#roggvir

[helgiafterdark]

this is when my stormcloak radicalization began

[konigs-left-pec]

First of all, how dare you...

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 ♥

you already know what time it is!!

thank you to the lovely and incredibly talented @skyrim-forever @your-talos-is-problematic @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter and @dirty-bosmer for the tags this week!! i've been having an amazing time reading/looking at all your wips, and i know i say it always but i can't wait to see how your works turn out, whether writing or art!! wednesday has easily become my favorite day of the week bc of this community <3

i'm passing the tag to @umbracirrus @wispstalk @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @orfeoarte @caliblorn @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @aphocryphas @gilgamish and YOU! if you wanna hop in, tag me back, and no pressure as always!!

this week i've got a bit of a treat: i'm working on some art! it's one that's really pushing me out of my comfort zone in terms of pose, expression, and perspective, and i'm extremely excited to finish it and show what i've been up to! featuring the beloved Cicero, of course

aaaaaaaand since i posted chapter 14 of Cycle of the Serpent this past weekend, i'm gonna give you guys a long snippet of chapter 23. >:3c emeros is asking for the group's imperial pardon from general tullius, and it comes with a catch. fair warning, the snippet is LONG bc i am incapable of being normal about this fic. are you ready, because i sure fucking am

Emeros stifled a scoff. Athenath did not. Instead, the Altmer made a step forward, the Bosmer eyeing him with a quirked brow. The bard said, "we helped Hadvar, he said he'd help us out if we needed it." "Precisely." Emeros leveled. "In fact, he said that should we wish to acquire an Imperial pardon, to come directly to you, General Tullius." He lowered his brow. The General waited, shifting from foot to foot as he considered this, before waving an enormous hand and resting it again on the table, facing the map sprawled before him. Wooden pegs painted in red and blues littered various points, stuck in deep with metal ends. The light landed along the metal gleam of his armor, golden color running rotten in the days glare. "You know, not many survived that place. If you could give us a hand, Legate Rikke-" he motioned to the woman beside him, stray hairs catching the light, "-could have some use for you. Besides, I'm sure your being imprisoned was all a big misunderstanding." Wyndrelis cleared his throat and looked up at the Bosmer, already making a slow, calculated stride to the General, his teeth grit together. With a deep inhale, he spoke, ignoring the light twitch of his under eye, the pittering in his chest. "General, I do not wish to waste your time, nor do I believe mine is of any less value," he began, "however, my compatriots and I have come a long way to be here. Not to mention, the scene we witnessed in your town square-" "Roggvir, the traitor," Tullius scoffed, shaking his head, disbelief clearly running courses through him, "he opened the gate for Ulfric Stormcloak after he murdered High King Torygg-" "And started this bloody Civil War proper, yes, I'm well aware of the stories, sir." Emeros interrupted in a bored drone, his wrist making idle motions. General Tullius craned his neck to peer back at Emeros, one wrinkled brow raised. His face had the character of a man well beyond the usual glory days of a soldier, a war and weather-battered face, with the scarred and sun-roughened arms to match. He was no man to be trifled with in the slightest, and yet (despite the atrocious nerves burdening his every action, the weight of every word weighed heavy on the blade the General carried to cut out sharp-tongues like his) the alchemist bothered not with patience nor obedience here. Instead, the Bosmer lifted his chin, his posture taking all the hallmarks of Aldmeri society, his arms straight at his sides, his spine taut, his eyes skimming the face of the Imperial like a bird to a field mouse among the brush. "We are here for our pardon. Nothing more."

General Tullius turned again to face the Bosmer. "And we're low on men. Our ranks are thin enough as is. If you want your pardon, you'll have to earn it." He made no motion, no step, nothing to indicate intimidation, but the bead of sweat down the back of his neck brandished his demeanor, the stress he was under already. In the shadows, Emeros observed the bruise-dark circles forming under the man's eyes over the past few weeks of sleepless nights, the kind he'd seen on many an Imperial soldier returning to Cyrodiil from the front lines in the Great War. He'd been younger then, thought nothing of the bloodshed. But here? He saw the thirty years aftermath and the absurdity of the Civil War plain and simple.

"Then I believe we are at an impasse." Emeros simply turned on his heel and began the walk down the antechamber, guards unsure whether to apprehend the Bosmer or allow him to step away. General Tullius watched in disbelief, and as the doors parted, gave a great sigh.

"Wait, now."

Emeros stood on the precipice, light filtering in, casting his shadow long behind him. He turned. "Yes, sir?"

"I understand the urgency of your request, elf-"

"Emeros Nightlock."

General Tullius sighed again. "I understand the urgency of your request, mister Nightlock, but I can't grant something like that on a whim. I need to know you're not here to cause trouble. I know your winding up on the Helgen prison cart was probably just a misunderstanding, as well as these…" he gestured vaguely to Athenath and Wyndrelis, who were halfway through the antechamber and to their friends side when he'd turned back at the General's request, "…fine young people. But until I can verify that you've no intentions to make me regret that decision…"

"Ah," Emeros ticked, "a deed for a deed." He shut the doors, and made a solid march back to the war room as though nothing had happened. "Really, General, I would prefer if you had said so in the first place."

General Tullius inhaled deeply through his nose, leveling out whatever turmoil brewed behind his cold exterior. He made a motion to the Nord, Legate Rikke, who watched the trio with bewildered amusement. "You will speak to the Legate here, and do what she asks. Only then, can I grant your pardon."

"Thank you for your time, General Tullius." Emeros approached the Legate with a polite smile, the kind that barely graced his eyes, and spoke again. "What can we do for you, Legate Rikke?"

The Legate, her eyes keenly examining the three before her, barely tamped down the burgeoning smirk on her lips. "You three survived Helgen?" She shifted her light-hued gaze between their faces. Wyndrelis' nervous fidgeting, Athenath's fingers combing through his dark curls, and Emeros' cold expression, his posture high and solid - he silently hoped the shaking palms eluded her. "Not many made it out alive, you know. I've got a good feeling about you three, and I don't often get good feelings about anything. A warrior knows to trust her gut."

"Legate Rikke, I appreciate the sentiment deeply, but I would like to know what it is you're expecting us to… Do, exactly." Emeros watched the Legate as she lifted her brow, internally mulling something over before she spoke up again.

"You know, bravado gets soldiers killed."

"Fascinating. I will note that down for any soldiers I may meet."

"Emeros," Athenath hissed quietly, tugging his arm. The Bosmer seemed to come back to the room around him, as though he had been operating in some sort of pre-determined mode, a Dwemer automata wound up and gaining sentience. For a moment, his eyes flashed cold-sweat panic to the Altmer, then narrowed sternly. He returned his gaze to the Legate.

