Draugr!

I'm with SubRosa on the "grimace" for a smile - really nice descriptive choice!

Awesome Write!

So the guilt of rage begins to seep in the mind of our dear Val. That fire blast was impressive, and it does show how devasting Val can be with magicka. I don't suppose he'll control a pack of wolves or a herd of mammoths with his racial power to rampage through cities? Certainly might seem capable if his anger boils over to that point.

The fight between him and the Draugr was good, and creepy when put into perspective. I felt the hairs of my arms raise too just picturing undead Nordic mummies running to me with axes.



I got a kick out of this line! Pretty soon he'll be Arvel the Forgotten as that place was made his tomb. After he got the claw, I cheered when he was reunited with some of that ale and some good breakfest to fill his belly. Nothing better. All he needs is a woman at his side . . . no? Too soon?

Good read!

Spent some time reading today and got all caught up. First a random thing that has always bothered me. Namely, the bandit at the trapped gate. Arvel the careless has gone through already, suggesting that the puzzle had been solved. But when Val (or any player) gets there, the gate is closed and the mechanism is set to kill, not open. Did it automatically reset and the bandit didn't check, or did the bandit close it behind Arvel and then mess around with it so he could kill himself later.

Thinking about it now, I'm going with the automatic reset. It makes the bandit seem less stupid.


Val's inherited temper is worrying for sure, but I do like to see that after his outburst he doesn't fall apart. He worries of course, but he still keeps his attention at the more pressing matters of the moment. I also liked how Val didn't trust the thief for a second, but freed him anyway cause he's not a coldblooded murderer.


And yeah, the first time I entered a barrow and the corpses got up, I freaked out. I'd never seen anything like it happen in Oblivion or Morrowind. Rest assured that I very soon picked up the habit of making sure any corpses were actual corpses.

OK, catching up!

I loved how Val looked forward to his afternoon walk in the woods.

Wow, the whole icy bridge scene was fun to read!

Whoa, Val’s anger management could become a big issue. His current method of dealing with it (apply alcohol, pretend it’s not a problem) doesn’t sound like a long-term plan. I am of course thoroughly rooting for Val in all situations, so you’re making me feel some real concern for him!

Oh, that dream. “Come as I know you must.” *shiver* I’m seeing hints that Val will have some business with dragons.

So…don’t pull the lever….yet…

Caution? That’s the Bosmer blood talking.

I’m enjoying the potion names!

Those eyes were still open, rolled upward and exposing nothing but the reds.

Gross, very clever, and also LOL.

When I entered the settlement, I saw Hod walking toward the mill. I waved and smiled, but he just nodded back and went about his business.

Just one of many delightful moments between your characters that come across as so clear and true.

Love the screenshot! Every time Val thinks about the puzzle and that claw I wonder which of his arguing sides will win.

(Regarding the gate lever trap, I always thought that Arvel closed it behind himself since he was trying to pull a fast one on his fellow thieves.)

First things first...

@ Acadian - And we’re left with a couple mysteries. -- Not for long...

@ SubRosa - I loved your description of Orgnar's smile as being a grimace. -- The guy comes off as such a cold fish, doesn't he?

@ mALX - Loved the screenshot, is that a pose mod to catch him drinking ale like that? -- That is part of a mod, but not a pose mod. It is part of this mod. Glad you liked it.

@ Darkness Eternal - Pretty soon he'll be Arvel the Forgotten as that place was made his tomb. -- Not soon enough for Val I'm afraid...

@ jack cloudy - Regarding the gate...Thinking about it now, I'm going with the automatic reset. It makes the bandit seem less stupid. -- In game, on the other side, there is a pull chain that resets the trap. Like Grits said after your post, I always assumed Arvel reset it before he became Arvel the Stuck.

@ Grits - Welcome back from "self-imposed exile"! Great to have you back and I do hope it was enjoyable (as if the beach could not be). His current method of dealing with it (apply alcohol, pretend it’s not a problem) -- This is definitely one of Val's biggest problems in life, drinking his troubles away.

*****
@ All Of You - A heartfelt thanks once again for your support and comments. As always, they mean a great deal to me.
****

Previously - Valrimor had fought thieves and Draugr to find the Golden Claw and has returned to The Riverwood Trader with Lucan’s stolen artifact…

Chapter 16 – Business then Northward

22nd Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

Lucan’s eyes went as wide as his smile. He came out from behind the counter, took the claw from me, and shook my hand while thanking me for a job well done. Then he returned to his counter and placed the claw on a small stand that appeared to be designed for it, setting both on a display shelf behind him. I stood there a moment, and then made a theatrical throat-clearing sound.

“Oh yes, your payment,” he said as he reached under the counter, “Here you are.” He tossed me a leather pouch full of coins. I didn’t bother counting it in front of him. I knew where to find him if it was short.

“Listen,” I said, “the thief that had the claw also wrote a journal about how he knew what it was for. Would that be worth anything to you?”

“Not really. I don’t care what it’s for. I just like the thing. And who knows? Maybe some collector of rare artifacts will purchase it for twice what I paid you to retrieve it,” Lucan postulated with a greedy grin.

“Then that would make the journal valuable as well, if you sold them as a set,” I suggested, raising a brow to emphasize the idea.

Lucan pondered the idea for a moment and then offered store credit for the journal because he couldn’t spare any more Septims. I agreed and handed over the journal. He shook my hand again to seal the deal. I used some of that credit immediately to stock up on food, purchasing enough for two days on the road. Lucan began making a list, writing furiously as I started snatching items from his shelves. Bread, cheese, jerked venison, some apples, and bottled water were all going into my pack as fast as I could grab them. I also found a pair of gloves and a scarf, adding them to my pack as Lucan continued to scribble away. I didn’t know how far Whiterun was, and I wasn’t going anywhere again without some cold weather gear. Thanking Lucan, who was still dutifully listing items on my tab, I left The Riverwood Trader. I planned on spending the rest of the day here in Riverwood. I had become solvent enough to restock my quiver and get some decent food and rest before going to see the Jarl in Whiterun. So my next stop was Alvor’s shop to fill my quiver with new arrows. After that, I spent the afternoon in the woods harvesting alchemical agents and trying to relax. I returned to the inn at dusk.

Delphine was using the alchemy lab when I entered, so I went over to the bar to order some supper and a goblet of wine. This evening’s special was venison steaks with baked potatoes and grilled leeks. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the food was placed before me. In what seemed like mere moments, I was washing the last bite down with my second goblet of wine. Sated and seeing that Delphine was finished with her elixirs, I rose and carried a recently refilled wine goblet over to the alchemy table.

Thistle and purple mountain flower were plentiful near the settlement. I had collected enough to concoct several vials of potion for resisting the effects of cold. My mother used to call it “Fuzzy Blanket”, and would add some to our food on particularly cold nights in Bruma. That sudden memory stung me deeply. I slugged down the rest of my goblet to push the thought away and refocused on the task at hand. I had also found plenty of blue mountain flowers and captured several butterflies, so I stocked up on fresh healing potions. I cleaned up the station when I finished, paid Orgnar his fee, and had one more wine before I went to bed for the night.



23rd Last Seed, 4E201

The thought of food turned my stomach. The previous night’s libations had effectively killed any appetite for breakfast. After some hot herbal tea to ease the effects, I headed out into a morning that was grey and damp. I frowned at the sky and at the moisture hitting my upturned face. It was not the perfect traveling weather to be sure, but at least the rain was not much heavier than a steady mist. I headed north from Riverwood, crossing the bridge and turning right to continue following the river along the west bank. My mood was as bleak as the day. I had slept fitfully, even with a head full of wine, plagued by dreams that were not the least bit pleasant. The recurring dragon dream in particular still hung in my thoughts like the threatening clouds above me. There was a new twist to the nightmare this time. The dragon that was speaking was the very same dragon that had attacked Helgen. I will never forget that view I had from the headsman’s block, those red eyes peering into my very soul. It was definitely the same beast.

“Come as you must and as I have foreseen, but in the end, you will grovel before me,” the dragon had said.

I have never been one to put much stock in dreams. Except for the fact that I had actually encountered this particular beast, none of my dreams have ever come true, so why bother? Still, the vision haunted me, along with thoughts of my outbursts at the barrow. All of this kept my spirits low as I continued my journey northward.

My distracted and depressed state was almost my undoing. Instead of being alert, I was just shuffling along, looking down at the road, oblivious to my surroundings. Suddenly there was growl and I was knocked off my feet by a leaping wolf. Fortunately, the snapping jaws had not been able to make a purchase on my armor. The wolf’s momentum carried it off of me and sent it tumbling into the grass. A second wolf charged from the brush just as I had readied my sword to face the first, and knocked the blade from my grip. It clattered down the rocky roadway out of my reach. There was no time to unsling my bow and nock an arrow as both wolves quickly regained their footing and turned to charge again. With nothing else to do, I turned and ran. The wolves began pursuit immediately. I knew there was no way I could outrun the beasts. I caught a glimpse of a low hanging branch ahead of me and I made an all or nothing gambit to leap for the bough. It paid off as I swung upward onto the branch inches above the snarling fangs of my attackers. The branch creaked and groaned under my weight, but held as the wolves circled and growled below me. The palms of my hands burned with scrapes from the tree bark.

You got deer pellets for brains, Val! You know better than to shamble along like wolves don’t even exist!

Now that I was out of their reach, it was a simple matter. I reached inward for my animal command and instantly had the wolves at each other instead being interested in eating me. I sent a few arrows down from my perch and in moments both wolves were dead and yielding their pelts. I tossed their carcasses into the brush and retrieved my sword. Now I was angry instead of depressed, but definitely more alert as I continued along my route. The road began a series of sharp switchbacks as the grade became very steep. The river was roaring down a series of falls to my right, and I stopped for a moment to watch the salmon struggling to make their way upstream. I could relate to their exercise, as much of my life had seemed to be an upstream battle. I looked further north to discover that the forest was giving way to tundra covered plains. If the weather had been better, the view would have been breathtaking. I could just make out the dim silhouette of a city in the distance, shrouded in grey mist. Presumably that would be Whiterun. It was at that moment that it hit me…

I used Magicka…without even thinking twice about it. I just did it…like it was natural. Damnit Val! You swore an oath over thirty years ago. And now look at you…using your temper like a blast furnace and willing animals as though it was an everyday thing! What in Oblivion is wrong with you?

