Chapter 1 -- Begin Anew
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Having escaped Cyrodiil, it took a couple of days to cross the mountains, thankful I had enough warm clothing to keep the worst of the cold at bay. Being a Nord, I was capable of withstanding cold naturally, but when the wind whipped up snow into my face, leaving me half blinded as I walked along, even my teeth would chatter as it cut straight through my coat.
The weather cleared as crested the mountain, and I had to stop and stare at the sight that unfolded before me. Skyrim. Home of the Nords. Did I weep at seeing my homeland? No. I'd never felt any major yearning to journey here. Cyrodiil had been my home since my birth. I'd grown up and was happy there. That didn't mean I was too upset to make a new home for myself in Skyrim. I just had to figure out where and how.
It took a few hours to descend the mountain, walking into a forested area, following the main road until I came to a junction. Looking left and right, the signpost suggested a town was only a couple of miles off to the right, by the name of Falkreath. A town or city meant an inn, food and drink, and a warm bed. So Falkreath it was.
I'll admit to being relieved that I still had my armour and weapons. I only wore light armour, mostly leather with steel plate in the important parts. My weapons were the best available, though. The Fighter's Guild didn't scrimp on armour and weapons, as without the best available, we'd have quickly run out of fighters.
Left feeling rather glad I was young and fit, having spent three days crossing the border, light was dimming as I approached the outskirts of Falkreath, and I realised things were very different in Skyrim to Cyrodiil. Walking up to the main gates, the pair of guards standing there looking rather board gave me a curious glance but said nothing as I passed by. There wasn't much to Falkreath on first appearance. At the end of the main road was what I guessed the be the lord's hall. There were a few shops lined either side of the road, including a blacksmith. But, most importantly, there was an inn, a sign suggesting it was named 'Dead Man's Drink'.
Walking inside, it was surprisingly empty except for a woman behind the bar and another sweeping the floor. She turned to me and smiled. "Shor's bones! A handsome man in Falkreath!"
"Um, thanks."
Walking towards the bar, the woman was wiping it down with a cloth, noticing my approach and smiling. "I'm Valga. Welcome to Dead Man's Drink. What can I get you?"
"An ale, please."
As she poured me a tankard, I took a seat on one of the stools, dumping my bag on the floor. "I hear a faint accent in your voice, yet you're clearly a Nord. Where are you from?"
"Just crossed in from Cyrodiil."
"Oh, whatever for?"
"Needed a change."
Placing a tankard in front of me, I handed over a couple coin and thanked her. "You've perhaps come at the wrong time, with the civil war and all."
"Civil war?" I couldn't hide the surprise. I didn't know a thing about it.
Valga just scoffed. "Of course it wouldn't be news in Cyrodiil. Ever heard of Ulfric Stormcloak?" I shook my head. "The White-Gold Concordat and the banning of Talos worship?"
"No to the first question. Vaguely the second question."
"Well, the only thing I can suggest is that you watch yourself when on the open road. The Empire and Stormcloak both patrol, and sometimes don't mind taking prisoners."
I took a room for the evening, dumping my bag on the single bed, and as the inn started to fill up for the evening, I found myself chatting with some of the locals. Most were either fellow Nords, but there were a few from Cyrodiil and even a Redguard, a woman by the name of Zaria who ran the local apothecary. As we chatted, I could feel an underlying tension between certain people, believing it was probably to do with the civil war. Some of the Nords were proud to tell me they backed the Stormcloak Rebellion, as it was called. I kept any opinion to myself, not that I had one, merely stating I'd just arrived and was wondering what to do. A local shopkeeper offered me a job, asking if I could head to the city of Riften for him to deliver a parcel. Smart enough to suggest payment was at the other end, I agreed, as it gave me something to do and a chance to earn coin.
I slept alone that night, not that I minded, and it allowed me to make an early start the next morning. After breakfast, I asked for some directions, Valga stating signposts would point the way, and that it should take me about a day to walk there. I bought a couple of things for lunch and set off.
The weather around Falkreath was rather gloomy, and it wasn't until I crested a large hill, another town off to my left, that I found myself walking in sunshine, though it still wasn't particularly warm. I passed a few merchants or fellow travellers, and most were polite enough to swap a cheerful 'Hello!'
Following the signposts to Falkreath, I learned the names of other towns apparently within Skyrim, including Whiterun, Helgen, Ivarstead and Windhelm, which I had heard mentioned the night before as the home city of Ulfric Stormcloak. Sticking to the south road, I ended up on the southern side of what was signed as Lake Honrich. The southern gate into Riften was boarded up, which was a surprise, so I had to cross around to the other side, using the city walls as a guide. The area was rather beautiful, trees reaching for the sky, leaves the colour of red and orange. Scents fill my nostrils. It was remarkably peaceful.
Sun was setting by the time I made the gates. I was tired, my feet hurt, and all I wanted to do was sit down for a drink. But two guards thought they'd try and shake me down first, crossing the spears they were holding to block my entrance.
"See here, anyone wishing to enter has to pay the tax," Tweedledum stated.
"Yes. Anyone wishing to sample the delights of Riften must pay for the privilege," Tweedledee added.
"I'm surprised you know words longer than two syllables."
"What?"
