December222011
I don’t think I am where I am supposed to be. After the Giant, I limped off to a nearby structure that had scraps of fabric between stones flapping in the wind and generally looked like someone could be living there. I drew closer, hoping to get some directions, maybe a bedroll to sleep in for the coming night — I’m writing this now from the insides of a very famous building, but I’ll talk about that later. I’m trying to keep this all organized. What if someone finds this journal long after I’m dead? As time goes on that seems more and more likely. I hope they have an interesting read, and most interesting reads need to make sense.
I could see a fellow tanning a hide and relaxed a little. There was a fire in the centre of the structure and everything looked as if it was maintained. An arrow bounced off the rock next to my head.
Oh.
It takes a lot to make me lose my temper, but I’d had enough. Daylight was waning, I had been chased around and battered by a Giant, my leg was complaining, I was hungry, and I didn’t know where I was. I’d been largely unsuccessful in shooting a stag I saw, too and was feeling a little guilty about it if truth be told. Buried one in his flank, just off his heart and he ran off. He’ll have gotten a long way away. Doubtless he’s dead by now. I digress.
There were three of them in the camp, and I took them all down. After I raided their bodies — What? They weren’t going to use their stuff anymore — I laid them in a pile outside the crumbling stone walls. I said a short prayer and let the biting winds and snows of Skyrim have them. They’re probably lining the droppings of some gods forsaken bear by now.
Their campfire did have freshly salted fish on the racks. I wrapped some in leaves and stuffed it in my pack but not before stuffing some in my face. Harsh winds began to blow, and even though Riverside needed me to warn the Jarl, I needed sleep more.
5AM
On my way to Whiterun I was trying to find my way down off of some icy rocks and I lost my foothold. I fell down a scree, kicking up dust and pebbles and fell straight into a clump of thorns. I was in the middle of ripping them out of my thigh when the ground began to shake.
I’d landed right in the middle of a Giant’s patrol and he was headed straight for me, his treetrunk of a club at the ready. I tried speaking Giant. I tried waving my arms and gesturing but he didn’t seem interested. My pronunciation may have been off or maybe it was a different dialect, I don’t know. I don’t even know how I knew to start saying words. All I know is for about forty minutes I ran in circles around him as he smashed the ground and stomped about, all the while my leg still bleeding. When you’re in immediate danger of having your skull being made to resemble a squashed sweetroll, suddenly running doesn’t hurt no matter what your problem is.
A lucky shot hit home right underneath his cheekbone and managed to go right through his skull. He didn’t even have time to let out a sound, he just crashed to the ground. It took me a full ten minutes to steel myself up enough to approach his body. When I did, I was overcome by such a feeling of sadness, as if an ancient and valuable part of this world had suddenly gone. Rain began to fall as if on cue.
I’m sorry, Giant. I didn’t mean to land in your thorn bush. I didn’t want to be in your camp. I certainly didn’t want anything to do with your mammoths.
Gods damn it all, I hate Morndas.
December212011
It’s cold on the way to Whiterun. It’s cold everywhere. The cold’s got a personality, and it likes to sneak into everything. If you have a tear in your armour, or if your hair is wet from falling in the snow, it’ll find it and nestle up close to you, totally unwelcome. The worst part is how it spreads like a disease.
I’ve stopped dragging my sorry carcass through the snow for a minute to eat this piece of cheese and rabbit haunch Ralof insisted I take with me. He’s a smart man. Everything weighs double, every length is doubled on itself when you’re in the snow. Every mile becomes two and you work up an appetite fast. I’m glad I remembered how to use Fire. It helps.
Something about the horizon looks very familiar. Familiar enough that I had to stop, close my eyes and think for a second even as snow began to fall around me. The feeling went away almost as quickly as it came.
10PM
Ralof saw me up late at night, sitting by the fire. He said he could ‘see right through to my bones,’ and sat down beside me. I told him that I don’t remember who I am. That I found a lambskin coin pouch tucked inside the rags I was wearing with more gold inside than I can count. That seeing that dragon didn’t fill me with fear like perhaps it should have. That I couldn’t remember why I was trying to cross the border.
“Set off for Whiterun at dawn and speak to the Jarl,” he said, his tone easy, like a friendly suggestion rather than an urgent request. “I’m going to stay here with my sister for a while. I can’t give you any answers about the fire in your blood, but I can tell you that you’ll find them in time. I got a funny way of knowing these things.” That was that. He turned his back to me and picked up the soup ladle. Ralof is a walking stomach. I’ve never seen anyone eat so much.
Wearing this Imperial armour doesn’t feel right. The pauldrons dig into my shoulders, and it reeks of sweat and oil. I’m restless. I think I’ll go and see if the Blacksmith is still up.
9PM
The first thing I remember is unspectacular. Dark, blurry, and uncomfortable. I can’t remember how long I spent sat in that cart — No doubt the handiwork of some Imperial’s pommel enthusiastically greeting my head, and I still can’t think about that bumpy carriage without my rear end aching. I found this journal on Gerdur’s bookshelf. When I asked for it she just smiled, handed me another piece of potato bread and said,
“Ralof says you’re thinking of joining the Stormcloaks to fight for Skyrim.” She has the most roundabout ways of doing things and I’m not sure I understand her.
I don’t like committing to things I don’t understand.
Hours ago Ralof and I crawled our way out of Helgen’s underbelly and out into the snow. There was a dragon and it made a lot of noise. It’s all a blur, but I remember a bear sleeping in a shaft of light, and then the shaft of an arrow between her eyes.
The first thing Ralof did when he got back to his sister’s home was to eat everything in sight. I wanted to join him, but something isn’t right with me. It’s hard to breathe, hard to run, and my mind feels muddy. It might have something to do with why I can’t remember much of who I am or what happened.
