Born King (Skyrim)

[SEG-CISR]

So, Skyrim. I'm trying to do it justice, because there's so much that it deserves, but so little people do for it. The concept of the Dragonborn is so great; it's not just a miscellaneous set of powers someone gets - it's dragon-killer in your blood.

"We are coming on it now."

Skyrim, shining under golden rays, stretched in vast plains all around. In the midst of them stood Whiterun's western watchtower, site of a recent dragon sighting. Irileth, the Dark Elf serving as the Jarl's right hand, led the team tasked with killing it.

"Look at it, it's completely destroyed..." One guard muttered. The watchtower used to stand tall and powerful on the road leading to southern Skyrim's crown jewel, but it turned out to be nothing next to a dragon's might. A half-dozen of Whiterun's guard did not feel any more up to it than the garrison that had left behind a smoking, burning ruin.

With Helgen so fresh in their minds, the guards began to falter.

Irileth would not show her fear, but the one amongst them who was not a native of Whiterun could feel it. "Do not be intimidated. It called us to this place, for it seeks battle. If you falter, it will only slaughter you without a second thought. Give it a good fight, and it will prolong it so we have a chance."

Perhaps letting the survivor of Helgen, a large Imperial outpost held by some of the most crack troops the Empire had to offer, speak was not the best morale-booster. A dragon had mercilessly slaughtered Helgen to a man. Neither arrows, flame, nor lightning could slow that dark beast's onslaught.

The Nord garbed in heavy iron armor with horns on his helm may be emboldened by his words, but no one knew exactly what to expect.

"If we do not stop it, it will move on to Whiterun. We must stand and fight here!" Irileth's haughtiness served her well, picking up after the foreigner to her party. That got the troopers' attention: keep Whiterun safe. Keep Olga and Masha safe, and every man's wife and daughter. Protect. Do their duty.

They marched on.

The western watchtower burned. The scent of charred flesh hung in the air, unperturbed by the breeze, and heat emanated from the burning husk of a fortress. The party of eight regrouped behind a boulder, the foreigner and Dark Elf taking the lead. Irileth spoke to her men as the foreign Nord watched the ruins ahead.

A young man in guards' armor peeked out of the tower and called out to them. He said the dragon could still be around, and may sweep down and eat whomever strayed from the rocks or tower. The Nord didn't pay him much mind, looking around for the beast.

A roar came from the distance, quiet at first, but it set his blood boiling. His world tilted on its axis, and the small figure in the sky to the south became the clearest, most detailed thing he had ever seen.

The foreigner stood from his crouch, unsheathing his sword as he stepped towards the flying dragon. His hand crackled with lightning as he prepared to make battle with the dragon. The dragon roared, and he responded defiantly.

"Toor-SHUL!" Irileth and her party had run to the tower, and this insignificant human stood alone on the plains. The dragon focused on him, but he dodged, rolling away from the great gout of flame that erupted upon the ground. Lightning flashed, splashing against the flying beast's flank.

A Whiterun guard screamed, falling to the ground in front of the tower's stairs in terror. Irileth grabbed the back of his armor and dragged him up the stairs, shouting orders to her soldiers. "Take cover, don't let it get you with its flames! Use your bows, make every arrow count!"

The dragon flew around the tower in response, its great wings buffeting the guards inside. Arrows shot towards it, some piercing its scales. With another roar, it breathed fire into nearby openings of the tower.

Meanwhile, the Nord ran up the tower's winding stairs, shooting lightning from his fingertips when the dragon passed. He reached the top, with only the sky above him, and felt a heavy compulsion.

He shouted. "Dragon! Come to me!"

A gravelly laugh rose from beneath his feet and his opponent rose, leathery wings buffeting him with wind. The great beast perched upon the edge of the watchtower, claws tearing through masonry as if it were warm butter. When the dragon opened its mouth, steam seeped out along with a voice that sounded like an avalanche speeding down a mountainside.

"You are brave. Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor! Yol-Toor-SHUL!" Steam gave way to flames. The Nord dodged to the side, the flames following and licking at his heels. They subsided when a flash of thunder snapped the dragon's head back.

It laughed, despite its charred snout. "Hah! Brit grah! Beautiful battle, mortal! I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide! Remember my name, Mirmulnir! The one who snuffed out your wretched existence!" The dragon's title, part of an alien tongue, rung with power, a power that made the Nord's blood sing.

A name, albeit just a name, filled his being overwhelmingly, and his world finished tilting until it was surely upside down. He followed his blood's pleas, feeling a strange power build within him.

