Embershaft Mine, Part 1

Heartened by my success, I press on, following the road toward Falkreath. Within the hour, I spy a flickering light at the top of the hill. As I wipe the rain from my eyes, I can make out the warm glow of a fire. I slog through the muddy grass, hoping I can take shelter from the rain. As I get closer, I can see doors leading into the imposing mountain. It's the old Embershaft Mine claimed by Cyrus Mack, a prospector from Cyrodiil.

There's a figure stirring around the fire. Is it Cyrus? I wave and call out, "Hallo, the camp!" The figure leaps up, startled, but relaxes when he spies me. As I approach, I manage to make out his features. It's not old Cyrus, but a grime-covered Nord dressed in furs. A hunter? He grins, betraying his rotting teeth.

"Well hallo yerself, girl."

I push my wet hair out of my face and gesture to the fire. "Mind if I join you? It's a mite wet out."

"Sure, sure!" he says with a soft chuckle and beckons me toward the flames.

I squat down by the fire and warm my hands over the crackling flames. The burning logs hiss and pop in the drizzle, but the heat and scent of woodsmoke are ever so reassuring.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the hunter lick his lips. Lest he get any ideas, I let my hand casually fall to the hilt of my sword.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doin' way out here?" he asks, eyeing the iron warily.

"On a bit of a walk-about, mostly. Thought I'd do some hunting. Game good out here?"

He looks around at the forest. "Oh yeah. Lots o'..." He trails off, thinking. "Squirrels. Yeah."

I shuffle in my satchel and pull out an apple. As I bite into it, I let my eyes casually drift around the camp. No bow or arrows. A heavy mace, no good for taking down game and yet... there's blood on it. Too late, the truth dawns on me. He's an outlaw. And if he's squatting on Cyrus's prospect that means...

He circles the campfire, slowly, and the flames glimmer in his wicked eyes. Again that grin. "Y'know," he says, low and menacingly, "I could use some warming up, too. A girl like you can make a man — hurk!"

I throw the half-eaten apple at him, catching his brown mid-sentence, and he stumbles back in surprise.

"You bitch!" he cries, and before I can draw my sword he slaps me across the mouth. I fly back into the mud, momentarily blinded by the stinging pain. I feel his heavy hands grabbing me, and I scream as he rips my dress. I kick madly, once, twice. The third kick connects, and I hear a little crunch and a holler. As I pull myself out of the mud, I see his hand clasped to his side, wincing. I've broken his ribs and now I've got to press the advantage.

He limps towards his mace as I fumble for my sword, then he stumbles towards me with a clumsy blow. "You'll pay for that!"

He swings madly, and I try to parry his blows. The mace is heavy and it's all I can do to stop from buckling under the weight of his attacks, clumsy though they are. I know I can't beat him in a battle of strength, so I desperately change my tactics. As his mace whistles towards me, I duck and slash. The scream and spray of hot blood on my face tell me my cut landed.

My attacker slumps to the ground, hands trying madly but in vain to pile his entrails back into his stomach. I crawl back in shock as I watch him scream. I clasp my hands over my ears and try to look away from the horror my blade has wrought. After what feels like an eternity, his screams quiet, and when I can bear to open my eyes again I see his body laying silently in the mud, a bloody pool spreading around him.

OOC: Delay and Cross-Promotion

I managed to bork up some textures trying to upgrade my mods, so it'll be a while before I get things back to normal. I still have screenshots for a coupla more entries, so I'll put those up soon. I'm also thinking of taking on another character with a different storyline, just to give myself some more variety.

In the meantime, check out this new Oblivion role-playing blog by Jacob Spreicher: Merrian of Cyrodiil. No screenshots, but he's actually got regular updates (and in the diary-ish format Sherincall likes). Reminds me of the good ol' days when I was writing Living in Cyrodiil. Keep up the good work, Jacob!

