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I was right, these are the same bandits from Helgen, they all bear the flag and markings of their fellow bandits that we captured.

I have decided that it is worth keeping Quaestor Quintus waiting a day or two in order to find out what these bandits are up to. They not only pose a threat to my patrols but also to the village of Riverwood further up the path.

They appear to have occupied the mine "Embershard" and are attempting to restore it to working order, undoubtedly trying to regain badly needed financial resources lost at Helgen. According to my limited notes of the area, Embershard contains iron ore, not a very valuable resource, the bandits must be desperate.

Their numbers are limited too, at least based on what I have seen. Three men guarding the entrance, three more whom leave and return with game, tools and furs, no doubt stolen from the locals, as none of them appear to have bows with them. No sign of the new bandit chief though, though from what I have heard from the entrance guards, it is appears to be a brute of a female Nord.

I have decided to try and sneak into the mine at night, take out the guards, (only two posted at night, both usually quite drunk by nightfall) and engage the chief, ending the bandit threat in this area.

[Foreword: This is the diary of a young Imperial Officer, newly deployed in Skyrim.]

The weather, mercifully, has cleared up as I prepare to move out. I am garbed in what the some of my Nord men claim to be local armour. A simple yet tough material called hide armour, recovered from one of the dead bandits. It does not provide for warmth so I covered myself in an old dirty rag of a cloak that was found amongst the ruins of the burnt down village. I look the part of a refugee at least. I have decided against my better judgement to keep my sword with me, it could alert some to my true identity yet it would not do to be caught by bandits unarmed.

My plan is to work my way north, passing through a small village called Riverwood, then carry on north towards Whiterun, a great city built on the hill.

As of now, I am north of Helgen, I have stopped for but a moment to gaze at the wonders of Skyrim. In front of me lies what is known as Bleak Falls Barrow, an old Nordic ruin from an age long ago, some of my men have warned me not to enter it, as it is probably occupied by bandits or worse. I have heard rumours of the dreaded draugr, Nord undead that worshipped the Dragons in another age.

A scout report from yesterday claimed to have sighted bandits at a nearby mine, claims they are non hostile, I'll see about getting a closer look as I make my way north, those bandits could be the same ones we driven out from Helgen, and they have been spotted spying on our patrols, they could be plotting something within the mine...

r/MudCrimsonAndIce

[Foreword: This is the diary of a young Imperial Officer, newly deployed in Skyrim.]

We've been in Helgen for just about a week now, civilians have started to turn up at the gates demanding that we let them in, undoubtedly word has spread of Helgens recapture. I've been instructed not to let any one through, as this is still an active war zone. It pained me greatly to see children amongst the tired masses.

Bandits and even Stormcloak scouts have been spotted spying on us, probably wondering if it's worth attacking us. I'm not that worried, recent scout reports indicate that Ulfric's men are weaken in this area, as greater focus has been given further north towards the capture of Whiterun.

When we set out from our base in Cyrodiil we numbered 100 Legionnaires. Our current strength numbers at 90 able bodied men, with the exception of men 8 dispatched at Falkreath, three of them wounded in action, two KIA during the attack earlier on. We have enough provisions of our own to last us a month, not including the haul we captured from the bandits when seizing Helgen.

A letter arrived earlier on from the commander of our forces in Whiterun, Legate Quentin Cipius, ordering me to the City of Whiterun, to be met with his second in command, some Praefect called Quintus. We are to present the Jarl of Whiterun with word of further Stormclock encroachment in the surrounding area. No doubt General Tullius tires of Jarl Balgruufs neutral stance in the war.

I leave for Whiterun in the morning, posing as a refugee turned away at the gate, it would not do to bring attention to my absence at the fort, as this will surely invite an attack from the enemy, sensing the chain of command disruption, not to mention while under cover, I might be able to learn more about the area and it's people.

[For parts 4,5,6 and beyond, check at r/MudCrimsonAndIce]

[Part I] (https://www.reddit.com/r/LifeasanNPC/comments/5mtfd0/skyrim_tirdas_7th_of_frost_fall_4e_202_entry_1/) and III

[Foreword: This is the diary of a young Imperial Officer, newly deployed in Skyrim.]

9:30

It was a harsh night truth be told, by early morning to snow had begun to bury us. I ordered camp to be disassembled and the men prepared to move out. Quaestor Galius hasn't returned yet, I can only assume that like us, the snow had slowed them down. This worried me, I had not anticipated the sheer amount of snow this far south in Skyrim, and the weather is showing no signs of letting up.

10:23

The men are restless, eager to move out to engage the bandits, yet I have decided to wait till Galius returns with his report on the possible Stormcloak positions to the north-east, I would not be caught from behind during the assault in Helgen.

10:48

Just as I was about to give the order to stand down Galius returned, reporting two of his men KIA and three more wounded during a night skirmish by an apparent Stormcloak patrol. The Stoamcloaks had surprised them yet they emerge victorious, more due to superior numbers than skill I believe. These "men" are mere boys, shinies as other officers like to call them, this war has stretched the Empire thin sadly.

The wounded presented a problem, as now I had to divert some men to remain with them while we press on to engage the bandits holding the fort, who now probably know of our presence in the area, and are surely preparing for a fight and on top of that, soon enough the local Stormcloak commanders will send out more patrols. I dispatched several of my men with my second in command, Praefect Tibelius, to get the men to Falkreath. The Imperial Falkreath camp is too far out west for them to make it on foot in time for the wounded.

17:00

We managed to take the fort and drive out the bandits with no major incident. It turns out they are not much of a fight. They are an interesting group however, multi ethnic much like us in the Legion, yet they lack respect, discipline and armour, wearing fur and old leather armour. We capture a fair number of them, including the bandit chief. It's getting dark already, and it seems we are in for another harsh night, yet this time we have walls to keep us warm. The bandits are surprisingly well stocked on weapons and supplies, I set the task of creating an itinerary of the goods captured to one of my junior officers, surely this haul would come in handy for the war effort.

20:30

The men are settled, sentries posted and a scout team dispatched to the Whiterun Imperial Camp informing them of our success. For now we are to hold here and repel any advancing Stormclocks heading towards Riverrun and Falkreath, until the reinforcements from the Legate Skulnar arrive.

Updated map: http://i.imgur.com/EL9FL5k.png

Shameful subreddit plug

[Foreword: This is the diary of a young Imperial Officer, newly deployed in Skyrim.]

Been here less than a day and already the men are bellyaching about the cold and the rain. Personally I've always liked the cold, I wonder how long that will last.

We enter Skyrim through southern border, our objective is to retake and occupy a small half fort half village by the name of Helgen. We've all heard the stories about that place, that this fort had been the site of the dragon attack, we lost many men that day, none of us were looking forward to a meeting with a dragon on day one.

We've camped some distance away from the fort, my lead scout, Quaestor Galius, reported that bandits had occupied the place after the Empire withdrew it's forces away. I ordered that sentries be posted around camp and a second scout team be sent further north-east. According to the little intel the Legion provided me before deployment, the Stormcloaks hold two positions in that area.

According to the plan, we are to retake the fort and hold it till reinforcements from near by Falkreath arrive to relieve us. Then, it all goes according to plan, we are for the Whiterun Imperial Camp, where I am to met with Legate Quentin Cipius.

Not bad for the first day of the war, it's definitely getting cold now though, we're in the snow line, under the shallow of the mountains bordering northern Cyrodiil, hopefully the Quaestor Galius has good news in the morning.

[More entries coming, please visit r/MudCrimsonAndIce]

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I opened my eyes and was blinded by the light. It was like I had never seen light before and it made the back of my head hurt as I lay there. I wasn’t sure if I was dead. Had I reached Sovngarde already? As my eyes eased I realised I was lay on a stone platform, above me was a circular glass window with different coloured panes of glass it was a beautiful sight. I tried to sit up but my chest still stung and forced me back down. I heard footsteps coming from my left and saw a lady in orange robes coming towards me.

