In their tongue, she is Dovahkiin . . .

Dragonsreach is a beautiful castle, surrounded by rivers, holding itself high above the rest of the town. But something about it is cold and empty and lonely. They call it the Cloud District, because it’s as close to the sky as they can get, without being on mountains or trees, or because it’s almost in its own world.

Jarl Balgruuf is almost as hospitable as the Battle-Borns. His Dunmer bodyguard didn’t come charging at me with an axe, as is tradition in these parts. She tells me that I’m not supposed to be there, and that the Jarl isn’t accepting visitors, but when I said that Alvor of Riverwood sent me and that I wasn’t going to speak to anyone lesser than the Jarl himself, that got his attention.

I told him what Alvor told me to say. That since Helgen was attacked, and since Riverwood is so close and so undefended, he was afraid that they would be next. The Jarl trusts Alvor, doesn’t consider him a man prone to flights of fancy, though he wondered if this rumor of a dragon was really a Stormcloak raid gone wrong. I told him that I saw it myself. I had a great view from the chopping block. He was taken back by how forthcoming I am about my criminal past (what criminal past?). But he realized that it’s none of his business, especially now, in these times, with more important things going on than a few of Bruma’s missing artifacts that I don’t even have anymore.

That lovely, hospitable bodyguard of his tells him to send more troops there before I even get to that part. His Imperial adviser objected, saying that it’d somehow cause some major political ramifications or some other things that don’t matter as much as people not getting eaten by dragons. Fortunately, the Jarl had his priorities straight, and agreed with me. I guess this is the one man in a position of power I’ve ever met that actually gave a damn about the people under him. Discover new things every day.

Now he wants me to do some sort of menial task for his court wizard, Forenger Secret-Fire. Wonder what he set on fire to get that title.

Of course, he needs a delivery mer. Since that’s my special talent. The quest I am ideally suited for. Fetch quests. To dive into a dangerous dungeon and retrieve an ancient, lost and possibly entirely fictitious artifact.

One exactly like the giant rock I’ve been carrying around for this exact moment!

Things to get done:

1. Retrieve a Redguard’s stolen sword before his wife and daughter starve to death or something.

2. Retrieve Argonian Ale for the downtrodden.

3. Hone my Justicar impersonation. (On Heimskr?)

4. Find Nettlebane to revive the Gildergleam and obtain the blessings of Y’ffre and Kynareth.

5. Spend a bit more time with the forge. Find some books on making decent light armor?

6. Tell the Jarl about the dragons and Riverwood and keep my promises for once.

Got into the Battle-Born estate. It is true, they seem much wealthier than the Gray-Manes. Peaked around, took in a few things for continued study, including a letter from General Tullius. The family’s been making “inquiries” about Thorald, and it turns out that his mother’s right, he is still alive, and being held captive in Northwatch Keep. By the Thalmor. Knowing what I know of both Imperial and Thalmor treatment of his kind, I can’t say whether he’s dead or just wishes he was.

When I brought the letter to Avulstien, he declared that he would go straight there and chop down everyone who stood in his way and rescue him, gung-ho, axe swinging, by himself, just him against an entire fortress, like a fool with a death wish. I told them that I would try it my way first, to get him out without any bloodshed. He laughed at me, until he realized that I’m completely serious about that. I don’t think anyone has to die, not if we do this smartly. He gave me the chance, but said that if it doesn’t work out, he’d go and do things his way.

I know there’s got to be a way to work this out peacefully. I’m a fellow Aldmeri. I can get a disguise, I can get coin if they start asking too many questions about that, as long as Thorald keeps his mouth shut until I get him out, I’m sure they’ll listen to me.

I met a mad preacher today. When I first heard someone yelling “I LOVE YOU!” I already started composing a poem to help this poor, inarticulate fellow express his true feelings to his true love. But no, turns out that the man he loves is Talos, and how much he loves them. Them, of course, since I doubt that he saw the future of Tamriel in any elf.