He Shouted. "Mir-mul-NIR!"

A shockwave staggered the dragon, whose beady eyes widened. The Nord immediately sprung forward, leaping towards it. Lightning flashed mid-leap, and the dragon's head was knocked back with a painful roar as lightning destroyed its eye. A gleaming sword of steel and a charging Nord's weight further tipped back the dragon as the Nord stabbed it through Mirmulnir's snout.

It roared in muffled pain and rage, flapping its wings and flailing its limbs uselessly. A blade pinned its jaw closed, causing draconic blood, which steamed in the cold Skyrim air, to spurt upon the iron-garbed human.

The man roared back, for he was more than just a man, and pulled the sword out. One hand grasping the dragon's hard, sharp scales, he pulled and drove his sword into the dragon once more as they plummeted from the sky.

In a storm of rage and power, Mirmulnir crashed against the plains of Skyrim, a human dominant against the dragon's majesty for the first time in its long life. It knew why.

"Dovahkiin! No..." It managed to cry, before the Nord used their fall's momentum and his monstrous strength to drive his sword through Mirmulnir's remaining eye.

Then there was only silence. The dragon's limbs twitched uselessly, blood caustically responding to the cold oxygenated air of Skyrim's wilderness, pouring from its wounds liberally. The dragon died without further ado.

Man had slain Beast.

Whiterun's guards, without casualties, streamed out of the watchtower, in awe of what they had witnessed.

"By the Gods... he really did it."

Irileth nodded in begrudged respect. "Very good, Nord. This means-" She was interrupted by the dragon's body beginning to move once more. "Prepare yourselves!" She barked, readying her sword for battle.

The foreigner, the Dragon-slayer, did not. He only stared down at the dragon – Mirmulnir – as its body began to twitch and burn hotter and hotter. Fire rose from its scales and they wilted away, revealing its skeleton. A radiance rose from its core, rising up to the sky as it burned.

Then the light arched to him, and he was barraged with a torrent of ethereal flame. He fell to one knee, eyes focused on the dying dragon's remains, and roared in challenge, raising his body against the light.

A word, familiar to his brain and to his heart, rose in his being, and he Shouted once more in defiance of the light. "FUS!"

A great Power was projected from his very throat and the lights scattered, as if afraid of his strength.

The guards were, too.

"The Thu'um! He can use the Thu'um!"

"That was... a Shout! I can't believe it... you're... Dragonborn!" One approached him, awe in his eyes.

"Dragonborn?" He questioned. His voice was rough, overused, as if that shout was something not meant for the human body.

"In the very oldest tales, when dragons still existed in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would kill dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?"

"Mirmulnir," he murmured, but the guard who was speaking to him still staggered from the power in the words. "That was his name."

The guard shook his head in amazement. "My grandfather used to tell me stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with dragon blood in them – like Tiber Septim himself."

"I never heard about Tiber Septim killing any dragons." Another guard slapped this one on the back of the head for that.

"That's because there weren't any dragons back then, you idiot!"

The Nord was still staring at his opponent's skeletal remains as they bantered.

Dragonborn... that was a good name. He had wandered nameless, without a home or cause, the wandering Nord holding many names that meant nothing, because his given one had been lost... but Dragonborn, he could use that title, and make it his for it came from his blood itself.

He stood still as the guards and Irileth regrouped – Irileth apathetic about his newfound status, at best – and then set out with them towards Whiterun.

"I can't believe it... the Dragonborn..." One guard still marveled. It wasn't a conscious decision, but even the haughty Dark Elf housecarl stayed back. The Nord, a foreigner to them, but doubtlessly the most powerful, led their party back towards Whiterun.

Suddenly, as the walls of central Skyrim's metropolis began to loom over them, he paused and turned his eyes towards the tallest mountain of the land. The Thorat of the World was shaking, a tangible shockwave racing down its walls. Combined with an ever-growing avalanche, it tore through the landscape, racing inexorably down and forward... then towards them.

The land and heavens shook. "DO-VAH-KIIN!"

Awe and terror.

"The greybeards' call, like the legends say!"

Awe and terror. Was this what life would be from now on?

In a way, the newly-dubbed Dragonborn didn't mind. Just as Tiber Septim had been... so wouldn't that mean he was of royal blood?

As a Dragonborn, Jarl Ulfric and the Empire's civil war aside... wasn't he the born king of Skyrim and all men?

 

[SEG-CISR]

Here's some more.