"Well," Legate Rikke breathed, sliding a palm over the map before her, "I'm sending you to clear out Fort Hraagstad. If you survive, you'll pass. If you die, then I'll have no further use for your corpses."

An icy fear grasped the trio, but Emeros merely cleared his throat and spoke again. "What is the purpose of this assignment?"

"The ancients built many of the fortresses that dot the landscape of Skyrim. Sadly, most have fallen into disrepair. And nearly all have been overrun with bandits or other vagabonds. Fort Hraagstad is one of the few that remains mostly intact. We're going to install a garrison there, but first, you three are going to clean out the bandits that have moved in."

"Mark it on our map, and we'll be off by morning." Emeros made a gesture behind himself, Wyndrelis fumbling with the map he tugged from his pocket, passing it to the Bosmer. He allowed Legate Rikke to make scratches along the surface with a quill, easy lines detailing the best path up to the fort, her face stern as she passed it back over to him.

"Good luck."

[hendrickfw]

I´m not sure if I´ll do it, but my mind won´t stop having ideas for a fanfiction of my Dragonborn and his adventures throught my modded playthroughs. I just wanted to write some ideas here, though really doubt I´ll ever write about it.

-My LDB´s named Hendrick. He was borned under a lukiul family in Gideon, Argonia. His family was killed by a group of An-Xileel, leaving him an orphan. Around 4E 183 he was found by a Nordic collectionist that traveled to Gideon to buy some artifacts for the museum he was trying to make in Anvil. When the man found the six-year old Argonian he decided to bring him back to Anvil. He was also married to an Imperial noble family of the city. When they arrived to Anvil his new parents gave him the name of Hendrick. His new mother fought on the Great War alongside her brother.

-Hendrick soon followed the academic life of his family, being interested in the past from young. He helped his father study old artifacts and explore some nearby ruins. He was also trained by his mother and uncle on the sword and bow, fearing the Thalmor would invade again when Hendrick became an adult. His uncle is part of the Fighters Guild btw.

-Despite the peace treaty, his family kept worshipping Talos, so Hendrick also started worshipping him. Hendrick still learned about his culture with other local Argonians, but he follows Talos as his main god.

-When he grew up, Hendrick was sent to the Imperial City to formalize his studies. He started getting interested in the Ayleid history as well as the old Skyrim cultures (Nord, Dwemer and Falmer). While he was on the Imperial City he met Lucien Flavius, Auryen Morellus and Professor Marassi.

-After finishing his studies, Hendrick got back to Anvil and kept working on his father´s museum and collection. I´m still not sure what or how, but Hendrick made an importante discovery for the city´s history.

-After that discovery, Hendrick was contacted by Auryen, who wanted to make a Gallery Museum in Solitude, and wanted Hendrick to be the museum´s relic hunter. He accepted and took the first ship to Skyrim. In the ship he met another Argonian named Lucifer. Lucifer, seeing the opportunity of adventure with Hendrick, decided to go with him.

-When Hendrick and Lucifer arrived on Solitude they witnessed Ulfric´s escape from the city after killing Torygg, and thus the start of the Civil War. A day later they witnessed Roggvir´s execution.

-The first thing Hendrick does for the museum is to organize a donation festival so the people of Solitude could give the museum stuff, help the gallery grow and letting Solitude´s people have a place that represented their history. Tullius and the jarl are the one´s that contribute the most.

-During his firsts expeditions throught Skyrim, Hendrick would expand his team meeting other modded folllowers. The ones I like to include are Xelzaz, Inigo, Caryalind, Kaidan, Khash, Redcap, Taliesin, Lucien, Nebarra and Remiel.

-The only official members that join the Explorer´s Society are Hendrick, Remiel, Lucien and Xelzaz. Despite that, everyone helps one way or another. They all live in the Safehouse and it´s utterly chaos.

-Before starting Skyrim´s main quest Hendrick would fight an Altmer collecting Daedric artifacts for the Thalmor. Hendrick got a few of them (Dawnbreaker, Sanguine Rose and Wabbajack), so the Altmer stole them to deliver them to the Cyrodiil border. Hendrick fights him and, after defeating him, he got separated from his team and caught up on an Imperial ambush and got captured with Ulfric. The Alduin conflict starts.

-Probably Inigo would be the one to get Dawnbreaker with the help of Lucien and Xelzaz. Nebarra, Taliesin and Kaidan made the Sanguine´s mission. Hendrick, Xelzaz and Lucifer did the Sheogorath´s stuff. The evil Altmer did the rest of the Daedric quests. Hermaeus Mora quest is done later during the Elder Scroll fetch to defeat Alduin

-Hendrick would end up with Lydia. Caryalind and Kaidan end together. I´m not sure of other ships.

-Lucifer would be the one to do the Companion´s questline with the help of Nebarra and Inigo. Other members would help during certain quests. Hendrick just helps to get Kodlak to Sovngarde to get something of Ysgramor for the museum.

-Hendrick, besides the Legacy´s stuff, main quest, siding with the Dawnguard and defeating Miraak, also makes the College stuff and ends the Civil War with the imperial, mostly because the Stormcloaks forced him to choose the other side.

-Other quests that add stuff to the museum like Moon and Star, Wyrmstooth and Wheels of Lull happen. Maybe I´ll do something inspired by Lucien´s line at the end of Moon and Star where he suggests a "League of Heroes", or at least more interactions between both Hendrick and the Nerevarine.

-When Odyssey of the Dragonborn happens, everyone follows Xelzaz to his mission to High Rock and help him during his mission. Same happens with Inigo´s prophecy

-Remiel´s quests are done by Hendrick, but the ones that help the most are Xelzaz and Redcap.

-Nebarra, despite never saying a word, loves the mead that Xelzaz makes.

-Nebarra and Taliesin redemption arc before the Second Great War. They´re friends with a Talos worshipper so they need to.

-Khash is adopted by everyone. Caryalind, Xelzaz and Hendrick are the ones that raise her the most.

-Xelzaz is my favorite follower of them all, so I´d definitely reflect that on the friendship.

-And other stuff. Yeah, probably not gonna write a fanfic. After all of this the Second Great War happens, everyone is forced to leave Solitude with the museum´s relics and they start fleeing to High Rock and Hammerfell. They meet Uriel Septim V and then start a new rebellion, as well as some lore-breaking stuff about Hendrick´s family, but I won´t say more. I just wanted to get this off my system. I know it´s dumb, but my mind doesn´t stop

[moodiestmags]

Okay so back in Skyrim. Wanted to get the civil war quest line over and done with so I go to solitude for the first time, right? Roggvir is about to get executed so I go and stand in the crowd. However, Teldryn Sero decides to go right up to the executioners block and start killing the guards, and captain Alvis, who i didn’t think could die.