I sat by for a while, listening in as he kept on ranting and raving like a Markuhite about the “Imperial Machine” and their “elven masters” enforcing the will of the Thalmor. How we’re all planning to kill their children, eat their blood, sacrifice them to spirits of pure evil, to stomp down mankind, etc. etc. I kept hidden, especially once he started going on about my people and how evil we are, just in case he saw my ears and my eyes and decided that I was an agent of the Elf come to make a martyr out of him. Though that would be funny. Maybe some other day. Right now, I don’t have time for a scene.

If this is what a full-blown Talos worshiper looks like, then I could see why the Thalmor wants to shut them up, just to stop all the shouting and noise so they can sleep at night.

If I were Tiber Septim, I would be laughing so hard right now that everyone in the future is making such a big deal of me, especially when all my descendents ended up being much more interesting, and if anything, the ones that weren’t my descendents ended up making better Emperors and Empresses. Why are they making such a big deal of this? Why not worship Alessia, or Reman Cyrodiil? How many slaves did Tiber Septim free? Certainly none of the ones in Morrowind, that’s for sure. Wouldn’t’ve been able to get his Empire if he hadn’t got the Nuidium from better gods than him.

I can see it now. If this man had the chance to dance on the Adamantine Tower and purge Akatosh of his elven aspects, he would gleefully break the dragon and give birth to his grandfathers.

Now, it seems that this city is the setting for a doomed romance. There are two feuding clans here, the Gray-Manes and the Battle-Borns, once close as brothers, now torn asunder by the madness of war! Now I just need to find which of their love-struck youth are the star-crossed lovers, then help them defy their elders and run away to live happily forever after! I’m sure they’re here somewhere.

I first met these clans in the market square, where they were arguing. Lots of threats to arrest each other, but no duels, unfortunately. One of them asked me which side I was on, Gray-Mane or Battle-Born. I gathered enough from their conversation to guess that he was Battle-Born, so I said I was on his side, because he was huge and I didn’t feel up to being gutted by a rapier or whatever it is that Nords use to carry out their blood-feuds. He said he had me pinned for a sharp one, though I wonder what he would’ve said if I told him what I really thought of the whole mess. I’m not stupid enough to find out for myself.

They say it has to do with the recent civil war, for the glory of the Empire or of Skyrim. But it turns out this whole thing comes down to money. It always does. I shouldn’t even be surprised, though considering that when I first heard of it, I expected that it was because of a pig in the Second Era or something even stupider than that. But no, the Battle-Borns recently came into some money, courtesy of their friends in Cyrodiiil. Obviously this means that they’re much less receptive to the ideals of Ulfric and his True Nord rebellion.

The Gray-Manes have put their money where their mouth is, to say the least. One of their sons has apparently raised arms against the Empire and died for it. At least, that’s what the Battle-Borns insist. The elder Gray-Mane believes otherwise. She knows in her heart that her son is still alive somewhere, and that there’s something they’re not telling her. This is too sad. No mother deserves to lose her son like that. I agreed to help her find the truth, though we couldn’t speak in public.

I received a warm greeting at the Gray-Mane home in the form of a man with a battle axe. The famous Nord hospitality in action. Avalstien, her other son, tried to convince his mother that I was somehow a Battle-Born spy, but she wouldn’t have any of it. She’s sick and tired of all this, and who can blame her? I’ve barely been here a few days and I’m already sick of this.

Thorald ran off with the Stormcloaks a while back, and they believe he was captured, but not killed. They’re convinced that the Battle-Borns know something, and are hiding it, but if Avalstien breaks in (especially considering his obvious grace and cunning) that he’d just get arrested, and then they’d never learn the truth.

Fortunately for them, I already picked up the key to their house when that one Battle-Born idiot asked me what side I was on. All that pomp and preening, he must’ve dropped it. I was meaning to take a look there anyway. I might as well aid this poor old woman while I’m there.

Apparently the city is closed because of the whole dragons coming to destroy the world and bring in the End Times thing. They’ve locked the gates, as if that would do anything. If they have heard a single legend about any dragon, anywhere, from any source ever, they’d know one thing. Dragons can fly. Over walls. They do not walk up to the gate and ask politely to be let in.

