Skyrim Teaser

The ice cold wind slaps me in the face, almost as startling as a splash of cold water. I jerk slightly, my face brushing against wood that scrapes my cheek and leaves what has to be thousands of tiny splinters in my face.

I grunt, the sound raspy and foreign to even my own ears, I'm dizzy...what in the name of the Divines has happened to me?

I open my eyes to find the heavens glaring down at me, the palest blue as the pinkish glow of the sun is only just beginning to reach out across the clouded skies. My gaze sharpens as I tilt my head to the side, finding I'm being jolted about in a rickety wooden cart along a dirt path.

The forest is strange to my elven eyes, I am not familiar with these trees. Where am I?

"Oy, the Bosmer's awake."

The voice is whiny, a nasal quality that I instantly despise and upon jerking my head up I manage to catch a glimps of a ruddy, gaunt face before the world shifts and wilts around me. It feels as if the cart is spinning and I can't help the groan that slips through my teeth...

"Whoah there friend," A much kinder sounding voice in my ear, warm hands steadying me before I roll out onto the road.

Speaking of hands, mine are bound before me...what?!

I jerk and panic, finding my mouth gagged. This is a prison cart, why am I on a prison cart?! I specifically remember heading for Skyrim so that I wouldn't end up on a prison cart!!

"Shhh! Calm down, we aren't going to hurt you..." I stare into the face of what has to be a Nord, blond hair framing a strong jaw. This man has a sharp nose, kind eyes and a rugged look that tells me his journey into this cart was not easy. He chuckles grimly, "I mean the Imperials who captured us sure will but you have nothing to fear from us."

"You were caught trying to cross the border into Skyrim," He explains further, "You took quite a blow to the head, but you did ask for it...biting the general is never a good move."

That explains why I was gagged then, I can't help but chuckle, though I soon cough at the sour taste of the cloth in my mouth.

The whiny man across from me continues to babble about something called a storm cloak, why is he talking about cloaks?

I soon find out he's a horse thief and extremely offended at being thrown in with these rebels. I wish to point out to him that I'm no rebel either and he needs to shut his mouth before I shut it for him but as I stated before my mouth is gagged and so I simply glare at him, focusing all my anger and irritation at this situation into my eyes as they try to burn a hole in his thick skull.

He squirms under my glare and begins to murmur about wishing I'd look at something else but I don't, my eyes remain glaring until he is the first to look away. I smile though with the gag it just looks like I'm gritting my teeth.

There is a commotion from the front of the caravan, which my cart is the rear of. We've reached a town, nestled into the stone of a mountain that towers over all of us like some great god looking down upon it's creation. I see the sign before my vision blurs.
This place is called Helgen.

The horse thief turns to say something over my shoulder and I suddenly find the blonde man at my side very angry, "Hey!" He shouts, "Watch your tone, you speak to Ulfric Stormcloak, the rightful king."

I shimmy and jump until I'm able to look sideways and find I'm almost leaning back against this Ulfric guy. He's dressed in black, and I can't tell if his coat has a wolf's pelt across its shoulders or feathers.

My eyesight fades in and out, going from perfect to blurry every few minutes. My head injury must be serious...I hope not.

Still, I am coherent enough to notice that Ulfric has turned to examine me as well, and when his eyes meet mine I feel a shiver travel down my spine. This is a very important man...a very dangerous man.

I listen to his companion continue to talk, noting that instead of simple conversation his tone seems to imply he's merely trying not to think about where we are headed.
His name is Ralof, he tells us, and he is taking this turn of events almost as well as Ulfric, with a kind of reserved calm that I would pay money to posess right now.

Me? I'm freaking out. I'm a wood elf, in a sea of Imperials and Nords, and I have no idea why I'm here.

The answer is in my head, I know it...it dances in the corners of my brain like shadows when you hold a candle against a wall. I pray to all the Divines I know of that I'm able to remember before we end up wherever these bastards are taking us. I have a feeling I won't be able to talk myself out of this like I normally would.

Before you ask, I'm no thief. I know my way around a set of lockpicks sure, but my bony hands were made to hold a sword and shield. My body feels strange without my regular chainmail, and though I may look gaunt and weak I'll have you know I've knocked orcs three times my size on their asses. Yes they were drunk at the time, but it's still impressive damn it!

I'm a blade for hire, and a bit of a treasure hunter. Basically I'll do whatever job needs doing if the coin is good and if I happen to stumble across some artifacts in stone ruins along the way all the better!

This has gotten me into a few scrapes with the law before, but nothing this bad. What did I do?!

I hear Ralof question the thief about where he is from, upon being asked why does it matter he answers in a way that makes my bones lock up and my heart begin trying to beat its way out of my chest...

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

Surely we aren't going to die...right?