4th Hearthfire

'We are in danger of outstaying out welcome,' said Drelis, eyeing the grumpy barkeep. 'Phane, perhaps you should order us some more wine to keep our host satisfied.

'What? Now?' Phane cupped his hands in a begging gesture. 'But you said we were just getting to the part with more dragons in it!' He looked to Lalaine for support, but she was clearly on Drelis' side. 'Fine. Damn you both. It'll be cheap wine though, so be satisfied with whatever turns up.'

'Get us some food as well,' suggested Lalaine. 'Bread, cheese, cold meat. Maybe some grapes!' But Phane was already half way to the bar, muttering. 'Are there really dragons in this next part?' she asked Drelis.

'Of course, I am no liar,' Drelis picked up his wine cup. It was empty. He sighed and put it back down. 'The nights were growing steadily colder with autumn settling in. I imagine it takes a while to get used to Skyrim's climate, even if you are already used to brisk mountain air. Even after the sun had risen, the wind still had a bite in it and snow was falling, even on the plain of the tundra.

'Khargol and Uthgerd passed a trio of giants herding their mammoths from their camp to a watering hole. Wild elk bounded across the fields, and rabbits bolted for cover as the warriors hiked towards the half-ruin of Fort Greymoor.

'The fort appeared to be manned, but the sentries on the wall turned out to be straw mannequins. "A legion trick," Khargol claimed.'

'Does that mean he was in the legion?' asked Lalaine.

'Not quite. I was going to talk about this later but... well, Phane wouldn't be interested. Khargol used to be a mercenary before he came to Skyrim, and he had some bad run-ins with the legion.' Lalaine's eyes lit up, her mouth agape. 'That's all I'll say for now though, there's too much to get through at the moment.

'The fort was occupied by a band of well-armed bandits. Thugs and outlaws, all of them, they were prepared to defend their ruined den, but they were not prepared for two experienced adventurers who stormed the place with such tenacity. Khargol commented that Uthgerd fought without remorse against the bandits, she explained that their crimes meant that they deserved no quarter. Uthgerd writes about her own feats of valour with a ridiculous amount of detail - if her accounts were to be believed in full, we would think she had slain a hundred men single-handedly while Khargol managed to best only four or five. One entry mentions the "bandits' pet wizard" and says only that Khargol took a lightning bolt to the chest, but managed to stay upright and hack the sorcerer to pieces. I suspect that Uthgerd's nordic distrust of magic had only been reinforced by their experiences in Volunruud.

'Looting the bandit dead, Khargol came across a book on legion tactics...'

'Mixed Unit Tactics,' claimed Phane, returning with a platter of food and drinks. 'Even I've read that one. Did I miss the dragons?'

'No, you didn't miss the dragons, and no it wasn't Mixed Unit Tactics.' Drelis made a grab for some bread while Lalaine cut the cheese. 'It was a book that is normally issued only to legion soldiers. Khargol suspected that the bandits had been deserters from the legion. It hardly mattered any more though, since they were all dead.

'Upon leaving the fort, both Khargol and Uthgerd were put on guard by the echoing bellow of a dragon circling above.'

'Yes!'

'The dragon circled and circled, roaring and trumpeting, never coming even close to the ground. Khargol picked up one of the dead bandit's bows and started loosing arrows at it. Uthgerd did the same, but none of their arrows found their marks. The dragon barely paid any attention to them, it just kept circling and roaring. Eventually it flew off into the northern mountains.'

Phane was visibly crushed.

'Don't worry Phane,' said Drelis, patting him on the arm. 'They pursued it to the slopes of Eldersblood Peak. They found an abandoned shack on the way up, and Khargol said he could see a number of barrows nearby. They were both already encumbered by their loads, however, so they left their packs in the cottage and scaled the slopes to meet the dragon.

'The dragon, however, swooped down to meet them. It belched flame as they scrambled for cover amongst the sparse trees. Khargol used his thu'um to distract it while Uthgerd shot arrows from her bow. The dragon became wroth and dived to land between them! Now, the slate on the slopes of this particular mountain was particularly slick. As the dragon landed, it dislodged a great tide of rocks and pebbles. The ground gave way and the dragon lost its footing. It was virtually defenceless ans Khargol's axe came crashing down onto its scaly maw!

'Utherd writes of the light and wind that swirled from the dragon's burning flesh until the beast was no more than scorched bones, and Khargol's eyes shone with the power of the monster's soul.'

'Huzzah!' cried Phane, nearly knocking his wine cup flying.

