The Elf

Chapter 1: The Adventure Begins

I was given the name "Jurgen Ulstad" at birth, but since I was but a young Nord lad I've been given the nickname "Jurgen the Unassailable" or "Jurgen the Great", and it's just stuck from then on.

Skyrim is and always will be my home--no doubt about it. As a boy, I grew up in the small village of Ivarstead, where the cold winds cut the skin like a sharp, jagged dagger. Travelers would often come to visit the village, usually on hunting trips or pilgrimages to High Hrothgar, Kynareth's sacred peak, The Throat of The World. I can still remember going to the local tavern on those winter evenings and warming myself by the candle-lit hearthside, hearing the travelers' stories of adventure and honor and glory in the prowess of battle. Ah, how I so yearned for adventure as a young lad, deeply wishing and hoping for the joy and art of combat, the red blood rising in my veins, and the honor and glory of the victorious combatant; I yearned for these things so badly, in fact, that I begged to go hunting for game with my father, also known as Jurgen, until he gave in. And I often did engage in wooden-sword fights with other young lads my age to practice my skills.

It became known, by the time I was at the age of 5, that I was a gifted fighter, blessed by the gods with a warrior's heart; for, when I hunted with my father, I would always shoot the deer and moose down to the ground, piercing their heart, without fail. When I sword-fought with my fellow young lads, I would inevitably come out the victor every time, not even scathed or bruised by the blade, thus birthing my nickname as "Jurgen the Unassailable".

Even in the womb, my mother says, I would kick harder than a giant's club smashes a feeble boy into the ground.

Ah, and about my family:

My mother, Svenja Ulstad, was apparently quite the beauty--a nightingale of a singer with long, flowing locks of gold. A simple farm-girl, she had hailed from Riverwood, a small mill-village to the west of Ivarstead. Father, a lively youth who worked as an animal hunter and trapper for the nobles of Whiterun, began courting her when she was but a fresh-faced young lass, when he said he met her while passing by the village on a trapping trip. I remember him saying to me, "I'd never seen a more beautiful creature in all my life, and I instantly felt as if I wanted her by my side for the rest of my living days and beyond." The couple, smitten with affection, soon got married and moved to Ivarstead thereafter, where my mother conceived me and my little sister, Raija.

Growing up, Raija was always a handful, with her arbitrary mood-swings and thick, stubborn head. When I was but 10 years old, and Raija 9, father went off to join the Stormcloak rebellion, leaving us whelps and our mother to fend for ourselves with his life savings, should he not come back from the war. However, that event was improbable to happen, for father was only serving as a hunter and chef, and he'd be back in a short year. During the time he was away, serving his motherland, coin was tight. But thankfully, because of the financial prudence of my  mother and my ability to find work by cutting wood or selling freshly hunted game, we could easily make ends meet. Everything was just fine with just the three of us--that is, until we received a letter that father had been killed in an Imperial raid on the camp, only four months before his service-time was over. Mother was devastated, and she cried out for him almost every night, making me and my sister feel the more dejected at his cruel death. After my father's death, my sister changed: it was almost as if her mood-swings disappeared over night, and some sort of weighty grief silenced her, making her speak little and always look sickly, ill, and pale. She had used to be so close to father when she was a young lass, with him reading her fairy tales in the evening before she went to bed and kissing her goodnight. Raija, as crazy as she usually comported, could only be placated by my father. Me, I wasn't nearly that affected by my father's demise, but I did miss him dearly, and a pang in my heart still pulled several tears down my face; however, Raija became more coy and reserved among others, and she was no longer interested in mingling with her peers. It was an awful sight, truly. To this day,
she still hasn't recovered from grief, and she's now bound to my graying mother like a poor, sad creature that walks the ground with tears and lamentation in every painful step. Poor girl.