Balgruuf the Greater, the undisputed leader of central Skyrim, was not the biggest man in the room sometimes. Skyrim had no High King, he had never met the Empire's general that had been tasked with controlling his province, and the Emperor had not been near Whiterun in a long time. Still, even in his court, on occasion he was as a whelp beside a great bear.

The Dragonborn walked into Dragonsreach, and all was silent. This was one such occasion, where he strolled in and acted like Balgruuf was his greater, asking him for little favors or offering great services. The net was, of course, greatly beneficial to the Dragonborn even before accounting his status. Balgruuf waited, every time feeling the foreboding of prey before a fearsome dragon – or worse, a man who slayed dragons.

"Jarl Balgruuf," the man – the predator – began. "I have just returned from Eastmarch and Jarl Ulfric asked me to relay a message." His voice fit his status, full of growling undertones from the creatures he was named for. It had changed since the man had first walked into Dragonsreach with a message from Riverwood.

"Dragonborn, Whiterun welcomes you." Not everyone was a bona fide warrior of the lands, politics had a way of making even the gruffest abide by common niceties. Either way, he was always a little more polite gazing at the horned helm. "What is Ulfric's message?"

The Dragonborn unsheathed an axe from his leather belt and approached holding it near the head. The Jarl watched the proffered hilt for a moment, eyes wary. Ah. So it had come to this.

"You are my Thane. I have trusted you with my city's wellbeing and you bring me this, Dragonborn?"

"I am doing this as a favor to Jarl Ulfric, my Jarl. You know that the War would come to this sooner or later."

Was he going to leverage his service for Whiterun's allegiance?

"There are two sides to this war. If you had been doing this as a favor to the General in Solitude, you would have brought me a token from him instead. I know you have worked with the Stormcloaks." The utterance of the word brought a hush to the court. All but his housecarl and steward had been acting like they had moved on after the dragon slayer's entrance, but showed where their attention laid. "Irileth, clear the court."

The Dragonborn remained motionless, not defending himself. The axe remained in his hand, in front of the Jarl's face. Proventus was paler than snow, and Irileth was visibly furious. Even his family retreated to their quarters, and Farengar closed the doors to his study.

The axe remained, so the Jarl took it. "I would like to ask my housecarl and steward for advice, but as Thane you also hold sway, Dragonborn. Tell me your side." He sounded exhausted.

"Do well by Whiterun, of course. What else is your duty? You say there are two sides, so which would benefit Whiterun most?"

Balgruuf weighed the question. "The Empire provides stability and openness, but its policies and bureaucracy are a constant pain. The Stormcloaks offer freedom of choice and a return to Skyrim under a High King, which would provide a boon to Whiterun and all of Skyrim. However, it would not be stable and it would be a dangerous environment for Whiterun – Ulfric's men do not value anything but military might and bravado, and Windhelm would become a de facto center for commerce and culture as the start of the revolution." Balgruuf looked up. "Stability and a place as the center of Skyrim alongside stifling Imperial policy, or being pushed aside by revolutionary zeal to be part of an independent, free, dangerous and unstable place. Led by Jarl Ulfric. While I appreciate his attention to the old ways and love for Skyrim, I do not see it working for Whiterun."

The Dragonborn crossed his arms. "How about Skyrim as a whole?"

Balgruuf leaned back. "Skyrim is a police state due to the Stormcloaks' little revolution. It is our moment in the Empire's attention due to Talos worship, and he spews libel against the Elves and starts a war. Should Ulfric win under his platform… we will be a state under Talos and Talos alone, because that is all Ulfric fights for: freedom. Simply freedom. It is admirable, but not enough. The Empire fights for order – even at the cost of freedom. Order that provides safety to all under the umbrella, and despite the past war I know that the Empire is powerful. If we do not stand united, we will lose all that we have gained in millennia."

"Freedom versus safety in numbers. Ulfric is very independent and very focused on Skyrim, so his crusade would never spread," concluded the Dragonborn.

"It is all he has ever known and cared for," agreed the Jarl.

"There are two sides to this war. Why is that it? Two opposites like order and freedom? There are negatives for Skyrim for both sides, so why is no side looking at it all and looking for the best solution for everyone?" The Dragonborn uncrossed his arms and questioned. Balgruuf was taken aback by the sudden rhetoric. Naïveté from the man who murdered what man was raised through all of history to fear?

"You know it is never that simple. There is no solution that fixes everything."

"Yes, but there can be better solutions."

"Who will bring them to the table? Skyrim is polarized, none will see other paths."

