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.'

25th Last Seed

'Drelis, you're late.' Phane pulled a chair out at the table. 'Did they keep you long at the library?'

'My apologies, friends.' Drelis looked pleased with himself, as if nothing was wrong. 'I was engaged in a rather heated bargain with a traveler who wished to sell some old journals. I tried to convince him to donate them instead but...'

Phane interrupted. 'Woah, woah. That's not the story we were waiting to hear.' He sat down and pushed a tankard of ale across the table. Lalaine scowled at him, but offered no retort.

'Ah yes, forgive me.' He looked over the table and frowned. 'Where is the mead?'

'The barkeep ran out of mead,' explained Lalaine. 'So we'll have to put up with beer or ale unless we can all afford wine.'

'On the plus side, the beef stew is remarkably good today,' added Phane.

'Alright then, where did we get to?' Drelis had only brought a single book with him this evening; it was Lydia's diary, or at least a copy of it. 'Ah yes, the climb to High Hrothgar. Now, neither of you have ever been to Skyrim have you?'

'Nor have you,' said Phane pointedly.

'I was just going to say that the Throat of the World is one of Tamriel's tallest mountains. Only Vvardenfell's Red Mountain ever stood higher. The Wrothgarians, Dragon Tail, and Jerral mountains do not compare, mighty as they are.' Drelis held his hands out, framing the scene in his mind. 'Can you imagine the dizzying height? The view from the slopes must be breathtaking, and the winds fierce.' He stirred from his reverie. 'But back to the story. Khargol and Lydia had rented rooms at the Vilemyr Inn, remember? They left before dawn. A solitary hunter greeted them on the lower slopes, making his way back down the mountain after a pilgrimage to the top. He warned Lydia and Khargol to watch their footing, there were drifts of snow on the mountain that could shift and slip away without warning.

'As they climbed higher and higher, they felt the temperature drop. Snow fell, lightly, obscuring their vision. Distant peaks became grey silhouettes, indeterminable shapes rising out of the earth to touch the sky.

'I can only imagine what a formidable sight the mountain must be from its base. To see that you have so far to climb must be daunting at first. Lydia writes that she tried to count the seven-hundred steps, but lost count at three-hundred odd and tried to focus on keeping her footing.

'There was another pilgrim on the path, meditating before a shrine. There was a number of shrines on the way to the top; when read in order they explained, in simple terms, man's first struggle to break the chains of their tyrannical dragon overlords.'

'And I'd wager there are books you can read at home, warm and cozy, that go into more detail.'

'Phane, you really are hopeless.' Lalaine put a hand to her head. 'It's not about reading the inscriptions, it's about climbing the mountain to read the inscriptions. The physical effort required is like a... a...'

'A form of meditation,' finished Drelis. 'Your mind must be clear and focused on one thing. The remote solitude, the mountain air, the silence of the snowfall. The experience must be quite humbling. I would be overjoyed with the opportunity to attempt the pilgrimage, but I doubt I'd make it half way to the top in my current condition; I've never been one for physical labour or long hikes through the countryside. But two strong, fit, healthy warriors with the determination of having Skyrim's fate in their hands? Two adventurers who had been summoned to the peak for the first time in as long as anyone can remember? Well, even they had trouble!

'Lydia mentions that they stopped several times before the top. She says that the air became thin towards the summit, that their breathing was harder and more laboured. They were both exhausted by the time they reached the gates of High Hrothgar itself.'

'And now we get to hear about the greybeards!' Lalaine said excitedly. 'Come on Drelis, don't stop now.'

'As you wish. When the duo entered the halls of High Hrothgar, the greybeards appeared to greet them. The greybeard who spoke to them was named Arngeir. He was one of four, and the only one who was not silent for the encounter. The voices of the greybeards were so powerful that they could kill with a whisper, kill with a word, and bring down a mountain with a shout.' The looks on the faces of Phane and Lalaine amused Drelis greatly. 'Arngeir asked Khargol to prove his ability with the voice, the thu'um as he called it. He spoke of destiny and the dragonborn. Tiber Septim himself, before he was known as Talos, had journeyed to High Hrothgar to seek tutelage from the greybeards in ages past.

'Khargol left Lydia to warm her feet by the fire, joining the greybeards in the courtyard beyond to learn more about the voice. Anyone can learn the secrets of the thu'um, you see, but only a dragonborn could learn to shout in the ancient dragon tongue ask quickly and easily as Khargol was doing.