'Did they climb to the peak anyway?' asked Lalaine, catching the cheese wheel before it rolled off the table.

'Khargol did. He left Uthgerd in the shack and returned an hour later. He claimed that there was a word wall mural on the mountaintop, and he had a battleaxe strapped to his back that looked to be of elven make.'

'Elven weapons and armour are prestigious,' Phane remarked. 'Even an orc would see that.'

2nd Hearthfire

'Why are we skipping a day?' asked Lalaine. 'I thought we were on the first day of Hearthfire, not the second.'

'You're not missing anything,' Phane explained. 'The orc left Markarth, killed some forsworn in the hills, saw a dragon that wouldn't fight back... and that's about it.'

Drelis nodded slowly. 'He's not far off I'm afraid. Although I would have tried to illuminate the story in a more exciting manner.'

'Let's not waste any more time. Our ale won't last all night, so tell us what happened on the second day of Hearthfire.' Phane took a gulp of the bright beverage.

'Ah yes, well the important events of that day were the slaying of the forsworn in a place called Broken Tower Redoubt, as per the jarl's bounty notice; passing through the village of Rorikstead; and investigating the barrow of Rannveig's Fast.' Drelis leafed through the three documents he had. 'The jarl's steward did not write details on what happened at Broken Tower Redoubt, and I'm sure we can imagine that for ourselves. A pity though, I would have liked to know how Khargol dealt with overwhelming odds when facing the forsworn.'

'Wait a moment,' said Lalaine, pointing at Drelis. 'You have a copy of the jarl's steward's report?'

'Well... yes. It's only a copy though, it's not the original.'

'How did you get your hands on something like that?'

'There are so many marvelously mundane books that end up in the library,' Drelis explained. 'Travelers, adventurers, merchants, many different people visit. They know that we will take anything and everything, regardless of its origins. I spoke to a khajiit, once, who sold me the records from a Telvanni stronghold in Morrowind; he was quite brazen and frank about having stolen them. At the time he had thought they would have been useful as blackmail material, but when he discovered otherwise he simply hanged onto them and left Morrowind, hoping they would come in useful elsewhere.'

'You actually buy books and documents from thieves?' asked Phane, amused.

'Don't get me wrong, I don't act as a fence to these people,' Drelis held his hands up, warding off any false assumptions. 'I'm not commissioning thieves to grab the personal diary of the king of Daggerfall or anything like that.' The others looked at one-another, eyebrows cocked. 'Let's just get on with Khargol's story shall we?

'Rorikstead was a small village named after the man who founded it. Rorik had fought in the Great War and had earned a large plot of land on the border of The Reach for his service to the empire. There he had founded Rorikstead. The villagers had worked hard to turn the cold soil into arable farmland, but once the initial effort had been put in, the crops of Rorikstead were growing successfully and the farmers even had surplus food to sell at Markarth and Whiterun.

'Rorik worried about his people during the civil war in Skyrim. He had already seen the horrors of war when the Imperial City fell to the Thalmor. He could only pray that the same barbarity would not find its way to Rorikstead during such troubled times. And, of course, on top of the civil war we have dragons returning to Tamriel. Times could not be more uncertain.'

'Did anything important happen in Rorikstead?' asked Phane, impatiently.

'Not much,' Drelis admitted. 'The records I have of Khargol's movements there come from the journal of a young man named Erik. Erik was tired of a farmer's life and wished to be a sellsword, an adventurer, a mercenary for hire. His father ran the Frostfruit Inn and had forbade him to leave Rorikstead. Khargol offered to pay for the lad's first sword and set of armour, leaving the choice entirely in Erik's hands.'

'Did he become a mercenary in the end?'

'He did. And more than just a mercenary, but that comes later. Lydia's diary goes over what Khargol told her about his journey back to Whiterun from Rorikstead. He hiked over the damp, mossy rocks, patterned with lichen and shallow pools of rainwater. He met a legion soldier waiting in ambush for a stormcloak courier, but never saw the legionnaire's mark. With the rain unrelenting, and the sun sinking behind the mountains,Khargol looked for shelter by the northern mountains. It says here that he saw a dragon flying between rainclouds; a dim silhouette against the darkening grey sky.

'That is when he found Rannveig's Fast, one of the ancient nord burial grounds. He knew that there would be shelter inside, but likely draugr as well. The chance of encountering the undead was, however, weighed off with the chance of finding one of the word wall murals that would teach him a new shout.

