Brief Intro By The Author

A Question of Fate would be the title of my piece.

I have been back and forth about trying to start and post a fan fic piece. The idea has always intrigued me, but I never considered myself to be a writer, let alone a good writer. I have read a sampling of some of the works that are posted on this site, and quite frankly, it is intimidating. The material is amazing. I must say say that despite the intimidation, it is also inspiring. So I am willing to throw caution to the wind and go for it. There are a few provisos. I work for a living. Often times, the hours I work are long. There may be periods of dormancy in this thread. I will apologize in advance for that. Life outside the internet does have it's restrictions. Also, I am sure that there is an unspoken etiquette that states, "You read mine and comment, and I shall do the same". This is also where I could run into trouble, for the same reasons that there may be dormant periods in this thread. There are stories on this site that I could never hope to read all the way through, with triple digit page counts, while I try to keep posting my own story and work through everyday life. So, with all that being said, I will wait to start posting chapters until I get a sense of what the audience demands. Please let me know if I should start posting a fan fic piece, based on what you have just read.

Thanks.

EDIT - This was originally posted in "General Discussion"

EDIT - This was the original response (and only response to date) to the original post in the "General Discussion" thread made by McB...

Hey there...*Waves*... ...

Dude, if you want to write something, go ahead... ...

Add to it when and if you can, but do so as you wish...I think the only timetable restriction is the polite, "We also have lives so posting a new piece three times a day is annoying" thing...That is, only post something a couple of times a week so everyone else can catch up with the other stories posted...

As for dormancy...I have a thread on page 3 that I will eventually get around to finishing, but hasn't been added to for 12 months... ...And is likely to be another 12 before I get to it again... ...

Write what you want to write, when you can...Post what you can, when you want...

It will be read...*Points finger of doom*...AND JUUUUUDGED!!!...*Cough*...No, sorry...and commented upon...And, as the bit in the fan-fic rules thing says..."We will be polite and nice about it." ...

It's polite to read thems that read and comment about yours, but not a requirement as such...Don't worry about catching up with the stories, they're not going anywhere... ...Maybe just jump on and follow from the latest episodes until you feel inspired enough to go through from the start...

I can sympathise with the long hours thing...Completely... ...

Aaaanyways, just enjoy writing...Don't worry about stuff...Just write...

And...Of course...Welcome!!...

(P.S. Have a mod move this to the fan-fic section )...

McB...

Wise words...You listen to him... ...

*Applauds McB*...Fine fellow...

...

(Fair dues on bringing it over btw... ...)

LOL...thanks man.

Very excited to read what you have.

Almost everyone on here has jobs/children/school/etc - eating up our free time. Many of us have ended up balancing our reading out by supporting our own readers first, then branching out to the other stories as free time allows.

Most of the larger/longer stories have summaries available so you can catch up to where the storyline is and just begin reading the current chapters - on these "War and Peace" length stories it is a real help to get you quickly caught up to speed.

Good luck, and look forward to seeing your story!

Thanks for the replies Malx and McB. I reckon I'll go for it. Obviously I would welcome any and all help, criticism, and comments...

Prologue

I have always kept a journal. Not for posterity. Certainly my life to date would not have any major impact on merkind, or the rest of Nirn for that matter. I have always found writing to be somewhat therapeutic. It seems to keep my head clear and my mind focused. So…I write. My mother claimed I was using a quill before I could walk. She envisioned that I would become some great scholar and pen magnificent works of literature. Such was not to be the case, for I never became that scholar and she didn’t live long enough to see what I ultimately had become. I don’t know if she would approve of what her dear Valrimor did with his life, but I do hope she would not be too disappointed.

I never knew my father. All I do know is that he was a Nord and that he had left us while I was an infant, never to return. Mother always said he was a great man, and that I should never think less of him. She was sure that some ill event must have befallen him, or else he would have returned home long ago. She told me my name was a tribute to both homelands, Valenwood and Skyrim. I consider myself Bosmer, not Nord. This is simply because when one looks at me, Bosmer is what they see. True, I am a little taller and heavier than most Bosmeri. My skin is slightly less bronze, and my hair is much more blond than most of my kind. But I was raised by a Bosmer, as a Bosmer. I am writing this story with the hope that, in some way, this will fulfill my mother’s vision that her son may be an author. May she rest in Y’ffre’s warm embrace.

The story begins well before I was born. It was just over 120 years prior to my birth when the Thalmor took control of my ancestral homeland. My relatives, on my mother’s side, fled Valenwood as refugees during the Thalmor conquest. For most of this 4th Era, my family has been exiled from those wonderful forests of home. It seems that some of my distant ancestors did not leave their homes without a fight. My mother passed the story of my maternal lineage to me. The persecution of her forefathers for their refusal to bow to Thalmor rule has been forever etched into my heart and mind. Those stories still infuriate me to this very day.

For 70 years after Valenwood fell, all outside contact with the Thalmor ceased. The Gods only know what went on in my homeland during that time. The Thalmor reappeared shortly before the moons. Except that now they were the Aldmeri Dominion reborn. For another 70 years, The Dominion increased their power through plots and machinations, and finally attacked the Empire. They have all but subjugated the Empire completely. In my mother’s opinion, The Aldmeri had been a disgrace to merkind, and therefore, in my opinion as well. Why should mer attack men rather than live in harmony with them? Why should The Dominion persecute their fellow mer just because they don’t happen to agree with their philosophy? It pains my heart knowing that the Aldmeri capital lies within a homeland that I may never see. Because of this, we Bosmer are often assumed to be Thalmor agents. While some of my kind may very well be, rest assured that I most certainly am not! So the Empire was reduced to a mere puppet government of the Thalmor, performing whatever acts The Dominion required or requested. This was the state of affairs as I sat in Olav’s Tap and Tack, alone and friendless, downing the last of my mead. In that moment of mead-muzzy loneliness, I made the decision to journey to Skyrim. I could not help but feel a kinship with my father’s people, and a desire to see the lands of my paternal lineage. Perhaps I could even find family members from my father’s line.

Skyrim has remained one of the last bastions to be free from Aldmeri Dominion rule, though that may not last for long, thanks to the Empire. Rumors of the banned worship of Talos in Skyrim causing rebellion have reached my ears. I was not surprised that some Nords won’t stand for that. The climate would be cold, if it was anything like Bruma had been. I’ve heard tell that the forests of Skyrim were magnificent, and that thought does warm my heart. Cyrodiil held nothing for me any longer. The life of being a hired bow and occasionally resorting to petty thievery had become tiresome. I wanted to breathe the air of freedom before I retired to meet the Gods face to face. Perhaps I could hunt as I wish. Perhaps I could sleep under the pine boughs without fear of Thalmor oppression, or just as bad, Cyrodillic citizens that treated me as if I were one of the Aldmeri. Perhaps…

After purchasing a map and some provisions in Bruma, I headed north. I made sure to steer well clear of the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple. The Thalmor maintain a garrison there to make sure any surviving Blades don’t return and try to reestablish their order. This meant traveling overland, through deep snow drifts and secluded mountain passes, but that was infinitely preferable to an Aldmeri blade any day. My provisions lasted long enough to get me through the Jerall Mountains, to the lower elevations of the north slope where I could hunt rabbit and deer. Then it was on to the forests of The Rift. My map was sketchy and, as it turns out, mostly incorrect. So I just continued northward, keeping a watchful eye and an alert nostril open for chimney smoke or a campfire. Both senses were rewarded on my second day in The Rift. It was well after sunset when I came across a military style camp situated near a river crossing. I decided to make a camp of my own nearby and wait until daylight to investigate. Not knowing if the encampment a couple hundred yards away was populated by friend or foe, I had to climb into my bedroll without the benefit of a fire or hot food in my belly.

It seemed like I had barely closed my eyes when I was startled out of my sleep by the sounds of battle. Yelling and the clash of steel on steel were coming from the direction of the encampment. I quickly rose and exited my tent…

CRACK!

…excruciating pain and a spinning field of lights…

…darkness.

EDIT - I fixed a math mistake. Since Valrimor is in his early 50's when he decides to go to Skyrim, the Thalmor conquest would be about 120 years prior to his birth, not 170.

This is a very good beginning! You have really brought us into your character's mindset and strong personality in this short prologue - and managed to leave us hanging on a cliff at the end - very well done! Your editing is immaculate, a real pleasure to read!

Congrats on beginning your first fic, and welcome to the Fic forum and Chorrol!

Welcome, SkyrimGuy! I’m so glad you decided to write Valrimor’s story and share it here. I’m enjoying it already.

Don’t worry about future pauses in your posting. Real life happens, and your story will still be here when you get back to it.

First and foremost- WELCOME! We are glad to have you as part of our community.

The start is quite promising- although I must already disagree with you on one count- "...not a writer." Pfffft! The work you have just posted contradicts that assessment. You give us all the information we need to about Valrimor- we know his background, something of his views and skills, his hopes. And all of it is provided in a natural, smooth narrative style. Wonderful.

Excellent stuff!!...

Brief run through history, both his personal and Tamriel's...

Brilliant start...Looking forward to more...

I award you your inaugural Nice one!!™...

And the hearty applause of the *Applauds heartily*...

...

(Welcome again!!)...

First, I want to thank mALX, grits, treydog, and McBadgere for their very nice comments and compliments. You are all too kind. Second, I have decided to jump to Chapter 2 and rename it Chapter 1, thereby omitting the cart ride. I mean, how many different ways can this scene truly be written. I did pluck tidbits of info from that chapter and strategically place them in this one to further develop Valrimor. Thanks for the advice grits. Some of you may have guessed that the Prologue ended near the Stormcloak camp at Darkwater Crossing. Suffice it to say that Valrimor knew all of his co-passenger's names by the time the cart reached Helgen. So here we go...



17th Last Seed, 4E201

The soldier with the book looked at me and said, “You there. Step forward. Who…are you?”

“My name is Valrimor.” I answered flatly.

My head was still battling a dull throb. My thoughts raced between fear and acceptance, escape and resignation, regret and anger. I could not believe that my journey to Skyrim was going to end so soon with the abrupt impact of an executioner’s halberd. The short span of consciousness during the cart ride hadn’t allowed my brain to completely process all it had been fed. I was really beginning to miss the mead at Olav’s and regret my decision to come here.

“Not many wood elfs - ”

“Elves.” I interjected.

“Huh?”

“It’s elves, not elfs. A quill-pushing bookkeeper should know that. Personally, I prefer Bosmer. But I apologize for interrupting. Please continue.” I said with a sardonic smirk. Several chuckles came from the crowd of prisoners.

He stared at me for a second, then continued, “Fine. I was merely going to comment that not many of your kind come to Skyrim alone.”

How could he know I came alone? I need a drink!

Turning to the officer, he asked, “Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list.”

I’m not on the list! Dare I hope?

