Lynly Snowsong
It was a crisp, quiet morning. The sun had just risen from behind the mountain range that traced the southern border of Skyrim. It was moderate, the air still had the chill inherent to the harsh land, but it was nothing compared to the frigid northern reaches. The winds whispered gently along the roads that traced the feral countryside, yet all was mostly quieit, save for the sounds of nature. Crickets chirping their dawn melody, birds singing the new day in, and a distant stream bubbling over the rockbed. It was a peaceful day. Yet, there was one more sound, not belonging to any of nature's inhabitants. It was a song, sang in all of Skyrim's taverns. The melody was slower than normal, sang by a sweet, if inherently strong voice. A voice of one of Skyrim's daughters.
♫♫♫
"Hm, hmm, hmm, O, There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red,
who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead.
Hmm, hm, hmm, hm, O, And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,
as he told of bold battles and the gold that he had made."
♫♫♫
"Hm, hmm, hmm, O, There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red,
who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead.
Hmm, hm, hmm, hm, O, And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,
as he told of bold battles and the gold that he had made."
♫♫♫
Despite the bloody material, the song was a cheerful one, singing the accomplishments of a shieldmaiden over that of a pig of a man. The voice was low, but harmonic, almost fitting in with the surrounding nature. The owner of the voice, a woman atop of a chestnut mare riding from the direction of Riverwood to the newly rebuilt Helgen. She was fair, with platinum hair and stormy eyes. Her jaw was strong with a single scar marring the pale face, with a spattering of freckles gracing her cheeks. She was strong, fair, and thick with muscles. These roads held no secrets for this woman, for she had the look of an adventurer about her.
On her back, a shield of oak and engraved steel sat, baring the marks of many battles fought, and many battles won. At her side hung a iron sword, the leather wrapping of the pommel wore down to fit only one hand, and that hand was her own. The blade had seen the end of many bandit and highwayman, and many more yet. She was no stranger to these wilds, in fact, she had lived in them for most of her adult life. Many dungeons, ruins, and caves had been seen by those stormy eyes of hers.
♫♫♫
"Hmm, hm, hmmm, hm, O, But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red,
when he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who said…
Hmm, hm, hmmm, hm, O, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead.
Now I think it’s high time that you lie down and bleed."
♫♫♫
"Hmm, hm, hmmm, hm, O, But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red,
when he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who said…
Hmm, hm, hmmm, hm, O, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead.
Now I think it’s high time that you lie down and bleed."
♫♫♫
Yet, the adventuring lifestyle began to become... Monotonous. Living on her own for the majority of her adult life, living on the spoils from ancient dungeons or the passing band of bandits who believed a single Nord woman to be easy prey. It was not an easy life, but it was an honest one as far as she could tell. She had many stories of her adventures to tell and many more stories of her fathers hidden away in her skull. She was raised on the stories of old, of grand adventures, of tales of grandeur. It was no surprise she lived as she did.
These tales however did not give her a purpose. Wandering Skyrim alone with only the thought of beholding her beauty may be a fairytale-like life, but it left a purpose to be filled. To be needed, to actually put one's mark on the world. That was what she was missing. And that was what had her on the road that crisp morning. She had caught wind of an upstart guild. The Watchers, tasked with protecting those that the Empire could not. An honorable goal, and one she could find herself behind. Far too long had she wandered the land to view her majesty, now it was time for her to protect those so that they may enjoy the same majesty she did.
♫♫♫
"Hm, hmm, hmm, And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel,
as the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal.
Hm, hmm, hmm, And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more…
when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor."
♫♫♫
"Hm, hmm, hmm, And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel,
as the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal.
Hm, hmm, hmm, And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more…
when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor."
♫♫♫
As her song came to an end, the keep of Helgen came within sight. She tilted her head as the looked upon the rebuilt keep. The last time she visited the area, Helgen was nothing more than ruins and scorches from the first dragon attack. As an adventurer, should could not have let such a location pass without viewing it with her own eyes. Now it stands tall once again, and perhaps where she could find her own purpose in Skyrim. Had she been older, she would have participated in the Civil War, yet she was only a child of eight when the war broke out. They had moved from their home of Windhelm when the Empire began to encroach-- Not that she minded. Talos's Empire was the one true rule, as it should be. While the bloodline in charge of this new empire did not have any of Talos's blood, it was still created by his hand. The Empire was his blood, and that was enough for her and her family to support it.
As she approached the gate of her new would-be home, she caught sight of a figure pacing above the gate. A thick man, Orc from the way his teeth poked out from his jaw. No doubt part of the Watchers. The woman merely raised a hand in greeting as she passed under the gate. Apparently, she wasn't the only one to have come in search of a purpose, as a Kahjiit called to the Orc above along with a bosmer.
"Many pardons from this one, would you mind telling me if this is Helgen?" Asked the Kahjiit.
"Do either of you know where I could find a woman named Lyra Victus?" And the bosmer.
"Aye. It is," she spared for the Kajiit. "Inside probably," for the Bosmer. She was not favorable of Kahjiits, or elves for that matter, but they had asked a question she knew the answer of. Without much more, the woman passed through the gate wordlessly and into the keep. There, in the courtyard, she dismounted and looked around. Perhaps the orc would descend his perch and explain what exactly she was to do now for she had no idea herself.