“Thank Kynareth you are alive, I was almost certain the smoke had taken you.” I tried to speak but my mouth was dry and my throat was not allowing me to make any noises other than choking.

“The Jarl wishes to see you once you are recovered, please give yourself some time before you move.”

The Jarl? What could he need with me? Was this Whiterun the city that my father always told me about? I tried again to stand but my chest still didn’t let me. I decided that the best thing for me to do was rest, so I closed my eyes again and hoped that I could make a recovery.

A few days later I was back on my feet and could talk again. I spent a lot of time in the Temple of Kynareth and began to get to know some of the other people in here, as well as the priest. I saw someone that also had rockjoint and was reminded of my mother who must be elsewhere in the city right now. I couldn’t wait to see them again and hoped that they would visit me soon. The priest treated me often and occasionally brought me a sweetroll.

Today was the day that I was meeting the Jarl. I was only 12 so meeting the Jarl was a scary thought. I was sat eating at the temple table one day when day the Jarl’s personal housecarl came to visit me and take me to the Jarl. She was a strange shade of green and I was going to ask if she was ill. I didn’t say anything as I walked up the staircase to the castle and saw the great doors looming ahead. Behind those doors was the most important man in Whiterun and he wanted to speak to me.

When I walked in I was taken aback by how nice this building was compared to my small hut down near the western watchtower.

“How are you feeling my boy?” I was so focused on thoughts of home I didn’t realise I was stood in front of the Jarl. My voice was shaking.

“I... I’m feeling okay Sir.” I had never seen the Jarl up close before, he had fire in his eyes but also had a kindness about him.

“I want you to come with me my boy.” I followed him through Whiterun and still couldn’t see my mother and father. But I decided they must be staying outside of the city. As I left the city gates I passed a small group of furry men, I decided to stay close to the Jarl while passing. My father had told me about the furry men I think they were called Khats I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t wait to tell him when I saw him. As we walked down the path I saw my house in the distance, I went silent as I realised that my house had been burnt to the ground. I could still see some of the wood glowing red. We passed the stables and some of the farms that my father traded at. The farmers looked at me but didn’t say a word.

As we passed the Whiterun guard tower I saw the true damage of my house. Everything was burnt in there. The beds were gone along with all of my toys and clothes. I began to try and enter the house but the guards held me from entering.

“Where are my parents?” I saw the Jarl and one of the guards exchange looks.

“I’m sorry but by the time we had time to respond the men were gone and your family were left inside…” The guard began to explain but the Jarl interrupted him.

“There’s nothing they could do.” He explained. I began to shake. The realisation of what had happened was coming. My mother whom shared the same eyes as me was but a burnt mess on the floor. My father who always put his family first. Who first taught me how to use a bow and make arrows out of wood and flint was gone.

“Under normal circumstances we would usually send you to Honorhall in Riften.” I had almost forgot that the Jarl was there.

"However, due to your fathers, let’s just say, connections you are going to a small group in Falkreath."

My name is Felix Olgeirsson and this is my story.

I grew up in a small hut not too far from Whiterun near a watchtower. I always looked at that city as a young Nord and dreamed of working up there with my own goods store. My family were survivors, most nights we ate what small amount of crops we could grow and occasionally if we were lucky we had a deer. The deer could feed us for the week and we could use the pelt and sinew as a means of creating clothing. My father would sell what we didn’t eat and use at the Whiterun markets. It was a hard life but we survived.

I remember once while I was out looking for food I saw a small group of men and women walking down a path just north of our hut. They were pointing at our house but they carried on walking so I didn’t think about it. I came home that night with a rabbit and some mountain flowers, I decided to make a small bouquet for my mother who was still in bed with Rockjoint after a nasty bite from a wolf out in the wild. She mustered up a smile as I handed her the beautiful purple bouquet and whispered thankyou. I was too young to realise she was dying.

After I helped my father prepare the rabbit, we decided to cook it with the mountain flowers and some left over leeks that we bought from the farm not too far away, it was not a bad stew at all. I spoon fed my mum some of the stew and rubbed some of the fat on her dry and cracked lips, she smiled at me and told me how proud she was of me. That was the last night I ever spoke to her and the last night I ever smiled.

I had trouble getting to sleep that night, I kept hearing the wind blowing through a small crack in the wall and the sounds of the wolves outside seemed to be louder than ever. I heard a couple of steps outside and assumed that a deer had got to brave and came over to the hut. Then I heard a small whisper.

“They’re asleep I think.” It was barely audible but it sounded close. I was filled with fear and decided to go over to my mother and father’s bed and try and wake them. My mother was in a deep sleep but my father woke up straight away.

“I can hear them too, be quiet now it’s okay. Go and get in the cellar it will be fine.” My father reassured me enough and I crept over to the small trap-door and climbed down. I heard a dragging sound, it sounded like my father was putting something over the door. Then I heard the door smash open and what sounded like a group of men, I heard the sound of steel above me. It seemed to go on forever and when it finally stopped I prayed to the Divines that it was all over. Then I heard the flames. I began to choke on the dense smoke that was filling my lungs. I knew there was a small tunnel leading back up behind the house so I worked my way through it. Once I had finally reached the exit the exhaustion finally caught up with me and I fell to the ground.

Where it all began

This story is related to my last in that it also tells of a trip to Whiterun. I had been back a few times since that first visit, more Guild jobs that went without a hitch. This visit was much more eventful.

After a few weeks of doing fairly simple jobs in various cities, Delvin said he had a "special job" for me in Whiterun. I'm thinking special=more reward, so of course I'm in. He says I need to speak to one of those pompous Battle-Borns in Whiterun, he'd give me the details. Whatever, I can play nice with some rich windbag if it gets me to a nice payday.

Once again I just walked right through the city gates without issue, same as always since that bogus story I gave about the "dragon". Ha, still cracks me up. I find this Olfrid jerkoff and he lays out the job. Change a name in some registry and steal a letter. "Special"? This looks like just another random job like what I'd been getting before. Well, turns out this registry and letter are deep within the hold's seat of power and the jarl's personal residence, a place I had intentionally gone nowhere near before. Ok, this is looking interesting now.

My entry was smooth as glass, I snuck right in the front door, spotted stairs leading up and assumedly to where I needed to go, and headed straight for them. I saw some dark-skinned female spot me and head my way, so I popped an invisibility potion and kept going. I could hear her following me up the stairs. Damn, how did she know where I went? I get upstairs, spot a deserted balcony overlooking the main room, and head for it. I tuck into a dark corner, and I hear her coming, so I pop another invisibility potion just to be safe. I have no idea how, but she runs right up to me and asks what I'm doing there. Seriously, how is this chick finding me?

I remember that first day at the gate, and use the same lame story. "I have news about the dragon attack!" This gets her attention, and she takes me right to the jarl. I feed him some nonsensical story about dragons, and he not only thanks me but gives a nice piece of armor! These people! Why do they freak out so easily about some creatures that have been extinct for 100 years?

Then he drags me over to talk to his wizard. Man I hate mages because of my first encounter with one, but I play it cool. He wants me to go find some stone in some crypt. Yeah sure, I'll get right on that smoothie.

Finally they all leave me alone, and I can get to work. I smoothly sneak back upstairs, no issues this time. Security was surprisingly lax in the jarl's private quarters, only two guards that were easily avoided. I change the registry, grab the letter, done and done. I sneak back downstairs and out the front door, heading to the city gate. I see that dark-skinned elf by the front gate gathering guards to go fight this imaginary dragon. I slip by and go out the gate. Good luck finding that dragon, dupes. Maybe Father Saturalia will be riding him.

The beginning

This story will mark a deviation from previous ones, in that they were roughly chronological. At this point I figured my origins, or at least the ones I remember, have been set. From this point I will just pass along my tales as I remember them, in no particular order. Don't worry dear reader, I will still do my best to entertain.