He also killed the guy who runs the pawned prawn, and his wife because I brawled him. What the fuck I can’t take this man anywhere.

[jiubilant]

skyrim's culture honors those who drink lots of mead and throw lots of punches so your average nord parents tend not to care if their child is out getting into fights with other children (and are in fact more inclined to ruffle little roggvir's hair than to scold him when he swaggers home with a split lip). but on the occasion that their beloved innocent boy runs in crying because he jeered at the neighbor's gouger daughter and got gouged they tend to march to said neighbor's house and make a scene. so ravi had to teach shurri how to throw a proper punch instead of scratching people

[glitchbitchwritingblog]

‘Finally,after months and months at sea,I have finally arrived in Skyrim’ Eleanor thought as she finally set foot on the Solitude Docks. Sailors,immigrants,Soldiers,dock workers and merchants all traversed the docks,some pushing past each other to get to their next destination,Mothers hushed crying babes,and Fathers carried heavy luggage. The Docks were a hub of activity.

Picking up her small Satchel,Eleanor made her way to the City,her fine green dress and fur cloak hugging her body awkwardly. The trip was hard on her and she had lost alot of weight due to it. She didn't care too much though,as she had come to Skyrim to escape,to start a life of her own,free from the demons of her past. 

“You're just in time to say hello to Roggvir”The Gate Guard said snidely. Choosing to ignore him Eleanor enters the city,only to be greeted to the site of an ongoing public execution. 

The sight made her heart leap to her throat.

“They can't hurt Uncle Roggvir,tell them he didn't do it!”A little girl,no older than eight cried out to what Eleanor assumed was the girl's father. The man told her to run home and not look back,anguish in his voice.

Jeers came from the crowd,one woman demanding for the headsman to 'Get on with it’. 

Not being able to bare the site,Eleanor rushed into the nearby inn.Closing the thick door behind her,the soft melody of a lute and The thick scent of ale and cooking meat filled her senses,giving an escape to the scene outside.

Eleanor walked to the Innkeeper and paid for a room and some water,before the kind man lead her to her room. “Let me know if you need anything ma'am.”he said before leaving. She simply smiled in acknowledgement,and shut the door behind him.

Sitting down on the chair in the room,she pulled out her Diary and began to write.

'Arrived to Solitude this day. Entering the city I saw an execution under way. The poor soul's Neice cried out for him,much as I did for Father all those years ago. I pray this is no bad omen’

After writing in her Diary,she got up and went to get a bath and eat,keeping her head down and staying quiet so as not to draw unwanted attention. Once cleaned and fed she read in the bar area,though in all actuality she was listening to those around her,picking up bits of information and rumors. 

[juniperberries-canisroot]

I like that NightShade can sometimes foreshadow things to happen or tells you what happened at a place.

NightShade grows over or near dead bodies in cemeteries and gravestones. But it also grows in places associated with death, one way or another.

NightShade grows outside the Dark BrotherHood Falkreath Sanctuary, for two reasons. One the place is strongly associated with death and two, people have already died there, both the fallen DBH due to Astrid's betrayal and Bellmount.

There's NightShade near the DawnStar DBH Sanctuary, also near where Arnbjorn sits injured. It could foreshadow that he dies and depending on your choice, Cicero as well. Another place associated with death.

More grow in a small area near the execution of Roggvir. There's also one more by the Solitude tower inside the city, the tower used to escape after poisoning the fake Emperor. The Oculatius who try to stop you die by your hand (unless you can out run them but I usually kill them).

There's some by the Abandoned Cabin and no matter your choice someone has to die.

Some grow by Alva's House, someone who is already (un)dead and you possibly kill Hroggar when going in. Some grow by the burned down house as well, signifying the death of Helgi, the wife and possibly another grows there since Lalette the vampire is involved with the death of Helgi. She doesn't die in the house but she's still dead/undead.

[netch-rancher]

I modded Skyrim on my PC and Sorex Vinius simply could not believe Roggvir’s execution

[pyrettawychwiggin]

Songstress of Skyrim - Sub-Chapter 1: The Bearer of Bad News

Disclaimer: The following story is centered around my own character, Mhari Freysri, who is the only character in this piece that I own. All other characters and elements of the world within the Elder Scrolls series is the intellectual property of Bethesda. This story contains, not just massive spoilers, but is in and of itself one very long spoiler, as it is based off of my playthrough of Skyrim: Special Edition. You have been advised. Please enjoy this newest installment of my cringy fanfiction.

Mhari awoke in her bed at the inn, having kicked the blanket onto the floor at some point throughout the night. She sidled out of bed with a grumble and heaved the blanket back onto the mattress before stretching her arms above her head with a hearty yawn, taking a moment to consider the day ahead of her. There's so much I ought to get done before I even consider leaving for Dead Man's Cairn... Mhari emptied the contents of her pack carefully onto the floor, scanning through what she had.

"Hmm...I've enough provisions for a day's ride; I really should make sure I have at least three day's worth. I have most of what I need to set up a decent camp, I just need to sew some warmer clothes with those leathers and wolf pelts..." Mhari frowned, running through the journey in her head. "I still need a horse and I'm a good few hundred gold short; even the gold I do have'll be spent on my provisions and supplies."

Mhari's eyes moved over to the hip bone she'd been given from Dervenin. I still don't even know what to make of that...

"Alright, let's break it down," Mhari sighed. "First; a mortar and pestle, maybe a couple of spare potions. I can pick up medicinal herbs along the way. Second; a bow and some arrows; I can hunt and forage for my food. Maybe I should buy a shield and a spear just in case I run into trouble."

Mhari nodded to herself. Okay. I've got a plan. Time to make it happen. She tucked the hip-bone into the chest at the foot of the bed, locking it securely and tucking the key away on her wooden beaded belt.

"Good morning, Corpulu-" Mhari began, but stopped in momentary surprise to see Sorex at the counter, with Corpulus nowhere in sight.

"Good morning, uh...don't tell me," Sorex tried to remember her name for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Mary? Mahara?"

"Close," Mhari chuckled. "It's Mhari. Where's Corpulus?"

"Running errands by the docks," Sorex replied with a shrug. "East Empire Company's been raising their prices for shipping product; my father figured out that if you're willing to go down to the docks and haul up your things yourself, you save a little extra coin."

