Things To Be Done and Places To Be - Fanar

Things to be done and places to be. Through cities above and those below.

The carriage from Riverwood back to Solitude was surprisingly restful. Perhaps because it had been the only true rest in quite some time. It seemed that Solitude had sorely missed a Snakestone’s touch these last few months. A stack of requests and oddjobs fell at my feet. By my reckoning, a month passed, and with it’s closing, I had completed all of them. A small favor here, a charitable deed there. A new camp of bandits or other ill folk. I was far from picky. Work was work. It was my way again. Capable hands have little issue finding work. Though, I suppose this is as good of a place as any to take a step back.

At first, I had tried to work close to home. It felt like I owed it to them after what had happened. I occasionally walked to Helsmyrr to see dearest Fannah, or at times north, a week’s travel up to the shoreline, but my return was always swift. One such walk had lead to my little island venture but two months ago. It still sat fresh in my mind, and with it, an ever-growing itch. The itch grew like my beard. Tiny, sparse, far-spread. Thicker by the day, a jaw, once smooth to the touch becomes rough, almost unpleasant. Then before I knew it, a different man stared back at me in the mirror. Or rather, a man I had been avoiding for quite some time. I ran a hand along my jaw, then up to my near-disheveled hair. “Rugged”, I mouthed to myself. The word always brought a warm chuckle to my lips.

In those days, I spent most of my time up on the rooftop or out in the yard, eyes fixed to the horizon. My nights in the storeroom, in search of anything that called out to me. Searching for that final nudge. One night I found myself in the scrap section, my finger traced through the shelves, landing coldly against a dull metal. I dusted it off and tugged it out onto the rug with a thud. A strong plate-metal cuirass. Hardy, thick, heavy. Touching it, I could remember when they brought it in. So many years ago. It seemed colossal to me at that age. I thought to myself that I would someday be that size. I would grow into that. I would be a knight, a guard, another mercenary like father. Someone strong and just with all of the right answers. It wasn’t just this piece. It was a common thought back then. I saw myself growing to fill those large shoes, and now at times, I thought I had.

“Surely a perfect fit now?” I pondered under my breath. But not quite. It was fashioned for a much larger frame than I. Several belts and adjustments later, it had became a workable fit. That same night I let myself out, silently, a note in my wake. Toward Solitude, it had been a good while.

And now back to the way of things. As of the current, I am taking a brief respite under a moonlit shaft. Before me, what I presume to be an exit to this tomb. I thought to spend the night here before heading back to town. Things seemed to be just about in order now. Maybe the long walk back home was in my near future. Maybe not. Who can say.

This is odd. It isn’t often that I am able to catch up in my journal, but things had been quiet for so long. My head is clear, the perfect chance to write and recollect my thoughts? Piece together the recent events, reflect. Reminisce? Grow.