I shuddered and forced myself to walk, grumbling curses under my breath. To keep my mind from wandering back to nightmares, Magicka, and upstream battles, I focused on my surroundings and collected alchemical ingredients as I walked. Mountain flowers of every type were readily available, as well as mora tampinella fungus, thistle, lavender, and then tundra cotton. I also managed to snag a few butterflies. At the bottom of the hill, my way had reached a crossroads. A sign posted at the corner advised a left turn to get to Whiterun. I dutifully obeyed, walking away from the river. There was a building just ahead on the left. When I was close enough to read the placard that swayed in the breeze, my mouth began watering. “Honningbrew Meadery” it proclaimed, with a stylized beehive beneath the script.

Maybe they have tours with free samples…

Free samples or not, nothing brings me out a funk better than some good mead. I decided that the Jarl could wait a bit while I quenched my thirst and shed this dismal mood. Inside, the main room looked like that of a typical tavern. There was an array of tables and chairs, and a bar along the back wall. A balding man, slight of build, stood behind the bar.

“Good afternoon,” the man said with a Cyrodillic accent, “I am Sabjorn, owner and proprietor of Honningbrew Meadery.”

“And a good day to you as well,” I replied, “I’ve recently tried some of your mead for the first time. I must say that it was some of the best mead I have ever tasted.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” Sabjorn beamed, “We use only the finest natural honey, not that sludge you will find at Goldenglow Farms.”

“It appears you serve food here as well. I’d like to order some supper and a bottle of your product.”

“Certainly,” said Sabjorn. He handed me a menu and said he would take my order when he returned with my mead. While I waited, I could hear a steady dull droning sound. Looking around, I was unable to discern the source. I asked Sabjorn about it when he returned.

“It’s the bees,” he replied, giving me an odd little glance, as if I should have known that. He placed the bottle of mead and an empty grail on the bar in front of me and then went on to explain, “Their hives are right outside the back door. This time of day, they are returning from their pollen gathering, so the buzzing is more noticeable.”

“I see…well…I am ready to order. I’ll have a bowl of the fish soup please.”

“That is an excellent choice, sir. I shall return shortly,” he said, giving a slight nod and another odd look before going back to the kitchen. I filled the grail with mead and took a healthy swig. It was just as tasty as the other night, but still just a touch sweeter than I was used to. Sabjorn returned with my soup and asked if I would care for anything else.

“Actually, there is something. I would love a tour of your facility-”

“I knew it! You’re no customer in off the road. You’re a spy, sent by those envious mongrels at Goldenglow or Black-Briar! Get out!” he yelled, snatching away the bowl of soup and bottle of mead.

With that, the little bald mead-maker stormed off into the kitchen. I stood there, jaw agape and befuddled. Apparently, the mead business was very competitive around here. Shrugging, I quaffed the rest of what was in my grail and walked out.

EDIT: Nit picked...

*

That mod sounds great!

First off, I love the way you are dating this, almost like Val is keeping a diary of his daily actions - really nice idea!

The wolf attacks - I couldn't believe how many of those wolves there were, I couldn't get five feet without hearing a growl till I leveled up a bit, lol. (then it was saber cats, but not half as many of them).

I love Val's idea of climbing the tree - at first I thought he'd be stuck up there for days, lol. It is always so interesting when he has fights, he so rarely has an easy victory, something always happens - that makes it interesting, Love that about this story! Grits's story is the same way, something different always happens that sends the fight into a whole different and fascinating direction, you two both have a knack for keeping the reader's interest in battle!

ROFL !!! Spies! I loved this! I don't know how I missed it, but I never saw this brewery! Loved this update, keep up the great work! Awesome Write!


*

So Val earns enough septims and credit to fill both belly and quiver. And get some proper cold weather gear as well. The only thing missing is. . . oh, there it is: Wine! Uh oh. . . now Val’s cooking potions while drinking.

Not a very good night, between wine sloshing in his belly and dragons filling his head. But it’s on the road again the next morning – notably distracted. I remember the last time he was walking along distracted and got surprised. . .

. . . Wolves!

‘You got deer pellets for brains, Val! You know better than to shamble along like wolves don’t even exist!’ - -

Commanding the wolves seemed as natural as breathing to me as well, but I can see why Val, with his dislike of magic, is troubled by it.

Hmm, let’s try mead tonight and see if it causes less trouble than the wine of the previous evening. Drat! Doesn’t that mead maker recognize and appreciate a mead connoisseur when he meets one?!?


Nit - - ‘You sore an oath over thirty years ago.’ - - I’m thinking you meant ‘swore’ an oath?

Then he returned to his counter and placed the claw on a small stand that appeared to be designed for it, setting both on a display shelf behind him.
This was a nice touch. It's no wonder it was stolen. The way he puts it right on the front counter in the game I have trouble not taking it! At least in your world, everybody who walks in the shop is not going to take it by accident too.

Love Val's hondling to sell Arvel's Journal. His logic is indeed airtight.

What a wonderful description of Fuzzy Blanket and its use, complete with the bad memory it dredged up.

So hungover, tired, and morose, Val is trudging north to Jarl Ballin's rocking fun house. No wonder he missed those wolves on the way. They did not miss him however!

Maybe they have tours with free samples…
This had me grinning. It is exactly the sort of thing I have come to expect from Val!

Val an industrial spy! Oh noes! At least he got to finish his mead before he was thrown out.

Aww, Fuzzy Blanket!

That was a disquieting walk down from Riverwood after an unsettling night, and then the mishap at the meadery! No refuge there for Val.

I really enjoyed this update. I hope Val will find some friendly faces in Whiterun, even though he carries some scary news.

First things first...

As always, I want to thank everyone that commented on the previous installment. You all spur me to keep writing with your kind comments. Thanks!

@ mALX - I actually started putting dates because of the Interludes, since they needed to be dated to give perspective. And since this is a journal of sorts, the fit was natural.

@ Acadian - Commanding the wolves seemed as natural as breathing to me as well, but I can see why Val, with his dislike of magic, is troubled by it. -- An Interlude is coming soon that is finally going to explain in detail why Val is so anti-Magicka...stay tuned.

@ SubRosa - So hungover, tired, and morose, Val is trudging north to Jarl Ballin's rocking fun house. -- When I saw the "Jarl Ballin" reference, I had to laugh at the memory of that video...too funny!

@ Grits - Aww, Fuzzy Blanket! -- I have been trying to give potions names, instead of their generic titles. Fuzzy Blanket seemed like something a mother would name a Resist Frost potion. Glad you liked it.

*****

Author's Note - Many of you have played Skyrim and are familiar with the NPC Aela the Huntress. For those of you that haven't played the game, please do not confuse her with Aela from SubRosa's current story. She is a completely diffferent character. Since Aela the Huntress plays such a small role in my story, I didn't bother changing her name.

*****

Previously -Valrimor had made his way to the outskirts of Whiterun, after a close call with wolves. He has just been kicked out of Honningbrew Meadery by the owner, who believed he was a competitor’s spy…

Chapter 17 – Whiterun

23rd Last Seed, 4E201 – Continued

I was still shaking my head after Sabjorn’s outburst, and I was still thirsty. I headed west on the road again, determined to get to Whiterun and more libations as soon as possible. The clouds had broken, and the lowering sun was sending golden shafts of light through the breaks in the western sky. The landscape was almost treeless. Grasses that had browned in the late summer sun stretched across the tundra for as far as the eye could see. A large creek flowed eastward into the river that I had followed north from Riverwood. Farms dotted the low rolling hills near the city. I was approaching one of these when I noticed activity in a field near the road. I could not believe my eyes as I drew closer to the farm. A giant, brandishing a monstrous club, was in a battle with three men. I had heard that there were giants in Skyrim, but I had dismissed the idea as legend.

Just like dragons are legends…

The battle had ended by the time I reached back for my bow. Leaving it slung, I broke into a trot toward the field. The giant lay slain and two of the warriors were tending to the third that appeared to have been wounded during the fight. As I arrived, one of them stood and faced me. She was a fit and attractive Nord, with dark war paint making three diagonal stripes across her face. She wore tight fitting armor that accentuated her figure. The open areas, while pleasing to the eye, left too many vulnerable points for what I considered to be adequate protection.

“Paint a picture, it will last longer, and wipe that drool from your chin while you’re at it,” she scoffed as I suddenly realized I was staring. I wiped what must have been some left over mead from my beard and started to apologize, but she cut me off, “And thanks for the help, by the way.”

“What happened here?” I asked, a little put off by her demeanor.

“You’re not very observant for a drooling gawker. A giant attacked the farm. What did you think happened?” she retorted.

“First of all, that was mead, not drool! Second, why are you brow beating me? You don’t even know me!” I barked back angrily.

“So you do have a spine,” she replied with a wry grin, “We could have used your help here. Now one of my Shield-Sisters is down while your weapons remain stowed.”

She looked back down at her fallen comrade, and my gaze followed. A male Nord in steel armor was tending to the wounded Shield-Sister. Just then, he looked up and said, “Ria’s going to be fine, Aela. Her shoulder was dislocated, but I have popped it back into place. We should get her back to Jorrvaskr so she can rest.”

Aela looked back at me, sizing me up with her eyes, and said, “You look like you could hold your own in a fight. You should consider joining the Companions, unless that blade on your hip is merely decoration.”

I bit my tongue and overlooked the provocation by asking, “And what are the Companions?”

“We are a group of honorable warriors that lend a hand when trouble shows its face. Well, when the coin is right, that is,” she replied.

The word “coin” got my complete attention. I had been a hired bow many times before, although not always as an “honorable warrior”. The Nord had helped Ria to her feet. Aela took position at her Shield-Sister’s other side. The two uninjured Companions aided the third to start walking down the road.

“Wait,” I said, “If I were interested in joining your group, who would I speak to, and where might they be found?”

“Kodlak Whitemane. You will find him in the halls of Jorrvaskr, in Whiterun. He will ultimately decide if you are worthy of being a Companion,” Aela replied over her shoulder as they walked away.

I turned back to the beast that lay dead before me. I had never seen a giant before, and I was interested in examining this second legend that had come to life out of stories. If it were standing, the giant would easily have been double my height. It appeared to be male, an assumption I made because it had a beard and no clothing above the waist. It was very well muscled with pale grey skin. The only clothing it wore was a fur loin cloth adorned with a troll skull. My attention went to his cudgel lying next to his body. The enormous weapon appeared to be the trunk of a small tree that had a large stone bound into its roots by leather straps. I tried to heft the club and could barely get my hands around it, let alone lift it off the ground, attesting to the brute strength of the creature. I would certainly be sure to steer clear of any of its kind if I came across them.

As farm workers headed toward me, presumably to remove the huge corpse, I turned and headed toward Whiterun. The three Companions had already moved on out of sight. The sun was setting now, and casting a brilliant orange glow to the underside of the retreating violet clouds. I passed another farm before reaching a sign that directed me up a side road toward the north. This took me past a stable and up to the gate of the city proper, where I was met by a torch bearing guard.