“Forget the list. He goes to the block.” she replied.

Damn…

“By your orders, Captain.” Shrugging, he turned back to me and said, “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood.”

“I’m not from - ” I started, but the bookkeeper cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“Follow the Captain, prisoner.”

She turned and headed toward the block, and I dutifully followed. As I took my position next to the other prisoners, General Tullius was standing before Ulfric.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen claim you’re a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.”

Ulfric grunted back angrily through his gag.

A power like The Voice? Could this be why the Jarl was gagged? Perhaps he was a mage as well.

“You started this war.” Tullius continued, “Plunged Skyrim into chaos. Now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!”

Suddenly, a strange roaring sound echoed through the mountain passes. Everyone looked up, searching for its source.

“What was that?” someone asked.

“It’s nothing,” the General replied, “carry on.”

“Yes, General Tullius.” said the Captain. Then she turned to an acolyte standing a bit behind the headsman and bade her to give Last Rites. As the woman began her speech, one of the prisoners decided he was tired of waiting.

“For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with!” he said, walking toward the chopping block.

“As you wish.” the Captain replied.

When the prisoner reached the block, he said, “Come on. I haven’t got all morning!”

The Captain shoved the man to his knees, and then pushed his torso forward with her boot, placing him in prime position for losing his head.

“My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can you say the same?”

Those were his last words, for with that, the headsman raised his halberd and swung downward in a clean, swift strike that separated head from body. I shuddered, but felt a strange comfort in seeing how quick and painless it would be. The gathered crowd of townsfolk shouted conflicting exclamations of “You Imperial bastards!” and “Death to the Stormcloaks!”

Ralof gave a short eulogy by stating that the man was as fearless in death as he was in life. My mind was racing. Adrenaline had pushed all of my earlier pain to the side and had my heart pounding as hard as my thoughts.

Do I make a break for it and chance the archers? Do I just accept this as my fate? Do I rush one of the guards and hope the rest of the prisoners follow my lead?

I didn’t have time to consider it any further when the Captain said, “Next, the wood elf!”

The odd roaring sounded again, reverberating off the nearby peaks. It definitely sounded closer and more menacing, but I didn’t care. My adrenaline fueled anger snapped like a bough in a wind storm.

“BOSMER!” I raged, “I am a Bosmer! Not a wood elf, not a tree-hugger, and definitely not a Thalmor piece of Aldmeri trash! I am a BOSMER!”

The soldier that had been holding the ledger just looked at me and said, “Step forward prisoner, nice and ea - ”

“Oh shut your mushroom hole, you milk drinking bureaucrat!” I said as I walked and then kneeled before the headsman’s block.

I turned my head in such a way that the last thing I would see would be the executioner’s eyes as he swung his blade.

Would this truly be the last thing my eyes would behold? Y’ffre take me to my mother…

What I did see was far more unexpected. The strange sound we had been hearing returned, and from behind the closest peak within my field of vision flew a large beast that my brain instantly classified as a dragon! It swooped in low and then with a couple mighty flaps of its wings, it slowed itself and reared back, coming to rest on the tower directly in front of me. It seemed to gaze directly into my soul with red, piercing eyes. The beast opened its mouth and uttered a sound that seemed to shake the foundation of the earth. Dark clouds, out of nowhere, began circling above its head. Then it made another, different sound and a concussive blast shoved me hard into the chopping block. My vision was instantly turned to a blurry haze. I became aware of boulders crashing to earth all around me. The world had become a cacophony of thudding impacts, yelling soldiers, screaming wounded, and gusts of scorching wind. Through all of this I managed to hear Ralof’s voice.

“Bosmer! Quickly! Follow me!”

I rose to my knees and squinted. There was Ralof, waving and beckoning for me to get up and run. I stood up and a searing blast of hot air knocked me on my backside. As I rose again, an Imperial guard ran past me. He was screaming and completely ablaze. Even though he was one of my captors only moments ago, I felt an instant pang of pity.

What a horrible way to die!

Ralof had made his way to the door of another tower. I sprinted toward him as more boulders smashed the grounds and buildings around me. Almost everything in my sight that was able to burn seemed to be ablaze. Scorched bodies lay strewn about, making for flaming obstacles that reeked with the stench of burnt flesh. When I finally reached the tower, my momentum carried me through the door and to the floor of the chamber within.

EDIT - Per Acadian - Nit fixed, thanks! Added date to entry.

A warm welcome to the Arena of Fan Fiction here at Chorrol!

Your prologue provides an entertaining and efficient introduction of Valrimor, where we learn plenty enough about him to get us started.

Chapter One is tense indeed as the proud Bosmer prepares to meet his fate, only to be interrupted by a dragon attack! Whoever said dragons are bad? This one seemed pretty darn helpful!

The quality of your writing is superb. Your descriptions and dialogue are both captivating and flow naturally.

As you did ask for critique, I would mention a tiny nit. It sticks out only because, as mALX indicated, your editing is otherwise immaculate: ’Do I just except this as my fate?’ (I expect you want ‘accept’ instead of ‘except’ in this context.)

Based on the advice you’ve already gotten and your own comments, it seems you’ve well ferreted out the essential elements of running a successful fanfic thread:
- Limit your update frequency to once or twice a week.
- Limit your update volume to 1000-2000 words.
- Graciously acknowledge your readers.
- Support the writers who comment your work by returning the favor.
- Do not be intimidated away from longer stories. As you’ve heard, most of us have some sort of ‘Executive Summary’ feature to help new readers easily catch up. Don’t hesitate to ask the writer via PM if you need a point to their summary, since some may simply provide it via PM on request. Even without a summary or catching up, I’m sure most writers would rather have you simply join them in progress rather than being put off by the volume of their work.

Again, welcome and you’re off to a magnificent start!

This is probably one of the best renditions I've seen of the culmination of that cart ride at the beginning of the Skyrim game! I know it by heart, but you've managed to bring it to life and make it feel new - that is hard to do! I know what side your Bosmer will be in the Civil War now, lol.

One of the outstanding little details you added that I've yet to see anyone mention in a Skyrim Fic was such a realistic touch that I wanted to point it out:



You can't see someone beheaded and know you are next without having some thought - reading this it makes sense that would be one of the important thoughts that would cross one's mind.

I loved this chapter even better than the prologue, and that is saying a LOT! Awesome Write!

Very accepting of the return of the Dragons isn't he?... ...

Very cool... ...

Loved the way you took the familiar script and then wove your own magic through it...

Brilliant stuff...

Looking forward to seeing how you add to the fun!...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Hi SkyGuy. Try not to be too intimidated by the great white whale sized stories on the site. They won't take your leg off! As others have said, most writers with those big honking tales try to make some kind of summary for people to catch up quickly rather than slog through 200k plus words. What I do is put a one paragraph summary at the beginning each episode that recaps the previous episode. Sort of a "what happened in last week's show" sort of thing. Acadian has a thread just for a short version of his Buffy tale, etc...

As others have said, you have a good beginning. I would say that the nuts and bolts of your prose is quite good as well. Your character sounds very interesting. A half Bosmer, half Nord (Bosmord? ) is a neat combination. Now I can see why your forum avatar has blond hair! Being from a family of refugees from the Dominion adds quite a bit of spice to his background.

Vals saracasm and quick wit as he faced the headsman's axe would have earned the respect of any Celtic bard! We can see the scholar in him just cannot resist leaping out.

Oh shut your mushroom hole,
Now I have to add 'mushroom hole' to my list of insults!

Thanks to Acadian, mALX, McBadgere, and SubRosa for your very kind comments. I'm going to post one more because I'll be gone for a bit. Might be able to post again on Sunday or Monday. I hope you enjoy this tidbit and your weekend...

Chapter 2 – Burning Chaos

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

I lay on my back, looking up at a circular chandelier about 30 or so feet above me. It was swaying slightly from the tremors of the dragon attack. Occasional small clouds of mortar dust were descending around the candles. Time seemed to stretch out momentarily. The chaos around me was muffled. It was sensory overload. There was too much happening too fast. The fog of war, some called it. But this was no war.

Could that really have been a dragon? Of course it was. What else could it be?

These thoughts and the slowing of time actually occurred in mere seconds. I stood up to see Ralof and Ulfric standing near the door. As if to echo my own thoughts, Ralof said, “Jarl Ulfric, what was that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages”

At that moment, I realized that Ulfric was no longer gagged. His voice did not sound like a murder weapon, as Tullius had accused. It sounded like the voice of a leader. It fit his appearance, standing tall and sure, with no evidence of fear. The sounds of mayhem continued just outside the door. The sounds of the damage it had caused were right here in the room. I heard a moan and looked to the source. What my eyes found made me cringe. A Stormcloak soldier was kneeling over another, an injured woman in a singed Stormcloak cuirass. She had a gruesomely shattered forearm and severe burns on both of her legs. She was convulsing and obviously in shock, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of her mouth. The kneeling soldier looked up and said, “We need to move, now!”

He tried to lift the woman, but most of the flesh on her legs slid away from the bone. She howled in agony, and then went limp. The soldier laid her back down and said a short prayer. As he stood, Ralof grabbed my arm and said, “Quickly, up the stairs!”

“Do you think you could cut - ”

“Move!” he shouted and gave me a shove.

The stone stairway was built into to the curved outside wall of the tower. There was already another Stormcloak at the first landing when Ralof and I started up. Suddenly, the wall burst inward, followed by the fanged face of the dragon! A roaring gout of flame issued from the beast, immediately incinerating the Stormcloak and blasting all the flesh away from his bones. He didn’t even have time to scream. His charred skeleton shattered against the steps. I closed my eyes and shuddered, swallowing back a little bile as I did so. I have seen horrible deaths before, but this was a nightmare that defied imagination. The dragon had retreated and flown off over the village when Ralof gave me a shove and urged me onward.

When we reached the hole in the wall, Ralof turned to me and said, “See that inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going.”

I looked out the hole, first at the distance, and then at the deadly fall if I missed. This was not going to be easy with my wrists still bound together. A roar and the beating of dragon wings spurred me as convincingly as Ralof.

“Go!” he said, “We’ll follow when we can.”

I took a step backward, then sprinted toward the hole and jumped. Once again, time seemed to slow to a crawl. I caught what were only mere glimpses of the damage and death, but they seemed to be detailed panoramas. There were burnt bodies and buildings all around. Soldiers, both Imperial and Stormcloak, were firing arrows at their newly found common enemy. Some priests were using Magicka, hurling balls of flame and bolts of lightning into the air. The remaining living were running to escape or running to the defense. The opening in the inn roof moved toward me in slow motion. The room was strewn with broken furniture. I could barely put out my imprisoned arms to break my fall or maintain any type of balance. I landed on the edge of a toppled bookshelf and crashed to the floor full on my shoulder. Blinding pain shot through my right arm.