'When Khargol returned to Lydia, he explained that he had a quest to fulfill for the greybeards so that they might tutor him further. Khargol was to recover the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from an ancient barrow in the Hjaalmarch.

'And so they began their descent back down to Ivarstead.'

'Wait, that's it?' asked Phane. 'That was all that happened at High Hrothgar? Some history and diction lessons? Surely there was more to it than that.'

'Ah, but they were very important history and diction lessons,' mocked Drelis. 'The shouts that Khargol learned from the greybeards were vital to his success. Not only that, but his time at High Hrothgar served to foreshadow that which would come later. You see, there were not four greybeards on the mountain, but five. The true master of the voice lived on the very peak of the mountain in solitude and contemplation. To meet him though, no, Khargol was not yet ready to withstand the trials he would have to face.'

'So... so finding the horn, it was a test of some kind?' asked Lalaine.

'You could say that. When we next hear about High Hrothgar, I think you might understand. Let's not get distracted though, there is only a little more to read in this day's entry.' Drelis licked his thumb and turned a page in the old diary. 'As they made their way down the mountain, Khargol saw the aurora dancing in the sky for the first time.'

'An aura? Is this a magical thing?'

'Not an aura, the aurora. The northern lights. It's a celestial phenomenon,' Drelis explained. 'Imagine, if you can, great bands of green and turquoise light waving slowly and majestically across the sky. Scholars and mages have debated the lights' origins and purpose but an agreement has never been made. All those who have documented it have described it as a beautiful sight and something that every traveler should see before they are too old to wander the world.

'It was full night before Khargol and Lydia returned to Ivarstead. They rented their rooms at the Vilemyr inn again, thankful for the much-needed warmth and comfort that a straw-filled mattress could provide.'

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.'

23rd Last Seed

'What took you so long?' Lalaine scowled as Phane sat down at the table. He was carrying a tall pewter pitcher of mead in one hand, and three tankards in the other. He was smiling mischievously. 'We've been waiting for you to get back so we can continue the story. Don't you want to hear how Khargol reached High Hrothgar?'

'Oh Lalaine, you are so single-minded.' Phane placed the paraphernalia on the table, gave one last look over his shoulder to the bar area, and sat down with his friends.

'Were you distracted by the young Ms. Hawkhart by any chance?' asked Drelis, grinning.

'Let's just continue with the story shall we?' Phane poured the mead into the tankards and handed them out, trying not to make eye contact with anyone while he did it. Lalaine shook her head, and Drelis chuckled, but they quickly resumed the tale where they had left off.

'I must say that Lydia was a very tolerant and devoted housecarl. She had been assigned to a thane who was an immigrant rather than a local. Khargol was not even a nord. Not even human. But she protected and obeyed him nonetheless. She even details, with a certain degree of fascination, how she awoke to find him cleaning the skull of one of the trolls they had killed. He had put out its eyes, rubbed it in salt, and was butchering it with a small steel knife. It must have put Lydia off her breakfast, but she still paid enough attention to catalog the procedure and even make a quick sketch of the skull after her thane was finished with it. The skull later became a trophy that Khargol would proudly display on his mantle, but we'll come to that later.

'The duo left the cave and got back to the road, following the river. The nearest settlement to High Hrothgar was the village of Ivarstead, so they followed the road signs, enjoying the fine weather.

'The roads were fairly quiet. They saw small wolf packs bounding through the foliage, met a traveler or two, and saw native fauna on the slopes through the trees, but little of import is noted in the diary.

'The first event that Lydia notes is the occupation of Fort Amul beside the road. Normally a stormcloak refuge, the battlements were now manned by scowling men and suspicious mer in dark robes. The mages warned them to stay away, but they must have been especially nervous of the heavily-armed travelers because one of them lost his arrogant and confident veneer to lash out at the adventurers with his crackling magicka!

Khargol and Lydia might otherwise have walked by the fort without a second glance, but instead they were drawn into a brief and bloody conflict with the spellcasters who now inhabited the stronghold. Orcs are not known for their aptitude when it comes to the schools of magic, but they are known for their resistance to spellcraft. While Lydia crouched behind her shield, Khargol waded through fire, ice, and lightning to slaughter the magi left, right, and centre. The mages' efforts were unprepared and poorly co-ordinated. When the fight was over, Khargol was debating whether or not to clear out the interior of the fort. Lydia explained that they had already crossed the boundaries of Whiterun Hold and were now in Eastmarch territory; Khargol's duties as Thane did not extend this far, but if he wanted to hunt down the mages in the ruins... well, nobody but the mages would be protesting.