“Halt! The city is closed with dragons about. Official business only!” stated the guard in a stern tone. He wore an ochre colored tabard draped over his mail armor and a full face conical helmet that had a small spike at the top.

“The Jarl already knows of the dragon attack?” I asked.

“Of course he does. Who do you think ordered the city gates closed?” he replied.

“Well, I have been asked by the citizens of Riverwood to speak to the Jarl on their behalf, regarding the defense of their village,” I stated in my best official sounding voice.

“Riverwood is in danger too? You better go on in then. You will find the Jarl in Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill. This way,” the guard directed.

As we walked toward the gate, I asked the guard about a place to sleep for the night. He suggested The Bannered Mare, saying the food and drink were good and reasonably priced. After he opened the gate, the guard pointed down the main street.

"Just follow it to the end and you can't miss it," he said.

"Thanks," I replied, and then I entered the city of Whiterun.

Ah, an actual city! First order of business, a room and some ale at this Bannered Mare…the Jarl can wait ‘til morning…

Lit braziers were strategically placed along the street, providing light that was just now becoming beneficial in the dusk. The buildings reminded me of Bruma, which sent a momentary pang of sorrow through my heart. I shoved that pain aside, replacing it with my elation at being back in civilization. I have always liked cities. Many have asked me how this could be, being Bosmer and all. While it is true that the woodlands sing to my heart, there is also a part of me that can’t resist the lure of a smokey tavern, with ale and music that beckon to my inner Nord. Contests of skill and chance, like dice or darts, mixed with the camaraderie of like-minded folk sharing jokes, or tales of heroic deeds. I was looking forward to finding such at The Bannered Mare.

As I walked up the street, I could not help but overhear a portion of conversation between a man and woman in front of a blacksmith’s shop. Something about making weapons for the Imperials. That’s when I looked closer and noticed the man was wearing Imperial armor. I suddenly remembered that I should be wary of Imperial soldiers. I looked away quickly and sped up, lest I be recognized as an escaped prisoner from Helgen.

At the end of the main street was a small plaza. Several kiosks dotted the perimeter, obviously vendor’s shops that had closed for the evening. I could hear music, and a mixture of laughing and singing, coming from the building in front of me. It was fairly large, with multiple levels. A steep roof with large wooden shingles obviously designed to shed snow quickly in the winter added to the inn’s height. Each gable was crowned with a horse head of carved wood. The sign in front confirmed this to be my destination, The Bannered Mare. I entered and immediately smiled as I took in the aromas of food and pipe smoke. The patrons were all enjoying the music and the company of their fellows. A voice shouted from the bar.

“Come in and sit down. We just stoked the fire,” beckoned the female publican.

I saw no reason at all not to oblige her. In a similar style to The Sleeping Giant, this inn had a long fire pit that ran through the center of the main hall. Perhaps all inns in Skyrim had this feature. I found an open space to sit and was met with the welcoming smile of a beautiful Redguard serving girl.

“Can I get you food, or drink, or something else?” she asked.

I eyed her up and down, then smiled and said, “A mug of ale would be fine for now.”

She returned my smile and promised to return quickly. I looked around the room. Almost every seat was filled with people from all stations of society. There were well dressed wealthy folk and armored fighting types. At one table was an overly inebriated man in threadbare peasant’s garb that could barely hold his head up. At another sat a Nordic woman with a face as hard as her steel armor. The two serving girls were kept busy, both with orders for food and drink, and with keeping the hands of men clear of their backsides.

My server soon returned with my ale. I thanked her and asked who I should speak to about renting a room. She pointed me to the woman behind the bar and said, “Speak to Hulda. She is the owner.” Just then, a drunken man grabbed her and spun her around. He tried to get her to dance with him, but instead, he tripped and landed hard on his behind. This incited a round of raucous laughter from all that had witnessed it, including myself. I raised my stein and downed the entire contents without stopping, then got up to go talk to Hulda about a room.

This is my kind of place…

I squeezed in between two men that were seated at the bar and raised my mug to get Hulda’s attention. She spotted me straight away and came over.

“You need a refill?” she asked.

“Sure, and the serving girl said I would need to see you about renting a room,” I replied.

“That’s correct. I have one room left. Ten Septims for the night,” Hulda said as she took my stein toward a cask.
When she returned, I paid her for the ale and the room. Hulda placed the coins in a pocket of her apron and said, “Thank you. Come, I’ll show you to your room,” then hollered to one of the serving girls, “Saadia, watch the bar while I show this guest to his room.”

The Redguard serving girl that had tended to me earlier walked behind the bar as the publican led me to my room. Hulda was a Nord and attractive for her age, having kept her figure through the years. My eyes could not help but notice the sway below her apron strings as we made our way upstairs.

"Here you are," she said as she opened the door to her last available room, "Let me know if I can get anything else for you, but I do hope you will be coming back down to the main hall before retiring.”

“Oh, you can count on it,” I replied with a smile.

*****

EDIT - Nits picked.

BWAAHAA! Love the confrontation between Aela and Val! He always seems to come across at a disadvantage in one-on-one’s, ROFL!



Really good showing of how the two heritages call to him, each in their own way. Loved that!

Whiterun is my favorite city in Skyrim; although I never got the Player house in it. Maxical lived out of the Bannered Mare, chopped wood there for her room and board, and made a deal with the Smithy on using their forge (etc) to earn income. (mining ore/hunting pelts/making items for them to sell out of their store there). Really loved Whiterun.

Now I worry he’ll drink too much and brawl, getting tossed out, ROFL!! Awesome Write!!

It seems Aela is likely not an archer. I don’t expect she would have appreciated Val rushing to set up and risk the friendly fire of an inaccurate arrow into a frenzied melee of three allies and one foe – even if the foe was a large one. I’m glad to see him return a bit of her caustic attitude. The scene, however, along with the following one in the Bannered Mare does show that Val has an eye for the ladies and a taste for not only ale, but games of chance as well. I’m sure he was pleased to get a tankard in his hand (finally)!

So, mayhaps Whiterun might serve double duty as Val tries to discharge his promise to those in Riverwood, then possibly looks into these Companions.

Oh Val, you naughty naughty man.


I wondered about Aela's outfit as well, then I realized that with her habits she naturally prefers something...self-dissassembling.


I do have to laugh at how Val goes straight to the Bannered Mare. The man with the brewery won't give any honey-liquor? Well then our Nordmer will just have to beeline to an alternative source of sweet sweet alcohol.

Well, I kept my promise. Finally caught up and am pleasantly surprised by this story. It is well-written, and more importantly to someone old-school like me, well-crafted. It doesn't matter how cool the character is, or how excellent the plot, if the writing doesn't - well, flow - then sorry, I'm not spending any time with it. I have to say that your writing flows very well - so well that I quite enjoyed reading this from Val's perspective. The fact that you so obviously take care with the technical aspects of your story really lets your creativity and storytelling abilities shine.

In my reading, I did spot a nit that was apparently missed, back in Chapter 14. Of course, I don't blame anyone for missing it - the chapter read so well that only my well-honed peeve on this particular error caused me to spot it.

In this context this should be its. The possessive form, which you are using here, runs counter to the rules and does not contain the apostrophe. The apostrophe is actually used for the contraction of it is.

Another nit, again a minor one, is here in Chapter 17: I think you are missing an a in front of the horse's head here. There, nits picked!

Again in Chapter 17 I spotted something that kind of rubs me in a stylistic sense. For the most part, you are consistent in using active verbs for your sentences. But here: I see the changes in verb tense from passive to active voice. In my writing, I try to avoid using is, was, be, etc. with second verbs. It just kind of breaks the spell, so to speak, to see this happen. I can only think of one other instance in your story where I spotted this (was it the third chapter, or maybe the fifth?). I would prefer to see this sentence rewritten something like this: While he opened the gate, the soldier described the inn's location at the far end of the main street Sometimes it can be tough to figure out how to write sentences that are natural in cadence and syntax, yet avoid the common pitfalls of what I consider lazy writing (or editing). That said, let me assure you that I do not see laziness at work in your writing! It's rare enough here that I thought I would point this out to you. I do not know if you are conscious of this and work to edit it out (and thus missed this one instance), or if you rarely put your sentences down like this that you are not aware of it at all.

Enough of the editorial critique! On to the meat of this story!

As alcoholism runs in my family (well, yeah, we're a mix of German and Italian, so plenty of drinkin' genes here!), I recognized the signs right off. It doesn't make Val a bad character - not at all. It makes him a flawed character, and one I find myself caring very much about. With my medical background, I am wondering if his recent issues with control of his Magicka has to do with his drinking, which seems to progress as the story winds on (in a most pleasant way, let me hasten to add). So now I'm wondering if something not yet identified is triggering the drinking, or if we are only seeing more of it because now he is in Skyrim, the land of home-brewed mead. Would we have seen the same had he spend time in Skingrad, with its vineyards? Hmmm.

In spite of this, Val has some well-honed survival skills which are essential, I gather, in this new land. Well, new to me, at least.

And he is definitely of the heterosexual inclination, with a nice, well-developed libido. Which makes me wonder when is he going to get lucky? Or is he holding out for the "right one?"

Need I say that I'm looking forward to more?

Well he already knows there are dragons about. Why not rest and rehydrate first?

I thoroughly enjoyed Val’s entrance into Whiterun. I have enough affection for him already that I’m worried his temper will interfere with the otherwise friendly brawling opportunities at the Mare.

Loved the thoughts about Val’s Bosmer/Nord draw toward both forests and lively company. As ever I’m looking forward to what the rest of the evening will bring.

First things first... I apologize for not getting any posts up in "Commentasaurus"... Things have been hectic lately with work and family.

@ mALX - Somehow I knew you would get a kick out of the Val / Aela exchange.

Now I worry he’ll drink too much and brawl -- Valrimor? Drink too much? LOL

@ Acadian - Actually, in the game, Aela is indeed an expert archer and a trainer in the ability. There are several side quests that feature her (which makes for some interesting writing material), but Val's story won't be following that path anytime soon.

@ jack cloudy - Val is not a naughty guy...he's just needs to get...well, we have female readers, but you know what I mean.

@ haute ecole rider - Welcome to the story. So glad to have you here and receive your input. Thanks for pointing out the nits...they have been picked. I also want to thank you for the critique regarding verb usage. It's the kind of stuff I want to know because I have zero training in creative writing.

...he is definitely of the heterosexual inclination, with a nice, well-developed libido. Which makes me wonder when is he going to get lucky? -- Soon... I am glad you are enjoying Val's adventures so far.