This is the story of my first visit to Whiterun. I had never been there before, and I was given a job by the Thieves Guild that required me to go. I figured what the hell, new things to see, new people to rob, sounds good.

It was around 3am when I got to the gate, which was manned by a single guard. The gate was locked, and the guard would only respond with the same few nonsensical lines over and over. Obviously he was the result of a mule kick to the head or a long line of inbreeding. No wonder he was given this rotten shift. He probably only has the job because he's a member of one of the powerful families around here. I decided to go back to that little tavern by where the carriage dropped me off and wait there until daylight. Hopefully someone a little more helpful will be on duty then.

After enjoying a few hours of drinks and the company of women with low morals, I headed back to the gate. Before I could even get to it though, one of the two guards ran up and stopped me. He said the city was closed because of dragon reports. Does this mean people were actually listening to that crazy old lady in Riverwood shouting about a dragon? Damn these superstitious hicks are gullible! After some quick thinking, I told the guard I had some important news about said dragon. He told me to go right in, the Jarl will want to hear about this. Sure, I'll head straight there, sucker.

Man, this place is going to be easy pickings.

A Khajiit Story 05

A Khajiit Story 01

A Khajiit Story 02

Brynjolf and I got off to an unusual start. His very first words to me? "Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you're carrying. Eh, lad?" The balls on this guy! Sure, even if you put the racism aside, I still come across as a shady guy, but seriously? That's like meeting a guy with a huge nose the first time and starting off with, "Sweet Talos, that's a huge nose you have there!" It's just rude. On the plus side though, I didn't have to do the usual "Can I call you Furry?" "Only if you want it to be your last word ever" exchange, so I let it slide.

The job he proposed seemed fairly simple, just pick the lock on this strongbox, take the ring out of it, and plant it on some rube. Honestly (ha, that doesn't happen often), I was a little nervous as at the time I knew I had some skill at these things but wasn't completely confident yet. He said he would cause a distraction though, so I figured I would give it a shot.

He started speaking loudly to the crowd about some great discovery or something, and I went into action. It seemed every eye in the place was on him, so I crouched down and went for the lockbox. It took a few seconds, and I was in. So far, so good. I grabbed the ring, closed the box, and quickly circled around looking for the mark. Luckily, he was sitting between two stacks of crates right next to an empty booth. A perfect hiding place to make the plant. I slipped in, made the drop, done.

When I spoke to Brynjolf after the job, he seemed genuinely surprised it went so smooth. I guess these guys are having a hard time finding good talent. He asks me to meet him is some tavern below Riften. Turns out this place was located in a grade-A shithole. I had to kill about half a dozen people just to get to it. I was starting to have some doubts. I may be a first-class dirtbag, but that doesn't mean I want to hang out with a group of other first-class dirtbags.

I get to the tavern, and it's not really any better than the cesspool that surrounds it, but least no one here tries to kill me on sight. As I approach I hear Brynjolf telling the others how well I did on the job, really talking me up. Ok, I guess I forgive him for those first comments for real now. He sees me approach, and tells me how glad he is I made it there. This guy is laying it on thick now, I'm thinking he really wants me either on his team or in his bed. Damn, I may have to kill this guy after all. He gave me another job, collecting some debts. Apparently the money is secondary, he wants to send a message. Oh, I'm good at messages.

"But don't kill them!"

"Ok, you lost me."

"Just rough them up, don't kill them."

I had never considered fighting without the purpose of killing, but hell, I figured I'd give it a try.

The job was fairly uneventful, but still definitely a new experience. Leaving my trusty blades in their scabbards and just letting my claws do the talking was pretty fun, and surprisingly effective. Even to this day when I want a little more challenge or just to draw the process out, I use that method instead since by this point my targets rarely even see my blades before falling to them. Quick and silent for business, long and painful for enjoyment.

After returning to Brynjolf (I considered calling him Bryn, but he never once used the name Furry, so I didn't), he once again laid the praise on thick, and gave me some gold and three potions that might come in handy later. So it seems he actually is only interested in my skills and not my furry tail, so I guess I'll stick around a while and see where this goes.

A Khajiit Story 04

A Khajiit Story 01

Those first days were hard. While it seemed I had a natural gift of sneaking and excellent night vision, I was still rather weak and unskilled from what I assume was a long incarceration. The first people I met on my "birthday" aside from the old man who informally christened me was a group of mages at an old fort. There was a dead man outside the fort who I later learned was a Stormcloak soldier based on the equipment he had that I quickly claimed.

Just as I was inventorying my latest find, I hear, "That's close enough!" I looked around but didn't see anyone, but instinctively crouched and drew my weapons. I carefully went through the arch leading to the courtyard, and I spot her. "Never should have come here!", and before I could reply I was wracked with pain as lightning jumped from her hands and surrounded me. Luckily I was still in the archway and could quickly retreat as a second shot would have surely killed me. Don't you worry, bitch. It may be a week, a month, or a year, but I'll be back and we'll try this again.

Slowly I was finding old skills coming back as I honed them on the local wildlife. I quickly learned to make use of my stealth abilities, and to always have an escape plan should things get overwhelming. A lone wolf or pair were perfect practice, while larger packs often had me resorting to quick retreats. Luckily they didn't usually chase me for long. I also quickly learned to avoid the bears in those early days. Eventually I started "interacting" with bandits I came across. They were easy for the most part but occasionally I would find ones I just couldn't take down, especially the ones they called "chief". I would just add them to my to-do list for later and move on.

I did eventually make it back to that fort I found that first day. All of them died quickly to cut throats or arrows from nowhere. Except that one bitch. She died slowly. Very slowly. And very unpleasantly. Apparently another of my characteristics is holding grudges and keeping them red hot until served.

As my fighting, hiding, and pickpocketing skills improved I started venturing into the settlements and eventually the larger cities. I was quickly ejected from the frozen city of Windhelm on my first visit, and learned I had to try to keep myself hidden at all times when there. Actually, pissing off those asshole guards is the only reason I still go there, I hate the cold. It's a cat stereotype because it's true. Anyway, it was there that I discovered that finding a recess to hide in made it quite easy to relieve pockets of their burdens as they went by. Ideally near a city exit in case I got caught. Those damn guards have no sense of humor about such things.

It was in the far eastern city of Riften that my new life had it's first significant change. Approaching the gate for the first time, I was told by a guard I had to pay a tax to enter! I couldn't believe it! I immediately called him out for trying to shake me down, and he said, "Keep it down, I'll open the gate." Hmph, and they say us Khajiit are criminals! Anyway, right after entering the city this guy grabs me, almost getting a blade in the gut for it, and says he doesn't know me. Well no shit, it's my first time here, smoothie. He says he's the guy to go to for dirt. I tell him dirt and I have a close relationship already, which he seemed to like. He tells me I should talk to this Brynjolf guy, he might have some work for me.

Thus began the first great adventure of my new life.

A Khajiit Story 03

People always ask where you're from. Usually they mean where were you born. In my case, I was born in a jail cell, and I was born fully grown. I'm sure there's more before that, I just don't remember it at all.

My first memory is awakening in a cell to water rushing in. My head was pounding, and touching it revealed I was bleeding quite profusely from it. The water level was rising, and I was more concerned about my imminent death by drowning in a locked cage than my complete lack of any memory.

In desperation I went to the cage door to try and force it, only to discover that while closed it had not been relocked. There were stairs immediately ahead, and at the top I found a skeleton and a desk. A few gold, and a woodcutter's axe to serve as a meager weapon. Further searching in the now-abandoned prison netted me some armor and better weaponry, as well as some much-needed food.

Along the way I discovered two notes which revealed what had just happened. Apparently the guards were ordered to abandon the prison and let all of us prisoners drown. I guess the guard who cracked my skull in my sleep thought he was doing me a favor.