"Jarl Balgruuf, leader of all of central Skyrim," the Dragonborn said simply. Balgruuf leaned into his throne, dumbfounded by the blunt final statement.

The Jarl then stood and growled, glaring down at his Thane. "You cannot just say that! What is your side?"

The Dragonborn removed his helm, smirking. Everything about his face screamed "Nord", but his eyes and smile belonged on a snake. "My own, of course. And my people's."

"Ulfric is the man crusading for the Nords, Dragonborn," he hissed.

"No, he is crusading for his Nords. I will crusade for men." The man's voice pushed his Jarl back into his throne. Irileth made a move, but the Jarl, slightly shaken, raised his hand. "For freedom and for unity for all men. That is my side. I want freedom, but safety for my peoples as well."

"You want to take over Skyrim, then take the Empire?" His eyes were wide.

That grin uncoiled itself again. "It's been done before."

"By Talos," Proventus noted exasperatedly.

"Who was before Tiber Septim. Who was, before me, the last-"

"Dragonborn!" Balgruuf was physically affected by the realization. Proventus' eyes widened and Irileth gaped.

"No man is more fit to rule than I. Dragonblood runs in my veins-"

"As it has in our true emperors'…" The Jarl murmured. "By the Gods… you are serious about this."

"Yes, Jarl. I am. I am Skyrim's born king, and amidst this strife in the land, I see from the outside and know the issues on either end of the spectrum. No one is happy with the Dominion, and they consider my existence a sin against their regime. But that is for a very good reason. Whiterun has become a home to me, and I wish for it to form a third party that will undo Skyrim's strife and lead to man's rise again." He reached into his tunic and pushed a small booklet into Balgruuf's boneless hands. "Read this. Now you may discuss with your housecarl and steward whose axe you will take: Ulfric's, the Empire's, or mine."

He turned and walked out of Dragonsreach, and the Jarl had nothing to say for a long minute, staring down at the book in his hands. Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak, it proclaimed.

 

[Rising Dragon]

At your first post, you had my curiosity. Now, at your second, you have my attention. You've started writing a third path that I had wished would be in Skyrim proper.

 

[ragnarok1337]

The Dominion's dossier on Ulfric...this should be an eye-opener.

I'll read this. Please, continue.

 

[SEG-CISR]

At your first post, you had my curiosity. Now, at your second, you have my attention. You've started writing a third path that I had wished would be in Skyrim proper.

There's metric tons of stuff that I have to consider in the direction I'm taking this. One traitorous part of me wants to write a sort of Spice & Wolf kind of story following the sociopolitics of Skyrim during the civil war with a third party. I considered following the misadventures of Balgruuf as he gathers support, but he's like... a Nord. That's it. He's a proud old warrior and he's a Nord with a duty.

I'm not an economist so despite my knowledge of the social and political workings of a society, my economic knowledge works at a macro level and more in-depth only in a more contemporary setting. So I wouldn't really make it so interesting on the back of an uninteresting character.

But yeah, minor tweaks have been made and I'm working on a cohesive and specific direction. A lot of people are extremely polarized in Skyrim, I would have to sway them too, not just the Dragonborn. It'll be interesting, and I really hope to continue it.

 

[ilalthal2]

Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon.
By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old.
You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it.

-----
Ever since I found this out I have wanted to take the independent path. When I turned out there was no way to do it I was devastated.
The whole companions, thieves guild, Dark Brotherhood and then the blades quest lines seem like a perfect set up for this. The companions were led by Wulfharth the only one other than Tiber Septem known as Ysmir and the only one the companions would accept as leader so if we play things right we have the start of our own army.

Thieves guild and the Dark Brotherhood would be priceless, seizing a empire is no small feat and doing it without any cloak and dagger work would be foolish. If you take these two groups that are known to be near destroyed and revitalize them you almost certainly gain their loyalty, you could use them as a formidable espionage network and when you add the legitimacy provided by the near legendary reputation of the blades (and the legitimacy, everyone knows the blades served the old emperors) seizing control of skyrim becomes almost easy.

All that without exploiting the Draconic might makes right philosophy to recruit a troop of dragons(after beating them into submission first).

 

[Shirotsume]

Yo, sergibro, I have some free time now till about monday, hit me up on IRC?