@ Grits - Why not rest and rehydrate first? -- Val's thoughts exactly!

*****

@ Everyone - Thanks as always for your kind comments and critiques. Y'all are awesome!

*****

Author's Note - This is where Interlude 3 begins. When I was writing it, it was one of those nights that the words seemed to just pour onto the pages. Before I knew it, I was over 3,000 words. So, this Interlude (which is the last one) will be busted into two parts. As with the other Interludes, it is dated for reference and narrated in third person instead of Val doing the narration. I do hope you enjoy Part One of the last of Val's backstory.

*****

Interlude 3 – Part One

2nd Evening Star, 4E167

It was his eighteenth birthday, but Valrimor did not feel like celebrating. The Nords of Bruma considered this day to be a coming of age event, and treated it with special significance. Most of his friends had already reached eighteen. Their parties had been boisterous affairs with plenty of food, music, and mead. The celebrant was always the lone competitor in a drinking contest, trying to break the local record for how many tankards of mead could be quaffed prior to passing out. The current record was held by Langmar Cleaver-Fist. He was a friend of Val’s and had turned eighteen earlier this year. Lang had managed to put away twenty-two tankards before falling face first into the ample breast of the serving girl. That earned him a nickname to replace Cleaver-Fist with one that had to do with his hawkish nose and the voluptuous chest of the waitress.

Recalling that night brought a slight smile to Val’s lips, but it did not linger long. His mother let out a deep sigh and this refocused his mind to the task at hand. He scooped the last spoonful of stew from the bowl and fed it to Ellinar. She slurped it down dutifully and Val wiped the excess from her chin.

“That’s good Ma. You finished it all. Are you ready for a seat by the fire?” Val asked his mother.

She answered with another sigh which Val took as an affirmative answer. He helped Elli up from her chair, leading her to another near the fireplace hearth. Placing a shawl over her shoulders, he leaned over and kissed her cheek, then bade her to stay there while he cleaned up the supper dishes. Not that she would have moved. She never moved anywhere without prompting these days. Val collected the dishes from the table and went to the basin in the kitchen, his brow furrowed with concern.

Ellinar’s depression had steadily worsened ever since Harlan Bjornsen had returned to Bruma. He was the man who had hired her husband as a bodyguard so many years ago. It seemed that their party had been attacked by brigands. Harlan reported that Erik was nowhere to be found after the battle, and stated that for all he knew, the bandits had taken his bodyguard as prisoner. He did not wish to sully Erik’s name the only other possible conclusion, which was that the man had merely run off during the fight. Regardless, Harlan could not confirm what had happened to Erik, or whether the man still lived. Ellinar had already begun her slide into blackness well before this happened, but the news that Erik’s return now seemed highly unlikely sent her over the edge.

Now she was a shell of her former self. Sometimes she would weep for hours. When she wasn’t crying, she would just sit and stare off into nowhere, almost catatonic. She had long since stopped caring for herself, so it was up to Valrimor to do it for her. He would feed her, dress her, and now he even had to bathe her. She wasn’t physically ill, but her mind had gone totally black with despair. The times that she became animated terrified Val the most. She would look at him and suddenly shriek with wide-eyed panic, begging him to get away from her and not hurt her again. Val couldn’t figure out why she would ever even think such thoughts. Sometimes, after these episodes passed, she would apologize to him, saying it was because he looked so much like his father. This would confuse Val even further, but he usually shrugged it off as a side effect of her deteriorating mental state.

Val let out a sigh of his own as he finished cleaning up and went to the fireside, sitting in a chair next to his mother. He picked up a book that was on the table between them and opened it to the marked page. He would read a few chapters aloud to her, though she never gave a hint that any of it was getting through. This was a nightly ritual that seemed to calm his mother before bed and help her sleep through the night. When he had concluded this evening’s reading, he helped her to bed, tucking her in and kissing her on the cheek.

“I love you Ma,” he said as he extinguished the bedside candles.

When Val was satisfied that she was sleeping peacefully, he left and walked up to Olav’s. He knew that he would be able to escape his dark mood in the tavern, at least for a short while. Val had become quite the regular customer, often working off his bar tab by cutting firewood or cleaning up after closing time. He really couldn’t afford to spend money in the tavern. Any coin he had went toward supporting his mother. But tonight was his birthday, so he wouldn’t have to spend one Septim. Pietor Guldsen was the first to notice that Valrimor had entered the tavern.

“Well, well, well…the birthday boy has finally decided to join us,” Pete said from his stool at the bar, “Come Valrimor, it is time to see if you can beat Lang’s record.”

At this, Langmar chimed in, “Wait Pete, perhaps he is too weary from battling dragons in his sleep.”

“Stuff a cask in that mead hole of yours, Cleavage-Beak! I’m not in the mood for your quips tonight,” Val snapped, then instantly felt remorse for barking at his friend. He apologized to Lang as he took a stool at the bar. Pietor placed a tankard of mead in front of him and raised his own in a toast.

“To Valrimor, a good boy turned good man on this day. Happy Birthday, friend!”

A round of cheers and raised mugs from everyone he knew brightened Val’s mood a bit, and he raised his own tankard as well, clanking it off those of his comrades and chugging the entire contents before placing it on the bar. Lang looked at him and said, “So, why the black mood on this of all days?”

“It’s my Ma,” Val replied while trading his empty tankard for a full one, “She is getting worse. I don’t know what to do. It is taking all of my time to care for her. Staying at home is preventing any chance for income, and money is getting tight.”

Lang and Pete exchanged glances and then asked Valrimor to escort them to a table at the back of the tavern. The three of them rose, with Lang grabbing a flagon of mead to take with them. When they were seated, it was Valrimor that spoke first.

“So, what gives?” he asked.

“Val, we see the pain you are enduring,” said Langmar, “and we want to help you. We think you should take your mother to the Temple of Mara in Bravil. There are healers there that could help her.”

“NO!” replied Val with more vehemence than he had intended. He continued in softer tones, “I won’t have acolytes performing Magicka on my mother. Nothing but ill comes from those arcane forces.”

“We knew you would feel this way,” Pete chimed in, “but you need to face reality, my friend. You cannot cure her. I doubt there is anyone here in Bruma that can. Her condition fails to improve. You just said yourself that it is getting worse, not better. By this time next year, you will be homeless for failure to keep your taxes paid. You must take action to prevent this. She would be in good care, and perhaps even be cured.”

“And if you stayed in Bravil, you could rent your house to me,” Lang suddenly suggested, with a grin that was supposed to make the idea appealing.

Valrimor knew that the logic of his friends was undeniable. But the thought of leaving her in someone else’s care chaffed at him. Especially in the care of those that practice in the arcane. He took a healthy swig from his tankard before responding.

“How can I abandon my Ma, when it was abandonment that drove her to this state?” he asked of his comrades.

“Aye, we know it is a difficult decision, Val,” Lang answered, “and we want to help. We are willing to accompany you and see you both safely to Bravil.”

Val considered the idea further and softened his stance by agreeing to sleep on it. He downed his tankard of mead and said, “Now come on…I have twenty more of these to quaff so I can claim Cleavage-Beak’s record,” as he twirled the empty tankard on his finger.



3rd Evening Star, 4E167

Valrimor woke with his skull being used as a blacksmith’s anvil, or at least he felt like it was. As he stood, a wave of nausea struck him and he barely made it to the basin before losing the previous night’s award winning mead. Wiping his mouth, he glanced at the gold medallion lying on his dresser. A vague memory of Lang saying that he had cheated somehow brought a weak grin to his lips. When he looked back down into the basin, his stomach rolled again and he decided to go wash his face in the kitchen.

His mother was still sleeping when Val had finished cleaning up and got dressed. His thoughts went back to the proposition his friends had made. Valrimor could not recall ever having to make such a difficult decision. He knew that his friends were right. He was going to run out of money, it was only a matter of time. But he just couldn’t face the idea of abandoning his mother. No, he would not do it. Somehow, he would make ends meet staying in Bruma. With the help of the Gods, time would mend his mother’s heart and mind. Time would…not arcane priests.

Oh dear. Though the 'manhood' ritual was a nice bit of worldbuilding, I'm worried about Ellinor. She's losing her grip on reality or given her response to Val at times, the ability to distinguish between the past and the present.

I foresee that Val is going to do some desperate and stupid things to provide for the two of them, while refusing to take her to the healers at Bravil. And I can understand that. For him magic is destruction, not restoration. And speaking from an outside perspective, restoration is good at healing the flesh, but Val's mother is suffering from an injured soul. And I don't know what, if anything, the healers have for that.

Ellinar’s decline and Val’s devotion were touching. I look forward to part two and learning the consequence of Val’s decision. Even though he has caring friends he’s very alone at eighteen, making a parent’s decision for his own mother.

Good choice to break this interlude into two nice bite-sized installments. When a scene whispers for you to linger and lavish depth, it is often a good idea to listen and flow with it. The results can be managed exactly as you did: simply break it up into nice enjoyable segments.

‘Sometimes, after these episodes passed, she would apologize to him, saying it was because he looked so much like his father. This would confuse Val even further,’ - - This is heartbreaking. More so because we know the violent story of Val’s conception and he does not. Grits is so right that this opening scene touchingly shows Val’s devotion to his Ma.

“Stuff a cask in that mead hole of yours, Cleavage-Beak!” - - After spending a few moments early in this episode pondering what Cleaver-Fist’s new nickname might be after his record-breaking birthday feat, I was delighted to actually learn the result here.

I enjoyed that this was set in the city of Olav’s Tap & Tack and also paid homage to the City of Mara’s healers. The proposal presented to Val really showed that, despite their rough edges, the other two young men are true friends indeed. You paused the interlude at a perfect point, allowing us to ponder the fate of Ellinar.

This is heartbreaking! So Ellinor's memories are catching up to her. It must be difficult for her to look at her near-grown son and see the man who caused her so much pain. And it's hard for Val to bear his mother's panic attacks which seem to be linked to his father, even though he doesn't realize that the man she calls his father and the man he calls his father are not one and the same. Loved the drinking contest, and even more The Cleaver's new moniker after his earlier win!

determined to get to Whiterun and more libations as soon as possible.
There is nothing better than having a clear goal to motivate you!

Ah the Companions and their giant. When I first started playing my characters would always rush in to help. Then later I started wondering what the story was with that giant? We have no idea if he was a marauder threatening the farm, or if he was a peaceful fellow until he was attacked by a bunch of nasty shorties looking for glory? Ever since that thought, my characters usually just stand back and stay out of it.

the Jarl can wait ‘til morning…
My thoughts exactly! My characters never bother with him (not since it forces you deeper into the main quest). Besides, he's probably busy ballin' anyway...