Grimacing and cursing through clenched teeth, I examined my landing area. Ahead of me was a hole in the floor that would allow me access to the ground level. I made for it and jumped down easily, sparing my shoulder any further injury. I had landed directly in front of a doorway leading out of the inn. The shadow of the dragon passed by and I could see it as I stepped out into the yard. The beast was huge. It circled and landed on the other side of a nearby burning house, causing the ground to shudder as it did so. Suddenly I froze with horror. There was a child not ten yards from it! An Imperial soldier was calling to him.

“Haming, you need to get over here now! That a boy. You’re doing great.” he said as the child ran toward him. The boy’s face was a study in terror. His eyes were as big as saucers, his mouth agape in a voiceless scream. He reached the soldier who grabbed his arm and dragged him toward a third man in the yard, while the dragon belched flame and narrowly missed its intended victims. The close call with instant death was evidenced by the singed hair and smoldering shirt on the boy.

I dove and rolled for the same pile of debris that the other three were hiding behind, my injured arm vigorously protesting. The soldier was checking the boy for burns and became satisfied that there was nothing serious. He ruffled Haming’s hair, then gave the child a smile and a wink, saying, “Don’t worry son. It will grow back.”

The soldier looked at me momentarily and I suddenly realized that this was the quill-pushing bureaucrat. He turned out to be not such a milk drinker after all. I did not let my eye stray far from his unsheathed sword.

“You’re still alive prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way!” he said. Then he turned to the other man and said, “Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.”

“Da, don’t go!” Haming yelled and lurched toward the soldier. Gunnar restrained him.

“Son,” he said with a firm voice, “I’ll be back, but I have a job to do.”

“Gods guide you, Hadvar.” Gunnar said as Hadvar turned back toward me.

“Okay prisoner, with me.” he said.

“Why?” I replied, “So you can get me to the next available headsman?”

“I will see justice done. Would you rather burn to death in agony, or die quick under the blade? I’ll not kill you myself, for that is not my place unless you make a move against me. The choice is yours.”

The man made a good point, so I followed.

EDIT : Nits picked. Thanks Acadian and SubRosa.

Nice to see some more meat put on this scene that some of us have witnessed dozens of times. Well, except for the meat sliding off some people's burnt and shattered bones!

“Do you think you could cut - ”
This is of course the old question of so many of us ask. How come everyone else has their bonds cut but me! I think you did an effective job of putting that off with the rush of action, and the protagonist being pulled along with the tide of events.

His eyes were as big as saucers, his mouth agape in a voiceless scream.
This was an excellent way of showing us the child's fear.

“So you can get me to the next available headsman?”
This is what I have always thought. Weren't you about to kill me bub?



nits:
hurling fireballs and wads of electricity into the air
'wads' sounds kind of odd. You might go with a term like 'bolts', or 'blasts'. Likewise, electricity is a rather 20th Century, scientific-sounding name, given the setting. 'Lightning' might work better.

A terrifyingly harrowing escape for Valrimor! Your quick pacing, interspersed with perceived slowdowns of time itself, served to great effect here. The burned soldier who died in another’s arms, and detailing the rescue of little Haming, really helped to ‘humanize’ the warriors.

Nit? ‘Suddenly, the wall burst inward, followed by {the?} fanged face of the dragon!’

Loving the extra parts you're adding into this section...

The bit about the Stormcloak being vaporised was very cool...Well...Horrible, yes...But very cool also!... ...

Brilliant run through this next bit...Thoroughly enjoyed it!...

Looking forward to seeing how you work the choice section in...

Nice one!!..

*Applauds heartily*...

Once again, thanks for the kind comments from Subrosa, Acadian, and McBadgere.

@SubRosa - Thanks for the insight on my wording. I hadn't even considered the word "electricity" as modern. I did make the change you suggested. But now I have a conundrum...how to describe future visual manefestations of shock-based spells without using the word "electric" or its permutations? I fear "lightning" may become redundant. Any ideas?

@Acadian - Thanks for spotting the editing mistake. Its fixed now. And thanks even more for noticing that I endeavored to put identities to the stuff that goes on around the protagonist in the tutorial section.

@McBadgere - Your wait is over, as I am about to post the choice scene. Do enjoy!

And I do hope others enjoy as well, as Chapter 3 deals with a decision for Valrimor...



17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

Hadvar ran with his sword drawn. A silly image of my mother admonishing against such actions came to mind and I actually chuckled out loud. Meanwhile, the dragon was still circling overhead and laying waste to Helgen. We dodged through the Oblivion-like landscape of fire and panic.

“Stay close to the wall!” Hadvar advised over his shoulder as we approached a damaged stone partition. I darted to the left to follow that advice and was almost immediately impaled against the stone by a dragon talon! The beast landed atop the wall, right above my head! An ear-shattering utterance of three distinct sounds in rapid succession was followed by a gale of fiery breath. It made me curse my bonds when I tried to cover my ears. The dragon must have been content with the results of this latest blast, because it took off to continue spreading its wrath.

Hadvar again urged me to follow him, and I did so. Someone, perhaps General Tullius, ordered Hadvar into the keep. It was impossible to tell exactly who it was. Chaos reigned supreme, with soldiers yelling, buildings collapsing, and the dragon ever roaring and spewing fiery death. Through all of this, Hadvar kept his cool and made sure I stayed with him, thereby keeping me alive. My earlier estimation of the man couldn’t have been more wrong. He was obviously well trained. Under different circumstances, like not keeping me alive so that I may be executed or not being an Imperial Legionnaire, he would have made a staunch ally.

We continued through the wrecked village. As we turned to head for an arched opening in yet another wall, I saw the dragon fly directly over us. A strange alien voice briefly filled the air as it made a sweeping circle and was headed back in our direction. Flaming arrows, along with mage fire and lightning, streamed toward the dragon like some bizarre fireworks display. It swooped down and plucked an archer from the top of a wall, ripping the poor fellow in half and casting his remains down upon the defenders as it flew past.

Suddenly, Ralof appeared with sword in hand. I stopped and stared at the two enemies facing each other. My mind raced as I tried to think of a way to take advantage of this situation. If these two started fighting, I would have the perfect opportunity to escape!

“Ralof! You damned traitor! Out of my way!” Hadvar yelled.

“We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time.” the Stormcloak replied. Then he looked directly at me and said, “You! Come on, into the keep!”

I looked at Hadvar. This man had helped to keep me alive through the attack. But his reason for doing so was to deliver me to another headsman. He was gazing back as if to say, “Well?” The choice was easy. Ralof seemed to have no ill will toward me. I was fairly certain that he would not be looking for the nearest Imperial executioner.

“Thank you Hadvar. Good bye Hadvar.” I said, and dashed after Ralof.

“Fine, I hope the dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Hadvar said over his shoulder as he ran off to join his comrades.

Ralof was waiting at an entrance to the keep. It was one of the last buildings left still standing. When I reached him, I held out my arms and he said, “I can cut you loose inside. Come on!”

We entered the keep and barred the door behind us. The interior almost looked as though there was nothing happening outside. I say almost because a dead Stormcloak lay near a table across the room. The chamber was decorated by tapestries emblazoned with the stylized dragon emblem of The Empire. I found that oddly ironic. Hunting trophies bedecked the walls, and there was a rug in the center of the room. Ralof went over and knelt next to his fallen comrade. I walked up in time to hear him say, “We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother.” Then he stood and faced me.

“It looks like we’re the only ones who made it.”

“There must be others.” I replied.

“Mayhap there are. Gods! That thing was a dragon! Just like the children’s stories and legends of old. It is a harbinger of the End Times!” Ralof said, and for the first time, I thought I detected fear in his voice. Not of dying. Ralof has already shown his bravery when it comes to death. No, this was different. I believe he was afraid of what the appearance of a dragon meant in Nordic culture.

“Be that as it may, do you think you could cut my bonds sometime today?” I asked while extending my wrists in his direction.

“Of course.” he said, drawing a dagger from a sheath at his hip. “Sorry. It was Valrimor, right?”

“Yes, and it still is, thanks to Hadvar,” I replied, rubbing my wrists after he slit my bindings, and then hastily added, “and to you of course.”

“Well, Valrimor, you might as well take Gunjar’s gear. He won’t need it anymore.” he said, gesturing to the corpse on the floor. “But be quick about it, we need to get moving.”

I knelt down and began removing Gunjar's armor. Closer inspection revealed that this man had died from a sword wound, and not from anything a dragon had done to him. I wondered where his killer was as I undressed the Stormcloak. I was hoping for a bow and a quiver of arrows, but no such luck. His only weapon was a war axe. With my shoulder being injured, this would certainly not be my weapon of choice. Of course, drawing a bowstring would be no stroll in the woods either. Thanks to my Nordic half, the armor was not a terrible fit. Just a little loose, but completely functional. When I stood back up, I gave the axe a couple swings and wished I hadn’t. Pain ran from shoulder to elbow. Best I wait until I had to actually defend myself. That should prove interesting. I have never been one for battling in close quarters with swords or axes. I know the fundamentals, but that’s it.

While I was changing and arming myself, Ralof searched for a way to move on. There were two gates, one at either side of the room. When I finished, he informed me that there was no way to unlock the gates from this side without a key. I silently cursed the Imperials. They had impounded all of my lock picking gear, along with the rest of my personal effects. My bow, my tent, my ale! They were all likely to be ashes by now.

"Well, Ralof, what now?" I asked.

A moment later, the answer presented itself.

EDIT - Fixed a nit re: Ralof.

Uh oh, I got a chapter behind! I am sorry I missed that chapter, will try and catch up this weekend

I feel your pain about lightning and shock, I try to just alternate between those two terms myself, and throw in words like 'sparks', 'blasts', and 'bolts'.

“I can cut you loose inside. Come on!”
Well its about darned time! Sorry, I have done this tutorial sooo many times I just cannot help it.

my ale!
Val is definitely part Nord!



nits:
Ralof had no intentions of saving me from one death just to lead me to another.
Since we cannot see into Ralof's mind, we do not really know that for certain. He could be a Namira cultist planning on eating Val! I suggest you make this seem less absolute, such as "I had no reason to believe Ralof would save me from one death just to lead me to another.

Shock magic. When pondering descriptions, it can be helpful to consider what each of the senses might be able to contribute. I wouldn’t use all this at once, as it is clearly over the top, but here are some example style thoughts: ’The hairs on my casting arm stood out as lightning crackled from the fingers of that hand to streak down the corridor in a blinding display of noise and light. As my powerful bolt struck the armored warrior his body convulsed, limbs flailing involuntarily. Even after he crashed to the ground, residual sparks angrily arced and danced around his smoking corpse as if reluctant to surrender the corridor back into darkness. As the odor of charred flesh that had been fused with mail and plate drifted to me, an unpleasant metallic taste seemed to adhere to my tongue.’