'Rannveig's Fast was unlike many other barrows in that its draugr were already slain within. Searching the ruins, Khargol encountered ghostly warriors who assaulted him. His weapons was, fortunately, enchanted, and he was able to defend himself from the spectres' attacks. Even as they slashed at him with their phantom blades, they cried out that they did so against their will - that someone else was dictating their actions.

'In the gloomy word wall chamber, a chest stood unlocked and inviting. Khargol was wary of such easily-gained treasures, however, and so he avoided walking straight towards it. There was a trapdoor on the floor before the chest; stepping on the trapdoor would have sent Khargol plummeting to whatever doom awaited below. He used the word wall, and then explored further, intent on finding the secret behind the ghosts and the trap.

'The trap had been set by a cruel and wicked man named Sild the Warlock. Sild had fashioned the trap to attract and imprison adventurers and treasure-seekers who he would then torture to death before using their spirits as his ghostly guardians. His workshop was filled with the tools of death and pain-bringing. I should imagine he found himself on the receiving end of both pain and death when Khargol unsheathed his axe.'

'How horrible!' Lalaine exclaimed. 'Why would anyone do that? Torturing people to death, keeping their souls trapped as ghosts, it's awful.'

'I agree, certainly,' said Drelis, putting down his documents and taking up his tankard. 'But there are cruel people in this world, whether driven to evil because of their nature, or greed, or something worse. We will have to take solace in the swift and brutal justice that Sild met when Khargol discovered his lair.'

Phane shuddered.

1st Hearthfire

Phane nursed his drink, throwing the occasional glance at a pretty redguard girl at the bar. Lalaine was not coming to the tavern this evening, she was visiting her mother or something, and Drelis had left him alone at the table to catch a student he knew and ask him about some book or another.

Drelis had left a few volumes, including Lydia's diary, on the table. Phane almost put his tankard on it before recognising and picking it up. 'I'll bet Lydia was a comely lass,' he idled to himself. 'I could do with a housecarl like that. Someone to follow me around and beat the snot out of any thugs who dared to cross me. Someone to watch the house for me.' He looked around his empty table. 'Just someone to talk to would do right now.'

He opened the diary and flipped through it to find where the story had left off. 'Well, old Drelis certainly wasn't telling the story verbatim was he?' It took him a while to get used to the way the entries were sorted, then found that Lydia's personal thoughts were separate from her documentation of Khargo gro-Mashnar's feats and movements. It wasn't the original diary, that much was certain, so why it had been laid out in such a hard-to-read manner perplexed Phane to distraction.

'1st Hearthfire,' he began, piecing the puzzle together himself. 'A courier delivered a letter to Khargol on the road. It was sealed, but signed "a friend." Very mysterious. The letter suggested finding a place called Lost Tongue Overlook.' He looked over at the redguard girl again, but she had left while he was distracted with the book. No one was watching so he carried on. 'Presumably it was one of the lost word wall murals that would teach him a thu'um.

'A mining community is hard pressed to make a profit thanks to the constant interference of the forsworn. The hills are full of eyes, and the forsworn are a constant threat. The journey back to Whiterun is off with a bang as a glimpse of a dragon is caught amongst the rocky crags. It circles and swoops, roaring, but not attacking. Khargol scales a steep rise of rock to swing at it, but the dragon keeps its distance, bellowing rather than getting involved in a confrontation. Eventually, it flies off. Strange...'

Drelis was still chatting away in another corner of the tavern. 'When the echos of the dragon's calls have finally died, Khargol returned to the road. He found a mine that smelled of death, the owner claiming that dead things had driven his workers out. Khargol entered to investigate nonetheless.' Phane shook his head. 'Madness. Why would you do that?' He read on. 'Khargol encountered draugr in the depths, slaying them until the only way forward was to jump down a sinkhole. In the crypt revealed inside, the draugr wight lord used his own thu'um to disarm Khargol, blasting his warhammer from his hands. Both test the power of their voice against one-another until Khargol, hoarse and exhausted, is the victor.

'The miners help haul him from the pit, but they have no reward to offer him. Khargol encounters forsworn in the hills, swamped by them and praying that his newly-forged dwemer armour will stop their arrows before they pierce something important. The forsworn have a camp on the exterior of an old barrow. With the forsworn dead, and the bodies moved to one side of the encampment, Khargol spends the night at the top, hoping that the broken bones he places around his bedroll will wake him should any scouts return and seek to cut his throat while he sleeps.'