"Fair enough," Mhari yawned as she sat at the counter. "You wouldn't happen to have some fresh fruit or vegetables available for purchase would you?"

"Sure." Sorex brought forward a bowl of mixed fruit from the pantry around the corner from the counter. "Take your pick."

"Thanks." Mhari selected a bunch of red grapes, placing a small handful of coins on the counter for Sorex. "Were you at that execution a couple days ago?"

"I showed up to watch, yeah!" Sorex chirped. Mhari was surprised at his overtly-enthusiastic tone. "I dunno if they were right to execute him for what he did, but I'll tell you something; it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."

"Oof," Mhari winced as she popped a small handful of grapes into her mouth. "That seems kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"Listen, Roggvir and I grew up together. It was just us, a few others, and Vivienne," Sorex's expression softened slightly at the mention of her name. "Vivienne Onis."

"Oh, I think I've seen her around before," Mhari nodded in understanding. "Were you and Roggvir rivals in love or something?"

"That's the thing; I don't know why, but one day I told Roggvir I liked her. It was a stupid thing to do; he mocked me incessantly after that," Sorex shook his head just thinking about it. "From that point forward, anytime Vivienne and I were anywhere close to each other, he made sure to humiliate me."

"Oh, come on, Sorex," Mhari chuckled, shaking her head. "He couldn't have humiliated you that badly."

"He'd beat me up, dump mead on my head, anything he could get away with," Sorex recounted angrily. "Once he even slipped a beehive into my bed!"

"A beehive?!" Mhari exclaimed.

"We were children, sure. But Roggvir never outgrew that immaturity or his cruelty." Sorex thumped his hand on the counter for emphasis. "So any talk about him being an 'honourable Nord?' Pure folly."

"Don't get me wrong," Mhari began. "From what you've just told me, perhaps he doesn't sound like a great person. But don't you think his execution was a bit...brutal?"

"Perhaps, but necessary," a cold, familiar woman's voice spoke from nearby. Mhari and Sorex had not noticed Vivienne Onis walk into the inn. "My cousin Fura is out there somewhere, fighting Ulfric Stormcloak and his damned insurrectionists. She wouldn't have to be there at all if not for Roggvir; and my aunt wouldn't have to worry about her daughter."

"Your aunt?" Mhari asked.

"My aunt Angeline," Vivienne clarified as she took a seat beside Mhari. "She runs Angeline's Aromatics next door."

"Why exactly were they executing him?" Mhari asked, having finished her grapes, reaching for a cup of water. "I only arrived at the time of the execution; I had no context before that."

Sorex and Vivienne exchanged a surprised look. "You really don't know?" Sorex asked in vague disbelief.

"He let Ulfric Stormcloak escape Solitude," Vivienne added. "Ulfric rides in, murders the high king, and Roggvir lets him ride right back out."

"Ah, an accessory to treason, then," Mhari frowned as Sorex and Vivienne nodded grimly in response.

"Oh, Vivienne," Sorex started, eager to change the subject to something less grim. "Did you need something?"

"Do I need a reason to visit you at work?" Vivienne folded her arms in a false scowl. Sorex chuckled and leaned against the bar with a wink.

Alright, then. I think that's my cue. Mhari quietly stood from her seat and walked out to the streets of Solitude. I ought to try the alchemist first. If they don't sell what I need for foraging and mixing herbs; I don't know who will.

Mhari pushed open the doors to the shop that stood beside The Winking Skeever; Angeline's Aromatics. The moment she crossed the threshold into the building, her nostrils were flooded with the scents of dozens of plants and flowers. This shop is aptly named. It's like I've just walked into a field of wildflowers. The shop was small and well-organized; beautiful arrangements of various flowers and grasses were placed neatly in wicker baskets upon the counter, and a small alchemist's table was placed in a small alcove to the side of the shop's counter.

"Hello!" an elderly voice greeted Mhari from behind the counter. "You're a traveller, correct?"

Mhari regarded the woman for a moment; she was grey-haired, with kind-eyes filled to the brim with worry. "I suppose you could say that; I'm not from here, at least."

"Have you been to Whiterun?" the woman asked hopefully.

"I'm sorry; I haven't," Mhari replied. "I'm new to Skyrim; I only arrived here a couple of days ago."

"Oh," the woman's eyes dulled sadly. "Ah, well. It was worth a shot."

"What's in Whiterun, if you don't mind my asking?" Mhari asked, approaching the counter.

"My daughter, Fura, was assigned to Whiterun after she joined the Imperial army. I was hoping you might have met her," the woman explained, idly braiding three strands of lavender as she spoke; Mhari suspected this to be a long-standing nervous habit. "I haven't heard from her lately. I've tried talking to Captain Aldis, but he hasn't been any help."

"I'm sorry; I haven't met her," Mhari shook her head sadly. "But I could ask around; perhaps I can try talking to Captain Aldis."

"Oh, that's very sweet of you," Angeline's eyes lit up with gratitude at the prospect. "Anything you can find out would be welcome news."

"I'll see what I can do," Mhari's eyes scanned around the shop for a moment as she admired the various plants and arrangments all around her. "This shop is quite pretty; do mainly sell perfumes and potpourri?"

"We mostly carry herbs and alchemical ingredients, that sort of thing. Before the war, our stock was mostly used for aromatic use in homes," Angeline explained. "These days, we have more people coming in looking for healing and the like."

"Actually, I was wondering if you had a spare mortar and pestle I could buy off of you," Mhari responded.

"Hmm, I might have a spare set around here somewhere," Angeline thought to herself for a moment; she walked to the back of the shop and moved several arrangements out of her way before emerging once more with a small 'aha.' "Here you are. This set is quite old, but it'll do in a pinch. I'll be happy to sell it to you for ten gold pieces."

"I'll take it," Mhari smiled as she dug out the gold pieces from her coin purse. "Oh, and if you have any in stock, I'd like to buy a couple healing potions."

"Of course, dear," Angeline answered sweetly, carefully placing the merchandise on the counter in front of Mhari, taking the coins with a smile.

"Would you happen to know where I can find Captain Aldis?" Mhari asked, tucking her new supplies carefully into her pack. "I can't guarantee I'll be able to get him talking, but I can try."

"Oh, yes; this time of day, most of the Imperial soldiers that are stationed in the city are in their training grounds just beyond the forge and the fletcher's shop," Angeline explained. "Once you leave the shop, look to your left and you'll see stairs; those will take you right to the training yard."