I went through the little farce, told him all about how I was at Helgen and I had news from Riverwood and they reluctantly let me in, but the watch said that he’d be “keeping an eye” on me. Yes I’m a dragon saboteur. Hear me roar.

It was late, and I already had a bit of mead from , and went looking for the first tavern I saw. The Drunken Huntsman. At first I thought they had weapons all over the walls because of their incredible taste in interior design.

No, the Drunken Huntsman was a shop, catering exactly to me, the drunken Bosmer hunter. The story behind it is great. The two brothers who own the place came up with the name after a long night of drinking, got inebriated enough to go off on a midnight hunt and not see how it could possibly go wrong. Things immediately did when his brother mistoke him for a deer and shot him straight in the dangly bits. After that, they knew they had a name!

Met a mercenary there, creepy Dunmer woman. Said she could create great art in slaughter, and that her tools are  I spent all my money getting a new bow, so I didn’t have anything to hire her with. Not sure if I would want to. I mean, it would be nice to have someone watch my back, but on the other hand, I’m pretty sure she’s probably in the Dark Brotherhood and will watch my back just to stab me in it.

It’s a better name for a tavern than the real one, the Bannered Mare. Didn’t get a very good explanation for that name out of the owner. Something about warhorses and whether or not I’d actually buy a drink instead of pestering her. Well, the joke’s on her, because I agreed to “obtain” some Argonian ale from her, because some drunk homeless beggar who probably won’t be able to pay me back for it told me to! Why should the rich have all the good stuff, right?

Word is that the guards in this city are all lazy slobs. Like guards anywhere else in Tamriel are anything else! But if they’re like that more than average, well then, this might be my kind of city!

That wasn’t far at all. Saw the city just as soon as I started looking for it. It was hiding behind some mountains. Why didn’t I try that earlier?

There’s a meadery here. Mostly just makes me miss the honey-wine of home. Sweet, warm, loosened your tongue, but didn’t knock you straight out like this Nord mead does. 

Also met the local constabulary. I’m sure we shall all be good friends, them and I. Good, good friends. They’ve already heard about the dragon at Helgen. News travels fast. The one I talked to was convinced that they were ready, if a dragon should ever attack. I’m not so sure about that. They had a full battalion of Imperial troops there, and they barely scratched its scales. Guard also says he thinks the world’s gone mad. Can’t disagree there.

I also met some Companions, the local Nord fighter’s guild. What would they even do, in a place where absolutely everyone’s convinced that they’re a warrior? They seemed pretty capable. Took down a giant, then yelled at me for not helping them. If it was important, and I thought they couldn’t handle it, I would’ve helped. Honest. I don’t care about what a “True Warrior” would do. If we wanted to argue about what a True Warrior is, then we’d be here all day. True Warriors just get themselves killed. A clever hero avoids the giant, and catches butterflies for potions that’ll keep her from getting killed.

I emerged, well, somewhere to the west of where I started in the mountains. I took a look around, exploring some more before I head back to Riverwood. I’m sure that trader’ll be happy to take back more loot than he had anticipated, at an excellent price for me.

I took a small peek inside a house I found. It looked abandoned. At least, I thought it looked abandoned. Well, it was locked, which I assumed meant that no one was in there, so I decided to go take a look around. And they’ve got this secret passageway, with a sliding bookcase covering it and everything, and they’re all a bunch of crazy murderers! They killed some Altmer woman, threw some Khajiit in a spiky pit of blood, and Azura knows what else!

I think this place used to be a barrow. There’s some dead draugr here, and it has similar architecture to Bleak Falls Barrow.

I’m sure there’s more to that place, but I don’t think I can carry much more, and I need to rest up anyway. Staying at the Sleeping Giant Inn tonight. Sven is an idiot, but he does know how to play Ragnar the Red, which is my new favorite song, and he knows exactly who to talk to in Solitude to get into the Bard’s College. 