Phane put the diary back on the table and finished his drink. 'Well, when you read it like that it is certainly a lot less exciting.' Drelis was still talking with the student in the corner, so Phane picked the books up off the table and walked over. 'Here you are Drelis,' he said. 'I'm off home, maybe we can continue from the second day of Hearthfire when we get back into the story tomorrow.'

27th Last Seed

'So where was Khargol gro-Mashnar next spotted, that you know of?' asked Lalaine as the trio gathered up their things to head out of the tavern.

'The next hold he was spotted in was Falkreath, to the southwest,' said Drelis, finishing his ale and putting the mug back on the table.

The candle was guttering and spitting; Lalaine blew it out as they left. 'And the dragons?' she asked. 'When do they turn up again?'

'Oh there was one before he reached Falkreath hold,' said Drelis nonchalantly. 'In Riverwood as a matter of fact.' Phane and Lalaine looked at the dark elf incredulously. 'Oh, I don't have the documentation with me for that.'

'Documentation!?' Phane spluttered.

'There was a dragon at Riverwood?' Lalaine spread her hands and grimaced. 'Why didn't you say?'

'Like I said, I don't have the journals and accounts of what happened. Well, not on me. I mean I know what happened but...'

'Damn your accuracy, Drelis!' Phane shouted, a little too loudly as left the tavern. 'Tell us what happened!'

'Oh, very well.' Drelis was clearly uncomfortable relating the events in the story without a journal or record to back it up. 'But any mistakes I make in the retelling are your fault.'

'Granted,' allowed Phane. 'Besides, you already said that the story was somewhat unreliable regardless of the source. We can't know for sure what really happened, so make your best guess.'

Drelis sighed. 'Let me think for a moment. Khargol left Whiterun before dawn, I know that much from Lydia's diary. She also mentions news that Riverwood was attacked by a dragon, although it took a day or three for word to reach Dragonsreach.

'The jarl had sent soldiers to stand guard in Riverwood, just as he had promised. There were not many soldiers, but how many men do you want to spare to guard a woodland village on the hold's outskirts? Dragons can fly, after all; they do not need to follow roads like an army, so Riverwood was not necessarily the next place to be attacked after Helgen.

'The dragon attacked in the early morning. The archers took shelter where they could, loosing arrows at the beast to deter it from coming too close. Many houses had to have their roofs repaired afterwards though - the dragon was not intimidated and burned the hovels at its leisure.

'But that's when Khargol turned up, as close as I can estimate. He helped the last of the villagers get to the inn, which had not yet burned. The dragon did not land to fight the soldiers directly, though. The village might have been small, but it was a community with little space between its buildings. The dragon did, however, land on the roof of one of the structures and proceeded to breath its deadly flames on the lumber mill.'

'The village's sole industry,' remembered Lalaine. 'How horrible. To have your life's work destroyed out of the blue like that.'

'The mill survived mostly intact,' Drelis reassured her. 'It did require some attention to repair, but most of the damage was done to the lumber waiting to be sawed. I'm sure it was devastation nonetheless, but the villagers all escaped with their lives.'

'So how did Khargol slay the dragon?' Phane asked pointedly. 'That's what is important!'

'When he saw that there was no way to reach the dragon from within the village, and that the houses would be burned down if the monster stayed there much longer, Khargol ran into the woods. He used his shouts to lure the dragon away, taunting it and goading it to follow him from Riverwood into the forest.

'Now the battle itself is certainly conjecture,' he warned. 'No one actually saw it, only the aftermath. Sounds were heard, assumptions made... this is the best estimation we have. When he was sufficiently clear of the village, Khargol made his stand. He had never been a particularly good archer and I doubt he was prepared to wager his life on his skill with a bow. The dragon flew overhead, breathing fire on its orc opponent, but the foliage of the woodland's trees kept most of the flames from reach Khargol. The dragon was forced to swoop down to attack!'

'Swooping is bad!' Lalaine exclaimed.

'Well, it turned out to be a very good thing for Khargol. The dragon could only dive at him at certain points where there was space between the trees. After that it would have to land or fly back up into the sky and circle around. As it was, Khargol managed to hack at the beast once or twice as it passed, until the dragon became so infuriated that it abandoned all caution and rushed at him when it should have paid better attention to its surroundings.

'One of the dragon's wings must have been battered against the trunk of a tree when it attempted to pull up out of its dive. It careened into the ground with an earth-shaking impact that could be felt back in the village. There was one final, defiant roar, and then silence. Khargol had taken advantage and slain the dragon where it lay.'