A very sobering eighteenth birthday for Val. It is hard enough having a loved family member go downhill like that, it is worse when you have to care for them. It does sound like his friends are right about the Temple of Mara in Bravil. But it looks like Val is not going to go that route. At least not yet. When things get worse though, how knows?

Oh, this started off with such a good memory that the condition his mother was in came as a shock; really sad to read...

Bless her heart, Val looking so much like his father and in her state not being able to discern.

It is so hard to correlate this loving Val taking care of his mother with the Val that grabbed that poor man’s arm in Riverwood and cost him a friendship.

This chapter was both amazingly written and heartbreaking. It doesn’t bode well if he does nothing, very worrisome. Awesome Write !!!

I know that it has only been four days, but I wanted to get Part Two posted while Part One was still fresh. But first...

@ jack cloudy - For him magic is destruction, not restoration. -- I am so glad you see that as clearly as Val does himself. He would prefer to avoid getting Magicka involved at all costs.

@ Grits - Even though he has caring friends he’s very alone at eighteen, ... -- Indeed, as all his time is occupied at home. He has missed out on a lot.

@ Acadian - Part Two is going to a tad more than "bite sized", which I shall explain momentarily.

...what Cleaver-Fist’s new nickname might be after his record-breaking birthday feat, I was delighted to actually learn the result here. -- It was too easy...and fun!

@ haute ecole rider - It must be difficult for her to look at her near-grown son and see the man who caused her so much pain. -- This, as much as her husband never returning, is definitely at the root of her emotional shut down and her dark depression. And by proxy, Val's dilemma. I have no training or experiance with mental illness, so it has been difficult to translate to the story.

@ SubRosa - re: the giant, ...or if he was a peaceful fellow until he was attacked by a bunch of nasty shorties looking for glory? -- What an interesting concept! Val was actually ready to help, but the fight was over too quickly. But I love that idea, especially since giants in-game don't go out of their way to kill you, as long as you don't provoke them.

But it looks like Val is not going to go that route. At least not yet. When things get worse though, who knows? -- Stay tuned

@ mALX - It is so hard to correlate this loving Val taking care of his mother with the Val that grabbed that poor man’s arm in Riverwood and cost him a friendship. -- Val of 18 and Val of 51...well...people change with their circumstances. Val was only a budding alcoholic at 18...but he is still basically good at heart at 51...basically.

*****
@ Everyone - As always, thanks so much for following Val and all of your kind comments.
*****
Author's Note: - Part Two is still a bit on the longish side, at just over 2,300 words. It was too short to break it into Parts 2 and 3. So I apologize in advance for the length. I think that when you read it, you will agree that there was not a good spot to split this segment.
*****
Previously in Part One - Val has been offered some help from his friends by way of an escort to Bravil, to take his ailing mother to the Temple of Mara for healing. His aversion to Magicka has caused him to decide not to accept this offer, even though it is a logical choice...

Interlude 3 - Part Two

17th Rain’s Hand, 4E169

Valrimor sat in the main hall of the temple, in a pew near the stairway that led downward to a lower level. A loud crack of thunder came quickly on the heels of a brilliant flash that had shone through the stained glass windows, briefly bathing the interior with a kaleidoscope of colors. The weather outside had been violent all afternoon. Suddenly the doors burst open as an elderly peasant woman in drenched clothing entered the temple vestibule. A gale was soaking the old woman and preventing her from closing the doors. Val rose to help her and was surprised at the force required to get them shut. With the doors finally closed, the grey haired peasant turned and thanked him, and then walked up to the altar and knelt in the puddle that was forming beneath her. Val returned to his seat and continued mulling over how he had gotten here.

It had taken almost a year and a half for Valrimor to cave in and admit defeat. The final blow had been the Imperial tax collector showing up at his door with an armed escort. Val’s inability to pay resulted in being served with eviction papers. With no other choice, Val had taken Langmar and Pietor up on their offer to escort him and his mother to Bravil. It had been a long journey. The weather had been brutal ever since they left the Jeralls. In Valrimor’s opinion, this month should be named Thunder’s Fist instead of Rain’s Hand. Another flash and peal of thunder punctuated his thoughts. They had arrived in Bravil early this morning. They procured a room at a filthy place called The Lonely Suitor Lodge. The only other inn, Silverhome on the Water, had a “No Vacancy” sign posted on the door. Lang and Pete were waiting for him back at the lodge.

His mother’s condition had not worsened, but it had not improved at all. He felt so helpless and guilty at the same time. Helpless because could not do anything for her and guilty for what he was now doing for her. Lang and Pete had kept assuring him that he was doing the right thing during the entire trip. Val couldn’t understand how doing something right could feel so wrong. The Priestess here at The Temple of Mara had agreed with Val’s friends, saying that this was the right choice. She had taken his mother downstairs and had been with her for hours now. Valrimor could only wait with a tightly twisted knot in the pit of his stomach. A squeaking door hinge and soft footsteps coming from the stairwell behind him jarred his attention back to the present. He looked up to see a young Breton acolyte approaching him, her face calm and emotionless.

“How is my mother?” Val asked with urgency.

“She is resting comfortably. The Priestess has seen to her immediate needs. She is not asleep yet, and has asked to see you,” she informed him in soft tones barely above a whisper, and with a twang in her accent that suggested she grew up near Leyawiin.

“My mother spoke?” Val asked with incredulity.

“Why…yes. She has been speaking with the Priestess for almost the entire time, and now she wishes to speak to you. Follow me please,” she replied, and turned back toward the stairwell.

Val was stunned. He sat there, staring at the Breton's back with a slack jaw. She turned and repeated her request that he follow her. Valrimor rose and obliged her, still struggling with the thought of his mother speaking normally. The ochre robed girl took him down the stairs and through a doorway, asking Val to close it behind him. They were in what appeared to be a dining hall for the temple staff. As he followed the girl through the room, Val tried to recall the last time he had heard his mother speak anything outside of a wild rant. A short hallway at the opposite end of the room led to another door that was open. Inside, Val could see fine furnishings. This was likely the sleeping quarters and office of the Priestess. There were two short staircases on either side of the hallway that led down to other doors. It was down the steps to the right that the acolyte led Valrimor. She paused in front of the door and said, “She is in here,” and opened the door for him. A moment of fear gripped Val’s heart before he entered. When he entered the room, Ellinar looked at him and smiled.

“My lovely son…please…sit,” she said, patting the bed next to her. Tears immediately welled in Val’s eyes. He couldn’t remember what it was like to hear his mother speak this way, let alone see her smile. The Priestess excused herself, requesting that Valrimor come see her in her quarters after they were finished. Her words might as well have fallen on deaf ears, as Val was entranced by the sight before him. As soon as the Priestess exited and the acolyte had closed the door behind them, his mother spoke again.

“Don’t cry, my son,” she said as Val took a seat on the bed, “It’s all right now. I need to tell you something while I can.”

“While you can?” Valrimor asked with a quivering lip. Tears had now migrated from his eyes to his cheeks.

“Yes, son, while I can. I am leaving soon,” his mother replied.

“Leaving? We just got here. Where are you going?” Val asked with an obvious tone of confusion.

“Just listen to me Valrimor. Just listen. This is not easy for me to say and I fear it will be even harder for you to hear, but it must be spoken,” his mother said.

Wiping tears from his face, Val nodded his head.

“Your father is not who you believe him to be. My husband, Erik Grey-Mane, is not the man who fathered you. Your real father died on the night that you were conceived,” said Ellinar. She paused a moment as tears of her own began to trickle down the side of her nose, and then she continued, “Your father raped me, in Imperial City, and Erik was his traveling companion. When Erik discovered what was happening, he pulled your father off of me and killed him, although I don’t believe he meant to. Your real father’s name was Jonsin and he was from Riften. That’s all I have ever cared to know about the man.”

Val’s mouth had gone agape with disbelief as his mother continued, “The two of us fled that night, for neither of us had sufficient coin to bribe the City Guard. The day you were born, I asked Erik to be your father in Jonsin’s stead. We were married that week. He felt it was best if you never knew the truth, and I agreed.”

Val shook his head. He could not believe his ears. His joy at the sound of his mother’s voice was slowly being replaced by swirling emotions of anger and sadness at being deceived. Ellinar saw this in his face.

“Erik was a good man, and I loved…no…still love him with all my heart. He would have made such a wonderful father figure for you. He treated you as his own son in the short time that he had with you. I wish you would have been older when he left, so that you could at least have memories of him,” Ellinar continued.

Valrimor’s emotional turmoil continued to build. He couldn’t believe that his mother had lied to him all of his life. She had maintained a lie that was concocted by his Da, who was not his father. He just kept shaking his head in denial, his eyes glaring at his mother and wishing she would take back what he had just heard.

“Val, I am so sorry to have deceived you. I am so sorry to have compared you to your real father. I am so sorry for everything, but I am grateful to have had this chance to tell you before I go,” she said, and then reached over to the nightstand next to her bed. She grabbed a paring knife from the fruit plate. Before Val could begin to guess her intentions, she ran the blade deeply across her throat. The immediate gush of her lifeblood soaked his face and stunned him momentarily before the anguish from what he had just witnessed burst forth.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he screamed with a sorrow he hadn’t known was possible.

At the sound of Val’s howl, the acolyte burst in the door and froze in terror at the sight of all the blood. Val jumped to his feet and confronted the Breton, glaring with eyes of hate through his new gory mask.

“You did this to her!” he raged, “You and your arcane Priestess!” He pointed to the blood soaked bed and screamed, “She never would have done this at home! This is your fault!”

Images of a scorched Altmer in Bruma briefly danced before his eyes. Horror and heartache swirled into his rage, firing his fury like a bellows to a forge. He swung his arms toward the servant of Mara and white hot power shot from his fingertips, momentarily wrapping her in dancing tendrils of lightning. The force sent the acolyte flying backward through the doorway, landing in a heap on the hallway floor. Val walked past the smoldering corpse as though he had nothing to do with it. His rage was in control of him now, and all other emotions had been shut off. He stalked up the stairs with murderous fury and turned toward the Priestess quarters. She stood there in her doorway, petrified with fear at the sight of a blood covered madman with blue-white balls of fire in his hands. The woman never knew what hit her. Two lightning bolts as thick as Val’s arms instantly connected his palms to her skull. Her death was immediate and she crumpled to the floor as soon as the bolt released her. Two other acolytes had entered the dining hall behind Valrimor, and he just caught a glimpse of them fleeing when he turned away from the dead Priestess.