Eventually I reached the top level which led to the exit. I was blinded when I stepped out - damn it was dark in there! Directly in front of me was a cliff dropoff, so I turned right and found some poor soul who had been crushed in his little shack by a large falling tree. I found great benefit in his misfortune though, as I found even more armor and supplies on his person and around his small home.

Continuing on up the hill, I saw a road. As I had no idea where I was or who anyone was, including me, I figured I should stick to the woods keeping the road in sight for guidance. Along the way an elderly traveler noticed me skulking in the woods. He called out, "Ho, furunculus!" I liked the sound of it, and decided that until I discovered my real name, I would use Furunculus.

It wasn't until many moons later I would discover that this was an ancient word for "sneak thief", and the old man was teasing me for sneaking along just off the road, like I was waiting for someone to come along to rob. Apparently in another language it means "boil", as in those gross growths humans sometimes get on their skin. There are those that would consider that an appropriate description for me as well. Mostly people thought it was a funny name for a Khajiit and tended to call me Furry. They only did it once.

I have been on many adventures since then, seen many places and done great things. Perhaps I will continue this journal some day.

A Khajiit Story 02

5 of second seed. 4E, 202

The next morning when Ragnar left the inn the snow had stopped falling and the air was crisp with the recent frost. Ragnar consulted the rough map he had obtained off the innkeeper, he estimated he should arrive in the village of Helgan around noon, if he could keep a decent pace going. After a quick swig from a flask containing fiery Hammerfell brandy Ragnar set off at a brisk jog.

As he descended from the mountains the snow grew less until tufts of sparse grass poked up in to the morning air. Ragnar stopped suddenly, he was sure he heard a strange noise. His warrior instincts took control and he drew the two war axes from their belt loops. Something was nearby, something very dangerous, something that Ragnar had never encountered before.

There was a loud roar overhead.

Ragnar dropped to one knee, thankful for the sparse trees providing cover from whatever was above him. The roar sounded again, only this time further away.

Staying low Ragnar continued his run, axes held wide ready for any confrontation. He could now hear the roar rolling back and forth across the valley. With the sound there came the smell of burning wood and flesh. As Ragnar approached the tree line he slowed his pace allowing his breathing to return to normal. Ahead he could see the town of Helgan. Smoke billowed from most of the town and there was the sound of people screaming and crying in pain. The sky darkened momentarily. Ragnar looked to the sky and his very breath was stolen from his lungs. It was a Dragon. A mythical beast from the legends. Fire spewed from its teeth filled maw as it passed over the village again. The monsters leathery wings beat lazily, somehow keeping the huge beast in the air. After another pass the Dragon circled over the burning remains of Helgan and then it flew away. Ragnar was vaguely aware of a cold sweat forming on his back. This was the first time in many years he had actually felt a fear of something.

There was no point heading in to Helgan now, there was nothing left but destruction and death.

After checking the map again Ragnar decided to head towards Riverwood, a small village slightly to the North of Helgan. He needed supplies and information before heading over to Riften.

Ragnar was heading further down the valley towards a river that would, according to the map lead him to Rorikstead, when he heard voices ahead of him. Silently he dropped to a crouch and inched forward. Just below the outcrop of rock he was on was a cave, from which two figures had just emerged. One was obviously an Imperial soldier by the uniform, the other was dishevelled and wore a mismatched set of Imperial and Stormcloak armour. After a short conversation they split up and went on their way, both heading towards the river. Ragnar didn’t know who they were but the less involvement he had with the Imperials the better. If he headed straight down towards the river from here he estimated that he could arrive at Riverwood before either of the other travellers and be on his way towards Riften before dark.

Edited due to topographical error..

[part VII] (http://www.reddit.com/r/TheSkyrimDiaries/comments/2bfg6i/notes_of_a_necromancer_tales_of_gods_and_blood/)

Date unknown

The portal opened and closed in a heart beat and i fell face first into the ice.

I am not too used to interdimensional travel so the first few seconds after i arrived my whole body was in pain, like my muscles were being ripped apart as if someone was making a delicious pulled necromancer sandwich for dinner and leaving my bones stripped clean. I could feel my eyes moving frantically, like trying to follow an extremely fast object that was spinning all over Skyrim's horizon. I don't know if it was the pain or the dizziness, but i puked my guts out.

After a few minutes of this my senses finally started settling down and the pain slowly became a mild annoyance.

"No sludge on the grown... No fire in the sky... The breeze is still cold, but not as much. I am not in Coldharbor anymore...

I took a deep breath.

For an emigrant like me, that lived in Cyrodiil for decades, the fresh breeze of northern Skyrim always made me feel safe. Even minutes after escaping one of the worst, most horrific places that shine on the grey maybe, Molag's realm... The fresh breeze soothed me and brought joy to my burned out lungs.

Finally i was able to focus and stand up. I noticed some of the ice was starting to melt.

"Summer must be close. How much time has passed since i left? I remember that when i left the first winter snow was about to fall. The year was 202. The time i spent in coldharbor felt like years, but much less could had gone by in Nirn. For Valiria's sake i hope not too much has past."

Finally i started recognizing the surroundings, the road that met my nose when the portal spit me out would take me to the mage college.

"If i get to it maybe Enthir can shed some light on what happened after i was kidnapped. Where is Valiria? Did the vampires take her? She must be alive, since she wasn't among the many members of the Gaveos family i met in Molag's domain."

I took off my green hood and shook the snow off from it. As i putted it on again the sun bounced off of my ancient nordic armor and my axe. Its rays were bright yellow comming in, but had a slight tint of red as they left the metal. All thanks to the large amount of daedric blood used to harden it.

"By Talos!" I screamed in horror when i remembered it "Can't believe that after all this trouble... It can't be!" I screamed again as i look into every pocket it my hood like a maniac. Soon all the treasures that kept me going for this long started to spring out of every crevice of the green hood. "The black soul gem, a daedra's heart, ok... The vampire eye... Check. An empty spell book, check, check, check. Where the fuck is it!" I was running out of pockets! "DAMN YOU STONE!!!" Right when i was going to lose my mind... I felt it and got it out into the light... "The sigil stone..." I whispered wanting to yell.

I took a look around to make sure no one had seen me and quickly hid it from sight.

"To the college!"

I started the trip that would lead me to Enthir.

I was adapting this story to be a stand alone away from the Skyrim world then decided to write a re worked version to fit in with Skyrim as well.

4 of second seed. 4E, 202

The wagon jolted Ragnar awake. As he opened his eyes the recollection of how he had ended up as a prisoner of the Imperial soldiers came back to him.

He was in the region of 22 winters old. He wasn’t sure exactly, he only had the information that had been told him at the orphanage in Riften to estimate his age.

According to that story he had been found in the woods a few leagues from Riften as a babe. There had been no trace of his parents found anywhere near the location that the patrolling Stormcloak troops had discovered the small child. It was they who named him Ragnar after the Hero Ragnar the Red and took him to the Riften orphanage.

Ragnar had grown up as a rebellious child, he had hated Grelod the Kind who ran it and was constantly punished for his unruly attitude. The only enjoyment he ever remembered from those days was the occasions that he managed to escape to the Riften Guardhouse where the Stormcloak who had found him in the woods, taught him how to use a War axe and a bow. It was on one of these occasions that he had managed to sneak an old iron dagger out of the guardhouse and back in to the orphanage. Unfortunately when Gerlod found it she had threatened to hand him over to the Jarl to be hanged as a thief. Fearing the worst, the young Ragnar had run off in to the night. He had stumbled upon a group of Hammerfell warriors were escorts for a caravan that was travelling back to their native land. They had agreed to take the young boy with them in exchange for him tending their camp and horses.

