---Last
Seed, 17th, 4E 201---
These
last few days have been unbelievable. I sit here in this inn in the
quaint little milling town of Riverwood, in Skyrim, taking in a stiff
drink before heading across the way to the bed offered by a helpful
ally. A bed which is the only thing that I have in the world, aside
from some clothes and some food offered me by the same kind man. Alvor
of Riverwood, on the word of his nephew Hadvar, has all but accepted
me into his family, and I am thankful, for if it were not for his
kindness I don't know if I could remain grounded enough at this point
to hold on to my sanity. Believe it or not, this morning I was sent
to the executioner's block, and I was saved by a dragon.
You
are wondering now if perhaps my sanity has slipped from me after all,
and frankly I do not care if anyone who might read this journal
believes me or not: it happened, it is the truth. While crossing the
boarder from Cyrodiil into Skyrim, across the Jerall mountians, I
accidentally fell into a trap set for a group of Stormcloak rebels by
the Legion posted here in Skyrim, and I was mistaken for one of their
ranks and taken with the rest to Helgen for execution. I thought my
fate sealed, my head resting and waiting upon the block for the bite
of the headsman's axe when the dragon landed upon the city central
tower, creating turmoil enough for me to escape, with Hadvar's help.
With
the middle-aged Nord officer at my side, I fought my way through the
city keep, which was being torn apart from the outside in all the
while, and made my way, at Hadvar's advice, into a series of caves
below the city that were the only remaining chance of escape. While I
fought well enough against Stormcloaks who had found there way inside
the keep likewise, I failed to be of much help in one chamber,
against a group of enormous spiders which scared me stiff, I'm
ashamed to admit, but I think I managed to redeem myself. In the next
chamber I found a Horned Iron Helm and wore it into battle against a
large bear which would have barred our way.
I
don't know what to do from here. I came to my ancestral homeland with
all of the spoils of my many years of adventures back home, and now I
sit here in gifted clothing, drinking mead bought with the gold
earned from selling the cloaks collected from fallen soldiers. I have
been asked by Alvor to make my way to Whiterun, the region capital,
and let them know of the dragon attack, and I am more than happy to
ablige, but I have no good armor, and only a worn Iron Sword and
Shield for protection. Alvor himself is a blacksmith. Perhaps
tomorrow he and I can piece together some armor for me to wear at
least, and I can set out on my way.
There is one mod referenced in this entry, Cloaks of Skyrim, which adds cloaks to Skyrim (obviously). Normally, after each entry, I will list any mods that are referenced in the entry down here so that players of the game will not wonder why there is an element to the world of which they are unfamiliar.
If you liked the entry or if you have any questions or general comments, please leave a comment below, and thanks for reading.
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