’A silly image of my mother admonishing against such actions came to mind and I actually chuckled out loud.’
What a fabulous observation that clearly conjured an angry mother yelling, “You could put an eye out with that thing!”

Whew! Another wonderfully intense episode. So, Valrimor has his hands free, he’s armored up, has an axe that pains his shoulder to use and is stuck behind locked gates – for the moment.

Excellent suggestions and thanks to you two for opening my eyes! I couldn't see the forest for the trees (no Bosmer pun intended) .

D'you know...While I admit that I'm easily pleased and pretty much always awestruck when it comes to other writers...The ease with which you're rendering this whole opening - what is essentially an - interactive FMV, is stunning...I applaud you...*Applauds*...See... ...

I'm really liking Valrimor...Brilliant and funny character...

Looking forward to more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Hello! Welcome to the forums! Quite the tale we have here. I'll be a latest reader!

Prologue: You've given us some information on our protagonist and shared some of his history. Sad that he never met his father, and I do find myself wondering what could've happened to him. So, he was a mercenary for hire? A good job, depending on the client

Chapter 1: The all too familiar setting. The walk to the headman's axe. I did like his little quip about elfs and elves, he's certainly a comical fellow at times. What I like here is that you took the time and effort to explain the quest we know through his eyes, and it offered so much more and as mALX said, gave it life.

Chapter II: Run Val run! An intense scene, this one, and action-packed.

This was an intense image to picture, and I envisioned it as I read it along. Very nice!

Chapter III: Valrimor makes it to the keep, relieves a dead man from his armor and uses an axe, much to his chagrin. Perhaps now his Nordic side can get use to using such a weapon? Speaking of which, I do like the fact that he's a Nord/Bosmer hybrid. Very unique and he certainly looks that way in the image. Now, I am eager to see his fighting skills put to test, though it might take more than a few human enemies . . .

Oh yeah Ralof, don’t take the second to ensure I can defend myself if needed, ROFL! The first time I played, I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t activate anything - then Hadvar cut my bindings and I suddenly realized what the issue was, lol.




This was an amazing imagery, very visual and well done! Once again you have brought alive a scene we all know by heart, and managed to get across your characters personality through the chaos of the dragon attack. That is extremely hard to do, amazing write!


NEXT:




LOVED this little detail! Your main character’s personality comes through strongly in every chapter, regardless of what is going on - I LOVE that. I feel I’m getting to know him more with each chapter, his personality and ideals come through amazingly well!


SPEW! Nice touch of humor in that tense situation! Awesome Write, all of this!


*

I like how the story mixes serious with a downright comical protagonist. On the one hand we have an execution and a dragon attack, and on the other we have a BOSMER, AND PROUD OF IT! Who at times seems to be concerned with everything except his incoming doom.


And like mALX, I laughed whenever he tried to get someone to let him use his hands again.


The dragon attack was downright vicious with the way you described people being torched left and right. I admit I cringed when the one guy in the tower was reduced to ash and the woman below died from losing her legs. At times, my imagination is a bit too strong.


Two details I noticed. First, I thought that Hamir is the kid who wants to see the soldiers but gets sent inside. Having him as Hadvar's kid is no big deal though. I mean, they all look the same anyway.

The other is when rude and angry Stormcloak man gets executed. I always thought it was a Stormcloak who yelled about the Imperial bastards. On the other hand, having a random townsperson do it helps sell the chasm of the civil war again. No city is clearly on one side or the other, aside from the uniforms of the local troops and the Jarl. That's what makes it a civil war.

Wow. We have new readers! Thanks to you all for joining in and taking the time to read and comment on Valrimor's tale.

@SubRosa - Great call on your well appreciated nit. The devil is in the details, and that was good one. And yes, Val's Nordic half does love his ale!

@Acadian - Thanks again for the shock spell suggestions. Very helpful. Fears of eye loss while running with sharp objects...what mother hasn't fretted over this? Good thing Hadvar didn't have a Red Ryder BB gun!

@McBadgere - I am glad you are enjoying my take on the opening tutorial. A neurotic part of me worries about readers saying under their breath, "It's a tutorial...three chapters already?...get to the meat already!" But it is a perfect setting to develop Valrimor, so I'm running with it.

@Darkness Eternal - Thanks for joining in. Val's father is indeed a mystery to him, so he doesn't know what the man actually did for a living. This will come out in future writes (I'll not give up more than that ). Val's fighting skills shall soon be evident...

@mALX - Welcome back! I laughed out loud when you told of not being able to activate anything. The exact same thing happened to me! Many have commented on the incineration scene and the wounded soldier scene. I was really worried that they may have been too "over the top" with horrific descriptions. I am relieved that this doesn't seem to be the case. I was trying hard to convey how devestating an attack by such a beast would really be, something the game kind of glosses over.

@jack cloudy - Thanks for joining in as well. Val's thinking process is a bit twisted at times, much like his author's. He has a tendency to use sarcasm and humor as a defense mechanism against fear. Regarding the details - In the game, it is entirely likely that Haming is not Hadvar's son, and it is entirely likely that "Imperial bastards" was yelled by a Stormcloak. I wrote the way I did to suit the way I wanted the story to flow. I will confess early here that I do intend to change actual game facts however I may see fit to meet my ends. I was glad that you were ok with both instances, but rest assurred, there will be others.

I want to thank all of you for your interest, comments, and critiques. They are most appreciated!

Now, the next installment...when we left, Ralof and Val were at an impasse in the vestibule of the keep...



17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

The sound of activity echoed in the hallway. Footfalls and clanking armor found our ears well before a familiar female voice ordered a soldier to get the gate open. By then, Ralof and I had secluded ourselves in the shadows on either side of the gateway, crouched and prepared to strike with our axes. Ralof gave me hand signals, raising one finger then pointing it at me, then raising two fingers and pointing to himself. It was a simple plan. The first through the gate would be mine, and the second, his. I would wait until both Imperials were all the way into the room before making my move, insuring that Ralof could cut off any retreat by the second.

It happened quickly. As soon as the second Imperial entered the room, I jumped out of the shadows and slashed into the sword shoulder of my target. Due to my injury, the blow was not as effective as it could have been. It glanced off his armor and did little more than alert him to my presence. The Imperial yelled and spun to face me, pulling his sword back for a thrust. He never had the time to complete his move before my axe reversed course and laid his throat open. He dropped his sword and grasped the wound with his hands while falling to his knees. My axe looped back again to the top of his head, splitting the leather helmet and his skull. He was dead before he finished hitting the floor. Ralof had just as quickly disposed of his opponent. It was the same female Captain that had ordered us to our deaths before a dragon had flown out of myth.

What an odd twist of fate.

Ralof searched the Captain’s body while I searched her aide and cursed the pain coursing through my arm. It was Ralof that met with success, and he walked to the opposite gate that was still closed. The sound of tumblers falling into place and a slightly squeaky hinge proclaimed success. There was a thunderous crash somewhere on a floor above us, declaring the keep was no longer undamaged.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads.”

I did not need to be told twice. We sprinted through the passage and down a set of stairs. When we reached the next level and turned a corner, we narrowly averted a bone-crushing death as a large section of the stone ceiling crashed to the floor in front of us. The roar of the dragon punctuated our near demise as a grim reminder of our dilemma.

“Damn, that dragon doesn’t give up easy,” said Ralof.

“Did you expect it to?” I retorted sarcastically. Ralof started to reply when we both heard voices coming from just beyond the only doorway available to us.

“Grab everything important and let’s move!” one voice commanded, then added, “The dragon is burning everything to the ground.”

Both of us drew our axes and Ralof went through the door first. It was a fairly well lit and apparently well stocked storeroom. Ralof never slowed down, sprinting to the next door and attacking the first Imperial he saw. Within seconds, we had sent two more Imperials to meet their makers.

“I’ll guard the door. Check the room for potions and supplies. We’ll need provisions once we’re out of here,” Ralof said.

My shoulder was throbbing with pain, so the first thing I did was discard my axe and procure a sword belt from one of the dead Imperials. I would need to add a notch to the belt, but that would come later. After a quick but thorough search, I was able to find several vials of healing potion, some bread and a couple bottles of wine, some rabbit meat, and a few apples. My shoulder barked again as I raised a wine bottle and drank deeply.

Oh Gods yes, that’s good…

Then I opened a vial of healing potion and downed that as well. I relished the instant warmth and soothing exhilaration of its healing powers. With a large grin, I raised the wine bottle to show Ralof and tossed a vial of potion to him. After placing all of the provisions into an empty burlap sack I had found, I joined Ralof at the door.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No, I would rather stay here and finish this wine,” I replied, “but lead on sir.” I replied with a flourishing gesture toward the door.

Ralof grinned and proceeded through the door, down another passageway to another descending set of stairs. He was a few paces ahead of me when suddenly he yelled, “Troll’s blood! It’s a torture chamber!” and ran ahead, drawing out his axe.

By the time I arrived, he and another Stormcloak were standing over yet two more Imperials that would be late for supper. I surveyed the room for any other possible assailants, and then resheathed my sword. As I looked around, I realized that there was far more blood than there should have been from the recent skirmish.

“Was Jarl Ulfric with you?” Ralof was asking the other Stormcloak.

“No,” she replied, “I haven’t seen him since the dragon showed up.”

Then a backpack on a small table caught my eye. I went over and opened it. Lock picks and a small slim dagger! The picks went immediately to my breast pocket, the dagger to my belt. I added the burlap bag to the backpack and slung the straps over my shoulders. Ralof had started searching the chamber also. The woman kept a watchful eye on both exits.

“Wait a second. It looks like there is something in this cage,” Ralof said as he walked over and checked the cage door. “There is a dead prisoner in here, and coins on the floor near him, but the cage is locked. Can you pick this Valrimor?”

Nodding and grinning, I pulled a pick from my pocket and walked over to the door. A few pokes with the pick and a twist of the dagger took mere seconds to pop the lock. I looked at Ralof as I shoved lightly on the cage door with my finger, and said, “Child’s play.”

The door swung in and I quickly rifled through the dead man’s pockets. I was rewarded with a coin purse. I grabbed the loose coins from the floor and then saw the book. It was a mage’s spell tome with a one word title, Sparks. I recognized it immediately for what it was and recoiled. A childhood memory flooded through me.

"I didn't mean to Ma!" cried a blond Bosmer child...

I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear the memory, then left the book where it lay when I exited the cage.

“I got it all,” I said to the others, “let’s keep moving.”

EDIT - Fixed some punctuation issues, added date, changed some wording.

Your main character keeps me in stitches with his inner dialogue, between his dry humor and absolute common sense I very much like him already!



I loved this whole paragraph, but pulled this sentence out - really nice, describing the feeling of the healing potion as it works! Loved this whole section!

Valrimor is a very endearing character, his personality shines in this chapter; as well as throughout the story so far. Very much liking this story!