"Thank you, Angeline," Mhari smiled and gave a small wave before walking back out into the sunlight. This is as good a time as any to see what Solitude's blacksmith has in stock; and surely I can pick up a bow from the fletcher.

Mhari made her way to the stone steps to the upper levels of Solitude when she overheard Sorex's angry voice from nearby.

"I'm not interested, Jaree. I don't care how many times you ask."

Mhari turned to see him folding his arms in irritation, shaking his head stubbornly; Vivienne stood beside him, scowling in disapproval as they faced a male Argonian; the majority of his skin was peach-coloured with dappling the same colour of the jet black feathers that protruded from the back of his head. He leaned nonchalantly against the wall by Angeline's Aromatics, fiddling with a gold coin, flipping it between his long, sharp claws.

"You might want to rethink that," he crooned. "You're missing out on some great opportunities, working in that bar."

"Sorex," Vivienne put her hand on Sorex's shoulder, stopping him before he could respond. "Let's go."

The Argonian let out a 'tsk' of disappointment as he watched them retreat to the marketplace.

Mhari shrugged and continued to make her way up the steps. She could see the sign of the Fletcher's shop dangling over the door ahead of her; she pulled out her coin purse and walked in to see a Redguard man behind the counter carefully waxing the string of an Imperial bow. He had a long tuft of strawberry blonde hair swept to one side, the other half of his head shaved; he had piercing blue eyes that held the expression of a hawk circling it's prey as he worked, preparing to dive to it's kill.

"Hello and welcome, my friend," he spoke, his eyes not leaving his task. "How may I help you on this fine day?"

"I'm in the market for a new bow," Mhari replied as her eyes scanned the plaques on the wall, where dozens of different kinds of bows had been mounted with care. "I'd like to see what you've got for sale."

"Well, I suppose that depends on what you're hunting," the fletcher replied. "Have a look at the selection on the wall and tell me which piece draws your eye."

"It's so hard to choose," Mhari whispered as she stared in awe at the craftsmanship of an ebony bow. "They're all so exquisitely-crafted."

"Well, you are speaking to Fihada; the most talented Fletcher in all the land," he boasted, finally looking up from his work; he eyed Mhari's frame for a moment. "I would suggest something with a lighter draw; some of these bows may prove difficult for you to pull."

"I don't want to sacrifice too much power," Mhari replied, resting her thumb on the bottom of her chin in thought. "I may just need to choose a bow that's slightly heavier than what's comfortable; I'll get stronger the more I use it."

"True," Fihada replied, nodding his head. "But that only helps you in the long run. Might I suggest the Elvish bow at your left?"

Mhari inspected the bow. It was elegant and beautiful, but clearly very sturdy as the metal had the unmistakable iridescence of moonstone, smelted with quicksilver. Judging by the soft glow emitting from the bow, Mhari suspected it to be lightly enchanted. "Beautiful and deadly," Mhari whispered. "How much are you selling it for?"

"Two-thousand-four-hundred-and-seventy gold pieces," Fihada replied simply. He frowned when he saw Mhari's jaw drop. "Judging from your expression, I assume that is well out of your price range. Perhaps the Imperial bow two plaques to the left?"

Mhari quickly shuffled to the cherry-wood and leather-bound bow the fletcher pointed towards. It was not nearly as aesthetically-pleasing as the elven bow, but it was still a strong-looking weapon. Surely this one is more within my limits. She thought hopefully.

"Imperial bows may not be as intricate as elven make, but they are made for our own soldiers here in Solitude," Fihada explained, walking over to stand by Mhari. "I find them incredibly dull to create, so I mostly leave them to my apprentice. His work is far inferior to my own, but this is still a well-crafted bow. Its longevity and effectiveness will rely on your ability to maintain it."

"If there's one thing I know how to do, it's to maintain the little I can afford. How much?" Mhari asked.

"Jawanan!" Fihada called over his shoulder. Another Redguard man appeared from the storage area behind the counter. "You have a potential buyer. What price would you ask for this bow?"

Jawanan stalked over to the bow, patting his work gloves on his trousers to dust of the wood shavings from whatever he had been crafting in the back. "I'd say... around a hundred gold pieces. I'm happy with how this one turned out. It might not be flashy, but it's as sturdy as stone."

"I can manage that," Mhari sighed in relief. "Do you mind if I inspect her for a moment?"

"By all means," Jawanan unclasped the leather straps holding the bow to the wall, handing it to Mhari carefully. Fihada walked back to the counter to return to his work. "Tell me what you think. I'm always looking for advice on how I can improve."

"That's admirable," Mhari smiled as she held the bow. Jawanan hadn't been kidding when he'd said the bow was sturdy; every surface of the limbs were perfectly sanded and finished, and Mhari could tell he had reinforced the bow with steel rather than iron. The bow was not flawlessly-balanced, but it was damn close. As she placed her hand over the grip, her fingers curled around the leather comfortably; she faced the wall and drew the string back. The bow's draw was quite heavy, but not unreasonable. "Most bows I've used still pale in comparison; I'm surprised you're only an apprentice, sir."

"Ah, thank you, ma'am," Jawanan scratched his nose sheepishly at the compliment. "I'll throw in its quiver and a dozen arrows for an extra fifty gold if you need."

Mhari nodded and handed the Redguard apprentice one-hundred and fifty gold pieces and strapped the bow to her back along with the leather quiver. "This is perfect. Thank you both."

"Perhaps we'll be seeing more of you," Fihada spoke as Jawanan stalked to the storage area once more.

Mhari waved farewell and exited the shop. That's one thing done. Next, the blacksmith. She thought to herself, counting down the remainder of her gold in her head.

Just across the stone walkway of the upper level of Solitude, Mhari could see the Imperial blacksmith tinkering away at his workbench; Mhari remembered Sayma mentioning he was her husband and that he had been tasked with making weapons and armour for the Imperial soldiers. Certainly seems as though they keep him busy. That's a lot of Imperial armor.

"Excuse me, sir," Mhari greeted as she approached. "Do you have any shields for sale at the moment?"

"Sorry, miss," the man placed his hammer back on the surface of the workbench. "I'm out of stock at the moment. Our troops needed to pick up the last of my stock this morning, and I've not had the time to make more."

"Oh." Mhari frowned. "That's alright; thank you anyways."

"You know," the blacksmith began, wiping the sweat from his balding forehead, leaving a streak of charcoal in it's place. Mhari stifled a small laugh as he continued. "I do have the materials you'll need if you want to make your own. That is assuming you know how."

"I have a basic idea," Mhari replied with slight uncertainty, eying the forge carefully. "It'd be better than nothing."