'Amazing!' Lalaine cried.

'Now that's a story worth telling,' agreed Phane. 'Why can't you tell us more stories like that instead of the travelogue Khargol's legend is in danger of becoming?'

'There is more to the story than just dragon-slaying, Phane,' said Drelis with a touch of impatience. 'Hopefully you'll realise that by the end.'

24th Last Seed

The patrons in the taverns were thinning out; the candle on the table burned low, melted wax forming a rough circle at its base. The barkeep brought one final round of mead for the trio, told them that he would be closing in an hour, and left them to it.

'He'd charge you for entertaining in his establishment if he knew how good this story was, Drelis.' Phane took his tankard in both hands and stared into the golden mead. 'What happened after Nilheim? When do the dragons pop up again?'

'You have an obsession with dragons don't you? Very well, let's see if this will slake your thirst. There was no obvious way to ford the lake from Nilheim,' Drelis continued. 'Khargol and Lydia broke camp before dawn and went back to the road and found themselves traveling through a sparse forest of silver birch. When the sun rose that morning, they would learn why the region was known as the Golden High Forest.

'Before that, however, they were set upon by a pack of half-starved wolves. Khargol struck one with his axe, Lydia felled another with her bow, but the third member of the pack met an entirely unexpected end.

'The clearing shuddered without warning, a dragon landed not thirty feet from the travelers, crushing the wolf and glaring with its malevolent eyes!

'Lydia writes that she saw nothing but fire from that moment until the sun finally dawned. "The beast was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was all black scales, horns, and leathery wings. It crouched in the clearing where it had landed, locked eyes with my thane, and belched a gout of flame that burned the trees and seared the grass. Even Khargol, dragonborn or no, was overwhelmed by the dragon's unexpected appearance.

'"When we charged the beast, it took to the skies and circled around and around, bellowing its terrifying roar. There was something unearthly about its voice, something that shook me to the core. I loosed arrows at it, but the dragon took no heed. Instead it flew south of us and began breathing fire down on what turned out to be a small farm! We rushed to the farmstead's aid, sprinting up the hill to save those trapped in the burning hovels. The dragon hissed and spat more fire at us, landing in its greed and spite, to feast on the goats and char the crops.

'"Khargol gro-Mashnar took his axe to the monster's wings and neck. It snapped at him and roared, but its movements were curiously slow and uncoordinated. It tried to bite him in half, but with a side-step and turn, my thane's ancient nordic axe found a place in its throat. Blood spilled from the wound, the dragon gave one final trumpeting roar, and fell dead.

'"I found myself astonished as the dragon's corpse immediately began to burn to cinders. The flesh melted away like parchment in a fire, until only half-scorched bones remained. My thane was surrounded by a bright light that streamed from the dragon's skeleton, filling him with the dragon's energy."'

'Yes!' Phane exalted and raised his arms above his head. 'A dragon!' The few remaining patrons gave him queer looks before returning to the drinks.

'Go on, Drelis,' invited Lalaine. 'What happened next?'

'The damage to the farmstead was, thankfully, superficial,' said Drelis. 'Khargol and Lydia helped to put the fires out and made sure everyone was alright before they left. Most of the livestock had died, and some of the crops were burned to a crisp, but none of the farmers had lost their lives and counted themselves lucky to be alive, if poor.

'That afternoon, Ivarstead was finally within reach. The travelers must have looked a sight as they entered the Vilemyr Inn, their clothes, armour, and hair scorched and blackened by dragonfire. They asked about the village, and about High Hrothgar. One of the villagers made supply runs up to the temple, leaving food and provisions in a chest near the summit, but other than that there were few who made the seven-hundred steps to the top.

'Also of interest was a story the innkeep told them about the haunted barrow on the settlement's outskirts. Shroud Heart Barrow they called it. Khargol left Lydia in the inn, investigating the burial grounds himself.'

'Why would he do that?' asked Lalaine.

'Haven't you been listening?' Phane chided. 'The ancient nordic burial grounds obviously have a connection with the dragons. Khargol was probably hoping to find more secrets... right Drelis?'

'His motivation is not recording,' Drelis said with a grin. 'The revelation within, however, is.

'When Khargol entered the barrow he beheld a ghostly apparition. It warned him to stay away, but how many times have you seen an orc back down from a challenge or threat? After working his way through trapped corridors and puzzling chambers, he found the ghost and proceeded to do battle with it. When he fell, the ghost turned out to be a mortal thief who had concocted a potion that would make him appear to be ethereal.

