Middas, 3rd of Heartfire
With our success in Whiterun and little sign of another Stormcloak attack, I’ve decided that I want to check out Falkreath to follow them up on becoming Thane of the hold and possibly purchase land. The town seems nice enough, if a tad bit small for my tastes. It’s around the wee hours of the morning at the moment, far too late to talk to the jarl now. We’re passing time in an establishment called the Dead Man’s Drink. Stenvar’s getting his fill of ale, and I’m writing.
We had to walk the roads due to the carriage service closing their doors with the recent battle. I expected to see a few roving bands of Stormcloak soldiers, but luckily that wasn’t so. The only thing of note on the road was an Orc man beside the carcasses of two Sabre Cats. When we stopped to investigate, the man started to speak of how he was past his prime and needed to die in an honorable manner. To me he just seemed insane; I can never understand why someone would search for death.
Stenvar on the other hand seemed to understand the Orc better than I, and he agreed to engage in a duel. I was surprised at how thrilling it was; they both slogged it out for what felt like forever, trading blow after blow. Each of them would stagger at one time or another but never fall. I was most impressed when the Orc swung his weapon time and time again but was only met with a steady sword blocking each hit. Stenvar isn’t the youngest of men, but still he was able to stand toe to toe with an Orc brute almost as if he were one himself. But he isn’t an Orc, and eventually he fell to his knees in submission. I never ran as fast in my life as I did when I saw him falter. I drew my blade, and ran it clean through the Orc’s chest before he could deal the death blow.
Now, Stenvar’s usually the one to provide friendly conversation while we’re traveling, but he hasn’t said a word since. I know it’s because of the fight, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s because I interfered. He should understand, I couldn’t just let him die, and even though we’ve only been working together for a little over a week I feel we’ve become friends. I’m just going to give him some time to do whatever it is he needs to do, be it to think, or rest, or drink. I’ll talk to the jarl on my own, I shan’t bog him down with my business.
With our success in Whiterun and little sign of another Stormcloak attack, I’ve decided that I want to check out Falkreath to follow them up on becoming Thane of the hold and possibly purchase land. The town seems nice enough, if a tad bit small for my tastes. It’s around the wee hours of the morning at the moment, far too late to talk to the jarl now. We’re passing time in an establishment called the Dead Man’s Drink. Stenvar’s getting his fill of ale, and I’m writing.
We had to walk the roads due to the carriage service closing their doors with the recent battle. I expected to see a few roving bands of Stormcloak soldiers, but luckily that wasn’t so. The only thing of note on the road was an Orc man beside the carcasses of two Sabre Cats. When we stopped to investigate, the man started to speak of how he was past his prime and needed to die in an honorable manner. To me he just seemed insane; I can never understand why someone would search for death.
Stenvar on the other hand seemed to understand the Orc better than I, and he agreed to engage in a duel. I was surprised at how thrilling it was; they both slogged it out for what felt like forever, trading blow after blow. Each of them would stagger at one time or another but never fall. I was most impressed when the Orc swung his weapon time and time again but was only met with a steady sword blocking each hit. Stenvar isn’t the youngest of men, but still he was able to stand toe to toe with an Orc brute almost as if he were one himself. But he isn’t an Orc, and eventually he fell to his knees in submission. I never ran as fast in my life as I did when I saw him falter. I drew my blade, and ran it clean through the Orc’s chest before he could deal the death blow.
Now, Stenvar’s usually the one to provide friendly conversation while we’re traveling, but he hasn’t said a word since. I know it’s because of the fight, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s because I interfered. He should understand, I couldn’t just let him die, and even though we’ve only been working together for a little over a week I feel we’ve become friends. I’m just going to give him some time to do whatever it is he needs to do, be it to think, or rest, or drink. I’ll talk to the jarl on my own, I shan’t bog him down with my business.