"Good, good." The blacksmith motioned to a table piled high with metal ingots, wooden planks, and various pieces of leather and hide. "Just pay me for whatever material you use."

Mhari nodded and spent the majority of the afternoon working around Beirand as they chatted idly about the war and current events around Solitude, Beirand occasionally interjecting with advice on her shield-making process.

"If you don't mind me asking," Mhari began as she hammered a thick block of wood from end-to-end upon the back of her shield for reinforcement. "Why haven't you joined the army yourself? It sounds as though you're itching to join the fight.'

"I would if not for my wife and son. Oh, Sayma would have my hide if I even suggested setting foot on a battlefield," Beirand explained with a mocking shiver. "You think Stormcloaks and Legionnaires are dangerous? Ha!"

Mhari chuckled as this as she continued her work. After a couple hours, she sat atop the study table, smoothing off the last rough areas of the handles of her shield, and finished polishing the iron boss she had bolted to the face.

"That's not bad for a beginner," Beirand complimented with an approving nod.

"Thank you," Mhari sighed with a tired smile; she dug into her purse and placed a good pile of coin on the table-top beside her. "Here's what I owe you; and a little extra for letting me use your forge."

"Might as well take any leftover wood and leather scraps you have," the blacksmith suggested. "Could come in handy later."

"Don't mind if I do." Mhari tucked the pieces away into her pack before jumping back down to her feet and stretching. "I'm off to speak with Captain Aldis."

"He should be in the courtyard just past Fihada's shop, there," Beirand pointed to the large stone archway beyond the building. "They're usually working on their aim this time of day."

Sure enough, Mhari could see the captain as soon as she rounded the corner. Three Imperial guards were lined up in front of straw archery targets as Captain Aldis walked behind them, inspecting their form and advising on how they could improve. He took no notice to Mhari's approach.

"How goes the training?" Mhari began.

"Their aim could be steadier, but they're battle ready," the captain replied.

"I see..." Mhari nodded awkwardly, uncertain of how to proceed. She decided to be as up-front as she could about her inquiry. "Angeline Morrard sent me to ask about her daughter."

Captain Aldis sighed in irritation with a small roll of his eyes, clearly tired of the subject. "Generally posting information is need-to-know only."

"It's her daughter," Mhari pressed, folding her arms, but trying to be careful of her tone. "I think she needs to know."

"I...I've-..." Captain Aldis began to bark back, but caught himself within half a second, his expression turning grim. He shook his head in resignation, knowing Mhari was correct. "I've been trying to find the time and place to tell her..."

"That...doesn't sound promising," Mhari said with a wince.

"Look; her daughter was sent to Whiterun. The skirmishes there have been violent; but the Whiterun legate, he needed to know the Stormcloak's positions. He send out a party to scout the area. They happened upon a large force and..." Captain Aldis trailed off for a moment; Mhari waited patiently for him to continue. At last, he let out a shamed sigh. "I was told none of them made it back."

"Fura was in that scouting party..." Mhari whispered in understanding. Captain Aldis nodded. "That's all I needed to know. I trust you won't object to me telling her this?"

Captain Aldis shook his head sadly. "No. She needs to be told."

"I'll let you get back to your training, Captain. But you know," Mhari said, turning to leave. "You should be telling the families of the dead as soon as you are able when their loved ones are killed in battle. I trust you would appreciate the same respect. Even if your intentions are honourable; that doesn't make them right."

Mhari chose not to look back to the Captain, who said nothing in response as she made her way back to Angeline's Aromatics.

As Mhari walked into the shop, Angeline looked up from her arrangement at the counter, their eyes meeting for a moment. Mhari didn't need to say anything - Angeline could see the truth written on her face. There was a deafening silence before Angeline's momentarily hopeful expression changed to devastation.

"I told her..." Angeline shook her head with her eyes clenched shut. "I told her the Imperial army would kill her. That this was a war of Jarls and Imperial Generals, and that we had no part in it, but... she just wouldn't hear it."

Mhari frowned as she approached the counter. "I'm so sorry, Angeline. I wish I was here with better news"

Angeline buried her head in her hands for a moment as Mhari waited in silence, knowing nothing she could say would improve the situation. Angeline seemed to waver for a moment as if she may collapse at any moment. Mhari came around to the other side of the counter and carefully guided her to a wooden bench by the alchemist's table, helping her to take a seat. Mhari sat beside her in silence as Angeline cried; it had been nearly an hour before Angeline began to tire.

"Mrs. Morrard," Mhari started. "What was Fura like?"

"She was always a righteous girl, even when she was little," Angeline reminisced tearfully. "Even as a child, she always said one day she'd become a city guard."

"Sounds like she was a fighter." Mhari smiled warmly. "I wish I could have met her."

"Oh, she always was a fighter, yes. I think she would have quite liked you, dear." Angeline let out a bittersweet smile, wiping away another stray tear. "It was brave of you to come to me with this, dear. I can't thank you for it; but you have done me a service."

"You deserved to know, Angeline; I'm sorry Captain Aldis kept it from you for so long," Mhari patted Angeline on the shoulder. "I'm going to head back to The Winking Skeever. Are you going to be alright on your own?"

"Oh yes, dear; Vivienne will be by soon. I should pass on the news to her," Angeline sighed, dabbing her cheeks with a small cloth to dry them. "Visit again soon, Mhari."

"I will, Mrs. Morrard."

Mhari returned to the Winking Skeever for the night, emotionally exhausted and ready for a good night's rest. As Mhari finished her instrumental drum song for the night, her eyes met those of a very pensive Captain Aldis from his table across from where she performed. As she took a bow to the patron's applause, he gave her a sheepish look and raised his bottle of ale. Mhari nodded in response as she approached his table and took a seat.

"You told her?" Captain Aldis asked. Mhari nodded as she grabbed an unopened bottle of wine from the table. "How did she take it?"

"Well, of course she's in mourning; and things might be hard for her for a while..." Mhari took a drink of the bittersweet beverage with a sigh. "But she will be alright with time."

"Thank you for telling her," the captain sighed, rubbing his temple with his hand, staring at the surface of the table. "This war has been filled with far too many tragedies; and now, between Roggvir and Private Morrard..."

"Weren't you the one presiding over Roggvir's execution?" Mhari raised her eyebrow in confusion.

"Not my finest hour." Captain Aldis frowned and took a long sip from his bottle. "He was a fine and honourable man."

"So you think what he did was right?" Mhari leaned on the table with her elbow, waiting curiously for his response.

