Archive for May, 2014
—Heartfire, 10Th, 4E 201—
I’ve finally sorted out some confusion. The statues of the Nord standing over the serpent are of Tiber Septim, first Emperor. The Nords believe him to have ascended to godhood, as Talos. And yet, the Empire and the Thalmor prohibit the worship of Talos here in Skyrim. I’ve seen it here in Markarth, Thalmor patrols weeding out Talos followers. The Jarl trying to keep peace by bowing beneath the empire. And the nords, fighting with the help of the Forsworn. These Forsworn are barbarians, but it may be that even barbarians are preferable to conquerors.
Yet the Nords, these ‘Silver-Bloods’, are some of the most irritating, stuck-up sods I have ever seen. Strutting around like the city is theirs by inheritance. Spitting on the lives of all those poorer than themselves. They even have their own treasury, for their own use. I don’t know who is the bigger problem, the Silver-Bloods or the Thalmor. Things were so much neater in Whiterun.
—Heartfire, 7Th, 4E 201—
The rocky hills around Markarth are swarming with barbarians known as the ‘Forsworn’. I have yet to discover what this may mean. Yet, they are fighting alongside foul harpies in their towers; their lives are forfeit.
I killed two harpies with the forsworn. One was in a cage, claiming her tower had been stolen. The other lay at the top of their chambers. Neither won.
I rest at the Inn at Markarth, and the Forsworn are causing a panic. The mines are overrun, and I arrived in the city to see a woman stabbed right in front of everyone. I took her key, in case her quarters reveal any clues, or perhaps something useful to my travels. In any case, these barbarians are truly a problem.
—Heartfire, 4Th, 4E 201—
A woman in Rorikstead mentioned that a hagraven may be found at Orphan Rock. It may be a long shot, but this may be my best chance of finding the nettlebane I need to save the tree in Whiterun. The hard part will be passing back through Helgen to get there.
—Heartfire, 3rd, 4E 201—
There is a rotunda near Whiterun, an open-air forge. It has been named ‘Lunar Forge’. They say that, when the moons are out, weapons forged in its place are bestowed great enchantments.
But that is not why I am writing. During the day, I came upon a hunter’s encampment, hid under an outcropping of rock. Its inhabitants had been unfortunate, bloodied by some creature – likely wolves, as the plains are teeming with them. There were several pelts and skins as a testament of their trade. In one chest lay a fascinating gemstone.
And the gemstone spoke to me. Merida, she said was her name, she wants me to find her mountain. She wants me to go and put her gem where it belongs. She compels me to go…but I feel uneasy. She speaks of wrath and rage, that I would become an instrument of her righteousness. I don’t trust this talk. But how can I easily defy a god?
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