 

[SEG-CISR]

Yo, sergibro, I have some free time now till about monday, hit me up on IRC?

finals are hard, seg is busy, lucidity is fleeting

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was a man proud of abiding by the ancient customs of Skyrim. Just like when he sent an axe to Whiterun, he followed those unwritten, but oft sung, laws when he spoke to fellow warriors. As a Jarl Ulfric was loyal to Skyrim, and as a Stormcloak he was loyal only to Skyrim herself. Being loyal to Skyrim necessitated contact with the other rulers of each Hold, and the occasions varied in pleasantness.

However, to be High King a man could not hold any sort of disregard for the Jarls' and Holds' voices, for the moot would have to support his candidacy. So he resigned himself to listening to his "peers" even if he loathed to do so.

The new Jarl of Dawnstar, a former Legate of the Legion, stood tall in front of his throne. Her housecarl wore the garbs of the Empire, drawing sneers from the Stormcloaks in the Palace, but the woman's position demanded some decorum, regardless of their allegiance. Part of retaining said decorum, for Ulfric, was based on a recognition that these two were not fresh legionnaires, but veterans of the Great War. They held no love for what he hated most about the Empire: consorting with Altmer.

"Jarl Stormcloak, while Dawnstar appreciates your city's support, we must withdraw ours. As stated in my letter, we are prepared to repay you to the best of our ability and provide services and access to Dawnstar for reduced costs. However, my Hold cannot be involved in a rebellion given recent events. We are simply unable to marshal our men and women against the Empire." She did not sound very appreciative. Ulfric leaned forward in his throne with fire in his eyes, pushing aside the air of politeness.

"You know you will have to pick sides, Jarl Merilis. This war will not truly end until either cause is proudly represented at every town square and Nordic heart. Windhelm and Dawnstar's relationship can continue, and with Winterhold following our lead we will have an entire corner of Skyrim safe from elven intrusions."

The mention of the Dominion struck a chord in the woman, he saw. She was quiet for a moment. "We will support the winners of this revolution, be it the Empire or Stormcloak rebellion. However, we simply cannot support excursions outside of our Hold and our people have been hit hard by dragon attacks." Yes, they had been, and so had Ulfric – the Stormcloaks' support in the Pale had crumbled along with the death of the old Jarl, the venerable Skald, to a dragon's flames. "Dawnstar, and all of the Pale, are prepared to promise neutrality in this conflict."

"Neutrality, Jarl," Ulfric growled, staring her dead in the eyes, "is not possible. This war is one of liberation, and there is no middle-ground. You are either with us or against us."

The woman was no simple woman, but a warrior, he remembered when she glared back. "Is that a threat, Jarl?"

"No, it is a promise. I want you to listen to our cause, Jarl, because we Nords should be united against the Mer that seek to destroy us." A stir rose among his troops as the great doors of the Palace of Kings opened. Ulfric looked over the Pale's Jarl's shoulder, and saw something that could make or break this discussion.

The Dragonborn was aloof and uncaring about the attention he got as he walked into Windhelm's court and steered directly for Ulfric's throne.

Had Whiterun responded yet? The Dragonborn was a Thane in the city, and Ulfric was certain the answer would come with him. Either way, for the immediate occasion, the man's appearance would be useful; without him Dawnstar would be a crater, and showing his support for the Stormcloaks would definitely help Ulfric push his agenda to the Pale's Jarl. "Dragonborn!" He greeted loudly. "It is a pleasure to have you once more in Windhelm. What news do you bring?"

"Jarl Ulfric," started the Dragonborn, his voice filling the halls easily. He spoke lightly, but his voice was teeming at the edges with power. His horned helm and ice-worn armor exuded an aura akin to that of one of his mortal enemies, and he would have shaken a lesser man with his combination of a growling voice and a predatory stare. "Jarl Balgruuf has been considering the decision whenever I have brought it up. He must be careful, for Whiterun's trade routes keep Skyrim connected to Cyrodill. He mustn't throw his lot in on either side rashly."

The man's bright gaze roved slowly from Ulfric to Jarl Merilis. "Jarl Brina, it is good to see you again." His eyes shifted to the housecarl for a moment, and he nodded at the legionnaire. "What brings you to Windhelm?"

"Dragonborn." The woman smiled warmly, shedding her glacial countenance for the legendary warrior, while Ulfric watched the interaction. "It is good to see you as well. We have come to see Jarl Stormcloak and discuss my Hold's stance in this conflict."

The man hummed, nodding. "And what is your stance?"

The smile remained on her face. "Neutrality, of course." The Dragonborn's eyebrows rose in his helmet. "You have seen the state of Dawnstar, we are not in a place to be involved in war."