So it is with a heavy heart knowing that I will have to bid farewell to sweet Riverwood, for in the morning I will be off to Whiterun, to warn the Jarl! I only pray that he will hear my tale and act on it, and that there’s anything he even can do to act on it.

My Mighty Quest for the Stolen Claw has led me to a massive and ancient Nordic temple where the thieves have taken refuge. Bleak Falls Barrow. It seems that some of them have already met a gruesome end, though I’m not entirely sure what it was that killed them. Not all of them, though. The guards I took care of didn’t seem to concerned about what I presume were their fallen comrades. No honor among these thieves. Alas.

Further in, the tomb was guarded by what was quite possibly the most useless combination lock ever devised. A series of rotating pillars, with a different animal on each of its faces, and above the gate it opened, plaques that showed the exact order they needed to be in. Why did they design this place to be so easy to rob? I think about that a lot, but this is probably the most ridiculous example I’ve seen in a while. If the local Nords complain about me looting the tombs of their ancestors, I’ll just point them to this and say that they might as well have put up a sign saying “PLEASE ROB US.” and no court in Tamriel would convict me.

Beyond this feeble attempt at keeping people out, I met the man who stole the claw in the first place. Smart enough to get past the worst lock ever, not smart enough to get past the giant spiders without being caught. The spiders weren’t that bad, large and slow, just like the giant insect pests I first learned to shoot at back home. He said that only he knew the ancient power that was hidden in the claw, and how it could unlock the secret of this crypt. He may have known the ancient power within the claw, but he didn’t know the first thing about not betraying me when I saved his life, or how not to run head-first into a choppy blade trap, or not get killed by the crypt’s undead protectors. What an idiot! I think I heard a song about this, some brave and foolhardy adventurer, who charged boldly into battle ignoring the careful planning of the rest of his companions, only to get all of them slaughtered.

I’ve heard stories of these things, these draugr. A sort of zombie with its flesh still preserved, and a hunger for the flesh of the living. Cursed to guard these Nordic tombs for all eternity for their treachery, for serving some sort of evil gods. I remember hearing that those gods were dragons, and thinking that was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. But now, after what I’ve seen, perhaps there’s some sort of truth to it?

At least he didn’t carry the secret with him to his grave. His grave right here. He kept a journal, explaining exactly what sort of hidden power this claw has. In the Hall of Stories, there’s some sort of test, and if you have the claw, “the solution is in the palm of your hands.” I’m assuming that’s some sort of riddle. I’m good at riddles. This shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

Oh gods, what if the secret is some sort of moral lesson? About how greed will bring you to a bad end? The true treasure is going to be friendship, love, duty, a warrior spirit, devotion to the gods, devotion to the dragons in this case, I guess.

This looks like it might be the Hall of Stories, but I can’t figure out what any of these carvings mean. I see moths, funerals, I think, which makes sense, considering this is a crypt and all. And bears, and some people, but I have no idea who they are.

Well, I’m stupid. It took way too many tries to figure out that it was barely a test at all. How stupid were they expecting people to be? It makes me worry about what this treasure’s going to be. It’s a lesson about patience. About seeing the obvious. A gate to Sovngarde, via your death. 

It’s a word? A wall full of them. Strange as it may sound, one in particular seemed to … call to me. I don’t know. Like it filled my whole vision, but I don’t completely understand. Perhaps it’s one of the secrets of the thu’um?  I’ve heard of this secret Nordic shouting magic, and I would love to learn it. This Ulfric, they say he can kill people with his voice. That does seem like something a True High King of Skyrim ought to know. I wonder if he could teach me? I doubt he’d be willing to teach anyone with any connection to the Thalmor whatsoever, even if it’s extremely tenuous. And I’m not sure I want to get involved in this whole war. Even besides him, I doubt I’ll find anyone willing to teach an outsider like me, just so that I can climb to the top of the White Gold Tower and sing for all of Tamriel.

I also found some sort of heavy carved stone tablet on the Draugr Lord. I don’t know where I’d find a buyer, but I’m sure I could find someone once I find its story. If I can’t find the truth, I’ll just make it up.