u/United_Place4960

I went against my instincts and delayed my departure from Windhelm to speak with Ulfric Stormcloak. He remembered me from Helgen, though he spared me little attention given his preoccupation with the war.

As a result, I spoke with Galmar Stone-Fist, who asked whether I opposed the Empire. I answered honestly that I sympathized with the Stormcloaks cause on principle. If I wished to join them, he ordered me to travel to Serpentstone Isle and kill an Ice Wraith — a test of worthiness. It struck me as yet another example of how similar the Nords and Dunmer truly were.

Despite being provided supplies for the journey to Serpentstone, this war was not mine, as Skyrim was not my home. Stone-Fist made it clear he had no interest in sellswords joining the Stormcloaks, and it would not have been honorable for either of us had I accepted under false pretenses. I returned the supplies he had provided and left them on a table in the great hall.

I wished to spend a little more time in Windhelm, suspecting I might never return. I spent the remainder of the day fishing and happened upon an enchanted ring. My House never instructed me in the arcane arts, so the ring is of little practical use to me, though I have decided to keep it nonetheless.
The following day, I hunted several wolves before spending the rest of the afternoon fishing.

On my return to the city, I stopped near the stables and asked about a map said to mark the location of a wild horse. A horse could prove useful on the road.
By evening, I decided to return to Whiterun, though I realized I had just enough coin to purchase the map.
The next morning, I tracked down the wild horse with surprising ease. Once I had tamed him, I turned south and began the journey back toward Whiterun.
I remained on the roads for a time before eventually following the river south until I reached Whiterun. To my dismay, the guards informed me the city was closed. When I told them I carried news of Helgen, however, they granted me entry.

I found lodging at The Bannered Mare and purchased salt along with a bed for the night.
The following morning, I had little time to speak with anyone, though I did briefly speak with the innkeeper, Hulda. She told me something unsettling.
According to her, three other Dunmer had once passed through Whiterun regularly, though none had been seen for some time. When I asked why, she answered plainly: all three were dead.

The first named was Valas Drin. She said he wore elven armor and traveled beside a Nord companion. Hulda particularly liked him, and said the town was generally pleased by his presence. Both were later found dead near a giant camp surrounded by mammoths.

The second, Vekna Vero, dressed mostly in hides. According to rumor, he was killed by a member of the Companions in what was claimed to be self-defense. Some believed he had fired an arrow at one of them, though others claimed he had only been trying to assist them in bringing down a giant.

The final Dunmer’s name she could not remember. She only recalled that he had ridden off in search of bandits and was later discovered dead in a spike pit.

After hearing this, I decided I would be wiser than my fallen brethren, and remain near the river for a time — fishing, foraging, and hunting deer.

I am really into role-playing when playing Skyrim and have already lost 6 characters via permadeath.

I am getting much better at it and for fun, I want to document what happens to my 7th character.

As such, I am making a series of journals (like the ones found on dead explorers in Skyrim. should my character die, well, at least i can have a story out of it. the first journal has to use a little more imagination as I am just stating my run, but it’s mostly background as to my character.

Journal 1: Kazmirin Dres

My name is Kazmirin Dres and I may never leave Skyrim alive.

I was born in southern Morrowind, among what remained of House Dres after the Red Year.

They taught me the old ways—obey your House, trust your blood, and survive no matter the cost.

But before I was born, a Khajiit named S’Kata came into service of House Dres after the Red Year. My House distrusted him immediately. They said Khajiit were thieves and wanderers. When I was a child, I was warned not to spend time around him—so naturally, I followed him whenever I could.

S’Kata showed me how to walk through marsh water without sound, how to wait patiently before taking a shot, and how to notice danger before danger notices you.

In the marshes, we tasted the ingredients. Often, he would say, “Khajiit finds this one sour.”

Once, to prove my skill, I took aim at a Netch Calf, but S’Kata stopped me before I let go. “Pride long, life short. Khajiit know this.”

As I grew older, I spent a lot of time away from my House and traveled with caravans. Primarily, if I wasn’t hunting or fishing, I escorted refugees north along the roads.

After a few years, anyone who wasn’t a Dunmer had forgotten I was of House Dres. They called me Kazmirin or just Kaz, and I had a reputation for being good-natured—a trait my family and House were displeased with.

Then came the missing caravan. A refugee convoy traveling north toward Skyrim vanished near the borderlands. I was confident I could find them, but before I left, S’Kata warned me: “Skyrim is cold to Khajiit, and not just because of snow.”

I volunteered anyway.

I tracked the caravan north through abandoned camps and frozen trails. I was led to Darkwater Crossing. Skyrim was deep in civil war and Imperial patrols watched every road. I knew I should have turned back then, but I had already come this far.

I attempted to stay as deep in the forests and mountains as I could, but it was just too cold. As a consequence, I was caught in an Imperial ambush and by morning I was bound in a prison cart with Nord rebels, a thief, and Ulfric Stormcloak.

“Pride long, life short. Khajiit know this.”

We arrived at a place called Helgen. I was ready to meet Azura. I again thought on my mentor’s words: “Pride long, life short. Khajiit know this.”

And then, the dragon came.

I have not the energy nor the words to explain the details of the attack, other than the fact that a Nord named Ralof and I fought our way through Imperials and spiders to survive.

Once we escaped, I immediately discarded all my valuable Stormcloak and Imperial labeled gear and weapons at the river below the Guardian Stones. I couldn’t risk further exposure, and I pray any record of me in Helgen was left to flame.

Ralof was kind enough to offer me shelter with his sister Gerdur and her husband Hod. I was reluctant, as I wished not to be associated with the attack, but I had nearly nothing to survive with. I joined them in Riverwood but kept a low profile and spoke to no one else, with the exception of the blacksmith, who assisted me in crafting some scout armor.

As repayment to Ralof and his family, I chopped wood at Gerdur’s mill for two days and left their family a dozen or so assorted fish. By the morning of my third day in Riverwood, I decided, after being informed Whiterun was a neutral city, that I could travel there to catch a carriage to Windhelm. I became curious about Windhelm after speaking with Ralof and his family about what the Empire was doing to Skyrim. So I followed the river north to Whiterun and immediately caught a carriage to Windhelm.