'The thief had been seeking a jeweled claw, but his frustration and solitude had driven him mad until he truly believed that he was a phantasm of the barrow. Khargol took the thief's journal as proof to the innkeep. Interestingly enough it turned out that the innkeep had the claw the whole time; he gave it to Khargol as a reward for exorcising the barrow. I'm sure you know what comes next.'

'Another one of those doors!'

'Quite right, Lalaine. You seen, Phane? She was listening after all.' Drelis smiled at his own joke, then continued. 'When he broke the seal to the inner chambers, Khargol was ambushed by a horde of draugr. He used his thu'um to force them back, stunning them so that he might deliver the final blow to put their aged bones to rest. The final tomb was large and imposing; its undead inhabitants powerful and intimidating. But the power of the dragonborn could not be denied, and our intrepid orc warrior carved a path to the dragon word-wall mural where he learned a shout that would calm any animals that crossed his path.'

 
The barkeep cleared his throat pointedly. 'Is that a good place to leave it for now?' asked Lalaine. 'I don't want to be falling asleep at work again.'

'It's as good a place as any,' answered Drelis, draining the last of his mead and gathering his books. 'Khargol returned to the inn and spent the night there, intent on climbing the mountain at sunrise. He detailed all of the events in the barrow for Lydia to record. It seems she was intent on immortalising Khargol's deeds somehow, even if it was just in her personal diary.'

'Come on you two, we'd better not outstay our welcome any more than we already have,' Phane waved to the barkeep as they left the tavern for the night-time streets. 'Same time tomorrow?' he suggested. 'I want to hear what happened when our orc hero finally met the greybeards of High Hrothgar.'

20th Last Seed

'Are you sure your father won't mind you borrowing that wine?'

'You worry too much, Lalaine.' Phane set the keg on the table and placed three tankards in front of it. 'He'll never even notice that it's gone. The old man spends most of his days blind drunk anyway, he'll think he drank it himself.' He sat down and wiped his brow. 'Where did we get to?'

'Khargol was travelling to Whiterun, to tell the jarl of the dragon attack at Helgen.' Lalaine moved her tankard underneath the keg's tap while Phane poured.

'Quite right,' said Drelis. 'Again, we have the housecarl Lydia to thank for recording Khargol's actions before he arrived in Whiterun; it seems she was genuinely interested in how he had come to Skyrim, so she wrote down everything he told her.

'The road between Riverwood and Whiterun is fairly quiet. There are some notes about wolves and waterfalls, but nothing significant. On the road, Khargol met an imperial couple headed to a very important wedding at Solitude; a Companion named Aela who had slain a giant; and the owner of the Honningbrew meadery. When he arrived at the gates of Whiterun he was warned by a wagon-driver about a family feud going on in the town - the Greymanes and the Battleborns. It didn't seem important to Khargol at the time, but eventually he discovered its significance.

'Even from beyond the walls, the jarls' hall of Dragonsreach must have looked very impressive. It has an interesting history, but that's for another time. One of the sentries on the gate told Khargol that there would be no entry into the town until the rumours of dragons abroad in Skyrim could be confirmed or denied; but he soon changed his tune when Khargol explained that he had to see the jarl about Riverwood's defences.

'I also note that Lydia disapproved of the jarl agreeing to close Whiterun's gates. She asks what use wooden gates would be against a creature that can both fly and breath fire. She suggests that the gates would either trap refugees outside the walls, or trap townsfolk within the walls if the dragon flew over the gates to begin laying waste to the settlement.'

'Was there a smithy in Whiterun?' Lalaine sipped her wine, still impressed by the number of books that Drelis had brought for just one story.

'Of course, and a fine smithy it was too. Warmaiden's it was called, and Khargol spent some time using both the smelter and the forge, selling what he didn't need to the blacksmith.

'Choosing not to be distracted by all that the town had to offer, Khargol headed up to Dragonsreach just as the heavens opened and it began to rain. I am sure Skyrim's rain is enough to drive even the hardiest orc indoors, and its snow doubly so. Within Dragonsreach, Khargol came face-to-face with Irileth, the jarl's housecarl.'

'What's a housecarl?' asked Phane.

'Housecarls are bodyguards and personal attendants to the jarls and thanes of Skyrim. They are sworn to protect their charges with their lives if necessary, and they are all capable warriors.

