The Warrior

Ever since I could remember, I’ve been a fighter. My ma told me I was a kicker before I was even born, and when I came out, I screamed and wriggled like a spotted piglet. Apparently, I wrestled the cat before I could walk, and didn’t even mind getting scratched on a regular basis. When I started playing outside, the little Imperials, or imps, avoided me. Whether their parents told them too, or if they did it out of their own fear I’m not sure. Didn’t matter much to me, since there were other Nords to play with in Bruma. Even though it was an Imperial city, it was utterly and truly Nordic. When I was old enough, I went hunting with my best friend, Klija, who even killed a timber wolf at some point.

I reminisced about my old friend as I followed the road downstream. She left for Skyrim before I did, set for a life of battle and adventure in the land of our ancestors. I would’ve joined her, if my mother hadn’t fallen so ill. When she died, there was nothing left for me at home.

Riverwood’s practically one road with a couple of houses. It has a merchant, a blacksmith and an inn, but the main reason for its existence is the lumber mill. It was founded by Ralof’s ancestor, I learned, and it’s still run by his sister, Gerdur, and her husband Hod.

Upon arriving, a friendly old hag directed me towards an island in the river, connected to the town by two wooden bridges. On it, tall heaps of logs, long planks and lots of firewood surrounded the sawmill where I found Gerdur.

“Evening,” she grunted, as she brought an axe down onto a piece of firewood. “What can I do for you?”

“Evening,” I said, trying not to think about the last time I was close to a chopping block. “Ralof said you could help me out.”

She threw me a suspicious look, and placed another piece of wood on the block. “Ralof? How do you know him?”

“He’s a friend,” I said. “He promised you could help.”

“If you really are Ralof's friend, I'll be glad to help you,” she said, and she poked me in the stomach with the axe handle. “But you didn't answer my question - how do you know him?"

I looked around. There was no one to be seen. “We escaped the Imperials together,” I said softly. “And if you poke me again, I’ll punch you in the face, even if you are Ralof’s sister.”

For a moment I thought she was going to call my bluff, she seemed like that kind of lady, but she started laughing. “Ralof sure knows how to choose his friends. Alright, tough girl. I’ll help you out. But first give me a hand, and then you can tell me all about those damn Imperials.”

She handed me the axe, and as I chopped, I told her about my near **** experience. She was strong, just like her brother, able to lift huge logs with little effort. When I felt like she trusted me enough, I told her about the creature.

"You saw a dragon? In Helgen? It can't be… although... It would explain what I saw earlier.” She pointed in the direction I came from. “Flying down the valley from the south... I thought I must have just been seeing things..."

“It couldn’t have been a dragon,” I said. “Could it?

“I know,” Gerdur said. “They’re just a legend. Still, from what you told me… Listen, I trust you. I’ll get you something to eat, and a place to sleep. You must be starving.”

I hadn’t noticed, but yes, I was. I followed Gerdur to her home, met her husband and son, and after the first bite of smoked salmon I started wolfing down everything she put in front of me. It wasn’t polite, but damn, I wasn’t in Cyrodiil anymore, was I?

As Hod opened a third bottle of mead, and I stuffed a second sweetroll down my gullet, Gerdur threw some wood on the fire.

“Those are some clean cuts, Ylsi,” she said. “I suppose this wasn’t the first time you’ve held an axe.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Though I like spears and halberds too. Anything with a long pole really.”

“You thinking about joining the stormcloaks?” Hod asked. “Bet they’d love to have you.”

I shrugged. “I’m not one for politics. I respect those who’d die for their believes, but I’m afraid I’ve never had such convictions.”

“Then what is it you came looking for,” Gerdur asked. “If it isn’t a good fight?”

“I never said I don’t want to fight,” I grinned. “I’m just not sure whom yet.”

“Well,” Gerdur said. “There’s enough **** in Skyrim for any Nord’s satisfaction. I just hope you won’t find yourself opposite Ralof.”

“That won’t happen,” I said. “Not taking the life of someone who’s saved mine. Wouldn’t be honorable.”

“If it’s honour you’re looking for,” Hod said, “go join the Companions in Jorrvaskr. You’d fit right in.”

“Where’s that?”

“Whiterun, the hold capital.”

I’d heard of Whiterun. It was the golden heart of Skyrim, home to the best horsemen and traders the Nords had to offer.

“I wouldn’t mind checking it out,” I said.

“You should do that,” Gerdur said. “But first, you should rest up. Tomorrow we’ll get you some decent clothes. You’re welcome here for as long as you can stand looking at Hod.”

She almost died laughing at her own.

“He’s not that bad,” I said, grinning at Hod, who lit up like a torch.

“Watch it girl,” Gerdur laughed. “He may look like a horker, but he’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t dare trespass,” I said. “I’ll find my own dreamy sea creature.”

Gerdur spit out her mead chortling.