The memory that came with the book of magic spells (“Spark”) - what a huge detail that was to add! Anyone else may have grabbed it to sell, etc. - this makes Valrimor unique, really loved that part!

Awesome Write!

Into the bowels we go. Does that make Val and Ralof the equivalent of... nevermind.

My shoulder barked again as I raised a wine bottle and drank deeply.
Methinks Val would fit in nicely with the Bravil Fighters Guild...

No, I would rather stay here and finish this wine,” I replied, “but lead on sir.”
I see Val still has his now characteristic sarcasm. Seriously though, little things like this help give him definition and a unique voice.

"I didn't mean to Ma!" cried a blond Bosmer child...
This was a nice touch. I wonder what he blew up with a lightning spell when he was little?

...

I liked that... ...

Brilliant episode...

Handy with a lockpick then?... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

I’m really enjoying Valrimor’s sarcastic humor as he survives the dragon attack. It’s a great way for him to keep the horror of the situation at bay so he can keep moving forward.

The date at the top of each post is a great idea. Even when he wouldn’t actually write Continued, the journal entry is presented over multiple posts and is indeed continued from the last one.

I particularly loved Ralof’s hand signals before the scuffle with the Imperials. That was a great touch. I also loved that Val picked up the backpack and left the spell tome. Those details make me forget the hundred times I’ve gone through Helgen because I’m right there focused on Val experiencing it for the first time through his eyes.

I may drop behind occasionally (RL, you know how it goes), but I’m always looking forward to this story!

Thanks to mALX, SubRosa, McBadgere and Grits for your kind comments. Here is some weekend reading for you. It will be difficult, but resist the temptation to add "...oh my!" to the chapter title. I hope you enjoy...

Chapter 5 – Imperials, and Spiders, and Bears

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

The three of us left the torture chamber and entered what appeared to be the cell block of the dungeon. The barred and gated walls of several cells faced the walkway. As we passed these, I noticed a small leather bag near a skeleton in one cell. I had heard that the Nords in Skyrim imprisoned thieves with their loot as an irony to show the uselessness of theft.

“Hold up,” I said, and went to work on the lock. This one popped even easier than the first. I rushed in and grabbed the bag, grinning at the sound of clinking coins. In seconds, I was back with the others.

“Do I need to worry about being robbed in my sleep with you around?” Ralof asked me with a raised eyebrow.

“If you had anything worth stealing, you would,” I replied with a smile.

Ralof chuckled and we pressed on. Another stair at the end of the passage led us downward yet again. The stench of rotted flesh assaulted our nostrils. We entered another room that was even more gruesome than the torture chamber. Suspended cages, with corpses in various stages of decay ranging from fresh to skeletal, hung all around the room. We crossed the chamber quickly, and then paused at the crude entrance to a tunnel. The passage ahead was lit by braziers and torches.

“I wonder if there are more Imperials, or worse, this far down,” said the female Stormcloak.

“We’ll know soon enough. Let’s keep moving though. The sooner were through this, the better,” I replied, looking at the narrow confines of the route before us.

Ralof entered the tunnel and we followed. There was no masonry work here. This passage had been hewn from solid stone. It was so narrow that I felt as though the walls were closing in on us. I urged Ralof to pick up the pace. After rounding a few bends, Ralof raised his hand as a signal to stop. Voices carried up the passageway.

“Orders are to wait here until General Tullius arrives,” one voice commanded.

“I’m not waiting to be killed by a dragon! We need to pull back!” said another.

I turned and whispered to the woman behind me, “Does that answer your question sufficiently, ma’am?”

“On three...ready?” Ralof whispered while getting his axe ready, and then he yelled, “THREE!” and ran into the room. We followed and joined the battle. There were five Imperial soldiers against the three of us. The end result was the same as our previous skirmishes, except for one disturbing detail. The female Stormcloak had been slain. Ralof was staring down at her.

“Did you know her well?” I asked.

“No, she was a new recruit,” he replied. “I don’t even know her name.”

“I’m sorry Ralof,” I said. It was the best I had to offer at the moment, because my mind was elsewhere. I looked around the chamber for a moment and then spotted what I was seeking.

YES! Here we go…

I relieved an Imperial archer of his long bow and quiver. Looking at the other dead Imperials, I found two more quivers. Now I was properly armed with a bow and a couple dozen arrows. None of it was of great quality, but they were much more suited to my talents than this blade. I sat on a rock and pulled the wine bottle from my pack. I managed three healthy pulls while Ralof finished paying his last respects to his fallen comrade. Before putting the cork back in, I offered the bottle Ralof’s way while suppressing a belch. He declined. I shrugged, put everything away, and stood up.

More for me…

We moved on to the next exit, Ralof in the lead. It was a low, arched passage that ended at a raised drawbridge. Fortunately, the lever to lower the bridge was on our side. I gave it a pull and the bridge lowered into place. Ralof crossed and I followed just in time the have it smashed to splinters right on my heels. The dragon announced its culpability with a distant roar. There would be no turning back now. The drawbridge landing was a masonry platform with a set of stairs leading into a larger natural cavern. A stream babbled its way through to the other end of the cave. Water needs to find a way out, so a stream made as good a guide as any. We pressed on.

After a time, the stream continued through a space that would not allow us to follow it further. A tunnel branched off to the right. Whether or not this was a good thing remained to be seen, as a foul stench emanated from the entrance. I nocked an arrow and Ralof drew out his axe. The odor grew as we ventured deeper into the tunnel, and pale sticky masses eventually began to coalesce into more intricate webs. We looked at each other knowingly.

There would be spiders ahead.

We entered an expanded area of the cave that had walls covered with webs. We did not have time to admire the handiwork, for as soon as we entered, spiders dropped from the ceiling as if on cue. I bounded to the nearest high ground and dispatched three arrows, dropping three spiders in their tracks while Ralof took care of the other two. I shuddered. I hated spiders. Ralof actually vocalized his shared opinion. He claimed they had too many eyes. The arachnids did hold one treasure though. I asked Ralof to wait while I knelt and opened the backpack. There was just a little wine left in the bottle. I uncorked it and finished it off.

“You asked me to wait so that you could have another drink of wine?”

“No,” …burp… “that was just a binus…um…bonus. I needed the bottle.”

I went to each spider and milked as much venom as each would provide into the wine bottle. I corked my new poison and told Ralof that I was ready now. We could still hear the stream, so we followed that sound. Every now and then, it would find its way back into the caverns and passages we occupied. Ralof suddenly came to a halt so abruptly that I walked right into his back.

“What the…?”

Ralof was pointing ahead and said, “There is a bear over there. See her? She’s slee-”

“I got this,” I assured him, patting his shoulder before I crept closer to the bear.

I nocked an arrow and raised it, drawing the bowstring back to my ear. I was having difficulty aiming. My arrowhead seemed to wander back and forth. I stopped what I was doing and took the time to soak the arrowhead in spider venom, just in case my slightly intoxicated aim prevented a clean kill shot. It was probably a good thing too, because my arrow hit her in the hind quarters. However, the poison did its job nicely. She had time to let out a growl and even began to charge toward us before she dropped stone dead in her tracks. An old friend of mine had once told me, “Poison is a drunken archer’s best friend.” I was far from “drunk”, by my standards. But it was handy stuff, that frostbite venom.

“HA!” I cheered with a leap into the air, and then went into a deep, flourished bow.

Ralof just looked at me, shook his head and said, “No more wine for you!” as he walked by. I chuckled and followed. Normally, I would harvest the bear first, and properly dispose of its carcass. Normally didn’t apply to right now.

The passageway began to get lighter. I could smell and feel fresher air buffeting my face. And suddenly, there it was. Daylight was ahead. We walked out into brilliant sunshine and the ever so welcome aroma of coniferous forest. The splendor was briefly broken by the howl of the dragon, in flight and moving away to the north. I laid down right there, looked at the sky, and laughed heartily.

EDIT - Picked nits. Thanks to Acadian for the suggestion of Googling the "How to". Extremely helpful! Added date.

I’m still getting over “Innnnnto the Bowels…” from the last one!

“On three...ready?” Ralof whispered while getting his axe ready, and then he yelled, “THREE!” and ran into the room.
Nords.

I love how you explained the presence of treasure on the dead prisoners.

I laid down right there, looked at the sky, and laughed heartily.
Yay, he’s free! I’m looking forward to finding out what he’s going to do now.

I follow numerous stories and quite appreciate a tiny ‘In our last episode. . . .’ summary of a sentence or so to get snapped right in as I start to read a new episode. I noted that you sort of did this at the beginning of Chapter 4 and it was particularly helpful to me in this case as I have ‘offline’ for about a week. I encourage to you to fully adopt and maintain this wonderful courtesy for your readers. You’ll notice that several writers do so in their own fiction threads.

Let me also say how much I appreciate (as I’m sure mALX and SubRosa do) your reading and commenting on each or our sagas in the ‘Commentasaurus’ thread. It is gratifying to hear your wonderfully welcome observations!

‘The sound of tumblers falling into place and a slightly squeaky hinge proclaimed success. There was a thunderous crash somewhere on a floor above us, proclaiming the keep was no longer undamaged.’ -- I quote this for two reasons. Firstly, I love your use of sound to obliquely, but clearly tell us, what is happening here – wonderfully done! Secondly, the word ‘proclaim’ is rather distinctive – enough so that when used twice in close proximity it detracts from the stellar quality of this passage. Alternatives for one of the ‘proclaim’ uses might be variations of announce, attest or perhaps declare.

We don’t see a lot of axe fighting descriptions in fanfics here and I really liked your description of Valrimor’s use of one that favored finesse and momentum over brute strength.

And we see Val is quite the skilled thief with a lockpick. Woot! Wine, a bow and plenty of arrows! What else could a wood elven rogue need?

’The dragon announced its culpability with a distant roar.’ – - Again, I love your use of sound to enrich your descriptions!

‘I hated spiders. Ralof actually vocalized his shared opinion.’ – - Val and Ralof have plenty of company among the various characters here at Chorrol! How clever to 'milk' them for poison.

“Poison is a drunken archer’s best friend.” – -

This story continues to be simply a delight to read!


Nits:
You are a bit inconsistent regarding punctuating your dialogue. I recommend Googling ‘dialogue punctuation’, which can shine plenty of light on this rather complex art. Here are a few selected examples from Chapter 4 regarding comma vs period use:
“Damn, that dragon doesn’t give up easy.” said Ralof.’ -- The period after ‘easy’ should be a comma.
“I got it all,” I said to the others, “let’s keep moving.” -- This passage is perfect. The speech tag is effectively inserted in the middle of a sentence of dialogue.
“No.” she replied, “I haven’t seen him since the dragon showed up.” –- The period after ‘No’ should be a comma since you are linking the speech tag to that clause (by not capitalizing ‘she’). Use of a comma or period after ‘replied’ depends on your intent. You could keep the comma after ‘replied’ if you intend the entire passage to be one sentence of dialogue. On the other hand, if you intend the last clause to be a new sentence or statement, you would precede it by a period. Confusing, eh? It was our own SubRosa that really helped me get a handle on dialogue punctuation and, as I implied above, I found that doing some internet research on the subject proved very helpful.

