Talon's Journal, First Night

Talon's Journal

---Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201---
Ugh. Where do I even begin describing the events of the past few days? I suppose I'll begin with what I can remember.

My name is Talon. At least, that's the word that comes to mind when I think of a name. My memory is in pieces - some of them clear, others not. I awoke in a ditch on the side of a well-traveled road... a few days ago now, I think. Naked, covered in skeever bites, and a shattering pain in the left side of my skull. Dark red clots covered my face, fresh blood still pouring from a wound under my eye.  Before that, all I remember is the grim face of a Khajit.

A lone signpost pointed north to Skyrim. I walked.



---Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201---
I tried to piece together what I could. People, places, events, these are still foggy in my mind. The word 'Skyrim' had a familiar ring to it, however. A safe one, like a home I had. On the other hand, I remember how to walk, how to talk, write, and fight. I find myself recalling more and more each day. It had grown cold on the northern trip to Skyrim, and though I had nothing to my name, not even a cloth to cover my breasts, I found myself almost instinctively scavenging deadwood and stones to make a campfire. I didn't think I'd survive too long, by myself, but serendipity finds a way. A merchant caravan, heading south from Skyrim into 'Cyrodil', they said, found and clothed me. Little more than sewn rags, but I was thankful.



---Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201---
The harsh cold grew even more fierce as I came across an abandoned border gate. Thinking nothing of it, I climbed the wall and dropped into Skyrim proper. Fresh tracks in the snow indicated a number of people marching northward, away from the border, and in a hurry. I thought little of it and followed along, eager to see civilization again.  It wasn't long before I ran into a small group - A man in fine armor and a number of what seemed to be soldiers. They didn't seem to be in the mood for talking, so  I nodded as I began to walk past. And then, a thundering of hooves. A black-haired Nord on a horse came rushing by. He didn't get far, however, as from all sides soldiers in brown leather armor stampeded from off the road, forming a ring.



---Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201---
We had been captured. Though I was not guilty of any crime I am aware of (is crossing the border illegal?) I was treated as a prisoner, same as the apparent horse thief and the soldiers I had met in passing. A conversation on the cart ride over revealed that the captured men were 'Stormcloaks', a rebel faction that opposed the Empire's rule in Skyrim. The Empire... Yes, I remember now. Titus Mede II, the Empire of Tamriel in its seat of Cyrodil. We had been captured by the Empire. And the man sitting next to me was no mere soldier, but Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the entire rebellion. It seems that in a haste to dispense of Ulfric, we were all being sentenced to death without a fair trial. I kept quiet. No words could save us now.



---Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201---
What did save us... (Well, most of us anyway. The horse thief died trying to escape) was something that seems utterly ludicrous. As my head lay on the chopping block, I saw an immense, black creature soar through the sky like a great bird, before landing on the nearby keep and... speaking into existence fire and rocks from the heavens. I ran blindly through the crumbling, burning city and it seemed the creature, a 'dragon', was waiting for me at every turn. It was everywhere at once, burning, maiming, killing... it was all I could do just to keep one foot in front of the other. I did notice one thing - the 'Stormcloaks' seem concerned with saving their own hides. The Imperials were trying to fight the dragon, and even offered to save me. I followed them.



---Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201---
The Imperial officer I followed, Hadvar, he introduced himself as, had been the one reading names lined up for execution. He apologized to me for what came before, and we spoke for a moment of the creature that had suddenly appeared. Dragon. A children's story, he said. It certainly seemed real enough to me. Hadvar brought me into the large keep nearby and explained the dungeons worked their way into a cave system that would lead outside. I borrowed some equipment that the now-dead soldiers outside would no longer need, and followed him downwards. We met escaped Stormcloaks along the way, as well, who were none too eager to see Hadvar. Fools, he even tried to talk them down. There are much bigger fish to fry!



---Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201---
Meeting a few stragglers here and there, we fought out way to the exit, and witnessed the dragon flying off into the horizon - off towards Bleak Falls Barrow, a Nordic tomb. That seemed to be the end of the dragon attack... I decided to follow Hadvar back to his home town of Riverwood and seek aid from his uncle Alvar, the local smith. He and his family very generously allowed me to make use of their home, and Sigrid even provided this very book and a quill and ink. In return they've asked me to seek aid from the Jarl of Whiterun to reinforce the town. It's the least I could do, honestly, so I agreed. I'll make preparations in the morning, and then be on my way. After that... well, I guess I have time to think about that on the way.