The Chance Adventures of a Young Altmer: Chapter 1 - Manifest Destiny

• Posted by Benjamin Brewer July 9, 2014 - 808 views

  Loredas, 15th of Last Seed, 4E 201

       I'm not exactly sure what to write in this leather-bound book, seeing nothing do is of great import in my life. I wonder why I thought this would be of any use to me when I bought it yesterday. And I suspect getting hammered and subsequently blacking out in a shabby tavern is something people refrain recording from on parchment. Nonetheless, it happened, and it happened last night. It's not all roses and sweetrolls however, and retribution was swift. I awoke earlier this morning with a hangover that Dagon himself probably concocted.  

  At any rate, pardon me for not giving a proper introduction. I am Ganther Sauriil, and I was born an Altmer only forty-two years ago. By racial standards that translates to adolescent, and some would say "allegedly" too young for the journey I've embarked on. Oh wait, I almost forgot to mention the epic road I'm traveling, and no, I won't go into why I left. However, I can tell you my next destination is Skyrim. I am aware it is an understandably odd choice for any Elf. The tales there however, are electric and compelling. A civil war bathing the land in blood, vampires massing in legions, and even whispers of long forgotten beasts. History is being made there, and perhaps with training and perseverance I can have a hand in writing it.

  For now though, I scribble this in the dank tavern near the pool of vomit I'm told I fell asleep in. To make matters worse I can clearly see the barkeep eyeing me. It's old news however, and since I left the Dominion's borders it's been a quiet war of glances across the room. It's only one of many ways Men have not been accommodating or courteous. I'm not xenophobic, but the more humans antagonize me, the generalizations most Mer form about men feel increasingly true. Almost all of them have happened to be filthy, barely sentient, and uncivilized mongrels. I grant you, there are a minority of them who are enlightened, but they are quite infrequent.

  Soon, I'll inquire about the services of a mercenary, preferably one who knows the Skyrim border. And, protection for myself is a necessity. Despite the martial lessons my parents forced upon me, I never learned. I can barely lift a sword, so if I trot there myself I'll likely be a wild animal's evening meal. It would be excellent if I could hire a simple behemoth Nord to facilitate as a meat shield. One with a massive war hammer the size of a grown man. I'd venture that would keep me safe until I arrive in "civilization".  

  With an ideal meat shield in mind I end this entry to go speak to the Nord barkeep. His eye has no sign of yielding since I dipped my quill in ink, and frankly it's unsettling. Hopefully, he'll know a mercenary meeting my standards. I suspect I'll be in Skyrim by next week should everything go to plan. I'll try to summon the will for another entry then.