'In the end though, they left the job to the next stormcloak patrol that came by. High Hrothgar was not getting any closer while they debated, and dragons were a more urgent threat than rebel magi holed up in a half-ruined fort.'

'You can't fix all the world's problems,' said Phane solemnly. 'Even if you are an indomitable orc warrior with the ability to shout people to death.'

'Is the fort mentioned again in any of the records?' asked Lalaine.

'It is, but only in passing,' Drelis revealed, spreading his hands. 'It seems that, with their reduced man-power, the mages could not hold onto the fort effectively and they eventually left for a smaller, more easily-defensible site.

'Now, Skyrim is land of mountains and snowfall, of tundra and icy peaks. Lydia mentions a great bridge that crossed near a broad waterfall. The sight briefly enraptured the pair, distracting them from the long, steep climb that awaited them.'

'I'd love to see Skyrim's mountains,' Lalaine mumbled, staring dreamily into the middle-distance.

'Too cold for me,' complained Phane. 'I'd rather hear about them instead. And dragons,' he added pointedly.

'I'm not going to add dragons into the story where there aren't any to be added, Phane.' Drelis rubbed his nose and continued. 'As they climbed higher, a heavy rain began to descend. The travelers were getting thoroughly soaked when Khargol spotted a cave where they might take shelter. Unfortunately, they were not the first people to take shelter in Snapleg Cave.

'Within the cave, a pair of old women worked over a small cauldron. The smell of a hearty stew drew the travelers closer. One of the old women invited them to sit and eat with them, but the enticement stopped when the other cook turned and revealed herself to be a fiendish hagraven!'

'Urgh!' Lalaine exclaimed. 'That sounds horrible. What is a hagraven?'

'They resemble stopped, old women,' explained Drelis. 'They often have long, matted white hair that hangs down from under a dark cowl. Their arms and legs are long and skinny, bearing feathers and ending in hooked black talons. They are frightful to behold, and naturally gifted with horrible magics that can turn a man mad or bind monsters to their will.'

'I will have nightmares for weeks,' said Phane, staring into his mead.

'Lydia had readied her bow and managed to loose an arrow through the witch's throat. The hagraven, however, was a trickier opponent. Without warning, a swarm of spiders descended from the stalactites. They crawled and pulled and weaved and bit. Lydia was overwhelmed, struggling to keep the spiders from biting her at the same time as keeping her footing. Khargol charged the hagraven, but had to pull back to avoid her wicked claws. He swung this way and that, but the hagraven was surprisingly nimble for something that looked so venerable. Only Khargol's shout managed to stun the wretched creature for long enough for him to plant his axe squarely between her eyes and stop her frenzied screeching.

'He helped Lydia chase off the last of the spiders, but the cave had left them both feeling more than a little uneasy. They decided that they would rather hike through the rain than rest in a cave that had once been home to a hagraven.'

'I don't blame them,' admitted Lalaine.

'Near the top of the climb, the pair found the ruined tower of Nilheim. A man lured them towards the half-fallen keep, claiming that bandits had attacked his camp and stolen his trade goods. It turned out to be a bandit trap, but the rain and the climb had vexed Khargol and Lydia to such a degree that they simply waded into the bandit camp, slaying everyone present without a word or moment's hesitation. The man who had set the trap pleaded for his life. Lydia describes Khargol lifting the man by his throat and pitching him off the cliff.'

22nd Last Seed

'Erline was not happy with me,' murmured Lalaine as she sat down at the trio's favourite table in the tavern. 'I kept falling sleep during my chores. She found me dozing in the wine cellar and accused me of being drunk!'

'I hope the consequences were not serious,' said Drelis. 'I wouldn't want to be an accomplice to you losing your job.'

'No,' Lalaine waved the matter away. 'The old hag was just annoyed because I might have seen her taking a sip of the good stuff when she thought no one is looking.'

Phane poured Lalaine some ale from the table's flagon. 'Sit down and relax,' he said. 'Now we get to hear what our orcish hero found at High Hrothgar.'

'Not so fast.' Drelis wagged his finger at Phane's impatience. 'There is still the journey before we hear about the destination.' Phane began to protest, but Drelis hushed him and opened one of the books he had brought. 'Again, this is the diary of Lydia the housecarl. If you remember, she had been given the duty of protecting Khargol. She was his bodyguard and loyal servant, a mark of honour from Jarl Balgruuf for his feats of bravery when he defeated the dragon at the western watchtower.

