Note to readers, some things have been changed a little to
help the story progress a little better.
Part one. A cart ride best forgotten.
Fourth
Era, Year 201.
Sundas 17th Last seed.
My eyes opened to
the sight of a snow dusted dirt road, bordered with tall pine trees and rocky
crags, the snow glistening off the branches like the gleam in a young Kahjiit’s
eye. It took me a few moments to realise my situation, my arms, bitten by the
cold, were bound with some rough rope and vile, tatty rags had replaced my
usual garb. I was in a cart, alongside three stinky, sweaty men, all tarnished
with the fate of a prisoner. One of the men spoke, but his words fell on deaf
ears dear reader, as fortune had defiantly not smiled on me this particular
Sundas morn.
The cart trundled
down the road at a snails pace, as I started to get to grips with my
predicament I started listening more intently to the conversations going on
around me. A man, slightly less filthy than the others was talking
about rebellion, and one word he spoke resounded in my ears louder than sound
itself.
Skyrim
How I came to find myself
this far north in Tamriel still escapes me to this day, but fresh Country,
Fresh start, and seeming that I was restrained in a cart this particular start
was about as fresh as three week old mammoth milk. A jolt of the cart on a
stone brought me back to reality.
“Hey, you.” One of the shabbier looking prisoners exclaimed.
“We shouldn’t be here; this is between the Stormcloaks and
the Empire.”
He was cut short by a man in furs.
“We are all bound together today my friend. Thief or Stormcloak,
it seems we are all headed towards the same fate.” The Thief was a little
disgruntled by this, and vented his anger.
“Rot it, and Rot you.” Once again he was cut
short, this time by another man in furs.
“Watch your mouth, do
you realise who you are talking to. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, True high King of
Skyrim.”
“Ulfric stormcloak?!”
the thief exclaimed, “the leader of the rebellion, If they have captured you,
Gods know where they are taking us.” It was from this moment, that I knew my
fate was going to be worse than that of a lashing or a prison.
“I don’t know where
we are going” Ulfric breathed heavily, with the weight of a man defeated.” But Sovengard
awaits.” The conversation continued, but my mind was drifting to happier
places, to prepare myself for any fate.
We rolled into a
village about 10 minutes later; I did not notice much about it, apart from the
unmissable fact that it was heavily guarded by Imperial legionaries. Everything
was a blur, People were shouting, moving with urgency. We rolled into a square;
in the centre was a wooden block, and a masked man with an axe. Accompanying him
was a priest. We were going to be beheaded.
Let me give you a
little background of myself before I step off this planet and into the heavens.
As manners dictate I should probably start off with a name. Roderic Otius
Tirellius. But thanks to a particularly embarrassing incident with a horse,
some mead and a serious hangover, people call me Oats; well at least the folks
in my home town did. Anvil, what a beautiful town, the lighthouse, the castle,
the ponds, and most importantly my family. Renee, my wife, and son, Sid, named
after the hero from the oblivion crisis 200 years ago. I hope they live well
without me.
I’m sorry, I am
getting caught up with my emotions, and it’s hard to focus when you know your
going to die. My name is Roderic, People call me Oats, I am 27 years old, and
was born on the 16th of frostfall. I have lived in Anvil my entire
life, and spent years studying to be a merchant. Every summer I would visit my uncle’s
farm, south of Chorrol, and spend the evenings loosing arrows at trees, camping
and reading about the arcane. I finished my merchant training last year, and
set up home just outside anvil with my wife and son. I am Five foot Six, with
light brown hair and blue eyes, I have my hair tied back like the main character
from the Antius the Archer books. And have taken the habit of growing a goatee.
I think it looks quite fetching.
Not that it matters, Not that any of it matters. Not now
anyway.