“Come back here, you arcane murderers!” Valrimor bellowed, and ran after them. He burst through the door and up the stairs to the main hall of the temple. The mages were nowhere to be seen. The peasant woman he had helped earlier shrieked at the sight of him. Val glared at her with wild eyes and simply said, “Leave this place…NOW!” The woman screamed and fled for the nearest exit.

A loud boom of thunder rattled the windows and shook the earth, accenting Valrimor’s anger as he walked between the pews toward the Altar of the Nine. The tingling power of wild Magicka coursed through his veins, itching for release. He raised his arms and nine bolts of lightning radiated outward from him, shattering each of the stained glass windows that portrayed likenesses of the Nine Divines.

Then it was over. Valrimor stood there, his power exhausted and his heart laboring under the duress of so much spent energy. He dropped to his knees at the altar, racked with anger and sorrow and no way to release it. His face was frozen in a voiceless cry as his tears turned red with his mother’s blood before they hit the floor. Lightning was flashing amidst a non-stop crescendo of thunder claps. Wind howled into the temple hall through the openings that once held beautiful glass art. A sudden rush of panic replaced his anguish. Val jumped to his feet and ran out of the temple and into the storm. Lightning chased through the sky followed by peals of thunder as he ran through the empty streets. Every time he thought he saw someone, he would duck behind a barrel or cart to hide, until he reached The Lonely Suitor Lodge. When he arrived, the main hall was empty and he sprinted up the stairs to their room. It was also empty. His friends were not there and their belongings were gone. Val’s pack, armor, and weapons were set in a neat pile on one of the beds. Leaning with his back against the closed door, soaked from the storm, Valrimor slid down the door and squatted. Panic, sorrow, and rage all fought each other for equal time in his heart and mind. He began whispering an oath while he hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth.

“Never again…never again…never again…”

The sound of the storm moving away in the distance paced Val’s growing calm. He rose to his knees and spoke his oath aloud, as though testifying to the Gods themselves.

“I swear by Y’ffre that I shall never use Magicka again, for any reason what so ever!” he exclaimed with his arms stretched wide and his face turned upward. The sounds of wind in the roof thatch and rain drops against the window were the only response. He knew he needed to get moving, but Val remained on his knees and bowed his head for a moment longer, and then whispered, “I love you Ma.”

He rose and went over to the basin to wash the blood from his face and hands. He glanced around the room for anything else that might be his as he shed his bloody clothing and donned his gear. Satisfied that he was forgetting nothing, Valrimor turned and left. Once Bravil was well behind him, he slowed to a walk. He glanced up and caught a waning Masser peeking through a break in the clouds like a blood soaked scythe.

“Never again,” he reaffirmed to himself as he walked north alone.

*****

EDIT - Nit picked.

Wow. No wonder our good-hearted Val sought solace in booze. The irony of it is, alcohol removes inhibitions, making it more likely for one to give in to sudden impulses, such as using Magicka. Our Val will need to be careful not to get so drunk he doesn't know what he is doing when someone pisses him off.

So sad about his mother. So she couldn't face life after telling Val the truth about his father. At least she had the courage to tell him before she left.

This is a pretty powerful installment, and no, I never noticed its length. It was just perfect as it is. I've noticed that when you have dialogue, it makes the read go faster, and you can get away with a longer segment. So don't worry about the word count of this post!

I thought this phrase captured Val’s disconnection so well, making it even more powerful when he returned to himself at the altar.

Wow, much is explained now. I didn’t notice the length of this part at all. It was a very fast and captivating read.

Sadly, the cleansing storm provided by Lady Kynareth that danced outside the Great Chapel of Mara that day could not stop the bloody storm of rage that erupted from Valrimor.

His deadly and magical rampage within a sanctuary of the Nine will doubtless be compared to atrocities inflicted by no less than Umaril the Unfeathered. I can imagine prophets ranting, and wanted posters for ‘Valrimor the Unhinged’.

Perhaps this is part of why Val ended up in Skyrim. A very dark piece of his past indeed.


Nit: ‘He sat there, staring at the Bretons back with a slack jaw.’ - - Bretons needs an apostrophe before the ‘s’ to make it possessive.

So worse has finally come to worse, and Val has lost their house to the taxman.

I thought the description of the thunderstorm illuminating the church through the stained glass windows as wonderful. So to was Val's observation that the month should be named Thunder's Fist. It not only established the time of year through his musings alone, but was also a rather clever turn of phrase.

It looks like Val's mother made her peace with what happened by deciding to kill herself. I am not surprised by the sudden clarity she possessed beforehand. Poor Val though, if the revelation of his true father was not bad enough, to have to see his mother kill herself. Its no wonder he blamed magicians, or fled into a bottle.

Um, wow. Didn't see that one coming.


Worst part is, before the knife and the meretic rage, she seemed to have turned for the better.


And I thought Val had been motherless for longer so I went back and checked dates. Yup, this is about thirty years before his escapades in Skyrim. I guess it is a good thing Val does not get angry while drunk. (or not as easy in any case)


Seriously, how could this situation get worse? Running into not-daddy and finding out that he did join up with some bandits for looting, pillaging and raping?

Well, this has been sudden.

Valrimor's affection for the bottle, and the birthday celebration that started it, are certainly some interesting scenes. "Cleavage Beak" in particular is hilarious.

But then we get to Bravil. Oh, Bravil. And Valrimor's true ancestry comes out. I have to be honest, I thought he overreacted a bit here, but then I remembered he didn't know a healing spell that could be used on others, so my initial thoughts really oughtn't matter that much.

Val's got certified power. It's just a shame that whenever he uses it the results aren't pretty, or desirable.

Oh, and tell Aela to bugger off. Though, given her wardrobe, I don't know if I would want her leaving before that's finis...Moving along.

Val's trials and tribulations in trying to score some more mead were enjoyable, but my favorite part was his conversation with the guards. I'm still waiting for one of them to get angry at seeing his bow and arrows, only to mention previous work experience and patella-related injuries. More!

LOVE this line!

How weird that she killed herself in front of Val so he would have that trauma for the rest of her life! She had been such a good mother all that time, then suddenly deliberately traumatize him? Strange scene. Uh oh, Val’s lost it now. I feel sorry for the priestesses there, they couldn’t know what his mother intended to do. How strange she would do that in front of him! I see a bottle coming up in his life now. Awesome Write!

Well, the interludes are finished and we can get back to Val's current affairs, but first...

@ haute ecole rider - Besides a possible genetic pre-disposition due to his Nordic half, you are correct about the root of Val's alcoholism. On a separate note, I'm glad the word count wasn't too far over the top.

@ Grits - I am glad that you picked up on Val's complete disconnect with events when he is in one of his rages. He is so completely not himself when this occurs.

@ Acadian - Much appreciation for the nit spotting...picked it. The wanted posters never materialized, to Val's knowledge, perhaps because the only witness left alive was an elderly peasant woman. Anyone that actually knew Val would dismiss the idea due to his complete aversion to Magicka. Of course, those that have known him all his life might recall a shocking murder in Bruma eleven years earlier.

@ SubRosa - It's no wonder he blamed magicians, or fled into a bottle. -- Exactly! Val could not conceive that this would have occurred eventually anyway, so it had to be the fault of the arcane arts. And of course, the bottle just makes it all go away...for a bit...

@ jack cloudy - Worst part is, before the knife and the meretic rage, she seemed to have turned for the better. -- You actually touched on this in an earlier comment...

You nailed it! Healers are great at curing wounds of the body, but all they did for Ellinar was bring lucidity, not sanity...

@ Captain Hammer - Welcome back!

Val's got certified power. It's just a shame that whenever he uses it the results aren't pretty, or desirable. -- Indeed, if he could only embrace that power rather than shun it. To quote a certain intergalactic green midget, "Control! You must learn control!"

@ mALX - How weird that she killed herself in front of Val so he would have that trauma for the rest of her life! She had been such a good mother all that time, then suddenly deliberately traumatize him? Strange scene. -- Perhaps I didn't shed enough light on Ellinar's condition. She was, what we would call today, certifiable. She had not been herself (kind, caring, or otherwise) for years. And you are correct about the bottle...many, many bottles over the next 32 years.

*****
@ Everyone - Many thanks once again for all of your kind comments, compliments, and critiques!

Previously – Valrimor had witnessed another legend (in his eyes) come to life. A giant had been slain by members of a group known as the Companions. Then it was on to Whiterun, where he procured a room at The Bannered Mare. When we left him, he had promised Hulda that she could count on him returning to the main hall of the inn. Knowing Valrimor as we all do by now, we can rest assured that he did indeed…

Chapter 18 – Morning Haze

24th Last Seed, 4E201

My first thought was an immediate need to get all of the skeever pelt out of my mouth. My second thought was that someone needed to quit punching my head. Then I opened my eyes and realized I had no rodent fur in my mouth, nor was an assailant bashing my brains out. This did not stop my head from pounding when I propped myself up on my elbows. I knew this feeling all too well. I also knew that there could be a whole lot of really bad news waiting for me at the inn. I looked around and tried to determine where I was. The room looked somewhat familiar, which could be a good thing. In the far corner was my pack, sitting on a chair. On top of a dresser was all of my armor. I raised the bed cover and was relieved to find I still had my underclothes on.

At least you hadn’t walked around naked like you did in Anvil…or this could have been a jail cot instead of a bed…

I sat up and swung my feet to the floor, and then waited through the instant round of nausea and headache that always accompanied these moments. Groaning, I rose and walked to the wash basin next to the dresser. The instant relief of cold water hitting my face was another all too familiar feeling. I looked up into the polished steel mirror on the wall. My eyes looked like they belonged in a Dunmer skull. My face was all puffy, with an indented print of the pillow seam running down one side. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, just to double check for skeever pelts. Frowning, I shook my head and regretted it instantly, squinting against the pain. I shambled over to the dresser, got dressed, and then picked up my pack from the chair. Suddenly, I looked around the room with a sense of urgency. My weapons were gone! My sword, my bow, my quiver of arrows, and even my dagger…they were all missing.

What in Oblivion had happened?

I left the room and eased my way down a set of stairs that was right outside the door. At the bottom, I realized that I was still at The Bannered Mare. Relieved somewhat that I had determined my location, I walked over to the bar as Hulda appeared from the kitchen.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our master showman. And how are we feeling this morning?” the proprietor asked with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow.

“Showman?” I inquired.

Hulda burst out laughing. She placed a cup of herbal tea on the bar as she said, “You obviously have no memory of last night. Here…sit and drink this. I am sure you need it”

“Gods bless you woman,” I said, sitting on a bar stool. I gulped down the hot tea as if my very life depended on it.