Ulfric cut in. "You must be involved in war, Jarl, such is the scale of this conflict."

"I agree, Jarl Brina. It is an ideological war we are fighting. You must stand up for what you believe," the Dragonborn pointed reasonably. The Pale Jarl's small grin faded into a frown.

"I stand up for Dawnstar, and only it. I am loyal to the people I live and work with every day, not anything else. Men will fight and die, men will rule and conquer. Skyrim will continue to exist. We pursue neutrality not by a belief that we will benefit more from it, but due to our belief that the winning side wants what is best for Skyrim. You are right, it is ideological, but it is just two sides of the same coin. I believe the Empire wants good, and the Stormcloaks do not want to damage our province either. In the end it is just politics."

Ulfric shot from his seat at the throne, and the legionnaire housecarl shifted closer to his Jarl. "You cannot reduce the issues to 'just politics', woman! The Dominion is bleeding the Empire dry, and you would rather let the future of Skyrim find its own way than supporting it?"

"Dawnstar can provide nothing to you, Stormcloak! Have I not made myself clear? You will not have my support in this war and you will not have my support in the moot – but neither will the Empire!"

"Quiet!" The Dragonborn's hiss shut down their heated discussion like a cracking whip. Brina glared at him. He was quiet for a while more, watching Ulfric until the man relented and took his place in his throne once more. "That is much better. You are leaders of people, and you believe strongly – I cannot dissuade you. I understand your sides are very important to you, so I will say this: follow what you are most loyal to. In times like this, loyalty is the greatest asset. It is good to hear that Dawnstar is loyal to Skyrim and to its citizens first and foremost – do not write such pragmatism off, Ulfric."

He turned and walked out. They were quiet for a moment, before the Jarl of the Pale excused herself and left as well. Ulfric sat, watching their exits.

Perhaps the Dragonborn was right. At least Dawnstar's lack of support did not mean it was against his cause. It was interesting to interact with the man and see his growth, for he had really grown in the past months. Ulfric recalled meeting the Dragonborn in a prisoner cart, on the way to the axe, and did not recognize his close brush with fate until weeks later when the tales began spinning across Skyrim. On that cart the tired, bedraggled man had spoken little, only watching with wandering eyes. He had been on the axe, seconds from death, when a dragon popped up and decided to raze Helgen.

Ulfric found it interesting that the first dragon in centuries saved the Dragonborn's life, but also found the comparison between the man then and now particularly curious. He could see the power then, but now it was overwhelming to be near the man at times, and his intellect and shrewdness seemed greater every time they met.

Galmar had brought up the idea of the Dragonborn's consumption of dragons' souls might give him some of their knowledge, which was perfectly credible, if unknowable because there was no such thing as an academic on dragons metaphysics. Either way, souls did constitute a lot, although dragons were just beasts so the potential of the man's power was wasted. Perhaps it was the predatory instinct or the otherworldly wisdom all old creatures eventually acquired that made the man's presence grow so much so often.

As Ulfric wondered, the Dragonborn had walked through Windhelm and had exited the gates, Dawnstar's leader and housecarl in tow. Brina and Horik climbed atop a wagon and looked at him expectantly.

"I have things to attend to in the area. I apologize for speaking against you, but I believe Ulfric will be more accepting of the Pale's direction from here on." The Jarl made to speak, but he raised his hand. "Do head out, there will be important things happening in Dawnstar soon. Remember, Brina, loyalty is integral in this conflict."

"Loyalty to Skyrim, to its people, absolutely." She smiled lightly. "Particularly to its people, our men and women."

"Indeed. I will see you the next time I stop by. I shall take care of the problem with the giant you asked me about before I am in the town next."

Dawnstar's Jarl set off by wagon. The Dragonborn laid his hand on the bridge that let to Windhelm and leaned onto it, thinking. He watched the ice shift on the river underneath, and considered his next move. Politicking was a constant undertaking, but he had to set off westward to do something a little more physical at some place called the "Nightgate Inn".

Essentials of Politics: sometimes the biggest boon an opponent has is an established leadership that will not go quietly into the night. Sometimes, to break their base and change things around, those people have to go.

 

[SEG-CISR]

There's no words for how fucking awesome the lore gets as you get deeper into it. I spent a bit of this past semester learning about the lore and mythos of the Elder Scrolls and my mind is so blown.

I had a snippet written up but 4/5 of the way through it I started realizing how far into gibbering insanity I was leaning. This is happening too often recently, but I'll get my shit together soon.