Atone [✓]

12th of Frostfall, 4E201

(Hackdirt, Cyrodiil)

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SKYRIM WAS THE LAST place I wanted to seek refuge. The Emperor promised peace with the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, but it didn't stop the Aldmeri Dominion of seizing the province in their golden grip. Everyone was restless in Cyrodiil, the palace began closing its door in efforts to keep the Thalmor from running the Crystal Tower. Survivors of the Thalmor fled to the west, some fled north. East was out of the question; Vvardenfell was too dangerous for us, in our small, meek numbers. South would only be another prison. It had already been sacked by Justiciars. 

Like some, we crossed the border north through the Jerall Mountains. Me, Falma, Brigid, and Frodjar.

Falma hated the Thamor as much as the next, even despite being a high elf herself. She escaped execution in Bravil. Suspicious denizens pulled the elves out from their homes in the middle of the night. Chopped their heads off right there in the square. The resurrected Lucky Old Lady watching their blood soak the earth beneath her. 

Brigid was an Imperial, looking for her brother who fled the College of Whispers before the guards shut the doors. He promised to find her when she made it to a city called Winterhold in Skyrim, home to another university of magick. 

We found Frodjar fighting off a couple lowly bandits who intended to kill and loot refugees just before they crossed the border with their possessions and gold. He was a native to Skryim, living in Bruma. He agreed to be our guide into the 'new land.'

Lastly, there was me. Carwen, Breton, ranger from Hackdirt, a small town in the weald surrounding Chorrol. 

Well, before the Thalmor burned it down. 

My group departed in Helgen. Frodjar took Brigid to Winterhold. Falma left for the stone city of Markarth, looking for her lover there. I stuck with a small village called Falkreath. They called it the Grave Town, or the Dead Land, or something like that. I found it fitting. Death followed me like my shadow, ever present except when I was alone in the dark- there, it swallowed me whole. 

For the first couple of weeks in Falkreath, I hunted wild game in the woods surrounding the town. I pitched a tent in the outskirts, sat out a bed roll, and watched the stars pass overhead. I only entered the town when I needed supplies. I didn't have money, so I traded salted meats and furs. 

The innkeeper suggested I work for the inn- she'd give me coin in exchange for food. She'd even give me my own bed in the basement, too. 

I moved in the next night. Winter came and went, giving way to the warm rays of spring. Valga, the innkeeper as I came to know her, was my closest acquaintance. She was my hub of rumors from the other cities. n the odd occasion, someone from the Jarl's longhouse would give Valga a bounty. Odd jobs with good pay, she explained.