Hulda continued to chuckle, and then asked, “I don’t suppose you are ready for food yet, no?”

“No, not yet. So, tell me, how bad was I? Do I owe for any damages? Can I expect the city guards to be coming for me?”

She just laughed again, and then said, “Don’t worry about that now. I can assure you that prison is not in your future. But a career as a bard is not out of the question.” This brought more giggles from my host.

“Do you have any idea what may have happened to my weapons?” I asked with no small amount of trepidation, based on Hulda’s behavior.

“Well, you were a little disappointed that we didn’t have a dart board. So you decided that you would challenge any willing patron to a knife throwing contest. You drew your dagger and got ready to throw at that post over there,” she explained, pointing toward a thick wooden support pillar on the other side of the room, “and when you brought your arm back, I grabbed the dagger out of your hand. You spun around, but lost your balance and fell. That was when you told me that it might be a good idea if I kept your weapons for you. They are all here,” she finished, pointing to a table behind the bar. All of my weapons were there in a pile.

“Oh,” I said, “Well, if that’s the worst that happened, then that’s good.”

Hulda burst into laughter yet again, and I had the feeling that the story of the evening’s events wasn’t finished.

“When you come back this evening, I will fill you in on anything you still can’t remember. Right now, you need to shape up for your meeting with the Jarl. You are not quite presentable yet. I’ll get you more tea and some bread to soak up that ale,” Hulda said as she went back into the kitchen. While she was away, two people entered the inn. When one noticed me at the bar, she pointed me out to her friend and they both started giggling amongst themselves.

Oh Gods, Val…What have you done this time?

Hulda returned with more tea and some toasted slices of bread. I looked at her and asked, “How did you know I was going to see the Jarl?”

“You told me last night, and asked that I make sure you rose at a decent hour to do so. I was on my way to wake you when you came downstairs.”

“Oh. Thank you,” I replied, “May I have my sword? I will collect the rest of my gear when I return. I promise not to throw it.”

Hulda just chuckled again as she handed me the blade, and then she wished me luck as she headed back to the kitchen. I finished my tea and toast, and then walked past the snickering patrons with my head down on my way out the door. There was a city guard at the bottom of the stairs.

“You look a little rough,” he observed, “You should see Arcadia at the apothecary. She probably has something to whip you into shape.”

“Thanks, but I need to see the Jarl. Could you direct me please?”

“You will find him in Dragonsreach. It’s up those stairs, then up more stairs, at the top of the hill. You can’t miss it,” replied the guard, “If they won’t let you in, you could always say you are the new court jester.” With that, the guard burst into laughter and continued his rounds.

Frowning, I gazed up the direction he had pointed. A very large building sat at the summit of a stairway that climbed the rocky hill, somewhat obscured by the morning haze. I sighed through the dull ache in my head and started in the direction that he had pointed. The first set of stairs was flanked by narrow canals with water flowing into grated openings that took the water out of the city. When I reached the top of that set, I found another plaza. The water that had escorted the stairs downward was coming from another canal that encircled a very large, very dead, tree. It could have easily shaded the entire plaza had it been in full leaf. Looking to my left, I could see manors than likely belonged to the wealthier residents of Whiterun. To my right was a large building that gave the impression of an overturned ship, with the keel pointed skyward. Directly across from me was another set of stairs that led upward to the massive keep at the top of the hill. These steps were also bracketed by canals.

As I made my way around the tree, I noticed an old man ranting away at anyone that would listen. Then I noticed that no one was listening. He yelled on and on about Talos and the Thalmor. Anyone that had that much ire toward the Thalmor was okay in my book, but I didn’t have time to indulge him at the moment. Nor was I in the mood. I continued up the next set of stairs, the first of three more flights of them. One landing was flanked by pools of water that were feeding the lower canals. The rest of the way, the water cascaded down on both sides of the steps in a series of rocky falls. At the top, the walkway passed between two massive wooden columns topped with lit braziers.

Screenshot

This led to a stone walkway that made a semi-circle around the front of the keep. The curving walkway was atop a dam, holding back a large pool that was being fed by water that came through grated openings in the keep’s foundation. A wooden bridge, spanned by towering wood arches that came together in a point over the center, led to the keep’s entrance. The side rails were of an intricate wrought iron lattice topped by a wooden beam. I marveled at the fine craftsmanship of both the woodworkers and the ironsmiths that had built this structure.

Before crossing the bridge, I turned around for a moment to take in the view. I was a little winded from the climb and didn’t want to be panting when I was introduced to the Jarl. Most of the city was visible from here. The majority of the morning haze had burned off and I could see the stone arches of Bleak Falls Barrow far to the south. On another, even taller mountain, I could make out the silhouette of a structure at the summit. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to build something way up there, but I had seen stranger things in my travels.

My travels…

That thought brought on a frown and a heavy sigh. My journey into Skyrim had not been what I expected so far.

Dragons…walking dead…the dreams, so vivid and terrifying...my temper, going out of control...blasts of raw and untamed Magicka. Val, what is going on with you?

My mind continued to drift, taking me back to the tavern in Bruma just a few short weeks ago. After so many years, I had still been running from my mother’s ghost and the atrocities I had committed in Bravil, drowning them both with alcohol when they had caught up with me. I had traveled around the whole of Cyrodiil, never making a plan set in stone. Moving from one city to the next, looking for the next easy coin and tankard. That night, as I sat in Olav’s, I had vividly recalled what my mother had said all those years ago. She had said that my Da wasn’t really my father. Up until then, I had known my father to be Erik Grey-Mane. But she had told me a story of a man that took her against her will, and that this man, not Erik, was really my father. Jensen, or Jonsin, or Jonas…something like that…was my real father’s name. She had also mentioned Riften. I had dutifully drowned out the rest of that fateful day’s events with ale. And so, in a drunken depression, I had decided to come to Skyrim to search for answers.

And now, you are about to meet with a Jarl regarding a legend that has come to life right before your very eyes…The same legend that has plagued your dreams for all these years… Just get it over with…then you can go to Riften…

With renewed determination, I turned toward the doors and prepared to enter the keep of Dragonsreach.

I think Skyguy just typed in his last two episodes of AQOF in invisible pixels!

Not sure what happened there, but the thanks are now in my first post and the installment is in the second post...weird!

I, too had noticed the invisible pixels, too!

Glad you came back and fixed it!

So we catch up to Val in the present and see that he has a memory lapse. Apparently everyone else around him hasn't, and therein lies the potential for significant embarrassment! I can't wait to find out what happened last night!

This has to be one of my all time favorite chapters, he has found his niche at the Bannered Mare, they don't mind a good drunk going on, lol. This had me in whoops when the patrons and even the guard was giggling behind their hands at him, LOVED this chapter !!!

After two episodes devoted to Val’s enlightening interlude, it was a very nice touch that your ‘Previously –‘ summary brought us right back to where we left Val in his present time and ready to pick up the action.

It was fun to wake up with a befuzzled Val and let him try to sort out where we were. Some wonderfully chosen skeever pelt/Dunmer-eyed little touches reinforced that he is no stranger to the hangover.

Whew, he quickly solves the case of the missing weapons.

“You should see Arcadia at the apothecary. She probably has something to whip you into shape.” - - Ahah! I always suspected I might have long lost relatives in Skyrim! With whips no less!

’After so many years, I had still been running from my mother’s ghost and the atrocities I had committed in Bravil, drowning them both with alcohol when they had caught up with me.’ - - Aww, this really brings what we have learned so far about Val and his history into focus. The pain of his past and the ominous feeling that something is . . . growing or happening within him that he does not fully control.

Nit? - - ’Hulda just chuckled again as she handed me the blade, and then she wished me luck as she headed back to the kitchen. I finished my tea and toast, and then walked past the snickering patrons with my head down on my way out the door. There was a city guard at the bottom of the stairs.’ - - Perhaps it is just me, but whenever I see ‘and then’, I recommend the writer ask themselves which conjunction they want and delete one or the other depending on intent. Part of my grammar training is simply a (rather long) lifetime of reading, so I cannot objectively tell you if the use of ‘and then’ is technically incorrect. My aversion may well be simply subjective and a matter of style, so just slap and ignore me if you do not find the opinion of value.

Another morning after. I wonder if Val has worn out his welcome the way he did at Hod and Gerdur's?

I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, just to double check for skeever pelts.


Oh my, Val is the master showman? That cannot be good. Was he juggling his sword and bow?

You know, I have always wondered about that upside down ship that is Jorvasskr's roof. Did they drag a ship all the way from the ocean and tip it over? Or did they just build the roof to look like a ship? Speaking of wondering, have you ever wondered where all that water that runs down through Whiterun comes from? Near as I can tell it is from Dragonsreach's toilets...

So its off to Riften for answers then? That is good. It is a sign that Val has finally decided to start facing his past, for better or worse.

This was good. Glad to see that there's a version of Drunk-Val that has a promising career ahead of him in the Bardic traditions. It's a shame that his Performance Skills are situation-based, but I'll take it.

Hulda's "Just wait till you here about what you did last night" dialogue was truly inspired. Especially that part where the game of "Throw the Dagger" was interrupted by another game of "Confiscate the Dagger for the Patrons' Safety." I imagine the loss of a kidney or spleen from one of the other customers wouldn't be the best for business.

I suppose that Val will soon have to Unlearn what bad habits he has learned. Shame. But for the best, it is.

Well it could have gone worse. No alcohol poisoning, no new enemies. I'd call that a win for Val. Of course, not every detail is known yet and what isn't has a high chance of being supremely emberassing.


And adoptive daddy is a Grey-Mane? Hmm, I wonder if that may have something to do with his disappearance.


And a hip hip hooray for guards and their random dialog. Seriously, guardsmen are the most fun guys to talk to in the whole game which given their commonness and lack of names or faces is quite the achievement.

Many things have happened so far but I was deeply disturbed by what happened to Val's mother. Not only because she took her own life, but in the manner and in the place. Right in front of Val. That was brutal and we now know why he has some deep-rooted scars there along with his anger issues. I am interested to see where this will take him in his new life of adventure.

Fun to see the events from the night before come to light as Val went through his morning after. It sounds like his shenanigans made him quite popular at the Bannered Mare!

I’m interested to see if the Jarl will get him side-tracked, or if Val will soon be on the road to Riften.

Well gang...after a 5 month hiatus...I am back for now. Real life, including a rough bout with pneumonia, had me on my heels for a while. Now I have tons of reading to do as well as get this ball rolling again. I apologize for the dry spell, and I can't promise how long I'll be around this time, but I will hang as long as possible. I truly hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season.