'Whiterun could have kept Khargol occupied almost indefinitely, but with dragons reappearing throughout Skyrim, and the threat of civil war looming on the horizon, it was time to seek out the greybeards and their counsel. Lydia writes that Khargol did not want to seem weak by asking for someone to protect him during battle, orcish warrior pride I would presume, so he requested her help as a guide. Skyrim was still largely unfamiliar to him, and Lydia would have more experience with the province's dangers; its fauna and pitfalls.

'The morning was clear and sunny, although I have no doubt that it compares with the late summers of Hammerfell, or even High Rock.

'As the duo made their way into the foothills, Khargol revealed that he had a bounty notice for the bandit leader of the Vathiem Towers. The towers flanked the White River that Khargol and Lydia had to follow to reach the Throat of the World. Lydia agreed that disposing of the bandits would make the road safer for travelers, but she also explained that Khargol did not need her blessing to venture into potentially dangerous situations - she was his housecarl and would follow him through the gates of Oblivion without hesitation. I am sure that such dedication to her oath would have impressed an orc, perhaps he was warming to nord culture.

'The bandits put up a desperate fight, but between Lydia's shield and Khargol's ancient nordic axe, they never stood a chance. Lydia writes that an archer marked them from the far tower and began harrowing them with arrows. Khargol took an arrow to the shoulder, at which point Lydia moved forward to protect him from any further harm. Since Khargol went into battle with a two-handed axe, he did not have the option of carrying a shield to block incoming arrows. But Khargol did not shy away or flinch at the wound, instead bellowing with rage and flying at the archer with all the speed of a maddened boar, hacking the bandit from shoulder to hip with a single, savage blow!

'With the last of the bandits defeated, Khargol and Lydia looted the towers for any provisions and gold they might need on their journey.

'Although a thick mist had rolled in from the river, the warm afternoon soon burned it off and our protagonists made good time. At the bottom of a steep hill, Lydia saw a hidden cave at the base of a waterfall. She suggested that they go inside and investigate. They had already been walking all day, and nightfall was not far off. Better to sleep in a cave than out in the open.'

'I imagine that Skyrim's nights are not of a temperature that promotes sleeping under the stars,' shuddered Phane. 'Can you imagine waking to find yourself buried in a sudden snowdrift?'

'Skyrim is known for its wolves too,' added Lalaine. 'Perhaps you would not wake at all.'

'Well,' Drelis continued, 'even as they entered the cave, Lydia whispered that she was already having second thoughts. I presume that the blood-splatters, ruined furniture, and gory remains of those who had last camped in the cave put her off the idea of spending the night there. "Look at the bones!" she warned her orc thane. But before they could retreat, they were set upon by a pack of trolls!'

'Trolls!?' Phane exclaimed. 'Oh no!' Lalaine breathed.

'Dark-skinned and hairy, with three black eyes and long, well-muscled arms. The trolls leapt upon the invaders to their cave, swiping and clawing, biting and roaring. Khargol felled one by severing its leg, Lydia slew another by driving her sword through its belly. The beasts kept coming, undeterred by their losses. Lydia recalls another trying to wrench her shield away, but she managed to retain her grip and bowled it over, hacking at its bestial face until her sword found purchase and the creature stopped moving. As she recovered, she saw Khargol wrestling with another troll that was trying to wrench his axe from his hands. He kicked and roared, but the troll would not let go. They moved so erratically that Lydia could not intervene without risking hitting her liege! Just as it seemed that the troll would triumph, Khargol butted it with his head.

'I'm sure I don't need to explain the effect of being struck in the face with a steel helmet propelled by a thick orcish neck,' smiled Drelis. 'The troll stumbled back onto Lydia's readied sword, twitching and convulsing as it fell.'

'Mara's mercy,' said Phane. I hope I never meet a troll as long as I live.

'The battle was not yet done,' Drelis revealed. 'Trolls have the disturbing ability to heal even the most grievous of wounds with an unnatural speed; it is one of the characteristics that makes them so dangerous. The troll that had lost its leg to Khargol's axe suddenly lurched upright as the heroes assumed victory. The monster would have struck Lydia in the back, but Khargol saw it moving in the corner of his eye and unleashed his mighty shout to blast it back with the force of the thu'um!

'Tired and sore from the day's efforts, the two of them unrolled their furs in the least-bloody corner of the cave. They would need all of their strength for the following day's trials on their journey to 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.'

18th Last Seed

'I love warm mead,' Phane said, lowering his tankard and sighing contentedly.

'You love anything fermented,' Lalaine remarked.

