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Opale
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Feb 9, 2021
Chapter 1 -- Begin Anew
*****
Having escaped Cyrodiil, it took a couple of days to cross the mountains, alas she hadn't enough warm clothing to keep the worst of the cold at bay. Being an Imperial, she was barely capable of withstanding cold naturally, but when the wind whipped up snow into her face, leaving her half blinded as she walked along, even her teeth would chatter as it cut straight through her lin cloak.
The weather cleared as crested the mountain, and she had to stop and stare at the sight that unfolded before her. Skyrim. Home of the Nords. Cyrodiil had been her home since her birth. She'd grown up and was happy there. That didn't mean she was too upset to make a new home for herself in Skyrim. She 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 she 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.
Megan would admit to being relieved that she still had armour and weapons. She only wore light armour, mostly leather with steel plate in the important parts. Her 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 she was young and fit, having spent three days crossing the border, light was dimming as she approached the outskirts of Falkreath, and she 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 her a curious glance but said nothing as she passed by. There wasn't much to Falkreath on first appearance. At the end of the main road was what Megan 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 Megan and smiled. "Shor's bones! You're gorgeous girl, you'll turn very man's head 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 Megan a tankard, who took a seat on one of the stools, dumping bag on the floor. "I hear a faint accent in your voice, yet you're clearly not a Nord. Where are you from?"
"Just crossed in from Cyrodiil."
"Oh, whatever for?"
"Needed a change."
Placing a tankard in front of her, Megan handed over a couple coin and thanked her. "You've perhaps come at the wrong time, with the civil war and all."
"Civil war?" Megan couldn't hide the surprise. She didn't know a thing about it.
Valga just scoffed. "Of course it wouldn't be news in Cyrodiil. Ever heard of Ulfric Stormcloak?" Megan shook her 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."
Megan took a room for the evening, dumping her bag on the single bed, and as the inn started to fill up for the evening, she 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 they chatted, Megan 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 her they backed the Stormcloak Rebellion, as it was called. Megan kept any opinion to herself, not that she had one, merely stating she'd just arrived and was wondering what to do.
*****
Having escaped Cyrodiil, it took a couple of days to cross the mountains, alas she hadn't enough warm clothing to keep the worst of the cold at bay. Being an Imperial, she was barely capable of withstanding cold naturally, but when the wind whipped up snow into her face, leaving her half blinded as she walked along, even her teeth would chatter as it cut straight through her lin cloak.
The weather cleared as crested the mountain, and she had to stop and stare at the sight that unfolded before her. Skyrim. Home of the Nords. Cyrodiil had been her home since her birth. She'd grown up and was happy there. That didn't mean she was too upset to make a new home for herself in Skyrim. She 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 she 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.
Megan would admit to being relieved that she still had armour and weapons. She only wore light armour, mostly leather with steel plate in the important parts. Her 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 she was young and fit, having spent three days crossing the border, light was dimming as she approached the outskirts of Falkreath, and she 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 her a curious glance but said nothing as she passed by. There wasn't much to Falkreath on first appearance. At the end of the main road was what Megan 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 Megan and smiled. "Shor's bones! You're gorgeous girl, you'll turn very man's head 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 Megan a tankard, who took a seat on one of the stools, dumping bag on the floor. "I hear a faint accent in your voice, yet you're clearly not a Nord. Where are you from?"
"Just crossed in from Cyrodiil."
"Oh, whatever for?"
"Needed a change."
Placing a tankard in front of her, Megan handed over a couple coin and thanked her. "You've perhaps come at the wrong time, with the civil war and all."
"Civil war?" Megan couldn't hide the surprise. She didn't know a thing about it.
Valga just scoffed. "Of course it wouldn't be news in Cyrodiil. Ever heard of Ulfric Stormcloak?" Megan shook her 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."
Megan took a room for the evening, dumping her bag on the single bed, and as the inn started to fill up for the evening, she 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 they chatted, Megan 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 her they backed the Stormcloak Rebellion, as it was called. Megan kept any opinion to herself, not that she had one, merely stating she'd just arrived and was wondering what to do.