So...first I want to thank haute ecole rider, mALX, Acadian, Subrosa, Captain Hammer, jack cloudy, Darkness Eternal, and Grits, for their comments after my last post back in August. With luck, Val and I will bring you back to his adventures.

What Has Gone Before – Valrimor had been captured by Imperial soldiers and was about to be executed when a dragon attacked Helgen. He escaped with the aid of Ralof and they made their way to Riverwood to lay low at the home of Ralof’s sister, Gerdur. She asked Valrimor to go see the Jarl in Whiterun to request aid for Riverwood against the possibility of a dragon attack there. With a few issues sidetracking him, including a trip into Bleak Falls Barrow to retrieve a stolen artifact, Val has indeed reached Whiterun. After a drunken night in The Bannered Mare, he is about to meet with the Jarl on the following morning…



24th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

I stood and stared in awe at the grand timberwork when I entered the keep. The workmanship on the bridge was merely an appetizer for the feast my eyes beheld. The architectural style was very familiar, but the scale of this work dwarfed anything I had seen in Bruma. The main support pillars must have been the entire trunks of once towering spruce trees. These massive wood columns soared more than fifty feet and supported steep, heavy rafters that vaulted upward for another twenty. Intricate patterns were etched into the column bases. All of the woodwork had been finely crafted and fitted. One could almost imagine that the entire chamber may have been hewn from a single giant block of wood. Shafts of sunlight made their way downward from windows near the top and illuminated a flight of steps that led up into the main hall.

Screenshot

I walked up the stairs to discover that the Jarl’s throne room must also serve as the keep’s main dining hall. A large fire pit in the center provided light and warmth, and was flanked on either side by long dining tables that appeared to be set for an upcoming meal. Banners adorned the columns in this area, emblazoned with a gold horse head on a field of white, the emblem of Whiterun. My wonder at all of this was cut short by the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. When I detected the source, I saw a Dunmer woman approaching me, clad in leather armor and her blade at the ready. She had hair the color of her eyes, and those eyes did not look happy to see me.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” she barked more than asked, “Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”

“Gerdur sent me. Riverwood is in danger,” I replied, never taking my eyes off of her sword. Unconsciously, my hand had found the hilt of my own blade. I caught myself and merely rested my palm on the pommel, so as not to agitate this woman further.

“As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers to the Jarl or his people. So, you have my attention. Now, explain yourself,” the Dunmer demanded, her demeanor unchanged.

“Gerdur asked me to speak to the Jarl directly. I owe her this favor and I intend to keep it as she requested. So, if you would please see your way fit to -”

“Whatever you have to say to the Jarl,” she interjected, “you can say to me! I am beginning to think -”

From the direction of the throne, a commanding voice cut the Dunmer off.

“Irileth, send him forward. I would hear what he has to say,” the voice insisted.

Irileth muttered something I couldn’t make out, and then sheathed her sword and instructed me to follow her. We walked past the fire pit and up a few steps onto a large dais where Jarl Balgruuf sat upon his throne. He wore a jeweled crown of gold, but other than that, his attire didn’t strike me as particularly regal. A simple tunic over leather breeches and fur lined leather boots. He also wore a fur stole connected in the front by a gold chain. A balding man stood to his right with his hands balled into fists that rested on his hips. The hilt of a greatsword stood out behind his shoulder, but he didn’t look strong enough to heft the thing. He was certainly not a Nord, and had the look of an Imperial snob dressed in the fine attire of the wealthy. Above the Jarl’s throne was a giant skull, the shape of which I had seen recently in Helgen.

“So, what’s this I hear about trouble in Riverwood?” The Jarl asked.

“Your Excellency, my name is Valrimor,” I said, not knowing how to address the man and still trying to sound official, “Gerdur of Riverwood asks for your aid. She is concerned that the settlement will be the dragon’s next target and they are defenseless.”

“Gerdur…She owns the lumber mill, if I recall correctly. A pillar of the community, she is not prone to flights of fancy,” the Jarl mused, and then asked, “Are you certain that Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? Or could it have been a Stormcloak raid gone wrong?”

“Is the skull hanging above your head that of a Stormcloak? Because the beast that attacked Helgen had one just like it. Only the bone still had flesh and was quite alive. Scales, fangs, wings, fire…yeah, I’m pretty sure it was a dragon,” I replied, probably with a touch too much sarcasm. Inwardly, however, I was rebuking the memory of those eyes staring into my soul while my head was still prone on the block.

“Watch your tongue, tree-hugger!” snapped Irileth, “Remember who you are speaking to. You would do well to show respect!”

I cringed and gritted my teeth at the term tree-hugger, balling my fists against the sudden warmth in my arms.

“Relax, Irileth, this mer has been through a tough time of it, if he has indeed escaped a dragon. I, for one, believe him,” Balgruuf stated, and then he turned to the bald man, “What do you say now Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Would they stand against a dragon?”

Irileth interjected before Proventus could speak, “My Lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. If that dragon is indeed lurking in the mountains, the settlement will be in the most immediate danger.”

“The Jarl of Falkreath would view that as a provocation!” objected Proventus, “He will assume we are preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him.”

“Enough!” Balgruuf yelled, “I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!”
I had to suppress a grin as the Jarl barked at Proventus, and then he turned back to the Dunmer, “I agree with you, Irileth. Send a detachment at once.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she replied, and after a slight bow, she left to do as Balgruuf commanded. Proventus scowled at her back as she walked away. He obviously didn’t like having his advice trumped by hers.

“If you will excuse me, sire, I’ll return to my duties,” said Proventus, and he stormed off in the opposite direction. The Jarl didn’t bother answering. He was looking at me, as if he were judging me or sizing up my character.

“Well done,” he said, “You sought me out on your own initiative.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true. I did it at the request of my friend’s sister. I owed it to her. Had that not been the case, I may never have come to Whiterun at all,” I said honestly.

The Jarl raised an eyebrow, and then regained his appraising look and said, “Regardless, you have done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it. There is something else you could do for me, suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.”

“For someone of my talents? With all due respect, what do you know of my talents?” I inquired.

“I know you are talented enough to escape a dragon attack. I know that the only way to get out of Helgen alive would have been to go under the town and not through it. But I also sense you are not here just to repay debts owed to the siblings of friends, nor by mere happenstance for that matter. I feel that fate itself has brought you here, to me, in a time of need. Come, Valrimor, let’s go speak to Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons…and rumors of dragons,” Balgruuf said, and then he rose and bade me to follow him.

Why do I feel the sudden urge to run out of here as fast as I can?

I shook the thought away and followed the Jarl. It would do me no good at all to just run away from a man as important as Balgruuf, especially since my neck was at the mercy of a headsman only days earlier. We entered a room off to the side of the main throne hall. The aroma of alchemical workings hung in the air. There was a large map hanging on a rack near one wall. An alchemy table and another odd looking table were against the back wall. A broad topped desk or workbench dominated the center of the room. A robed man stood on the other side of it, his face shadowed into obscurity by the robe’s cowl. He was muttering to himself when the Jarl started speaking.

“Farengar, fate has brought us someone to help with your dragon project,” Balgruuf said to the robed figure.
The man looked up at the Jarl. He appeared much younger than I had assumed a wizard would be. I had pictured an old man with a long grey beard. This man was likely younger than I was. He turned to look at me and then began speaking to me as if the Jarl wasn’t here in the same room.

“So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me, and my research into the dragons?” Farengar mused, looking me over and rubbing his chin, “Hmmm…yessss…I could use someone to fetch something for me.”

“Fetch something?” I queried.

“Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there,” replied the wizard in a way that implied this was a known fact.

“What does this have to do with dragons?”

“Ahhh,” Farengar replied, his eyes going wide, “no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker…perhaps even a scholar?” he mused, and then continued, “You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors, even impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons…where had they gone all those years ago? Where were they coming from now?”

At this point, I wasn’t sure if the mage was talking to himself or to me. I tried to steer him back to matters at hand by asking, “So what is it that you need me to do?”

“I…uh…learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow…called a Dragonstone. It is said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. I need you to go to this barrow and find the tablet. It is no doubt interred in the main chamber. If you do find it, bring it back to me here. Simplicity itself,” said Farengar, ending his request with a dismissive tone.

Simplicity itself?

“I have been to Bleak Falls Barrow. To say this is a simple matter is understating the facts a bit. How do you know this tablet is there?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with that. I can assure you that my…uh…sources…are accurate,” replied the wizard. I had almost forgotten that the Jarl was still here in the room with us until he spoke to me.

“If you succeed in this, you will be well rewarded, Valrimor. Whiterun is already in your debt, and this would increase that debt. So when I say well rewarded, I do mean very well rewarded. The fate of Whiterun may rest on your decision,” Balgruuf said with frank concern.

Fate...
“Fate brought you to me…”
“The fate of Whiterun…”
It’s always a question of fate, and once again, fate was going to give me a shove toward somewhere I didn’t want to go.

“I’ll do it,” I said, “but…there is an item I am going to need. The owner of this item will not wish to part with it, so I will have to leave him a substantial deposit.”

I went on to explain about the Golden Claw. Farengar provided me with enough gold to satisfy Lucan Valerius. I hoped it would be more than enough. I promised them both I would leave for the barrow in the morning. I must admit that my main reason for doing this was the promise of a very large reward from the Jarl. But as I walked out of the keep and looked down on Whiterun, I realized that fate could have chosen a worse place for me to aid.

A big, hearty, ale-filled welcome back to TSG and Val! You have been missed over the last several months!

I hear you about RL - it tends to do that.

I had to laugh at Val's answer to the Jarl's musing about Gerdur's message. Dragons? Really, really dragons? Or maybe Stormcloaks? Please? Pretty pretty please?

Uhh, yeah, Stormcloaks if they had heads like that one. *points to skull above throne*

Because of another Skyrim fanfic, I would advise Val to run while he can. Ruh oh, too late now! Farengar's got him!

Well, what will Val do next? And will we ever find out what he did last night in the inn?

Let me join Rider in welcoming you back, Skyguy! It is good indeed to see you continuing this. After the long break, your little ‘What has gone before’ summary was superb and just what we need to snap back into Val’s story.

You painted a richly detailed picture of the Jarl’s joint. I could hear the fire crackling and envision the intricately carved timbers throughout.

’I saw a Dunmer woman approaching me, clad in leather armor and her blade at the ready. She had hair the color of her eyes, and those eyes did not look happy to see me.’ - - Uh oh. . . an angry redhead.

“Is the skull hanging above your head that of a Stormcloak?” - -

‘It’s always a question of fate, and once again, fate was going to give me a shove toward somewhere I didn’t want to go.’ - - Isn’t that just the kick-in-the-pants truth?

Great fun catching up with Valrimor again!