'Irileth was keen to see this heavily-armed orc gone from the hall, but Jarl Balgruuf the Greater asked Khargol to step forward and explain himself. The jarl was eager to protect Riverwood and to hear more about the dragon that had attacked Helgen. Khargol told him all that he could, and so the jarl introduced him to the castle mage, Farengar Secret-Fire.

'Farengar told Khargol about ancient nord barrows and crypts built when the nords still worshipped dragons and employed dragon priests as go-betweens between man and beast. He spoke of a stone tablet called a dragon stone which could be found in Bleak Falls Barrow, not far from Riverwood.'

'Hang on...' Phane started, but Drelis smiled held up a hand for quiet.

'Khargol had, of course, already delved into the depths of Bleak Falls Barrow. He produced the dragon stone tablet for Farengar to study, much to the wizard's delight.'

'That was handy,' chortled Lalaine. 'Can you imagine having to trek all the way back into the foothills just to find a dusty old tablet.'

'It was more than just an age-old relic,' explained Drelis. 'As I mentioned before, it acted as a map to the barrows where the shouts of the ancient dragon language could be found engraved upon those impressive walls.

'It was just then that a town guard rushed into the hall, shouting and waving his arms. A dragon had been spotted just beyond the walls at the western watchtower!'

Lalaine gasped, Phane grinned. 'At last! Come on, what happened next?'

'Fill my wine cup for me and I'll tell you.' Drelis took a mouthful of wine and sighed contentedly. 'This next part of the story is taken from the personal records of Irileth, the jarls' housecarl. The jarl ordered Khargol to accompany Irileth to the watchtower to drive the dragon away from the town. Although he had fled from Helgen like anyone else with any sense, our hero was still the most experienced person in Whiterun when it came to dragons.

'Irileth took a small number of guardsmen with them to the watchtower. I cannot imagine their trepidation as they made their way along the road that night, torches in hand, the watchtower burning in the distance. The tower had become a ruin, burning and crumbling even as the party approached it. A lone survivor cowered amongst the smoking stones, urging them to flee before they drew the monster back.

'But it was too late. The beast descended on the soldiers, its black scales gleaming in the firelight, its eyes hunting the easiest prey to devour! It breathed its fearsome dragonfire, illuminating the night and filling it with a terrifying roar. Khargol ran this way and that, avoiding the fires and the dragon's great tail until he was close enough to take his axe to it.

'The soldiers used Khargol's distraction as an opportunity to loose arrows at it. As the dragon turned its head, Khargol climbed atop its craggy brow and drove his axe into its neck again and again until the monster gave a final, dreadful howl and slumped, lifeless, to the ground.'

'Wow!'

'That's incredible,' Lalaine breathed. 'He actually fought the dragon with an axe? How could you bring yourself to get so close to such a frightening creature? Wasn't he scared?'

'It doesn't say.' Drelis shrugged and spread his hands above the old diary. 'I can't imagine that he simply waltzed up to the dragon without a care in the world, but at the same time there is something to be said for our hero's courage and tenacity. Irileth's exact words are as follows "the orc showed little fear in the face of such a terrible beast. He spoke not a single word or battle cry as he took to it with his axe, hacking and chopping without remorse or hesitation. More than once he was caught by the dragon's fiery breath, but he shrugged off his injuries and continued his attack. When the beast fell to his furious assault, its skull cracked open, he simply stood and watched it burn away until it was naught but bones, a strange light in his otherwise dark eyes." But this is the really interesting part, listen to to this.

'As the dragon's body burned away, swirling streams of bright energy swept through the air and surrounded Khargol, filling him with some arcane force. He felt a power rising within in him and suddenly, without warning, he shouted the word he had learned in Bleak Falls Barrow, the thu'um of the dragon language! The soldiers saw it and called him dragonborn, although they could scarcely believe their own eyes.

'Irileth urged Khargol to return to Whiterun and tell the jarl all that had happened at the watchtower. But even as Khargol walked the road back to the town, the intrigue of the story deepens. There was a thunderous crack and a booming voice that echoed over the plains. "DOVAHKIIN!" the echoing voices called.

'The jarl was relieved to hear that the dragon was slain, and that Khargol and Irileth had survived. He and his court advisers told what they could of dragonborn and shouts and the greybeards of High Hrothgar. Hrongar, the jarl's brother, explained that the thunder they had heard after the dragon had died was the greybeards of High Hrothgar calling the dragonborn to their monastery atop the Throat of the World, the tallest mountain in Skyrim.