Setting Out

Last Seed 20, 4E 201

I wake up in the early morning hours, and Gerdur and Hod are still fast asleep. Moving as quickly as I can, I snatch a few bits to complete my kit: a cooking pot and ladle, a lantern, a couple loaves of bread. I wrap them in a blanket and stow them in my pack. I gather my new broadsword, my bow, and quiver. A quick prayer to Talos, then I'm out the door.

It's raining as I set out, and I'm quickly drenched. The cobblestones along the road are slippery, and I have to move slowly to keep my footing in the downpour. I'm cold and, less than ten minutes out, miserable. Dammit. Maybe Gerdur was right and I'm going to catch my death of cold out here.

Or worse.

I'm not a mile from Riverwood when I hear the ominous howling of wolves, and I frantically draw my sword when I see their wicked eyes glowing in the trees. They charge down at me: five great brutes with sable fur and shining teeth. They circle, snarling, searching for an opening. I turn about, blade at the ready, showing them I am no easy prey.

My lip trembles. I want to go home. I don't want to die out here in the cold and rain. I don't want to be torn to pieces by beasts.

My breath halts as I lock eyes with the alpha, and he licks his fangs in anticipation. I squeeze my eyes shut as he charges...

...and I thrust my blade into his gullet. A yelp, a gurgling death howl, and he falls before me. I stare in shock for a moment, stunned by my fortunate strike. Then, remembering the others, I heave the blade out of his lifeless body and wave it at the others.

"You want a piece of this?!" I cry, trying desperately to keep my voice from quavering.

They see the hot blood dripping from the blade and think better of their attack. They slink back into the forest, whimpering, but I remain at the ready. I hear them charging off into the underbrush and then... only the wind and rain.

I slump onto the cobblestones to thank Talos for this unlikely victory and, once my nerves settle, set to skinning my first trophy. I work by lantern light for two hours, and, after much trial and error, my labors are rewarded with a fine pelt and two large pieces of meat.

I let the rain wash the blood and bile from my hands. A wave of euphoria washes over me as I see the light of the morning sun arch over the Throat of the World. I, Katje of Riverwood, have survived my first battle.

Maybe Gerdur was wrong after all.

OOC: I'm experimenting some with writing style. I'd originally intended to write this blog as if it were Katje's journal, recounting the events of each day. But a present tense, stream of consciousness narrative seems freer and easier to write. Which style do you like better?

Last Seed 19, 4E 201

Gerdur and I got into a fight today. It started when Alvor helped me forge my own iron broadsword. I was so excited to have a real weapon, I decided to wear it around and show it off.

When Gerdur saw it, though, she about bit my head off. She started hollering about how she wasn't going to lose me to this damned war, too. I told her I was going to join the Stormcloaks and find Ralof whether she liked it or not. She screamed until she was red in the face, then finally broke down and started crying, begging me not to go get myself killed. I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran off to the Sleeping Giant Inn to clear my head.

Orgnar must've noticed I was having a bad day, so he called me over to talk.

"She's got a point," he said after I'd explained everything to him. I scowled, but he continued. "Katje, she's gonna miss you if you go runnin' off. Even more if you get yerself killed."

"But I can't stay in this little town and chop wood forever!" I protested.

He shook his head and started wiping the bar with an old rag. "Some folks are made for stayin' settled, and some folks are made for wanderin'. Me, I'm made to keep up this inn.

"But if you're serious about gettin' out of this place, you gotta start small. Don't just run off to the Stormcloaks. Work yer way up. Spend a night or two huntin', maybe. Learn to use that little sword and bow you've got. Show Gerdur you're really ready."

I consider his advice. It's good, no doubt. After all, what if, in my zeal, I bite off more than I can chew? What if it's too much for me? Armies don't take kindly to deserters, after all.

That settles it. Tomorrow I'll go on a walk-about. I'll set out early, before Gerdur wakes up, and head out hunting. I'll spend a night or two away like Orgnar suggested, and I'll see how well I can apply the skills in my survival guide.

