Butterfly Wings and Skooma

An Introduction

When Mathis Lucius arrived in Skyrim, all he could do was scoff. The bitter coldness and grey mountains did not appeal to him at all. When he stepped off the fishy wooden boat, he jumped high in the air as his bare grey feet touched the snowy docks.

"Bloody hell! What is this stuff?" Mathis exclaimed hopping from one foot to the other as if there was an invisible skipping rope underneath him. The Windhelm guards stared at him, and Gjalund the sailer raised an eyebrow.

"Its uh, snow, my boy," he said in a concerned manner. "You never seen snow?"

Mathis shook his head, hugging his knapsack to his chest and shivering violently. "Well, this snow is bloody awful."

He strolled over to the main docks and made his way towards the huge city door. The guards stared at his bare feet and grunted half-hearted welcomes. Mathis wasn't sure why they seemed hesitant opening the doors, but he was thankful that he'd found a possible home already.

"Get out of our city, greyskin scum!"

"We don't want any more of your kind here, elf!"

Mathis scowled at all the rather racist Nords as he stumbled through the dark city of Windhelm, the rough cobblestones digging into his soles. He was in a rundown part of the city; tall but buildings towered over him on either side of the narrow road, with makeshift platforms made of old wood leading to either side on the rooftops. A winding path ran through the middle of the buildings, with steps leading up to a large space with a cosy looking building in the middle.

Candlehearth Hall the sign of the building read. Mathis was hesitant to enter, as he wasn't sure if he'd be accepted in there, but he shrugged and opened one of the two wooden doors.

The door lead to a warm bar with a long hallway on the other side and a staircase on the right. Many people were sat at the bar chatting and drinking mead, although to Mathis' disappointment, were all Nords. Mathis took a deep breath and made his way to the bar.

"What do you want, elf?" the lady at bar snapped at him as she handed a baked potato to a Nord wearing an odd hat.

"Can I have a room for the night?" Mathis asked confidently, sticking his nose in the air as the hatted Nord glared at him.

"No you can't, greyskin. Go to the Cornerclub where all the rest of your kind nest in," the Nord said through gritted teeth.

Mathis stared at him in disbelief. He raised an eyebrow and placed his knapsack on the floor. "And why do you say that, Nord?" he smirked. The Nord man stood up angrily, knocking his potato to the floor.

"Because I said so. We don't want you here, Imperial spy."

Mathis laughed and stepped right up to the man. He leaned to the side and whispered, "your hats backwards, Nord."

Within seconds, Mathis was on the floor. Although he had fallen on his nose, he leapt back up immediately and shoved his sleeves up angrily. He strode towards the man once again and punched him square in the face. The Nord man grunted and stumbled backwards, clutching at his nose.

"Funny, I thought Nords were meant to be strong and fierce," Mathis smirked, wiping blood off his knuckles onto his robes. The man yelled and charged at Mathis, his fists stretched out in front of him. He started flailing them about ferociously, but Mathis jumped from side to side, avoiding each of the punches. He jumped behind the man and grabbed his hat with a swift motion, revealing a comical balding head. The man yelled again and punched Mathis in the stomach. He doubled over in pain, but quickly healed himself with his magicka before he could get punched again.

Mathis stood up straight, grinned, and kicked the man right in his planes of Oblivion. The man screamed and fell to the floor, clutching the area in pain. Mathis burst out laughing, grabbed his knapsack, and ran to the door before anyone could catch him.

He breathed in the fresh wintery air and sighed, grinning widely. He had heard of the Nords, tales of heroic battles, unfortunately paired with the vile racism from Ulfric Stormcloak. Mathis was not one for tolerating discrimination, and his temper is extremely short. His knuckles stung slightly as the snow fell on the damaged skin, but he stood there outside the hall for a moment just breathing in the air.