I am writing now in the hopes that if something ever happens to me, you'll find this diary, Father. I was lucky to find this empty book in the cottage I call my current home. I kept hold of it all this time, thinking it would come in handy one day, and what do you know? Now it has.
I... am not exactly sure where to begin, really. I suppose the start would be best, but in truth, I cannot be bothered to write that much. Besides, you know most of it. I guess I could give you a general run-down on what happened after you left me on the deck of the ship, though nothing worthy of note really occurred until we were two days away from Dawnstar. I should start from there, then.
As you know, the captain was reluctant to take me aboard, and because of this I kept to my cabin much of the trip. It was only after many days that I finally got tired of the same four walls and decided to get some air above deck. It really was the worst time for me to do that, though I didn't realise it at the time, because there, on the deck, I met one of Them - and not a warrior, but a mage! A magician Redguard! Who ever heard of such a thing?
Father, you would not believe the fear that ran through me at the sight of him! Here I'd thought we'd managed to slip past them into Skyrim, but alas, there he was, in the flesh. I, of course, took an offensive stance, ready to kill the man. What else could I do? He would tell his companions that we were headed to the North and then we would have to leave again.
I really owe it to a clumsy cabin boy that I am not in their clutches - nothing I did would have saved me in that moment, for the man was faster than I in attacking. I was caught off-guard and the spell he used... well, it wasn't normal magic. It comprised teleportation! If the silly lad hadn't bumped him...
But he did, and the mage lost his concentration. Somehow - I could see it on his face in the last moments before I blacked out - I was saved.
When I woke... well, it was rather cold, actually. I was spread-eagled in the snow with naught but what I'd had on me at the time. Thankfully I was carrying my trusty war-hammer, and the fur armour we'd purchased back in Anvil. Those furs might just have saved me from frostbite, Father, so again, thank you for them.
I looked around to find myself outside of a small house on a rise. It overlooked a sleepy little village below. What a place! The people there are all quite an odd lot, but I've come to expect that of Nords. They don't mess around and dither like the Imperials of the South. I think you'd really like them, Father. Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself!
Cold as I was, I knocked on the door of the house behind me. (It's a pretty little cottage, really, with many facilities, including a small forge - a bit too small for me, but great for a beginner - and alchemist table. I'm sure you'll like it.) A man answered the door. He was rather rough and unkempt-looking, but was quite welcoming in his own, gruff way. I introduced myself and asked after where I might be. Apparently that little spell sent me near the centre of Skyrim, if you'd believe it!
The man, Grulaff, explained that the cottage was a half-way house for couriers and that it usually lay empty. When I explained that foul magic had deposited me here, he was quite upset on my behalf and offered to see me bedded down at the Inn in the village. Having no money, I gladly accepted.
Three days later and I'd been introduced to every person in the small village of Riverwood. The Nords are quite welcoming to warriors, and their food is hearty and filling - nothing at all like the delicate foods in Cyrodil. It reminded me of our camp-outs and the rough stews we had under the stars. I can't wait for the day when we can do such again.
The mayor of Riverwood, a strict woman by the name of Gerdur, kindly paid for my stay at the Inn for the first few days, while I was getting back on my feet and trying to sort through what had occurred. She also informed me that the small cottage was free to use if I so desired, though I was to replenish any supplies I used and should leave any property that wasn't mine alone. Apparently it doubles as a safe storage for the couriers. Agreeing to this, I soon became known as the live-in house-carl of the cottage.
They have strange customs here, Father. One who is living in a house as its protector or cleaner is referred to as a house-carl, and considered trust-worthy. So it surprised me when, the day after I moved into the house, I received a visitor in the form of the local smith, Alvor.
Alvor is a rather friendly man and was only too happy to allow me to use his forge - after he got to know me, of course. He was the first to really welcome me to the town, and was more than willing to give me a chance to prove myself. Looking back, I shouldn't have been so surprised to find him at my door, but at the time I was still spinning from the last week of events.
He explained that he was out of Corundum ore and that he needed to get more for some armour he was working on. Intrigued, and not a little lonely, I decided to hear him out. As you know, I've yet to experience working with the rarer metals, sticking only with iron and steel, so what he proposed was very interesting.
He knew of a spot to the south-west of town, in the middle of the lake, where there was a corundum vein, and while he would usually be fine trekking out there by himself, recently bandits had set up camp in an abandoned tower near the island. What he proposed was a teaming up - he would mine the precious metal while I protected him from any enemy attack.
Afterwards, he'd refine my current armour and fit it for me a bit better - he, being a decent smith, had noticed the ill-fit of the furs. (I did tell you they were cut wrong, but you wouldn't listen!) Of course, any treasure that we might find on the way would be split between us and he'd be happy to let me use any of the left-over corundum in the forge (though I waited until after we got back until I asked for that prize. After all, we barely knew each other.)
The plan went off without a hitch, of course, and we even met up with a hunter who lived on the shores of the lake who offered to act as ranged support for our trip, as long as we cut him in on any treasure we found. We were glad we had, because no sooner had we pulled the small skiff we'd used onto the island than arrows flew at us from the tower nearby.
You know how I get when I'm being shot at.
I charged forward, while the two men took shelter behind a large boulder in the middle of the island. I swam towards the tower, arrows falling around me as I fought against the water-logged weight of my now soaked furs. I struggled across the small distance, breath heaving as my trusty warhammer did its damnedest to drown me.
As I dragged myself ashore, I heard a scream from above, and a body fell with a splash into the water to the left of me. Our hunter friend had finally scored a hit. While he kept the archers above busy, I pulled myself to my feet, grabbed my weapon and set about distracting the enemies from within.
