NOTE: The following snippets were taken from recently recovered pages of a journal that chronicles the life of a certain Lysander Blackmoney who lived in the Fourth Era, around the time of the Civil War when Skyrim, led by Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm, rose in revolt against the Empire. The journal is thought to comprise around 500 pages in total. The Blackmoney Codex, as it is now popularly known, is unique in that the pages are made out of a special kind of paper called vellum, the making of which, sadly, has been lost to the ages. Fifty-five of these pages have so far been discovered and are now housed in the Savos Aren Wing of the College of Winterhold library. The College is actively encouraging anyone to search out the other pages as the journal may help in the discovery of powerful ancient artifacts that, until now, were thought to be just legends. They are currently offering 1,000 septims for each page that would be turned over to the college. Based on the few pages recovered, it would appear that Lysander Blackmoney may have played a leading role in the Civil War and is also believed to have been instrumental in ridding Skyrim of the dragon menace that plagued the land during that time.
Tirdas, 3.20 in the afternoon
Three kilometers South of Helgen
Large drops of rain pelt my body mercilessly as I, together with my comrades-in-arm, stand unmoving in the middle of a fallowed field. I am numb with cold and my clothes are soaking wet. My weary feet is half-buried in the muddy soil and the northern wind howls like a mad witch, cutting like steel into our exposed skins. The stench of fear is all around me and I can feel it down to my very core. As I take a quick glance at my companions, I can see a lot of them trembling from head to toe, not just out of the cold, but mostly out of the sickening fear that seems to have pervaded our bodies. Some of them have even started pissing on themselves.
What I am I doing here? I should be at my farm with my Wanda and the children!
As the merciless rain continue, my body begins to shake and my sword starts to dance in my trembling hands. I suddenly realize that my life is not my own and I am just a pawn in this age of titans.
Talos! Oh God! You know fully well that I am not a born warrior!
I am about to pass out from the cold and fear but a quick jab on my ribs sends me back to the harshness of reality. My neighbor has just poked me, signalling me through bodily gestures that we’ve been ordered to advance two paces and prepare for arms inspection by our lord. I let out a groan as I force my numbed feet to move through sheer force of will.
Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm, is our lord. He desires to be High King of Skyrim. I can see him, just half a furlong away, fully dressed in iron mail. A horned steel helmet covers his head, under which flows a long and blonde hair that goes past his broad shoulders . With his two bodyguards accompanying him, he is slowly advancing through the ranks, talking to every man, laughing and joking, and generally trying to lift our broken spirits.
Ulfric finally approaches our company. He stands in front of us silently for a moment, then looks at each one of us with his deep blue eyes. Up close, I can see that he is still young, a mere youth of twenty summers or so. Yet, even if I am already a man of thirty-two summers, I feel smaller beside him. He is a huge man and he has the bearing of a king.
“Gunthar!” he salutes my neighbour who, in turn, bows at him with respect. “Your heroism in the siege of Amol will not be forgotten. And I am honored to be your shield-brother today, brother.”
“Thank you, my lord.” says Gunthar, still looking at the ground.
“Rejoice, man! Today is a great day for each one of us. I promise you that tonight, we will get drunk in our enemy’s camp,” he pauses and pats Gunthar’s shoulders. “And you will go back home and tell your children how brave you have been.”
Ulfric continues on his path, then stops in front of me. Using his leather-gloved hand, he grabs my chin and raises my face, until we finally meet eye to eye.
“Blackmoney.” He pronounces my name with a squeak then smirks at me. He hates me, I know. He has taken a liking to my wife but because of the law, he can’t touch her as long as I’m still alive. And he hates me more for it. “Remember that you still owe me a cow. I will only cancel that debt if you kill ten Imperials today. Therefore, I am assigning you to the front-line of the battle.”
“My Thane. . . “ My words get stuck in my throat. He gives out a hearty laugh and walks past me. One of his bodyguards, a chunky man with a bushy beard, grabs me by the hands and pulls me away from my companions. Ignoring my pitiful cries and pleas, he drags me to the vanguard line where our army’s veterans and elite warriors are forming.
My destiny is now clearly written.
Goodbye, Wanda. Take good care of our children.
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