I go to my room early, and reread the guide as carefully as I can before I turn in.

Last Seed 18, 4E 201

I awoke today sore from swinging that axe. But a shieldmaiden of Skyrim can't afford to stay in bed just because she's sore, so I dragged myself down to the Sleeping Giant Inn and got some breakfast. A bit of ale to numb the pain, too.

While I ate, Orgnar, the cook, told me of a local gang of bandits that have been attacking folks along the road. The Jarl of Whiterun has offered a reward for the killing of their leader. It sounds like a fine way to test my battle skills and prove myself to the Stormcloaks, but I'm certainly not ready for that yet. I don't even have a sword!

After breakfast, I returned to the lumber mill.

I got quite a bit of work done before Hod even got to the mill. I think he was impressed that I was able to lift such heavy logs on my own. He should know better. After all, I'm a Stormcloak's sister!

I worked until midday, then broke for lunch and collected my pay from Hod. I used the bit of coin I got to continue my training with Alvor. Together we forged a half-dozen daggers. I used the leather scraps that were left to piece together a rough fishing net like one I'd seen inside the Riverwood Trader. I must've done a good job, because I managed to catch a few salmon down by the river. I also found a clutch of slaughterfish eggs, which, according to the survival guide I found yesterday, can be used in a potion to protect from freezing water. Not something I need right away, but it could come in handy if I have to venture up into the mountains after those bandits.

I managed to get quite soaked wading in after my net, so I stopped alongside the river to build a campfire and dry out. I managed quite well on my first try, which was encouraging. I warmed myself by the campfire until darkness settled, enjoying the flicker of the flames and the chirping of crickets.

I headed back to Riverwood in the dark, mentally kicking myself for forgetting to bring a light source. Ah, the things you don't think about until after you're out in the wilds. Gerdur was roasting a goat leg when I got home. She hollered at me for being out past dark, so I took my food to my room here to write this journal entry and have an excuse to get away from her.

Now as I sit and rest from my busy day, thoughts of Ralof return to me. Perhaps I shall see him soon.

Last Seed 17, 4E 201

Here begins the journal of Katje of Riverwood.

I miss Ralof terribly. It's been three months now since he left home to join the Stormcloak rebellion, and we've been anxiously awaiting any news. I pray every night that he is well and that Talos protects him from Imperial blades. But though I worry for his safety, I envy him. To fight alongside Ulfric Stormcloak, for the glory of Skyrim! How fortunate he is.

I told Gerdur again how much I long to leave this sleepy little town behind and join Ralof in his adventures. She gave me a lecture (again) on how dangerous life was outside Riverwood. "Katje," she told me, "I've lost a cousin to those damned Thalmor, and I may have lost a brother now, too. I'm certainly not going to lose my baby sister." She worries too much, but I know it's because she cares.

At the Riverwood Trader, I found a survival guide to the wilds of Skyrim, and I spent the better part of my morning poring through it. I realized that if I want to survive a war with the Empire, I must first learn to survive Skyrim itself.

I decided to start by toughening up my soft hands. Hod always needs more folks to chop wood at the mill, so I grabbed a spare axe and set to chopping. Poor Gerdur! She's going to think I decided to settle down here at the mill and put thoughts of the rebellion behind me. Not a chance!

I chopped until my poor hands started to get raw from the axe. For my hard work, Hod gave me a bit of coin. I decided to use it to get Alvor the blacksmith to give me some lessons on how to work the forge. He set me to work making a dagger and a helmet.

After I'd finished his lesson, I started work on a simple quarterstaff and hunting bow using some spare wood I found lying around the mill. After a few hours, I had something quite decent. I used the remaining coin I had to purchase a small quiver of arrows from Alvor, then spent my evening practicing my archery on a basket I found.

I... need a lot more practice.

Tomorrow I'll continue with the hard work, toughening myself up for the day when I'll stand beside my brother Ralof as a shieldmaiden of Skyrim.