Robin Smith: a Skyrim Story

Skyrim: a New Frontier

I awoke sitting up. There was a horrid ringing in my ears and a searing pain in my shoulder. It was my left shoulder, my sword arm. I grimaced at my bad luck.

The last thing he remembered was getting to the border to Skyrim, and an arrow suddenly flying straight for me. At least I seemed to be alive.

I looked up and came face to face with a blond-haired man. His beard was scraggly and unkept, and his head showed the same theme of dirtiness.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake."

The man spoke with a familiar accent. Blond hair, blue eyes, thick brows... Of course, this man was a Nord. Did that mean I was in Skyrim? How long was I out for?

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us, and that thief over there."

I tugged at my hands. They were bound, like the man across from me. Was this how the Empire treated new guests?

I glanced to my right to find another man, but he was thin and pale, his face coated in a thin layer of dirt. His long, brown, combed-back hair fell to his chin, and he had stubble for facial hair.

When addressed, he took the opportunity to complain, "Damn you Sormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!"

Okay, so I was definitely in Skyrim. Score one for Robin.

The thief turned to me. "You there. You and me--we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The Nord retorted, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

The soldier driving the cart turned around. "Shut up back there!" We all ignored him.

The thief and I looked at the man sitting quietly across from him. He had a regal and confident air about him, and unlike us, he was gagged. He had long, dirty blond hair, yet it was obviously well taken care of. He was clothed in a fur vest and a chain mail cuirass underneath. I guessed he was a noble.

The thief asked, "And what's up with him, huh?"

The talkative Nord exclaimed, "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

The thief looked shocked. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!"

Rebellion? I had heard rumors of a war brewing in Skyrim, but I hadn't yet heard of this Ulfric. Perhaps it was time I kept up with politics more.

"But if they've captured you...oh gods, where are they taking us?" The thief was shaking.

The Nord replied, "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

Sovngarde? That was the place the Nords believed they'd go when they...died. A rush of panic surged through me. Were we slowly rattling over the cobblestone path towards our deaths? I came here for a new start, not an ending!

The thief seemed to be thinking similar thoughts. "No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!"

The Nord just shook his head in remorse. "What village are you from, horse thief?"

The thief snarled, "Why do you care?"

The Nord sighed. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

We passed under a gate into a little village. The soldier called out, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" Headsman.