Seventeen winters later Ragnar had grown in to a tall well-muscled warrior, he had expanded his knowledge of combat with the guards and then signed on with a mercenary group who had fought all over Tamriel. He had earned the name of Ragnar Two Hands because of his two handed fighting style, many considered him to be lethal with either the Hammerfell Scimitars or his favoured War Axes.

Word came to him of the death of the Stromcloak sergeant that had been his original teacher and the closest thing to a farther Ragnar remembered. It had been at the hands of Imperial troops in the early days of the growing Rebellion.

As Ragnar drifted back to reality the incessant chatting of one of the passengers made him immediately wish he was still asleep. Nugias the Green was the passenger who was torturing the other occupants of the wagon. He was a Bard and wandering minstrel and if half of his stories were to be believed a warrior of great repute. Ragnar had never heard of him though that wasn’t surprising as he had spent most of his life far in the south on the outer edges of Hammerfell. With great difficulty Ragnar shut out the dabbling voice and drifted back to sleep. After what seemed like seconds the wagon jolted Ragnar awake again. There seemed to be a commotion going on outside the wagon. Slowly Ragnar opened his eyes to see a man armed with a crossbow.

“Wakey wakey sleepy head.” The man shouted to Ragnar. “Out of the wagon now.”

Slowly Ragnar climbed out of the rear of the wagon. The other passengers were gathered in a small group while two other men with crossbows covered them. Snow crunched under Ragnar’s feet as he moved away from the wagon, he pulled the old cloak around him, more to conceal his weapons and armour than to ward off the bitter wind sweeping over the mountains.

One of the armed bandits ordered the passengers to hand over their valuables

“You had better put those weapons down, this is Nugias the Green the famous Bard Warrior.” One of the women warned.

The bandit that had instructed Ragnar turned to Nugias. “You are Nugias the Green? The Bard Warrior who single handed defeated the Bandits of Hanging Rock?”

Nugias licked his lips nervously and answered positively.

The bandit snapped his crossbow up and fired. The bolt struck Nugias square in the chest throwing him back in to a snow drift.

The woman that had spoken started screaming.

Time slowed for Ragnar. He shrugged his cloak of as he drew his two War Axes. Flame Touch, the axe in his left hand snapped out opening the throat of the bandit who had killed Nugias. The remaining two bandits were turning to face Ragnar as he rapidly closed the distance between them. Soul Taker, the right hand axe snapped out to remove the head off the closest bandit. The remaining bandit aimed his crossbow at Ragnar and fired off the bolt. Ragnar dropped to his knees as Flame Touch left his hand. The bandit’s bolt flew harmlessly over Ragnar’s head while Flame Touch buried it’s self in the bandit’s face.

Time returned to its normal pace.

Ragnar stood up and retrieved the axe he had thrown then cleaned the blood off the blades. His fellow passengers stood in shocked silence. With practiced efficiency Ragnar searched the bandits for any valuables or useful items. When he had finished Ragnar dragged the bodies off the road to the side of the mountain pass. The three women passengers cowered away from Ragnar as he inspected the bodies of Nugias and the two teamsters that had been driving the wagon, they were all dead. One by one Ragnar loaded them in to the rear of the wagon then finally approached the women.

“You may want to get back in the wagon.” Ragnar told them. “It will be dark soon and it looks like snow again.”

“We can’t get in there with those dead bodies.” The older woman that had spoken to the bandits replied.

Ragnar shrugged. “I am driving this wagon to the next inn, you can either get in, walk or stay here. I care not.”

There was some complaining from the women as Ragnar made his way to the driver’s seat but they all got inside the wagon.

By the time Ragnar spotted the lights of the roadside inn the snow was falling fairly hard. The blanket Ragnar had used to try and keep the worst of the cold out was coated in a layer of snow. Ragnar slowly eased the wagon in to the yard of the inn, as two hostellers ran out to take care of the horses.

Someone helped the women down from the wagon as Ragnar pushed past the gathered crowd and in to the warmth of the taproom. Choosing a table near to the roaring fire Ragnar shed his cloak and sat down feeling warm for the first time since leaving the ambush site. By now the word had gone around the inn about the bandits and Ragnar’s actions in the pass. The Innkeeper timidly approached Ragnar.

“My Good Sir, please have anything you want on the house. My daughter was on that wagon and I want to thank you for keeping her safe.”

Ragnar nodded his thanks “Do you have a room and some warm food?”

“Yes Sir we have a fine beef stew and a kettle of mulled wine and you can have our finest room.” The Innkeeper informed him before showing Ragnar to a pleasant guest room off the main taproom.

As Ragnar waited for his food he stripped his chain mail armour off and unfastened the belt that held his axes. Ragnar then removed a small bag from his pack, taking out a small oil bottle and a cloth he proceeded to wipe down his fine black chain mail and weapons. In the midst of his work Ragnar heard the door open. He half turned and saw the youngest woman from the wagon in the doorway holding a tray.

“My father said to bring this through for you Sir. And I thank you for saving me from the bandits on the pass.” Nervously she set the tray down on the table trying not to make it obvious she was looking at Ragnar’s bare upper body. As she placed the tray her hand brushed the handle of Ragnar’s axe Flame Touch, immediately the blade glowed red with runes of power. Ragnar quickly snatched her hand away from the enchanted weapon.

“Careful girl you can easily get burned touching things you shouldn’t.” Ragnar warned her.

The girl looked up in to Ragnar’s face and her gaze was met by eyes that were as blue as the northern ice and just as cold. Her hopes of wooing the warrior were quickly dashed at the total lack of emotion in his visage.

(Edited due to error. edited again to input date and keep eternal happy ;-) )

[M] A drawing of Aenar and Mabrel can be found here: http://herculeska.deviantart.com/art/Aenar-and-Mabrel-531551740 (Please don't ignore warnings before my other pieces if you decide to view them)

"Just stay for ooooone more moment, please"

"Aenar... I'm getting hungry" Pouted a mature, womanly voice, in a rather childish tone.

"You already had some horker meat"

"Yeah but that was like... an hour ago!"

"Fine..." He drew the last line of paint onto the canvas. Then turned it around to reveal the finished piece to her.

"Wow..." She was astonished. A beautiful painting that captured her buxom and chubby figure almost as if she saw herself from his eyes. Even the small lights bouncing off her steel armor, lightening up her already happy figure. The rays of the sun making her dark brown hair almost glow, as it rode down her back, to her waist. Her trusty Iron greatsword resting beside her and a great big smile topped off the picture perfectly. "Can I eat now?"

"Alright, alright... Dar'nir said he'll be at the river. I wonder what he brought..." Aenar, our great artist said. He was everything a nord... DIDN'T want to be... Short, weak, and unable to learn any type of combat. But he was fine with that... well he liked telling himself he's fine with it. In reality he always hated it; it made him cynical and an all around grumpy individual. It was rare to see him in this almost happy mood. It never really came out until a couple of weeks ago when he started to get used to Mabrel.

Mabrel was 'their employer' which was technically correct, but she herself just viewed it as giving money to people who are nice to her and are helping her out. Mabrel was NOTHING like anyone else in the whole of Tamriel. Cheerful, happy, childish and saw the beauty in everything. And often her childish behaviour angered and bothered him, but her ability to see the most beautiful creature in the most common butterfly helped open Aenar's eyes to the world around him. As an artist he didn't have much respect in the land of warriors, and often found himself unable to get motivated because of it... 'Because artist don't matter / He'd even be more use as a thief'. That's why she helped him so much, to see beauty again; and slowly became his muse.

Aenar stood up and started packing his belongings. After a short walk they arrived near a small river, and a tiny shack resting next to it. They could already see the clouds of smoke ascending over the pine trees, suggesting Dar'nir was hard at work. You see, Dar'nir may be addicted to fish to the point where he can't even control himself sometimes, but that doesn't mean he didn't get anything good in return. His love for fish made him cook and experiment. The Gourmet himself would kill for some of his recipes with salmon. How he could combine the best spices in the perfect mixes, how he could cook salmon steak crisp, yet not dry, how he could cook the hardest mudcrab legs as soft as bread... Mabrel's mouth already watered from the tought of the last meal she had from him.