’Looking that the other dead Imperials, I found two more quivers.’ – - (From Chapter 5) I suspect you wanted ‘at’ instead of ‘that’.

This last chapter has to be my favorite so far, I could have quoted the whole thing! From Valrimor'd drinking affecting his aim, Ralof's reactions to it, Valrimor's inner dialogue, the "Nord Rush" into battle, using the wine bottle to hold the spider venom - this chapter was AWESOME from beginning to end! A couple edits were missed, but the content was so stunning I didn't care, LOVED this chapter! Totally Awesome Write!

I love your main character's personality a LOT, and you are more than making the familiar tutorial come to life, I am loving this story!

“If you had anything worth stealing, you would.”
Now Ralof is going to hide the Honningbrew when Val is around!

I loved Ralof's Nordic math in the countdown to three as well!

I agree with Ralof and Val about the spiders. Euch! Too many legs as well. Nothing needs that many legs.

That was a clever use of the wine bottle by Val. I just hope that in his sauced state he does not forget that there is spider venom in there now rather than wine!

Awww, he killed the bear. I was expecting him to use the Bosmer Command Animals power to make the bear an ally.


nits:
“Orders are to wait here until General Tullius arrives{.}” one voice commanded.
That period ought to be a comma, as Acadian noted about a few other sentences. I think the easiest way to understand punctuation of speech is to just pretend the parenthesis are not there. So look at the above as: Orders are to wait here until General Tullius arrives, one voice commanded.

Thanks for following the story and for the great comments.

@ Grits - I could never figure out why loot would be lying next to an imprisoned skeleton, so I had to try for something plausable. Thanks for the comment.

@ Acadian - I will be adding a "What has come before..." sentence or two before each new installment. But I really want to thank you for the punctuation advice. I found some very helpful information. At some point, I'll go back and fix everything to date, but future posts should be correct. You help has been invaluable...thanks again.

@ mALX - Thanks and I am glad you have enjoyed this rendition of the tutorial. I hope that future installments can measure up. Thanks again for your very kind words.

@ SubRosa - I considered using the Command Animal ability, but knowing that it was the last enemy they would face, Val would have had to kill it eventually anyway when the spell wore off. In game, I find that I rarely use that ability. Perhaps I should more often. Thanks!

Author's Note - From time to time, I will be posting interludes to provide backstory information. They will be in 3rd person format instead of narrated by Val. Please note the dates on these for reference. Actually, this is why I started putting dates on all of the previous posts, and on future ones as well. This next post is one of those interludes. I do hope you all enjoy it.



4th First Seed, 4E149

Erik sat staring at his flagon of ale. It was his fifth one and the effects were on the verge of causing two flagons to appear where there should be only one. His friend Jonsin was chatting up a particularly attractive she-elf. She was likely Bosmer, based on her size and skin tone. Jon was doing everything he could to convince the elf to come up to the room that he and Erik had rented for the night, while she seemed to be trying to milk him for every possible drink that the inn had to offer. At the moment, her goal was a shot of Cyrodiilic brandy. Jon obliged, and then asked Erik if he wanted one too. Erik declined and took another swig of ale, thinking Jon should really slow down. He had put down twice as many beverages as Erik, and they both had to leave early in the morning. The journey to Bruma would be long enough without a dose of muzziness to make it miserable as well.

The bard that The Merchant’s Inn had hired for this evening’s entertainment left much to be desired. He was playing a lute that was sorely in need of tuning. The crowd did not care. In fact, based on the empty kettle that was supposed to hold tips from the patrons, the crowd didn’t even know he was there. They were too busy gambling or fighting or drinking themselves blind. Imperial City, and the entire Empire for that matter, had changed since the end of the Septim line. It was as if all reason had left mankind and merkind alike. Lawlessness ran rampant in the streets and taverns. The Imperial Legion was spread thin, preparing for a possible attack from the Aldmeri. The City Guards, if one could call them that with a straight face, were second rate soldiers that were corrupt much more often than not. They would turn a blind eye toward thievery and thuggery, as long as you had the coin to buy them.

“Put me down!” said a female voice.

Erik looked up and saw that Jon was carrying the she-elf over his shoulder. She was beating on his back and kicking her legs. He couldn’t tell if her protests were real or feigned from where he sat. So Erik just rolled his eyes and ordered another brew, since it was likely that he should stay away from the room for a while. The bard finished his tune, thanking an audience that failed to acknowledge his existence. He picked up a drum and started tamping out an erratic beat that had no timing at all. Someone in the crowd yelled for him to stop playing, but the bard ignored it and kept trying to find a beat. That was when a very large man walked over to the would-be entertainer, picked up his lute, and smashed it across the back of the bard’s head. The poor fellow collapsed like a bundle of rags. This action elicited an immense brawl at that end of the bar. Erik chose to leave rather than get caught up in this miniature riot. He rose and went upstairs.

When Erik approached the door to their room, he could hear muffled yelling. Occasionally, the words “stop it” and “no” were mixed in. He entered to find Jon on top of the she-elf; having his way with her while she struggled to get out from under him and tried to scream through the palm of his hand. Her eyes were wide with terror, and it was painfully obvious that she was not a willing participant.

“What in the Gods names are you doing, Jon?” Erik yelled.

Jonsin looked over his shoulder with a sweaty grin and said, “You should have come up with me. Now you’ll have to wait your turn.”

Horrified and enraged at the same time, Erik grabbed his friend and violently pulled him off of the elf. Jonsin lost his balance and toppled backward when he tried to stand with his pants around his ankles. His head hit the corner of a dresser on his way down and he did not move at all after that. A pool of blood began forming behind his head.

Erik turned his attention to the elf. She was trying to cover herself with the torn remnants of her dress, her breath coming in short, sharp sobs. He walked toward her to help, but she recoiled.

“Get away from me!” she rasped, with a look that conveyed fear, anger, and shame at the same time.

“I just want to help you. I think Jon is dead. We have to get out of here. I don’t have enough money to bribe a City Guard.”

She looked at Jonsin’s body, then back at Erik. She seemed to be weighing her options. Then her eyes went wide again.

“Stendarr help me! The guards might think I am a…a…a brothel girl! They might even think I killed him!” she exclaimed.

Erik opened the dresser. He grabbed a shirt and some pants and tossed them to the elf.
“Get dressed, quickly,” he said, “You can come with me. We’ll get out of here and I’ll help you get somewhere safe. What’s your name?”

“My name is Ellinar.”



2nd Evening Star, 4E149

Erik looked forward to every visit. Elli had adjusted well to living in Bruma, given the circumstances of her arrival, and her condition. She always had a warm embrace for him when he arrived. If only he could tell her how much his heart sang when she squeezed him that way. He always brought her a bouquet of wildflowers just so he could see that beautiful smile of hers. And of course, he always brought her enough money to live on until his next visit. But this visit was special. During this visit, he would stay with her until her child was born.

Evening Star was a bitterly cold month in Bruma. The journey into the Jeralls was particularly difficult this time, due to the unusual amount of snow this year. The trip out would be equally as difficult, but he would not be leaving as quickly as normal. Perhaps the passes will have thawed out some by the time he left. Snow was beginning to fall again as he prepared to knock on the door to Elli’s house. Suddenly, he heard a scream from inside. Without hesitating, he dropped his customary bouquet while drawing his sword and rushed inside.

Elli was lying on the bed, covered with sweat and clenching the bed sheets in her fists. Her head and back were propped up by several pillows. Her knees were elevated, and there was a woman sitting on a stool at the end of the bed.

“One more push should do it Elli. You’re doing fine,” the woman said.

Elli gave that final push, trying to sit up and forcing another howl through gritted teeth. She hadn’t even noticed that Erik was standing there. He sheathed his sword and held his breath, watching and waiting for the new life to emerge. The wait was short and he heard a tiny cough before the baby began crying. The woman at the end of the bed smiled broadly and exclaimed, “It’s a boy!”

Later that evening, Erik and Elli sat together on the bed. She held the sleeping baby in her arms, swaddled in a wool blanket. Erik was convinced that she had never been more beautiful. Elli caught him staring at her and blushed, then smiled and said, “What?”

“It’s just amazing. I think motherhood becomes you. You are positively glowing,” he replied, returning her smile. “Do you have a name picked out for him?”

She sighed, looking off into an unknown distant place. It was often customary for a first born son to have some derivation of his father’s name. Erik realized that this thought caused Elli pain, and he suddenly wished that he hadn’t asked the question. Then she turned and gave Erik a very serious look.

“Where was…he…from?” she asked.

“Um…Skyrim. Riften, I think,” Erik replied.

She stared off into space again, then blinked and said, “I am going to name him Valrimor, for Valenwood and Skyrim. That is the only acknowledgement I shall give his father, may he rot in Oblivion.”

Erik put his arm around Elli and said, “I think you have done your son justice with that name. It certainly gives more respect to his father than the man deserves.”

Elli turned to Erik and looked up into his eyes, their noses almost touching. She seemed to look deep into Erik’s soul.

“I want you to be his father,” she said, and kissed him.

* * *

22nd Sun’s Dawn, 4E152

Valrimor was sitting on the floor, stacking some small blocks of wood. Elli was watching Erik load a backpack with supplies.

“Must you go? You could stay, you know. Hanreid is looking for help over at Hammer and Axe,” said Elli, pleading her case.

“You know I must go. Working as a bodyguard, I can bring home three times what I could hope to earn in a month as a blacksmith’s apprentice. I will be back in three weeks,” Erik replied.

Valrimor pulled himself up at the corner of the bed and stood on wobbly legs, looking at the two of them. His grey eyes and starkly blond hair gave testimony to his Nordic blood, and at the same time, contradicted his swept back and pointed ears. Suddenly, he said, “Da-da.”

“See?” Elli said, “Val wants you to stay too,” and then she gave that smile that always melted Erik’s heart and batted her eyelashes.

“My love, please don’t make this harder than it need be.”

Erik bent over and picked Valrimor up. He gave the child a hug and kissed him on the cheek.

“You take care of your mother until I get back, little one,” Erik told the boy. Then he placed the child on the bed, hugged and kissed his wife, and promised to return in three weeks.

EDIT - Fixed a math mistake. Fixed a nit.

Oh aye, I try to catch up and ye post another bit!!... ...Well, I'll have to get back to you on that one... ...

Loved the run through the last section of the Helgen bit...

Obviously happier with a bow and arrow than the axe...Fair dues...