The first was a man with a sword - one-handed, sloppy. I smashed the hammer into his knees, then again to his face. He didn't rise again and I didn't bother looking back - his comrade was attacking. This one was a little trickier - while his sword-skills were sadly lacking, his ability with a shield was rather decent, and he managed to hold me off for a small while before I used an overhead smash in an attempt to break his shield. I forgot that my already long arms, coupled with the long reach of my hammer, was quite long enough and instead of his shield, I shattered his head.
Unconcerned - you know what I'm like in battle. I'm not going to apologise! - I stalked through the dilapidated tower. It really was in terrible shape, Father, even before I'd swung my hammer around in there a few times.
The third to fall to my one-person siege was a wounded woman. She'd been struck in the should by and arrow, but that didn't deter her. She pulled out a dagger - a dagger! - and sliced at me wildly. I could see in her eyes that she was already gone - mindless. One ashamedly slow strike to the head was all it took to put her down and by then I was almost to the top of the rather small tower.
At the top stood a solitary man, hair whipping around his head as arrows flew past him at dangerous speeds. I almost fell in love then, Father. Not with the man, no, but with his race. It was the eyes, I think. Dangerous, dark eyes; alight with the fire of passion. I'll admit, I've never really been drawn to men or women, but I think if I were to ever choose a mate in this world it would have to be a Nord - the passion and power they exude in battle is alarming. Exciting.
I'm almost embarrassed to have written that, but if I do end up surviving all of this - whatever this is - I want you to know what I had to go through, how I felt. Even more so if I don't survive.
We clashed there, on the top of that tower. Thankfully my allies recognised me and the hunter - Helmor, his name was - stopped shooting. The attacker was barely decent skill-wise, but his anger and passion made him harder to beat than one of the normal Cyrodil thugs we'd fight against. He was also quite a bit faster than I, being that he wielded only a sword, while I had the war-hammer.
He managed to cut me on the arm and cheek before I managed to beat him, though it was less a beating and more a case of breaking his arm and allowing him to escape. The crazy bastard chose to jump into the water below instead of dying by my hand, and I watched him slowly swim to the far shore before I bothered to head down and loot the bodies below.
Alvor and Helmor met me in the bottom room, as I was looting the body of the knife-wielder. From the looks of things, both were unharmed and I praised the Sun and Malacath that we'd all survived. As Helmor tended to my wounds, Alvor re-checked the bodies and the tower for anything I'd missed. I'm happy he did - I'd been content to just leave the armour on the bodies of my victims, but Alvor reminded me that he could resell some of the pieces for a decent profit.
Thankfully Helmor knew what he was doing with his first aid, though the cut on my cheek still left a scar. He really was a decent fellow - though touchy about people hunting around his camp. He died a month or so later when some bastard poisoned one of his trapped kills. When Helmor ate the meat later, he'd gotten ill and died. I got revenge for it, yes, but it should never have happened in the first place. I still miss the old fellow, though I am friends with the huntress who took over his old camp.
Well, I digress. When we got back to town Alvor took me aside and handed me a pouch filled with gold. I made a decent sum out of that venture - well over 200 gold, not including the extra corundum ingot I got later, nor the access to his forge, which was what I really wanted.
After that day, and a boast-filled evening at the Inn, I became known as a... well, a willing helper, I guess you could say. The last couple of months I've been kept busy with all kinds of work prospects - from delivering goods to hunters and out-of-the-way shacks, to working at the mill or mining ore veins for Alvor. I've also cleared out a few bandit dens - usually with Faendal, Helmor or Ralof tagging along to help. (I'll talk about the other two some other time. It's starting to get rather late as it is.)
Once I was even charged to help distract the village children the day before Jester's Day so that some of the villagers could erect decorations and pull out a few prank stalls that had been locked away all year. That was one of my hardest challenges, as the children were all rather excited for the holiday coming and a certain youth - who was already more prank-prone than necessary - decided to get an early start.
Needless to say, I never again offered my services and after they'd seen what I'd done to the child in question, they no longer asked me to take any job dealing with the children. Wait, that's not quite true - Alvor and his wife do ask me to watch their daughter from time to time, but Dorthe is a sweet child, content to dig in the garden or help me in the forge, so I have no issues with that.
And no Father, I didn't hurt the prankster (his name is Frodnar, Gerdur's son), but humiliation... I learned by your hand that it tends to have a more lasting sting than pain, especially around one's peers. No, I still haven't forgiven you for the time you dyed my hair that garish colour and sent me to do chores in Skingrad with only a bright crimson smock to wear. They could see me coming from a mile and laughed at me the whole time. My cheeks turn red just remembering.)
No, I chose humiliation, and humiliated he was - the entirety of Jester's day he fell prey to every prank that I could recall from my childhood. Hell, I think I invented a few new ones too, just to add a little spice. It all came to a head during the feast that night when his dog, Stump, snuck in. See, before dinner I let him off a little by focussing on the dog instead. Let me just remind you of the above prank and apply it to a dog. Yes, it was hilarious. Yes, he's taught the dog not to leave his side. No, I don't think he'll ever forgive me.
At least I didn't use a permanent dye, unlike some people.
So that's how I've spent the last few months - helping out around the village of Riverwood. I've not bothered going too far afield, and every time a stranger passes through I make myself scarce. The villagers don't ask questions about my past beyond what information I've chosen to share, though they seem to realise that I'm hiding from something. I don't think they really care, one way or the other, as long as I don't bring trouble to their doorstep.
It's been a peaceful 8 months for me, though I am anxious to hear from you, even if it be a letter. The last was delivered by the friendly courier, Grulaff, about two and a half months ago, so I am definitely due another.
Well, the candle is almost out and I've an early day tomorrow, so if I'm to sleep at all I need to do so now. I'll update this on what happened yesterday the next time I write - barring any big problems, that should be tomorrow night.
Until then.
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