"Dar'nir's glad you've arrived in time" Said the familiar, smug voice as he leaned against the doorframe of the small shack.

"We wouldn't want to miss out on your fresh-"

"When is it ready?!" Mabrel rudely cut trough Aenar's sentence; barely able to control herself from bursting into the hovel that smelled of spicy salmon.

"It'll be on the table in a moment" Dar'nir answered quite cheerfully. He loved cooking, and having someone with the appetite of an oversized dragon, who pays him to do so meant he got to enjoy his hobby often.

They joyfully sat down at the small table out front as Dar'nir brought forth the plates of food. Mabrel of course starting to wolf it down immediately. The area was almost picturesque. Sunrays shining trough the evergreens giving the area a golden shine, a quite flowing of the river nearby, the birds and critters creating a small orchestra... that Mabrel joined with her guttural sounds as she tore trough the food.

"So where's Elanin?" Aenar asked, finishing his first piece of spiced cyrodilic spadetail.

"She's off making gold" He answered, half glancing at him, half happily seeing Mabrel enjoying his food.

"Why, doesn't Mabrel pay her?"

"I dwo" She confirmed with her stuffed mouth.

"Well... she didn't tell Dar'nir" But she actually did. She was under some serious dept and even the hundreds of gold Mabrel payed her weekly for being around to help out sometimes wasn't enough to cover it. She in reality never wanted to work for her, but it was her only choice, and is still her main way of income. Dar'nir tried to hide this from her. Mabrel tought they were friends, and she'd never leave her... But Dar'nir knew if she realised that she'd get depressed... a state he never wanted to see her in.

"And how come you never told us about this little hut?"

"I... bought it recently..." The corpse of the witch that lived here, now floating down the stream, would disagree with that.

They continued on chatting and eating as the sun started to descend. It was rare they got trough a day without figting, in these harsh lands. The few dozen plates of various fishes and side dishes were emptied... mostly thanks to Mabrel... and they were about to set up some bedrolls for the night when-

mmoaaaarrrgh... Mabrel's stomach growled loudly, letting itself known to the others

"Uh oh..."

No dragonborne stories please, the reasonhas been stated many times.

and a suggestion, if you are doing a new story, i recoment you create an alt account so the tag matches the story. for example, you used to writte about a dunmer assasin and now you writte about a nord warrior and change your tag acordingly, well now your dunmer stories have nord warrior tag, see the problem?

([M] The stories I'll post are going to be spin-offs of my series on DA. I hope you guys will enjoy them.)

"How did I end up here?" Asked an annoyed altmer, her voice screaming of snobness.

"This one asks that a lot, yes?" The khajit replied sarcastically at her repetitious question.

"It'd be better if I didn't have to stick around you, cat..."

"This place would already be on flames if Dar'nir let you in front." And there's the name. Dar'nir. A khajit not giving a helping hand on their stereotype... much more writing it on his forehead. Criminal, pickpocket, master of all the arts of thieving... the only thing missing would be the skooma addiction but... he makes up for that in some other way. The only thing respectable enough about him was his skill with a bow; able to shoot multible arrows at once. The dark leather clothes he wore let him sneak well in the shadows and covered his whole body.

The woman behind him was Elanin. Thalmor scum... The only reason she wasn't out on the field spying on nords was because of an... 'incicdent'. You see, Elanin has a small case of pyromania... That mixed with her mastery of destruction magic, and you get a deadly poison of doom. And as to why they were fighting trough a bandit invested ruin like brother and sister in arms?...Well that's a long story, but it involves hard times, a rich adventurer and a deal they couldn't deny. Her robes were the regular thalmor uniform but enchanted and slightly redesigned by herself to get a more powerful and specialized version. It let her cast flames with almost no effort and made her fire spells much more deadly.

They never knew each other, or even seen each other before striking the deal; and this was their first quest together. A small ruin with a few chambers and flooded with thugs. It seemed like a nice and easy way to get some coin, and to get away from their 'employer' for a while (The last part being more in the favour of Elanin).

It was going well, bandits were dropping like flies, Dar'nir was able to stay undetected in the shadows, and the tension between the two was at an all time low. They entered the last room, inside it a cozy fireplace and a big ol' nord dressed in steel sat next to it. His armor glew blue suggesting it was enchanted and his sword rested beside him. They were just about to ambush the chief with a backstab then a big fireball to the chest when...

"Furball, what in Oblivion are you doing?!" Elanin whispered angrily as Dar'nir started to walk towards the cooking spit the man was sitting at.

He didn't even answer, and with a drooling mouth continued towards the fire. Walking into the light immediately got him seen as the chief got up and readied his weapon. As he moved in with a large swing Dar'nir quickly jumped forward and dodged his attack. But... He didn't turn around and fight. He stood up as he was at the pot that he wanted to get to. As he opened it a recently cooked salmon was sitting inside it. Dar'nir quickly grabbed it and started chowing it down. His pupils grew huge like a little kitty cat as he happily sat there with the fish hanging in his mouth.

"Hah, this cat has the guts to run in here and eat my food? Oh, I'll show you!" The next downwards slash was going to cut off his tail like a warm knife trough butter. Thankfully, Elanin's mastery of fire spells proved to be useful once more as a quick fireball threw off his aim with the sword.

'I swear to the divines if this happens one more time...'

"Oh, looks like the lady can cast basic fire spells, ain't I impressed?" The chief turned his attention to her as Dar'nir prooved to be harmless at this moment.

She tried all her spells, from fire to frost, from runes to cloaks but his armor was too strong.

"Good thing the boys found me this here magic absorbing chestplate... Otherwise this fight wouldn't be as fun now, would it?"

Elanin was forced to retreat to using her elven dagger as a means to try and block anything she could while blasting him with more fire spells. It was useless, she was backed into the corner and-

"Agh-hurgh..." The bandit quickly moved his hands to check his back. As Dar'nir was done inhaling his salmon he snuck up behind him and shoved his glass sword clean trough him.

"This one's no kitten..." Dar'nir whispered and let go of him. The chief collapsed onto the ground and let out his last breath.

"You could have done that before..." Elanin complained.

"Hmm, yes...perhaps... But then I wouldn't have the pleasure of knowing you need Dar'nir's help" He finished with a cocky smirk

She grunted as she had to accept it was true "Shut your trap cat; take what you can and let's get out"

And with that the job was done, the place was cleared, and the loot... also cleared. Now all that was left was to report back to the jarl of Riften and get their well deserved reward.

I have finally come to the beautiful land of Skyrim. Beautiful now, but after I'm done, it will be a wasteland of burned trees and corpses.

People have many names for me.

Paraclete

Dagon

The Executioner

The Grim Reaper

Simply, I am Death.

And I have come to Skyrim

This civil war is what caught my interest early on. Whether it be the Stormclocks who win, or the Imperials, it matters not, for there will be casualties on both sides. Skyrim has grown far too complacent under the care of my Angels of Death. They are far too lenient, which is why I must step in, and finish the job.

I must also take care of this creature who calls himself Alduin. Others know him as the World Eater. For even he must bow to the unlimited power of the Reaper. And if he does not bow, he shall be slain.

There are also those who must be punished. Particularly, the Dark Brotherhood. They seek targets out, taking lives before there time is up. They do not control when and how a person dies. That is for me to decide, and no one else. There organization must be destroyed, and people will know who holds the true power of life and death.

It will take time getting use to this weak, mortal body I have chosen. My identity must be kept a secret from others. But soon enough, everybody will know who I truly am. But by the time they realize it, it will be far too late.

For I am Death.

And I have personally arrived to Skyrim.