'For his bravery and service, Jarl Balgruuf named Khargol a thane of Whiterun and awarded him with the enchanted Axe of Whiterun.

'This is also where the records return to those written down by the housecarl Lydia. She meets Khargol that very night, and is charged with protecting him with her life.'

17th Last Seed

Drelis sat with his friends, placing his books noisily upon the table.

'That looks like heavy reading, Drelis,' remarked Phane, sipping his wine.

'More history?' asked Lalaine.

'Saga,' Drelis claimed, smirking. 'From Skyrim!' He opened the first book and leafed through its pages. 'I had to hunt high and low for this one, it's the oldest and most important.'

'What is it?' Phane put his wine down and leaned in. 'Haven't I read that name before?'

'In more than one context perhaps,' said Drelis. 'Battle, smithing, history, heroic tales, embellished stories. The list goes on.'

'Khargol gro-Mashnar,' read Lalaine. 'An orc? Who is he?'

'Wait, wasn't he the one who...'

'Don't spoil it!' Drelis warned. 'If Lalaine hasn't read the stories, then we can make an evening of it.' He shuffled through the books until he found a thin, leather-bound tome. 'Lalaine, sit back and relax. Phane, order us some more wine. Or better yet, some warm mead. I'm sure the barkeep has some hidden away in storage.' He cleared his throat and opened the book to a faded sketch of a wide-chinned orc with broad shoulders and beady black eyes. 'This,' he declared, 'is Khargol gro-Mashnar, master smith and forger of dragon armour.'

'I'm listening,' said Lalaine, studying the orc's brutish face.

'This account is written by a housecarl named Lydia, a nord who came under Khargol's service in Last Seed of the third century, fourth era, after the death of Torygg, high king of Skyrim.

'It is important to know where Khargol came from, although I'll save the most intriguing details for later. He was from the Wrothgarians of Orsinium, but for his own reasons he travelled to Cyrodil, walked the Jerral Mountains, and crossed the border into Skyrim. He was trying to find somewhere he could put down roots and start a new life. Unfortunately it seemed as though he would lose the life he already had. He was mistaken for an outlaw and arrested by imperial soldiers.'

Drelis cracked open the spine of the old book. 'Lydia mentions that one of the imperial soldiers pointed out the mistake, and although Khargol's life was still forfeit, he was told that his remains would be sent to his family in Orsinium. The soldier could not have known how far from Khargol's wishes that could be, but the orc did not resist as he was led to the headsman's block.

'He was condemned to death, but it was death that saved his life! Death made fire and flesh, with black wings for a cowl and a terrifying roar for its trumpets. A dragon! The first to appear in reliable imperial records for an age! The beast brought death and ruin to Helgen; Khargol and some of the other prisoners escaped in the confusion, amongst them was Ralof the stormcloak, a rebel in the eyes of the empire.'

'Khargol was going to be executed?' Phane said. 'That's not what I read in the empire's accounts.'

'Phane, stop interrupting!' Lalaine shushed and turned back to Drelis. 'Come on, what happened next?'

'I am citing this from Lydia's diary, she knew only what Khargol gro-Mashnar would have told her. Still, I'm not surprised that the empire's account of what happened at Helgen differs from Lydia's.

'Ralof took Khargol to a nearby village called Riverwood. The two sheltered there in Ralof's sister's house. It was a small, quiet logging community where the imperial soldiers would have little reason to hunt for rebels and convicts.

'Ralof told Khargol of Skyrim's recent plight. Torygg, the high king, was dead. He had been slain by Ulfric Stormcloak. Now the empire had branded Stormcloak and all those loyal to him as dangerous rebels to be captured and executed. Ralof claimed that Ulfric had challenged the high king to single combat, and that by ancient nord tradition he had won fairly. The stormcloaks claimed that Ulfric should be the rightful high king of Skyrim, but the empire disagreed, calling him a recidivist and assassin.

'Ralof asked Khargol to join the civil war and aid the stormcloak cause. Although Khargol must have had some sort of grudge against the imperials, he asked for more time to think things over. He was a stranger in a strange land, so in hindsight it was a level-headed decision given the circumstances.'

'Yes but didn't he eventually...'

'Phane! Shut up! You're going to spoil it' Lalaine picked up one of the books and swatted him with it. 'Stop interrupting or I shall pour that wine over your head.'

'Alright, alright! Drelis, my apologies, please go on.'

Drelis licked his lips and checked his place in the old diary. 'It appears our mead has arrived. Now, where was I?'