"No. He was entirely wrong, and his execution was justified and necessary. Being honourable might make you a good man, but it doesn't make you right." Captain Aldis finished the last of his drink, setting the bottle back on the table as he waved Corpulus over to order a second. "Be a better world if it did."

Mhari and Aldis shared a another round of drinks and a plate of grilled meat and garden vegetables before finally, Mhari rose to her feet. "I'm going to turn in for the night. Listen, Captain..."

"Hm?"

"I don't agree with how you handled Fura's death; and I can't say whether or not I agree with you on what happened with Roggvir," Mhari began, placing a couple spare coins on the table as a tip for Corpulus. "But I do know that if you weren't an honourable man yourself, these things would not be weighing on you as heavily as they clearly are. It seems to me that you need to be reminded of that."

Captain Aldis let out a slight sigh, his shoulders relaxing, but his eyes remained as pensive as they'd been since he'd first spoken to Mhari. "Thank you, bard."

Mhari retired for the night, falling asleep nearly the moment her head hit the pillow.

~To Be Continued...~

Note From the Author: Thank you again for reading the latest chapter of Songstress of Skyrim! If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider following this story and dropping a comment. I'd love to hear what my readers think; what their favourite parts were, what they'd like to see more of, etc. I hope to see you in the next chapter, dear reader.

~Voth Werid

[helgiafterdark]

[dunmercatadventures]

Entry 8: Turdas evening.

We arrived in solitude after dark, in the rain, to witness an execution right by the gate. Some nord man named Roggvir was called a traitor for letting in “Ulfric”. Lucien told me this Ulfric Stormcloak is apparently the Jarl of that awful frozen city I arrived in, who murdered the High King of Skyrim and started a war. We moved on quickly, but this one still saw the headsman’s axe fall. Anyway, we found the museum at the far end of the city, and applied for the position mentioned. As a sort of entry test, we’ve been sent to find a Sixth House Bell hammer, a magic ring, and a carved jade statue from someplace called Akavir. We’re sitting now at a table in the local tavern, getting dinner and discussing which artifact to retrieve first. Lucien wants to go for Denstagmer’s ring, as it’s supposedly in a hideout near Whiterun, which we are the most familiar with. I want to take back the Bell Hammer, of course, and Faendel is eager for the challenge of taking on the “Forsworn” for the statue, who Lucien says are a bunch of savages in southwestern Skyrim. We’ll have come to an agreement by morning, Khajiit is certain.

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wednesday!!

happy wip wednesday!! i've been very busy irl with school and family, but i'm so excited to see what everyones doing this week!

tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter @totally-not-deacon and @skyrim-forever !! thank you so much, and as always, i love what you're all working on!!

tagging the fantastic @thana-topsy @orfeoarte @aphocryphas @dirty-bosmer @mareenavee @wispstalk @polypolymorph @wildhexe @boethiahspillowbook @gilgamish @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @umbracirrus @caliblorn and you!! the lovely writer/artist/modder reading this, i'm always here to see your wips!!

this week, since i just published chapter 15 of CotS, i wanted to jump ahead and share three small snippets. these are from chapters 22, 23, and 24 respectively. i'm sharing sections from all three of these chapters because i wanted to highlight the differences in POVs of the trio, and how the LDBs process one specific situation. i hope you enjoy!! <3

Night. Wyndrelis became acutely aware that it was night. The flicker of torches passing by the windows of the inn marked long stretches of orange along the stone walls, pawing like a cat along a rug. He could feel the claws digging in, deeper, pinprick needles of the dark surrounding the three in the small room. What were they doing last? What had they done? He closed his eyes. He wished he hadn't.

Roggvir. That's right. The execution. He jolted, making desperate attempts to keep the image of the man's corpse from his mind. He could still see the spray of blood, the spinal column severed by the axe, the way his skull lulled off the stage- Oh, gods. Wyndrelis' stomach churned. He cupped a palm over his lips and leaned forward, off the bed - bed, he was sitting on a bed - and hoped only that he would- A cold rag met his forehead, easy motions, a palm circling between his shoulder blades. He shuddered and winced and begged it all to stop, squeezing his eyes shut as the nausea passed, as something was presented to him, a scent he couldn't place wafting under his nose. He swallowed down hard. As though through water, a voice said, "you'll be fine, you need to lie on your side and breathe slowly." Emeros. He nodded and crawled up into the bed, lying down as instructed, allowing the waves of nausea to pass him by, sweeping over him. The room came back to him, piece by piece. The bed, the inn. He turned his gaze to the foot of the bed and saw Athenath, staring straight ahead, unmoving. Athenath was never not moving. The Altmer always rocked in their seat or bounced his leg or did a hundred other little things, and now, unmoving, staring to the wall. Arms folded over their middle. Soon, Emeros was guiding them to the middle of the bed. Soon, his hand brushed the Altmer's forehead, stray curls tickling their nose, making the Mer grimace. Then, he blew out the candles, and climbed into bed with the other two. Wyndrelis could feel Athenath beside him. The young Mer laid there, staring at the ceiling, watching torchlight pass through the window. Emeros on one side, Wyndrelis on the other, the Dunmer's head pounding.

----

If Emeros ever got General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak together in a room, he'd kill them both. A languid haze shone off the waters of the Sea of Ghosts. He watched it from the window of the Winking Skeever with what could only be described as mild contempt. Contempt for the silence. For the goings-on of the people down the hall, at the hearth, in the town square. The sundry moods of them in all their garish hues, impish laughter coating one, stress coating another, cloaked all in these colors of the day ahead. But in none of them, did Emeros sense grief. Roggvir's head had lolled off the stone stage, landing squarely with a wet and stone-hard plop at the foot of an Imperial soldier. This had aroused no response. Another head. Another axe. What difference, then, was made in this one? None. None at all, he concluded with a quiet scoff. So, it had meant what, nothing? A life cut with a deft swinging of a blade at orders given, same as a tree fallen to a woodsman? Sawmill machinery, this war. The warmth of a hand on his arm startled him from thought. In the reflection of the glass, he saw the face of Athenath, Wyndrelis' figure hovering close behind. The night's rest had done them all some good; Athenath's unusually rosy hue returned, and Wyndrelis seemed to have gotten his color back, for all good that observation did of a Dunmer. "You okay, Emeros?" The question arrested him, a quiet surprise settling in the Bosmers features. What good would it do to answer honestly? What would be the point? They had all seen the same thing, the same, horrific thing. They shared, too, in the suffering for it, the knowledge of their own terrible near-miss with the executioners. How ironic, then, the dragons, those dreadful bastards of Akatosh, had been the ones to save them. The bashful shuffling of Wyndrelis' fur-lined boots against the stone floors drew Emeros back from his silent thoughts, meeting Athenath's gaze. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied, shaking his head, "I'm more worried about you two."

