Am I fleeing from some court intrigue? That’s what the Imperial soldier asked me. As if he might know what goes on in the rest of the world. What with the increasing decay of Skyrim due to the growing animosity between the locals and the Empire. Of course that countrywide fracture was nearly knitted back together as the Imperials hand the Bear of Markarth in bindings. Still, that Imperial soldier was much closer to the truth than he knows. Best to avoid him for now. 

Then that black dragon showed up. Of course stories of dragons have always been told, but as everyone else had done, I dismissed them as folktales to frighten children. Now, though, it appears they are real. No matter, its appearance garnered me freedom. I suppose I owe that dragon. 

The blond Nord said something interesting just before cutting me loose. He said something about the harbinger of the end times. That struck me in a familiar way. I can’t quite put my finger on it, though. I’m certain I have heard that before. But where? Or when? 

Riverwood. A small village with a mill and blacksmith. A tiny general store. A bed and bar. 

And Sven. A simpleton bard. He will do nicely. Or the wood elf. Nah. The bard. 


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