An Enchanting Tale

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The freezing wind had turned brutal, forcing the traveler to take shelter in StillbornCave. Thoughts of what might come next plagued the elf. He had no desire to plunge into the cave's depths, so he simply waited for the storm to pass. Fearing some kind of animal attack kept him awake the entire time.

Hours and hours passed. S'maash started a new journal. In it, he scrawled his story from the beginning, which came from watching Rosoleola disenchant a necklace years ago. As he continued scribing, he touched on his trip into Damlzthur, Anutwyll, and finally the misunderstanding at the College of Winterhold.

Once the storm passed, S'maash continued his journey towards Windhelm. Early morning frost covered the ground. Signs posted beside the paved road indicated the town was relatively close. With the storm gone, and daylight beginning to cascade over mountainsides, S'maash saw the ancient, stone walls of Windhelm from a distance. He arrived in the middle of the day. It snowed again, albeit lightly.

Upon entering the magnificent city, he saw some dunmer and approached an old, dark elf with long, gray hair. "Excuse me. I'm passing through, looking for work and a place to continue my studies on the arcane arts. Is it possible you could guide me in the right direction?"

"Of course. I'm Faryl. I work on Hollyfrost farm, have for a long time. We could use a hand, I'm not the young mer I used to be."

They struck up a conversation regarding crops, the weather, and recent events. For over a week, S'maash helped with the crops outside the walls of Windhelm, only entering the city for drinks at the New Gnisis Corner Club. Quaint hospitality reminded him of home. The rundown interior reminded him of his own house; after all, the establishment was little more than a wooden room, three stories tall.

His new job didn't pay much, but S'maash was able to formulate new ideas, new projects worth pondering. He also learned that Whiterun was the center trade hub for all of Skyrim. Once he had earned enough pay for a carriage ride, he moved on.

During the short ride, the elf was educated on Ulfric Stormcloak's rise to the seat of High King. Stories of bravery and bloodshed painted Ulfric as a hero, a charismatic man of power and action. The cart master insinuated the Dragonborn also shared a hand in Ulfric's victory against General Tullius. The nord's story ended with a threat from the Aldmeri Dominion.

"Your kind has plans to rule Tamriel," the nord accused.

"My kind," S'maash was insulted.

"Elves."

"High elves, and only a small sect. My quest for knowledge has nothing to do with usurping power," S'maash stated, bluntly. "Besides, I'm a dark elf."

"Perhaps. We've arrived, dark elf."

S'maash hopped off the back of the cart then looked at the walls surrounding Whiterun. Nord architecture was designed for strength more than beauty. Apart from Winterhold, walls had surrounded the other cities he had visited, too. These nords are very protective, aren't they...?

Beyond the doors of Whiterun, S'maash passed by a smithy. Some townsfolk and guards walked around, all too busy to pay a newcomer any heed. Walking the streets, pushing past scores of people of all races, he stumbled onto the door of The Bannered Mare.

The homes and buildings of Whiterun were constructed of the finer, regional wood. The subtle beauty of unrefined logs provided an air of prominence. Inside the tavern, S'maash saw the city's dwellers feasting and drinking. It did not appear as though any regime change had come about too recently.

"Take a seat, or stoke the fire if you're cold," A woman said from behind the counter.

S'maash sat across from her. Behind him, a fire pit with large logs kept the tavern comfortably warm. The woman introduced herself as Hulda. While aged, she was still very beautiful. Her sharp features, dark eyes, and chestnut hair accentuated her former youth.