Just came across this sub. I use a mod to write in a journal as I play skyrim and I've thought about publishing it here if the sub is active enough.

The light of the low hanging sun sifts trough the leaves of trees. Two figures stand beside three graves decorated with purple symbols. Skyrim's breeze rolls trough the land as more outlines appear around them.

"Why Ri'na?" The two figures turned to each other

"This was an act all along Maq'ai...I worked with those slavers to fool you into finding us the cowl. We knew you wanted to erase yourself and that's exactly why we wanted you to escape. The slaves will be fought off and the revolution demolished. And the one who will be the hero to end it all will be me! With the cowl my slave past will be forgotten and will be the greatest spy against the revolution"

"You wretched demon you WERE MY SISTER Ri'na!" Ravens flew from the trees at the sound of shouting.It was clear one was struggling but he was tied, ...beaten and tired.

"We went to Morrowing to get coin into our pockets...but I could get more if you're not in the deal" A group of dark elves stopped with their carriage next to the pair of khajits. "So let's get it over with" She rode a blade right trough his heart. The same exact blade used to fake her own death...tough this time it wasn't for acting.

Maq'ai let out one last breath as the poison dipped dagger was pulled out of his chest. Ri'na then climbed up onto the carriage and they rode off heading to the west. The gray cowl hanging in her hands.

These lands were once full of heroes, but now they lay abandoned, unprotected. They sang stories of their quests but they were killed off in the end. Now Skyrim needs new heroes to protect it from the clutch of evil. So who will be our saviours now when they've put our heroes in the ground? We pray to the gods for their return and hope that one day the prayers will be answered.

The ravens flew above the carrige following them, keeping an eye on them. It was clear Nocturnal wasn't happy with the bearer of her artifact.But she couldn't do anything against it.Her powers were weakend in this land.

He laid there motionless eyes looking up to the sky.And beside him three graves...

Agata, Anja, Raahk

3rd of Hearthfire. - Tales and tallows

Formed above a cliff in the reach, the village of Meckotarq is home to a small amount of bretons lead by a nameless chief. This village wasn't built by a cliff by accident, as it has an ancient tradition code, which is of great importance to the people of Meckotarq and its success.

The village itself looks beautiful. With its ebony wood rooftops, wheat straw walls and imposing glacier, Meckotarq has a delightful atmosphere. The main attraction is the bonfire which was built 36 years ago and designed by shamans.

Meckotarq has a thriving economy, which is mainly supported by tailoring, fishing and leatherworking. But their biggest strengths are highly skilled at alchemy and skilled in the art of magic. However, Meckotarq lacks people skilled in wood production.

Despite its strengths and weaknesses, Meckotarq is most likely headed towards a macabre future due to no heir and the village slowly dying.

Aderaud despised Tradition as it was the main thing that even is bringing the village it's doom with none of them but him noticing.

As they decided to eventually acknowledge it although it was at the worst time. It was the thirth of Hearthfire the worst time for a non religious village to practice magic on.

The bonfire was bigger than usual and Aderaud watched from a distance and eventually he sat down and watched but... He could feel an ominous presence creeping inside the fire. Suddenly it bursted out and killed most of the dancers around the bonfire and fire atronaches came out and attacked, Aderaud hid as he saw a horryfying figuire emerging from it... it seems the daedra are powerfuller than he had thought. Although this one... was graced with a daedric lord and not one himself but a high cult leader. It would seem that the eradication of this village was most important but when the man saw the only breton he thought of the most sadistic and cruelest thing ever.

" Bring him here and only hurt a little. "

The fire atronache's grabbed the breton's hands and levitated him towards him and held the man unable to move.

" I'm gona steal his soul then force him to live inside a soulless body while keeping all of his knowledge intact so when he does get stronger il use him as a trophy. heh. "

A cruel thing Aderaud thought he felt already a blood chilling blow to him and still living but unable to move.

I watched him murder everybody and leaving me the last of my kind.

I rose up a few days later that was now raided by bandits i saw how almost all of my belongings were gone and i looked around seeing that i was being dragged by bandits to a stream of river. I moved and notified them i was alive which shocked them quite much.

As they dropped my body i looked around seeing that i have no other place to go i head back to my village.

Okay so get this, I'm just relaxing with my shield-brothers on the Companions' guild grounds and suddenly this intimidating daedra-looking mother fucker comes out of no where bearing fireballs in his hands. Fucking. Fireballs. At first glance, my instinct was to grab my weapon, but instead I try to make small talk and ask him "What do you want? I've got a lot of steel to shape." The nerve of this guy is incredible! He buys ALL, and I mean ALL of my iron ingots. He then full-out sprints up to my freshly-cleaned forge and starts crafting the shittiest daggers I've ever seen. Granted, they got better the more he made, but then get this. He forces me to buy all of them back! So I'm sitting here with my arms chock-full of petty scrap metal and I'm utterly pissed at this point. I walk my ancient ass all the way back up to my forge and commence smelting the daggers back down into ingots. The whole process takes about twenty-four hours and the man stands behind me the WHOLE time! I'm pretty sure he even stole miscellaneous goods I had on me! When my back-breaking work is finally done, he buys back all my ingots and makes MORE daggers on MY forge without MY permission. He then sells them all back to me...What. The. Fuck.

Fourth of last seed

I watched them from afar as I always did, bandits by the look of them. Hated bandits always have, then again isn't a mercenary a bandit? A hired bandit perhaps but thats in the past.

They walked in the woods around Falkreath for several hours muttering about the best ways to subdue the guards and villagers. I almost felt sorry for them, then again I don't care.

I waited for nightfall as always rather predictably they made their camp in a clearing not too far from the village. When the moon rose I made the change. I thought of all the injustice of the world all the innocent blood ever spilled. Rage was always the best trigger I felt every bone break, every muscle stretch, and of course the itch as my thick fur emerged from my skin. When it was done I let out a triumphant howl. I heard them draw swords " search the forest I don't want a wolf sneaking up on us." The leader spoke these words and his men obeyed. Fools I thought you only make this easier. There were five in total an orc: the leader Two elves: lieutenants by the look Two humans: grunts my guess.

As they spread out I climbed a tree to get a better view. One of the humans had an axe he soon made the mistake of walking beneath me. I dropped on him crushing him beneath my back feet. He didn't even scream, his partner one of the elves saw me before she could scream, I swatted her with my bare paw, she hit a tree with a wet smack.

I made my way around the far side of their camp on all fours, my speed unmatched by even a horse. When I came upon then I decided to have a little fun; using a tree as cover I returned to my human form. "Help me please I called I'm lost and cold." I called out into the dark. The two came running the elf spoke first "Who are you and why are you hear?" She said in a very harsh tone. She leveled her sword at my neck. Then her companion spoke "Maybe we should take him to the boss although he is naked?" I smiled inside it's working. "Ppplease it's freezing out here I was attacked by a wolf and he tore my clothes." I said almost sobbing.

The elf softened her dagger gaze "Alright we will take him back to camp but then he is your problem. " The human was silent but noded. "Thanks so much you are truly good people. " they both laughed at that. "If only you knew" she said. They both turned away, this time I smiled for real I made the change again. I spoke but my voice was deeper and rougher "IF ONLY YOU KNEW!!" The elf turned to me too late as I brought my claws across her body. Her armor cut to ribbons she fell to the ground. Her companion slashed at me with his sword, I nocked it away and pounced on him, ending his life with a bite to his jugular.

Last but not least the leader. He sat by the fire sharpening a great sword, I knew steel but this was silver. I realized my antics with local bandits may have caught some attention from that cult dedicated to hunting my kind. Oh well he would die like all the others. I stalked the forest looking for an opening, I knew a wound from a silver blade would heal as though I were mortal. Caution was key here, I doubt the naked traveler trick would work twice so I decided on plan b. I ran full speed at him, except I slashed at the ground rather than his throat. The dirt I kicked up doused his fire. He was blind now.

