The next day dawns bright and clear, one of those perfect days that seem to be made of endless sunshine.  As I emerge from the tent and take a deep breath of the rarefied mountain air, it seems to infuse me with limitless energy.  I have a good feeling about today.  The plan is to head through the woods to Shor’s Stone in order to deliver the satchel of letters from Sylgja’s parents, and hopefully find a cave bear pelt along the way.

But as I contemplate our arrangements, I have to admit to a slight feeling of disappointment that our plans are so modest.  This day seems made for grand adventures, daring quests, amazing acts of brilliance and bravery.   Hopefully we’ll run into something exciting… well, except dragons.  I don’t want to see any dragons.  Dragons are scary.   For that matter, so are trolls.   And giants.   On second thought, never mind.  Forget I said anything.

Continue reading “Chapter 52: A Likely Story” →

As Jenassa and I reach for our weapons and enter the cave, my instincts tell me there’s something strange about it.  The way our footsteps echo off the cavern walls seems odd, as if the cave is trying to swallow the sounds we’re making.   I can’t determine the cause, and I find myself slowing down a little more than usual as we proceed.

Up ahead, we hear noises that prove the cavern is indeed occupied by animals — but far from hearing the deep growl of bears or the strident yowl of sabre cats, these noises are more like high-pitched squeaks.  Great.  We seem to have found a cave full of skeevers.  I can’t imagine more useless prey for a couple of relatively experienced hunters, and this certainly won’t help with our assignment from Aela.

Continue reading “Chapter 51: Enemy of My Enemy” →

After a refreshing morning swim in the river, Jenassa and I prepare to take our leave of the cozy little fishing hut.  After further discussion, we’ve decided to head back to Whiterun via the scenic route — more specifically, by way of the Rift.  Since we still have yet to find any cave bear pelts for Aela’s assignment, we’re hoping that traveling through the woodlands will offer us more opportunity to hunt bears.  In addition, we plan to swing back to Shor’s Stone and deliver the satchel to Sylgja from her parents in Darkwater Crossing.

Also, given that Maven Black-Briar may still be on the lookout for her stolen horse, we’re making it a priority to avoid the actual city of Riften.  This may make travel somewhat awkward, but with most of the Riften guards in Maven’s pocket, it seems like a sensible precaution.  After all, it’s not paranoia if someone really is out to get you.

Continue reading “Chapter 50: Seeking Hides” →

As if in a dream, I walk forward into the sanctuary of the Eldergleam — a resplendent cavern open to the sky, filled with all the natural beauty one would expect from a place blessed by Kynareth.  Maurice and Jenassa follow behind me, all of us rendered speechless as the wonders of the sanctuary unfold before our dazzled eyes.  And high above like a monarch’s crown is the Eldergleam itself, most precious jewel of this treasure trove, branches spread over all like a heavenly benediction.

Moonlight pours through the roof like a fountain of liquid crystal, its silvery light illuminating every leaf, every drop of water, every blade of grass.  If my heart were to burst right here, and I were to perish in the presence of such beauty, I would count myself the luckiest being in creation to have this wondrous place be the last thing my fortunate eyes would ever see.

Continue reading “Chapter 49: I’d Tap That” →

After clearing out the bandits from Valtheim Towers, Jenassa and I reunite with our travel companion and continue our journey.  Just before we head out, I glance up at the lowering sun and feel a twinge of anxiety.   The afternoon has started its transition into early evening, and I’m hoping there won’t be any more time-consuming encounters before dark.  Our tent isn’t big enough to accommodate more than two people, and given that Maurice is an unarmed pacifistic pilgrim who can’t even get on a horse, I doubt he’d survive the night.

As we ride, both of us keep a sharp eye out for any roadside threats that might endanger our companion.  When we find ourselves at the border of Eastmarch, I cautiously relax.  Darkwater Crossing isn’t too far now, and with any luck, the sanctuary of the Eldergleam should be just beyond.  The road ahead seems completely clear of any dangers, so I sit back in the saddle and start to enjoy the ride.

Continue reading “Chapter 48: Three’s a Crowd” →

After Jenassa and I have a few hours of rest at the Bannered Mare, we awaken in time to partake of a hearty lunch downstairs.  We only have a vague idea of how far we’ll have to travel to reach the Eldergleam, and so we make sure we have reasonably full bellies and a decent store of provisions.

Our new companion Maurice is eager to start, saying that he’s wanted to see the Eldergleam for years, but he’s been reluctant to make the journey on his own.  Understandable, especially now that there’s a war on.  The roads are far from safe for an unarmed traveler.

But after we exit the main gates, it’s apparent that there’s going to be a minor problem with our travel arrangements.

Continue reading “Chapter 47: Taking a Toll” →

Take it from the Dragonborn — fighting a dragon in the dead of night isn’t the easiest thing in the world.  Attempting to track a dark shape against the night sky is bad enough, but when the best view you have of that dark shape happens to coincide with it incinerating your face — well, let’s just say that it’s not an ideal combat situation.

It’s fortunate that I didn’t have to dip into my stock of healing potions during our encounter with the werewolf, because after the dragon sets me on fire multiple times, I’m guzzling down several vials.  In the meantime, Jenassa keeps a steady eye on its flight against the starry sky, but for such a massive creature, it’s annoyingly difficult to hit.  Between the two of us we loose a veritable volley in its direction, but only a couple of our arrows manage to find their mark.  At this rate it’s going to take all night to down this damned lizard — if it doesn’t cremate us first.

Continue reading “Chapter 46: Sacrifices Were Made” →

Under the sinister light of the Blood Moon, the shadows deepen and a chilling howl echoes through the trees.  That sounded far too close.  Evidently Sinding is still in wolf form, and after seeing what he did to the other hunters, I can only hope he’s exhausted from all the fighting.  I swallow and try to ignore my rising panic.

Exchanging wary glances, Jenassa and I reach for our weapons and cautiously move deeper into the grove.  Just past the bloody remains of the hunter camp, we reach a natural alley bordered on each side by high, stony cliffs.  I’m not too enthusiastic about heading in there with a werewolf on the loose, but it’s apparent we don’t have much choice.

Continue reading “Chapter 45: Bad Moon Rising” →

Waking early the next day, we emerge from the tent into a clear and sunny morning.  After Jenassa and I strike camp, we grab a quick breakfast and mount up to take a tour of our new homestead.  In the daylight it looks even better — the Jarl’s steward wasn’t kidding when she called it a fine piece of property.

Most of the land is high on a ridge, bordered on one side by a stony cliff.   Atop the ridge it’s relatively level, with a beautiful and secluded forest clearing.  Facing south, we can see the clear waters of Lake Ilinalta glimmering through the trees, with the ancient structure of Bleak Falls Barrow visible from the opposite shore.  In every way it’s the ideal site for our home.

Continue reading “Chapter 44: Bunch of Stiffs” →

As Jenassa and I ride through the gates of Falkreath, the falling snow changes into rain.  Despite the milder temperature, however, the weather is still quite chilly and it’s just as unpleasant, perhaps even worse now that we’re getting soaked.  Even though it’s only mid-afternoon, the rain showers have turned the sky gloomy and dark, and the lights of the town shine almost as brightly as if it were nightfall.

We guide our horses toward the middle of town, coming to a halt just outside the Jarl’s hall and out of the wind.  Falkreath doesn’t seem to have stables anywhere in town, or any other place that would be an appropriate shelter, but fortunately the horses of Skyrim are a hardy lot.

Continue reading “Chapter 43: Building Expectations” →