Loved the spiders section and then the need for the bottle sorted with much gusto... ...Like the excellent Subrosa said, let's hope he doesn't forget... ...

And then we're off and running towards destiny...*Gazes off into distance*...And when I say we I mean Val is... ...

Brilliant stuff...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

I'll get to yer interludes in good order, sir... ...

What a wonderful scene-setting opening paragraph. I’ll be watching that little she-elf. . .
'Erik looked up and saw that Jon was carrying the she-elf over his shoulder. She was beating on his back and kicking her legs.'
Doh! And here we vividly display a very familiar drawback of being a tiny elf. Grrr! Jon needs to learn that no without giggles means no! Thank Mara that Erik has a basic grasp of chivalry. Ellinar, eh?

As soon as the baby was announced a boy, I suspected we might be witnessing the birth of Valrimor. Very well done!

I really enjoyed these revelations into Val’s background!


Nit? Forgive me if I misunderstand, and just smack me if I’m wrong here:
’His grey eyes and starkly blond hair gave lie to his Nordic blood,’ -- This strikes me that you are saying the blond hair contradicts a Nordic heritage? I would think, perhaps, ‘His grey eyes and starkly blond hair gave testimony to his Nordic blood’?

On the old news of using Command Animal, cannot you just walk away from the animal near the spell's expiration? It has been a long time since a character of mine has used it, so I do not really remember. So long as you are outside of its aggressive radius, it should not attack you. Or you could just walk through a cell door, since enemies do not follow in Skyrim.

That brings me to something else. Just because something is in the game, that does not mean you are bound to place it in your story. That goes for everything, people, loot items, the layout of areas, etc... Even how spells or racial powers work is entirely up to you. When you write a work of fiction - even a fan fic using a world originally created by others - you make it your world. For example that Command Animal power can work any way you want it to. It can be used as many times a day as you want. It can last as long as you want. It can even be a passive ability that automatically effects every animal Val comes near. No one will send the Spanish Inquisition after you with their fluffy pillows and comfy chairs if you deviate from what Bethesda presented. Make the story your own.

On to current events. Or past events as the interlude reveals. I am guessing that the she-elf (or just shelf for short ) is Val's mother? Too bad for her that his conception was not a happy affair. I thought that fit in very believably with the general aura of lawlessness you portrayed within the Imperial City. The latter was another good touch too. This is clearly not the shiny happy Empire we knew from the days of the Septims. Lesser men sit upon the Ruby Throne, and the rot has trickled down through society.

In the very least, Val had a mother and father who loved him. Now if that is not taking lemons and making lemonade I do not know what is.


nits:
{The} Imperial City, and the entire Empire for that matter,
I think you may have wanted a "The" where I added it above?

Aw, that's a sad tale right there... ...

Excellent that Erik did the right thing after his...Friend...

And that it turned into love is brilliant...

As these things tend to...I'm guessing that three weeks turned into a lifetime?... ...

An excellent filling in of Valrimor's life...

Looking forward to more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

It's time for the weekend installment, but first...

@ Acadian - You were absolutely correct with your nit. Thanks for pointing it out, and I used your suggestion of the word "testimony" to correct it. That word fit perfect with the word "contradicted" later in the sentance.

Ellinar, eh?
Am I missing something?

Thanks as well for your comments and compliments. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

@ SubRosa - I do agree with you 100% about changing whatever I see fit with regard to actual game mechanics, and you will encounter this in a future post. As a matter of fact, it concerns using the Command Animal ability, so I'm killing two birds with one stone on that one.

Very good guess on the "shelf" being Val's mom.

Regarding {The} Imperial City, I left out "The" on purpose. Imperial City is how the name is shown on the map as the actual name of the city, and one would not say or write The Oklahoma City or The New York City. Using "the" only works if I am describing the city rather than naming it.

As always, thanks for the compliments and comments

@ McBadgere - Thanks for the applause. As to three weeks becoming a lifetime...well...a lifetime is a very long time, so we'll see...

Thanks again for reading and commenting. Very much appreciated.

Previously... So after giving you all a glimpse into Valrimor's beginnings, it's time to get back to the story. Ralof and Valrimor had fought their way through Imperials, spiders, and a bear to finally reach the exit from underneath Helgen Keep, where Valrimor had collapsed to his back and was laughing at the sky...

Chapter 6 – Free of Pursuit

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

Ralof must have thought I had lost my acorns. I couldn’t help myself. Cramped spaces like tunnels and caves are no place for a Bosmer, especially a claustrophobic one. Add one part of seeing the dragon fly away to two parts lack of pursuit, and then three parts wine; it was the perfect recipe for relief filled laughter. I sat up and caught the Nord staring at me with a worrisome look.

“I’m okay. I’m just glad to be in open space and not worrying about what might be around the next corner,” I told him.

“I can appreciate that, Valrimor, but-”

“Call me Val,” I interjected, “everyone else does. Well, everyone that has known me and remained a friend despite knowing me.”

“Val it shall be then, friend,” Ralof said with a grin, but then became serious again and added, “we need to get moving. While we are currently not being pursued, this area will likely be crawling with Imperials before the sun sets. We are close to Riverwood, and my sister lives there. I’m sure she will help us with a hot meal and a place to rest.”

“Does she have any of that great Skyrim mead that I have heard so much about?” I queried thirstily.

“I’m sure her husband, Hod, has a bottle or three lying around.”

“Well what are we waiting for then?” I said, jumping up and staggering just a smidge while adjusting the backpack, “Let’s get going!”

We started following a pathway that led from the cave. Here at the base of the snow line, scattered patches of snow would occasionally crunch beneath our feet. There were birds chirping, and the wind was sighing through the evergreens. The trees were tall and majestic, like great spruce sentinels guarding the mountainsides. As we walked further down the slope, the forest floor became more verdant, changing from scrub oaks and thorny brush to ferns, grasses, and wildflowers. Closer examination revealed an assortment of fungi and flora suitable for alchemical purposes. This was good to know, but I wouldn’t be doing any harvesting at the moment. Getting to Riverwood for shelter and more libations had top priority.

As we walked, Ralof had been trying to convince me to join the Stormcloak rebellion. I did hate the Thalmor, and therefore by proxy, General Tullius and his troops. However, I chose to remain non-committal. That seemed to be my natural state of existence, non-committal. I had never married nor had children. I never settled into a steady trade or planted roots with a home of my own. It seemed my entire adult life had been an exercise in finding my next source of coin to care for my mother, finding my next drink, or finding my way out of some sort of trouble. Now I had found my way here, to find some sort of meaning to my life.

When we reached the pathway’s terminus at a rough stone roadway, I noticed a large ruin in the distance. It was near the summit of a peak, on the other side of a narrow valley.

“What is that place?” I asked Ralof.

“That is Bleak Falls Barrow. I never understood how my sister could live in the shadow of that place. I guess one just gets used to it after a while,” he replied.

“Why is that? I mean, what bothers you about it?”

“It has ever had naught but evil associated with it. It’s said to be haunted by draugr,” the Nord explained.

I nodded and didn’t question him further. It was enough to know that the place should probably be avoided. We walked on in silence for a bit. Now and again, I would catch a glimpse of a circling hawk, or hear the rustle of a small animal scurrying through the undergrowth. These were like therapeutic balms to my Bosmer senses. The road had become steeper when we reached a sharp switchback, allowing the roadway to hug the mountainside. When we turned the corner, a magnificent vista appeared before us. There was a lake nestled within the valley. A river was draining it and sending the contents northward toward us. On a rocky promontory overlooking the lake were three stone monoliths. When we reached them, Ralof stopped.

“These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen that dot Skyrim’s landscape. See for yourself…” he said, gesturing toward the paved platform they rested on.

I stepped on to the large circular dais and examined the stones. Each had a different design cut into the rock they were made from. Two seemed more weathered than the third. I asked Ralof about this.

“It is said that the stones choose you," the Nord explained, "In some way, it will connect with your spirit. It is imbued with an ancient power. None today completely understand it. The one you see most clearly is the one that is trying to connect with you.”

It showed a hooded man in a crouching pose, and holding a pouch and dagger. As I moved closer, the symbol seemed to become even clearer and more detailed. Gemstones, like stars, began to shine within the etching. I reached out with both hands and touched the sides of the stone. Instantly, beneficent power surged through me. I could see an aquamarine glow shimmering around me. Then just as suddenly, a shaft of teal colored light shot toward the heavens. I felt, rather than heard, a “pop” and it was over. When I released my grip on the stone, all three monoliths appeared equally weathered.

“Thief, eh?” said Ralof, “It’s never too late to take charge of your own fate.”

How does one take charge of fate? It seemed that I had been shoved around by fate my entire life.

“Let’s get moving. I’m getting thirsty,” I said and continued down the road.

The road was following the river northward along the eastern bank. The water wasn’t babbling like the creek in the cave. It was having a full blown argument with the intervening rocks along the way. Now and again, spray found its way to the road on a gust of wind. Ralof was telling me a little more about his sister and Riverwood to pass the time when he was interrupted by the howl of a wolf. We both froze and searched for the source. I saw them, two of them, on a rise ahead of us and to the right. I touched Ralof on the shoulder and motioned for him to stay put. This was my forte. I nocked an arrow and crept silently through the undergrowth at the side of the road for as long as I dared. The wine had worn off, or perhaps it was the effect of the Guardian Stone. Either way, my aim was steady and true. I released the bowstring, nocked another arrow, and had sent it on its way to the second wolf by the time the first one was falling. Both wolves were quickly down and motionless.

“Impressive bow work!” said Ralof.

“Thanks. Let’s get them cleaned.”

The Nord protested, saying we were so close to town now that it would be a shame to stop.

“When a hunter kills, the quarry must be properly cleaned and the carcass disposed of, at least whenever it is practical to do so. It is the Huntsman’s Creed. Right now, it is practical. You can help, or watch, or continue on your way, but these wolves are getting cleaned,” I stated in a tone that would brook no argument.

The Nord did indeed help. Some unfortunate woman must have met up with one of the wolves. There were no human remains in its belly, but there was a silver ring with a garnet stone. Ralof wondered why I would even bother opening the stomach. There was a simple explanation, which I conveyed to him.

“I once witnessed a wolf attack. A whole pack descended on a couple having a romantic walk in the woods. Due to some…uh…local circumstances…I wasn’t able to help them. And there were lots of wolves!” I explained, on my knees as I skinned a wolf, “But I digress. The woman had been wearing some stunning jewelry. When I examined the corpses, it was obvious that her finery had become part of the wolf’s main course. Ever since then, when I kill a wolf, I check for jewelry. You would be surprised how many rooms and ales I have found in wolf guts.”