"Coward fighting in the dark, will you not face me in the light, monster!" I kept running around him, brushing him as I passed he swung wildly. I watched the panic sink in, it was a special kind of satisfaction I gained from this. Taking my hunter and reducing him to a sniveling child.

I was running short on time, the sun would rise soon. While I can maintain this form in daylight I would lose the darkness. I grabbed the nearest corpse and threw it at him. Rather predictably be swung at it, despite the sharpening the blade it was stuck fast. I knew this was my chance, I did the one thing he probably least expected. I walked behind him and kicked him. My legs are quite powerful, the blow left several neat puncture marks in his plate mail. He landed with a nice thunk against a tree. His body wedged at a rather uncomfortable angle.

I turned back and walked over to him. "You think you've won?" He sputtered blood pouring from his mouth, among many other places. "This battle yes" I replied. "There will be more......." His eyes became empty, as well as his bowels.

I stripped the camp of all valuables and burned everything else including the bodies, any bones left over I buried tastefully under the nearest tree.

When the sun rose I returned to my cabin nestled over looking the village. Where I slept the day away.

3rd entry here

To you, my reader, I apologize the gap between my last entry and this one. Thing is, it's hard to write with your hands tied behind your back.

The barbarians that plague these forests had seemingly had enough of, well, me not dying to their attacks. The knobheads must've finally realized a direct attack will only get them in a shallow grave, so they decided to change their approach.

The cowards snuck up in the darkest hour of the night, paralyzing me with some vile magick, tying me up and dragging me to their lair. I could see and hear things just as always, but I couldn't speak a word or move a muscle.

By mornin' the spell had lost it's power, but I was still in ropes. I heard the door to my cell creak open, and a man walked in.

He was a nord like me, and towered a full head over the rest of the barbarians. That means he was about even with me. He was clad in a full suit of steel plate, with a shield on his arm and a longsword at his side.

He removed his helmet, revealing his face to be little different from mine. His hair, black as the deepest reaches of oblivion, ran long and free. His beard was every bit as grizzled as my own. He locked his ice-blue eyes with mine, and I felt as if his gaze bored right into my soul. His face bore even more scars than mine, no doubt obtained in fierce battle.

"So," he spoke, his voice so cold it could freeze a flame atronach, "you're the one who refuses to die."

"Well," I replied, "I refuse to die by your hand."

He was visibly annoyed, his gaze becoming even more freezing.

"I admire your skill," he said, his voice just a little bit less cold, "you've taken down scores of my best warriors like they were lowly brigands."

"That's probably because they all were lowly brigands," I replied, throwing more fuel into the flames of his wrath.

"If you won't die to us, kill with us," he said, struggling to contain his rage, "swear allegiance to me and swear to fight beside us, and you shall be released."

"Throw in with bandit scum?" I had to confirm the nonsense I was hearing, "I'd sooner be a giant's training target!"

He leaned in, coming so close to my face I could feel his breath upon me. "So be it," he grunted, kicking me in the gut as a goodbye and walking out. The rest followed his lead and the last man out locked the door. I leaned against the wall in a sitting pose and fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next forty days and forty nights went the same way, with me getting a jug of water and a loaf of bread each day. The steel-plated man, apparently their acting war chief, tried to persuade me each day, and always beat me for refusing.

Then, one day, as the guard who brought me my food in the morning turned to leave, I heard a little clink. The dagger that'd been in a scabbard attached to the guards boot had fallen off due to the leather strips being poorly attached. The oaf never noticed anything.

Once he was out of sight I rolled around the floor a bit until I managed to grab the dagger and shear off my bindings. Then I heard the clanking of metal boots in the hallway. The chief was coming for his daily visit. I tucked my hands behind my back as if they were still bound.

"Are you ready to break, maggot?" he screamed inches from my face, "Or are you ready to bleed?"

I looked him in the eye, a devilish grin overtaking my face, coated with dried blood from several beatings.

"Are you?"

With that, I drove the dagger into his exposed throat with one swift movement. I twisted and turned the blade to ensure he wouldn't live to tell of it.

I drew his sword from it's sheath, examining it. The steel gleamed in the torchlight. The balance was perfect, as was the size and figure of the blade.

"Hmm. Nice sword." I muttered as the life fled from his cold eyes. I held the sword in my right hand and the dagger in my left.

One of the bandits came to investigate the commotion, and the sight of his dead chief froze him in a state of disbelief. I launched a swift horizontal strike, separating his head from his shoulders. Two more bandits, an orc and a redguard, came running from the end of the hall, while a third, a bosmer, readied his bow. Or to be specific, he was readying my bow.

The orc swung his battleaxe, and I just barely managed to sidestep his blow. I quickly and cleanly thrusted my blade through an opening between the helmet and shoulder plate of his armor, severing his jugular and thus quickly bleeding him out.

The redguard swung his sword and we locked blades, briefly looking one another in the eye. I spun around, swords still locked, and slit his throat with my dagger.

An arrow whizzed by my head, fired from my bow, and I started running for the shooter, knowing I'd have to close the distance quickly. He lined up another shot, and just as he released the string, I rapidly jumped to the left, causing his arrow to fall astray. He drew the bow and lined up again, about 25 feet between the two of us. He anticipated another jump to the left, so I jumped to the right. I had little trouble dispatching him in a melee, and I reclaimed my bow and liberated the bandits of their septims and potions.

I opened the door and walked out into skyrim. I felt a nip in the air, and my breath steamed in the cool air. Winter was coming.

I found a few familiar landmarks, and figured out my cabin was a straight shot west, and only half an hour's walk away.

As I walked into the yard I was devastated. The damned barbarians had razed my home to the ground.

As I walked upon the ashes of my home I felt something under my foot. My fathers knife. Not even the fire of the burning cabin could melt skyforge steel.

I'd lost my home and winter was fast on it's way. I was just about sunken into despair when I remembered my father speaking of an old hideout of his. He'd told me he had a little getaway in a cave at the foot of the cliff we'd sit on and watch mammoths when I was a boy.

I walked onto the cliff, carrying the few things I still owned with me. I looked at the landscape before me. There was a small lake in a little clearing with woods all around, and there were mammoths walking on the plains farther out.

If I ever scrape together enough to build a house, I thought to myself, it'll be on the shore of that there lake.

I looked down, seeing the cave at the foot of the cliff. There were fresh footprints at the entrance. Large footprints. I started the descent, preparing myself for whatever I'd face beneath.

[M]so yeah I told you guys I would start a new series but honestly I couldn't think of anything that made sense.So here I am trying to fix a story I screwed over so much it just hurts to look at.

{part twelve}

19th of Last Seed:noon

This can't be happening Agata found my diary and realised I'm being chased by half of Morrowind.I couldn't explain myself she ran off shouting "You're going to kill us all!".We tried to track her down but Raahk ordered us back as he had no interest in getting her back.Tough we tried to argue it was true.We didn't need her.

20th of Last Seed:afternoon

The nightmares are back tough now they're different.They still start with the hellish oblivion like landscape and the white tower in front beckoning me.

It's all the same until I get to the figure on the stage.Then my the dagger disappears.After that a shadow appears and stabs the man.It's weird after all this time I still don't understand what it means.Why do I have to live with this?

21st of Last Seed:morning

"Anja,Maq'ai to the hall now!"

For once I was happy for the ear shattering shouting of Raahk as it meant my horrible nightmare was cut short.

*"I found that bastard!"*He said in an angry but slow way.

*"Who exactly?"*Anja asked still scared of Raahk due to his state.

*"Harald Ember-Eye"*He growled at Anja.

*"He is hiding in the hills near Helgen.And you two will help me kill that born of a daedra!"*After so much time it seemed like Raahk was excited again.

*"Well then let's get that demon!"*I answered happy seeing Raahk snapping out of his mad state.