Chapter 38: Witch Hunt

Riding into Falkreath Hold, I become aware of an odd sound drifting through the trees.  At first it’s just at the edge of my awareness, and other noises are competing with it — wind in the branches, evening birdsong, the steady drumming of our horses’ hooves on the stony road.  But as we ride, the sound grows stronger and steadier until it’s impossible to ignore.

I bring Frost to a halt just off the road and look around.  I hear Jenassa’s horse come to a stop, and I glance behind me, raising my hand to point into the trees.  Jenassa nods once, indicating that she hears it as well.  We stay silent and listen.

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Chapter 39: Cleanup Crew

After spending a comfortable night at the inn, Jenassa and I wake up next morning and head into the main room for breakfast.  Fortunately, although Dead Man’s Drink has somewhat mediocre mead, their selection of edibles looks pretty tasty.  There’s a certain emphasis on game and fish, which isn’t too surprising, as Falkreath Hold has a reputation as the home of some of the best hunting and fishing in Skyrim.

After a hearty meal of fresh bread, rabbit stew, and juniper tea, we head outside.   There’s a light mist rising from the surrounding woods, but the morning sun is warm and the sky overhead is a brilliant blue.  The town itself has a certain rustic charm.  It’s about the same size as Morthal, but it has a greater range of amenities such as a fully-stocked blacksmith and a general store.  It’s also the home of the oldest and largest graveyard in Skyrim, which might sound a bit morbid — but the dead have to be buried somewhere, right?  Besides, after fighting hideous zombies in long-forgotten draugr crypts, a well-kept historical graveyard seems positively civilized.

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Chapter 40: Grave Concerns

After Jenassa and I leave the Jarl’s hall, we decide to head back to the inn.  The rain has stopped for now, but the sky is still leaden and dull, and there aren’t too many people outside except for the blacksmith and the town guards.  Since we want to talk to some of the townsfolk, we figure at least a few of them will be back at the inn, deep in their cups.

As we walk inside, the innkeeper looks up from the counter and motions for us to come over.

“Glad you’re back,”  she says as soon as we approach.  “There’s a gentleman here who’s quite anxious to talk to you.  Something about Helgen.  I said he was welcome to have a drink and sit at the bar as long as he liked, but he wanted to wait in your room instead to make sure he didn’t miss you.  He’s been there ever since you left this morning.”

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