The Nord just looked at me for a moment, then shook his head and went back to work. When we finished cleaning the animals, I asked Ralof where the river led and he told me northward to a series of falls. That was perfect. I tossed the carcasses and entrails into the river, knowing that if they weren’t devoured by mudcrabs first, the falls would reduce them to fish food. After rinsing the wolf blood from my hands, the task was completed and we set of again for Riverwood.

Old news: Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to confuse regarding Ellinar’s name. Her initial story simply sounded intriguing and I’m glad to see I was right. I guess my question was meant as a segue to my next comment.

*

I’m still liking your brief ‘In our last episode’ comments – especially helpful after pausing for an interlude like you did before this update.

Val’s voice speaks loud and clear in this episode. As a Bosmer, he’s talented with a bow and enjoys the outdoors. His Nordic blood is still chirping about ale, mead and wine however.

’The road was following the river northward along the eastern bank. The water wasn’t babbling like the creek in the cave. It was having a full blown argument with the intervening rocks along the way. Now and again, spray found its way to the road on a gust of wind. Ralof was telling me a little more about his sister and Riverwood to pass the time when he was interrupted by the howl of a wolf.’ - - This is simply a delightful passage that is both wonderfully and creatively descriptive, while implying the passing of some time as the pair travels.

Checking the stomach of a wolf is an interesting (and messy) place to check for loot, but it seems there’s no arguing with Val’s profitable results!

This was a fun update, and I’m with Val – it feels good to be outdoors!

You are right that there is no "The" on the map. I am used to always seeing it written as The Imperial City everywhere else though. It is your fiction, so it is your decision on what to use.

Ralof must have thought I had lost my acorns.
This was some nice Bosmer-friendly terminology.

“I’m sure her husband, Hod, has a bottle or three lying around.”
And I am sure Hod will help them drink all their mead...

“It is said that the stones choose you," the Nord explained, "In some way, it will connect with your spirit. It is imbued with an ancient power. None today completely understand it. The one you see most clearly is the one that is trying to connect with you.”
I love Ralof's explanation of how the Stones choose you, rather than the other way around.

How does one take charge of fate?
This seems to be the theme of your story, and I expect will be the key to Val's future.

I liked the part where the Stormcloak died. Ralof obviously knew her (well, not her name, but they were comrades of sorts), but Valrimor has entirely nothing in common with her. So Ralof feels bad because she died, while Valrimor feels bad because he can't bring himself to care even though he knows he should. Naturally, he escapes into the bottle. Talk about awkward.

And speaking of bottles, his priorities are very clear throughout. Life first, then booze, then everything else.


I did like the background segment. At first I'd pegged Erik for the father in blood, but it turned out he was the spiritual one. I assume he died on that bodyguard job.

It's that time again campers, but first...

@ Acadian - Looking like a Bosmer, and being raised by one, Val definitely does have "Bosmer Pride". But he cannot deny his inner Nord, which is one of the things that has drawn him to Skyrim, and this will...well...that's for another day.

Checking the stomach of a wolf is an interesting (and messy) place to check for loot, but it seems there’s no arguing with Val’s profitable results!
This was my way of explaining how you sometimes find jewelry or coins when you "Search Wolf" in game. It was the most plausible explanation I could come up with.

@ SubRosa - You actually pointed out to me that we, as authors, can really do what whatever we want with our story, when it comes to making changes in the way the game actually plays versus what we want to write. I thank you very much for that , because it led directly to this -

“It is said that the stones choose you," the Nord explained, "In some way, it will connect with your spirit. It is imbued with an ancient power. None today completely understand it. The one you see most clearly is the one that is trying to connect with you.”
I love Ralof's explanation of how the Stones choose you, rather than the other way around.

I am so glad you liked that. I fought with myself more than you can imagine over whether to go that route.

And yes...fate will be key to Val's future...

@ jack cloudy - Welcome back

And speaking of bottles, his priorities are very clear throughout. Life first, then booze, then everything else.
Val does indeed like living long enough to get his next drink.

I did like the background segment. At first I'd pegged Erik for the father in blood, but it turned out he was the spiritual one. I assume he died on that bodyguard job.
I'm glad you enjoyed the interlude. It is the first of several that will answer "why" and "how" questions about Val.

Heartfelt thanks to all of you for continuing to follow Valrimor and for your very kind comments. Now, let's press onward...

Previously - Val and Ralof have been on the road northward from Helgen to Riverwood after their escape from the dragon attack, and had just finished skinning a couple of wolves…

Chapter 7 – Riverwood

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

My companion was accurate when he had said we were very close. Less than an hour’s walk found us rounding a bend to see the town of Riverwood. It was a small town indeed. In fact, the word “town” was probably too grand a title. It was certainly much smaller than Helgen had been. As we entered the hamlet, I noticed there was no gate. What I had thought was a wall surrounding the settlement was merely a thick bulwark with a covered walkway atop it. There were no towers or keep. The architectural style of the buildings was similar to Helgen, with walls of native stone and wood that were topped by steep thatched roofs. The smell of cooking food had entangled itself in tendrils of chimney smoke and caused my stomach to growl. Ralof turned left immediately, saying his sister was probably at the lumber mill. There was an old woman sitting on a porch trying to tell her son that she had seen a dragon. He didn’t believe her, of course.

Little did he know…

The lumber mill was situated on a small island in the river, which had widened and slowed here. The current was still strong enough to push the mill’s waterwheel with ease, allowing the band saw to turn logs into lumber. We rounded the corner to go behind the mill’s main building and found Ralof’s sister standing there. She had her back to us and was rubbing the small of it with hands clad in heavy leather work gloves, as though it may have pained her. She turned to face us when Ralof called her name. What may have once been heart-stopping beauty had given way to years of working a lumber mill, but she was still a pretty woman.

“Brother! Mara’s mercy, it’s good to see you! But is it safe for you to be here? We’ve heard news that Ulfric had been captured.”

“He was…we were…it’s a long story. Can we sit and talk somewhere?” Ralof asked.

“Of course,” she said, and then yelled up to the mill, “Hod! Come down here. I need you for a minute.”

“What is it woman? Sven drunk on the job again?” answered a faceless voice from above.

“Hod, just come here!”

“Ralof!” exclaimed a burly fellow from up at the band saw, “What are you doing here? I’ll be right down!”

The three of us continued walking over to some large tree stumps. Ralof sat on one and I followed his example on another. Gerdur stood facing us with her hands resting on her hips. I resisted the urge to tell her she had a rather large smudge of grime on her face.

“So who is this with you?” she asked, nodding in my direction, “One of your comrades?”

“Not a comrade yet, but he is a friend. I might not be here if not for him.”

“The reverse is closer to the truth,” I interjected, “Your brother has no small part in my ability to meet you here today.”

Just then, a boy ran up with a shaggy dog close at his heels. “Uncle Ralof!” the boy beamed, and then peppered the Nord with rapid-fire questions, “Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?”

“Hush, Frodnar! Let your uncle rest. I want you to go watch the south road. Come find us if you see any Imperials coming,” Gerdur said to the boy in the tone that mothers so often use.

“Look at you, almost a grown man. It won’t be long and you’ll be ready to join the fight. Now be a good soldier and do as your mother tells you,” Uncle Ralof added.

With that, Frodnar gave a stern military salute, and then assured us all that no Imperials would sneak up on us during his watch. He did an about face and ran to the south gate. The dog chased after him, barking support. None of us could suppress chuckles and grins. The burly man from up at the saw joined us then. I assumed it must be Hod.

“Now, Ralof, what’s going on? You two look about done in,” he said.

“I can’t recall the last time I slept,” Ralof began, “The news you heard about Ulfric was true. We were camped near Darkwater Crossing when we were ambushed by Imperials. It was like they knew exactly where we would be. That was…two days ago. The battle was short and we were not victorious. Those of us that survived the skirmish were bound and taken to Helgen this morning. That’s when I met Valrimor here. The Imperials had captured him as well. They must have thought he was with our camp. I thought it was all over for us, Gerdur. They had us lined up for the headsman’s block and ready to start chopping.”

“The cowards,” Gerdur spat with disgust.

“They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial,” Ralof explained, “Easier to take his head than try him for treason. A trial would have shown the real truth to all of Skyrim. Anyway, the headsman had already sent one of our comrades to Sovngarde when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a dragon attacked!”

“You don’t mean a real, live-” Gerdur started to ask in disbelief.

“I know,” Ralof continued, “I’m still having a hard time believing it myself. But it’s true. There is a dragon on the loose in the mountains. As strange as it sounds, that dragon is the reason we are alive now. Valrimor and I managed to slip away during the attack.”

“I wouldn’t call it slipping away,” I added, “Your brother and I got separated and had to dodge the dragon’s attacks until we met up again, then it was one skirmish after another as we made our way to freedom from the underneath of the town.”

Ralof nodded in agreement, and then asked, “Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?”

“No one else has come up the south road today, as far as I know,” Gerdur replied.

“Good. Maybe we can lay up here for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, but-”

“Speak of it no more, Ralof. You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you need to. Let me worry about the Imperials,” said Gerdur. She turned to me and continued, “Valrimor, any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine. Take this spare key to the house. You are welcome to whatever you may need, within reason. Stay as long as you like. There is one favor you can do for us though. Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun needs to know of this. With a dragon on the loose, the Jarl will need to send defenses to Riverwood. We have no guards of our own. If you would do this, I would be in your debt.”

I placed the key in my breast pocket and gave a slight bow toward our new hostess.

“Thank you, Gerdur,” I replied, “I can do as you ask, but I must rest a bit first, and I’ll need provisions for the journey. I can work for them. I don’t expect you or your family to give me anything."

“I’ll go let them in the house and help them get settled in,” Hod said.

“Help them drink all our mead, you mean,” Gerdur retorted. My ears perked at the mention of mead. Then she continued, “I have to finish up some work here. I’ll see you all at the house.”

With that, Ralof and I stood. He thanked and hugged his sister before we started for the house. When we reached the roadway that divided the settlement, I paused and looked up and down the road. There was an inn called The Sleeping Giant, and a trading post on one side of the road. A blacksmith was located on the other side. Another road headed east out of town, and this was the way Hod and Ralof were presently walking. I quickly rejoined them, ready for the taste of mead to wash over my thirsty lips.

Interlude 1:


I did a double take when I saw the character's names, then went back to your comment thanks and saw that this was a time warp from the story - I like that you call them "Interlude," so I'll be alerted that it is a flashback.

Oooh, I am loving that this takes place in Cyrodiil!



This is one of those perfect details that sets the whole scene up - LOVED that whole section of the paragraph!

This next line is great too, it is exactly what one would expect to happen in the aftermath of the Oblivion crisis and the end of the Septim Dynasty:



Reminds me of New Orleans after Katrina hit. Awesome detail there, great thinking!

This segment was fascinating!

GAAAAA! This was how Valrimor came to be! What an AWESOME backstory!

Oh dear, I get a bad feeling about him leaving.