The Elder Scrolls: Nord of Spades

Chapter 4

It was a chilly morning in Windhelm. The fog was lifting but it wasn't anytime soon. Yngvar arrived through the gates, but not many people were up to notice his armor glistening through the droplets caused by the fog.

Yngvar had remembered how cold it was, but he hadn't felt it since his time as a mercenary. It hit him like a drunkard confronting a giant. It was too damn cold, but he'd go through anything to save his wife and city.

Ignoring the cold, he walked through the empty dawn of Winterhold and found an old shack. It wasn't small but it wasn't big. It was the size of a house, but from the looks of it, it looked like an old pile of rubble that managed to look like a shack.

He reached the old wooden door. Above it was a sign with a language that wasn't recognizable, but Yngvar didn't care. He knocked four times, all in a rhythm, as if it was a secret door.

An ancient-looking man peeped through the courier hole.

"What in Oblivion do you want?" The man sounded as if he had just been through a war.

"It was the Fourth Era," began Yngvar, "it was the 193rd year and a poor fellow named-"

"Yngvar, an adventurous fellow, had arrived in Winterhold in search of training," interrupted the old man. "I've been waiting for 14 years to see you again, Yngvar. Quick, come inside."

The door opened and Yngvar quickly walked in as the door shut behind him. Yngvar took off his helmet.

"You crazy old man, I've been waiting for you instead," Yngvar said in a sarcastic way, "but it's certainly great to see you again, Heidmir."

Heidmir took off his hood to reveal his graying hair and long beard. "I suspect you're not here just to see me. You never saw me during your tenure as a mercenary. You need...help."

"You certainly know me well," Yngvar smiled. "Have you ever heard of a man, or a bandit if you call them men, named Skeever?"

Heidmir pulled out mead from his cabinet. "Yes, I know him. I fought beside him during the Civil War before he left the rebellion to become a bandit chief. Many called him a traitor, but others saw him as a man who had better things to do with his life than to fight a useless war."

Yngvar didn't care about what the Skeever did in the past though. He only cared that he took his wife and his city. "I need your training. Ever since the fire, I've lost my touch."

"If you've ever had any," Heidmir joked. "I can train you, but I only have days left before my soul goes to Sovngarde."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Yngvar said with determination. "And if my training isn't done before you're gone, I'll keep you in mind."

So they began their training. From early in the morning until late at night, Yngvar trained for five days. Yngvar was rusty, but his determination and confidence made him even better. Heidmir was impressed. A week later, however, Heidmir lay dying on his bed.

"Yngvar," said Heidmir with his voice so cold and almost home, "there is one thing I must tell you before you go..."

Yngvar studied the man with tears in his eyes. "Yes, Heidmir."

"I've known you since you were a boy, and seeing you grow up to become a magnificent young man. My last wish before I die is that...that you...defeat the...Skeev..." Heidmir's eyes rolled back and his chest stopped rising.

Yngvar held back his tears with struggle. He nodded and grabbed his helmet and left. He left with one thing, and one thing only on his mind.

Vengeance.