----

Don't think about it. Athenath stood, back to the low wall blocking off the craggy cliffs, the sea, the gulls encircling the stars in their briny white wings. All through the noon, all through dinner, his mind had reverberated with the single thought. Don't think about it. Emeros, asleep, circles under his keen eyes. Wyndrelis, resting on his back, flattened out like a corpse for burial. The grey of him, the moons on his cheeks and the cold dead bloodied thing formerly known as- Don't think about it. What was it that old priest in Bravil used to say? The lilting cant of his worn voice, the cold of his shoulder, mercy was only as powerful as one let it be? He'd lost a son to the war, it was no wonder the priest held Mara in such high regard. He'd paced the chapel and prayed with the young elf, much younger then. The war. Talos outlawed, now Ulfric and his Stormcloaks- no, before this. Anvils architecture floating up raft-like on the sick and turbulent seas of Athenath's mind, the sand in his sandals and the sky high above and- Don't think about it. A deeply familiar thought over the years. The rain would wash the blood, but for now, the block remained rust-stained, saddled with the weight of it. Its stench and buzzing flies screeched of Helgen and it made Athenath wish he'd never escaped it, the nightmares prominent, the kind where they awoke with a heart-racing start, eyes jolting open only to face one or the other of his companions and what did he really know of them to find such comfort in sleeping in a shared bed and what did they know of him to trust the same and they had all nearly died and then the dragon and- The more he pushed it out, the more it came back, head pounding head race heart race no no, don't think about it don't let it come to mind even though their hands shook now and their thoughts numbed against all noise and the world blurred and they could feel it in their skin the fire and the blood and the sword in hand and don't think about it don't- "Oh." Wyndrelis' voice shook the Altmer from their thoughts. Were their eyes wide? Was their face pale? He hoped not. The pair watched one another, night shrouding all expressions, thick with silence. Wyndrelis coughed absently into a balled fist. "I suppose I'm not surprised, you weren't in bed, but I… Nevermind." The Dunmer gave a nervous chuckle, eyes darting off to the side, rims of his glasses catching the light. Athenath forced a half-laugh. "It's fine." They leaned against the stone, arms folding over their chest, fingers curled against the fabric of their sleeves. "Um… So, how're you holding up?"

[the-dragonthief-passages]

22nd of Last Seed, 4E 201

I really need to write down what happened yesterday. When I was walking towards the gates of Solitude, the guard warned me that if I wasn't here to join the Legion, "keep your nose clean, or you'll end up like Roggvir." I didn't know what he meant until I got inside. They were holding an execution for Roggvir. I don't know why, but seeing that, and the way they chopped his head off, scared the daylights out of me.

I don't know what was going on, but for some reason, I thought that I was back at Helgen. I kept seeing flashes of that day. The fire, the headsman executing one of the Stormcloaks, the dragon. I was reliving all of it. As soon as I snapped out of it, I was in an alley crying like a baby. I had to wait until I calmed down before I could get a room at the Winking Skeever. I didn't even eat dinner.

I don't know what happened to me, but I don't want to know. I'm just going to continue on like normal. Find myself something to do.

The first thing I heard when I woke up was that bard singing "The Dragonborn Comes." Great start, world. I looted a bunch of stuff that I could find. I have a feeling Solitude is perfect for all my little looting desires.

After that, I left out into the rain and headed into Angeline's Aromatics. They don't actually sell perfume, but they do sell potions. I got a potion to cure whatever I had caught from that Skeever, and sold some ingredients and potions I didn't need to her. She asked me if I had been to Whiterun, and I told her yes. She asked me to ask Captain Aldis about her daughter Fura, who had been assigned to Whiterun after joining the Legion. I figured I might as well. After that, I started selling wherever I could. I had quite a bit this time.

I headed up to Captain Aldis to ask about Angelina's daughter. He asked me to find a book called The Mirror first, then I asked him. It took some convincing, but I did eventually get it out of him: she's dead. Died in a scouting voyage. Damn. It wasn't easy telling Angelina. The tears in her eyes were painful to see. I decided to keep looking around to help me take my mind off of it.

I still had a staff of flames to sell, so I decided I would go to the Blue Palace to sell this to the court mage. When I got there, the Jarl was in the middle of a hearing with a Dragon Bridge resident named Varnius. Something weird has been going on at Wolfskull Cave, and I volunteered to check it out. I did end up selling the staff, as well as looting the palace. Jackpot!

After that, I decided now was a good time to try joining the Legion. It wasn't something I would normally do, but I needed something new to do with myself. This is as good as anything.

General Tullius recognized me. He sounded glad at the thought of me joining the Legion. Legate Rikke, who likely handles all recruitment, sent me on a test to clear out Fort Hraggstad to see if I'm worthy. I'll head out in the morning, clear out both in one fell swoop. For now, I need some rest.

[stormbeyondreality]

Solitude is more cosmopolitan than anywhere else Erlind has been to in Skyrim, more cosmopolitan than anywhere they've been to since leaving Camlorn. A new-recruit guard sees the look on their face upon arriving at the gates and introduces himself as Roggvir in an offer to show them around the city a little bit. Erlind thanks him and asks for directions to the Bards' College but ultimately turns him down. He takes the no graciously.

A light snow is falling by the time Erlind makes his way to the College building. He's grateful for the warmth of the atrium and spends a little bit of time looking around before approaching the most official-looking person and asking how to apply.

The next three years of Erlind's life are spent very similar to her five at the College of Winterhold, save with music instead of magic. Studying, practicing, gaining familiarity with the surroundings. It's peaceful and exactly what she wanted.

On their third year at the Bards' College, just in time for the Burning of King Olaf Festival, King Olaf's lost verse itself is found. Erlind is asked to join the party retrieving it, as they have experience fighting draugr that may not be in Dead Man's Respite in the first place. Having grown somewhat restless, Erlind agrees.

Ultimately, his participation is what leads to every member of the retrieval party surviving, and as a result, Viarmo brings him along to perform the newly-found verse for High King Torygg and court. Erlind's personal opinion is that Viarmo overstates his involvement; he wasn't the only fighter there or anything of that sort, but okay. The praise during the festival itself and for some time afterward makes him uncomfortable, but fine.

Now inducted as a full-fledged bard of the Bards' College and feeling the call of exploration, Erlind gathers up traveling gear, adopts a dog named Borealis for help and company, and sets out toward the south with no particular plan in mind.