'It should get us into the right frame of mind,' Drelis said, 'The following also comes from Lydia. It seems that Khargol told her quite a bit about his introduction to Skyrim and his first impressions of the place.'

'Didn't he keep his own journal?' asked Phane.

'What did I say about interrupting?' Lalaine threatened him with her tankard.

'What a terrible waste of mead!'

'Actually Khargol did keep a diary,' Drelis explained, 'but that wasn't until much later. Here, listen to this.

'This must have been the eighteenth of Last Seed that year. Khargol was introduced to Ralof's sister, Gerdur, and brother-in-law, Hod. He spoke fondly of Hod so I presume they struck it off and became fast friends.'

'Maybe they had a drinking competition,' suggested Phane.

'Maybe. In any case, Khargol put his orcish muscles to use chopping wood and hauling lumber for Hod in the woodyard. He also met the village smith, a man named Alvor, and forged an iron warhammer that he was particularly fond of. Lydia mentions that Khargol was already familiar with blacksmithing, so one would presume that he worked as an apprentice in Orsinium.

'At any rate, Khargol also met the local trader, Lucan Valerius, who took Khargol for an adventurer or sword-for-hire and asked him to retrieve a trinket that had been stolen from his shop. The item in question was a golden claw, and it had been taken by thieves who then hid in a place called Bleak Falls Barrow, an abandoned old temple from time beyond memory. The barrow had an interesting history, but that comes later. Despite his original intentions of moving to Skyrim to pursue smithing rather than battle, Khargol agreed to climb up to Bleak Falls Barrow and retrieve the claw.

'Khargol might have been used to the climate of the Wrothgarian Mountains, but Skyrim's wind blew snow and ice mercilessly as he ascended the mountain slope. The warhammer must have felt like it was frozen in his palms when he finally reached the barrow, but I'm sure he was glad of it when he encountered the bandits who had stolen the claw!

'Khargol fought his way into the barrow. He had some experience with warhammers and battleaxes, and he had little to worry about from petty thieves and their meager equipment.

'Within the ruins, our brave orc warrior found one of the bandits stuck in the webbing of a gigantic frost spider! Such a terrible creature might have slain a weaker opponent, but Khargol's orcish rage gave him the strength to slay the monster and free the unfortunate thief. Lydia suggests that the thief was unwilling to part with the claw, and tried to double-cross Khargol. More fool him. Khargol chased him down and took the claw by force, leaving the thief in a pool of his own blood.

'Deeper within the ruins, Khargol found the dead themselves defending the secrets of Bleak Falls Barrow. Undead nords, called draugr, attacked him in the catacombs; but their old bones shattered and their dried skin split under the weight of Khargol's warhammer.

'Finally, after battling fearsome draugr and avoiding deadly traps, Khargol found the door to the inner sanctum of the barrow. The golden claw itself proved to be the key to unlocking the door; it appears that the bandits stole it from Lucan in Riverwood with the intention of using it to unlock an even greater chamber within the barrows.

'The inner sanctum was some kind of ancient nordic shrine to the dragons they used to worship ages ago. There was a wall engraved with writings in the old dragon language, and its power drew Khargol like a moth to the flame. When he was close enough, the mural bestow upon him the power of the dragon tongue itself! The power to shout the dragon language and invoke its power, like in the stories of King Wulfharth.'

'That's amazing!' said Lalaine. 'I've read The Five Songs of King Wulfharth, but didn't the thru'um require a special power to use? It wasn't just knowing the dragon language that allowed him to use the power of the voice was it? Something else was required.'

'Ah, I see you have read more than just novels and play-scripts.' Drelis took advantage of the pause to sip his mead. It had gone cold, but remained sweet.

'More than just the one about the argonian maid at least,' laughed Phane. Lalaine picked up one of the books to hit him with but Drelis grabbed her arm.

'Not that one, if you please,' he retrieved the book and placed it on the far side of the table. 'That one is particularly important. In fact, all of these are important. Without them, I would only be able to recount the empire's loose records of what happened in Skyrim around the time of the stormcloak rebellion and the return of the dragons. Do you want to know what else Khargol found in Bleak Falls Barrow?

'From a sarcophagus in the middle of the chamber rose a draugr overlord much more powerful than the ones gro-Mashnar had faced so far. It used the shout that Khargol had just learned, and Khargol learned that it was a power to be respected. After a bloody struggle, Khargol finally defeated the undead monstrosity and took its enchanted axe as a trophy.

'He also found a stone tablet with what appeared to be a map etched into its surface. He took it out of interest before leaving the tomb with perhaps more questions than answers.'