By dankempster 1 Comments
Day Seventeen - Tracing the Telvanni Line
The events that unfolded the day before ensured I slept well into the next morning, but woke up feeling well-rested. As I made my way down the stairs and towards the Bee and Barb's entrance, I was stopped by a fellow Nord. He introduced himself as Brynjolf, and began enquiring as to how I'd amassed such a healthy purse of septims. I tried dismissing his questions and avoiding his gaze, but he persisted, eventually going as far as to ask me if I would facilitate a crime for him. I stood my ground, refusing to help and reminding him that as a Nord he should value honour above all else. Noticeably annoyed, he shrugged my words off and returned to his seat.
Now that I was in better health and the darkness of night had relinquished its grip on the sky, Riften seemed much more welcoming than it had done on my arrival. Merchants busying themselves about the marketplace, citizens sharing news from outside the city walls, and the greater presence of guards on the streets almost made me feel like I was back in Whiterun. Wandering the streets and chatting to the townsfolk, I learned of many of their problems - a Redguard named Shadr was having trouble with a money-lender; the local blacksmith Balimund was running out of the fire salts needed to keep his forge in working order; an Argonian jeweller named Madesi wanted me to gather some crafting materials for him.
The man whose story intrigued me the most, though, was that of a Dunmer merchant named Brand-Shei. When he introduced himself I couldn't help but ask why a Dunmer would bear an Argonian name, but he gave me the reason straight-away. He had been rescued from a shipwreck as a baby by an Argonian family, who had raised him as their own. It was an incredible story to hear, given how much animosity there has been between the Dunmer and the Argonians over the centuries. Captivated by his tale, I asked Brand-Shei if there was anything I could do to help him find out more about his heritage. He gave me two pieces of information - that he was found wrapped in a blanket bearing the emblem of House Telvanni, and that the last recorded ship to leave Morrowind had been called the Pride of Tel Vos, heading for Skyrim.
With Brand-Shei's limited information in mind, I decided to head for the northern coast-line - it seemed logical that any large ships coming into Skyrim would have needed to dock there. From Riften I followed the province's eastern border, through Eastmarch and past Windhelm, until I reached the frozen shores. From there, it did not take me long to locate the wreckage of the Pride of Tel Vos, encased in ice to the northeast of Winterhold. As I began exploring the shell of the ship, I ran into a band of thieves who'd been using it as their base of operations. The number of bandits I've faced since I arrived back in Skyrim has really driven home just how lawless these times have become, and that the longer this Civil War drags out, the longer it harms the people who really matter - Skyrim's citizens.
Once I'd dealt with the bandits in the accepted fashion, I continued exploring the wreckage and happened upon an old journal. It had been sitting in a waterlogged chest for many years now, but most of the writing was still surprisingly legible. This diary identified Brand-Shei as Brandyl, son of Lymdrenn Telvanni and the sole surviving heir of House Telvanni. I wanted to return to Riften immediately and give Brand-Shei (or rather, Brandyl) the journal, but with night drawing in and a blizzard beginning to start, I decided it would be best to wait until morning to begin my return journey. With great difficulty I managed to scale the rock-face and reach Winterhold, where I paid for a room at the Frozen Hearth and spent the night.
The next morning I wasted no time in leaving Winterhold and retracing my steps back to Riften. I arrived back in the city early in the afternoon, and handed the journal over to Brand-Shei, who was tending his stall in the marketplace. He thanked me for my help in finding the truth about his past, and gave me a key to his strongbox, that I might help myself to whatever would serve me best in my adventures. I took a couple of his potions, thanked him, and bade him farewell. I decided to pass the rest of the day by returning to Whiterun, and arrived back at Breezehome just as the last sliver of the sun was disappearing below the horizon. I unloaded my pack of everything that had been weighing me down, and passed the rest of the evening sitting beside the fire and reading up on the situation between the Imperial Legion and the Stormcloaks that has driven my homeland into so much turmoil. I will sleep on what I have read, and in the morning I may finally commit myself to one side of the fight, if only for Skyrim's sake. Until then,
- Day Sixteen - Finding Lost Books and Lost Words
- Day Fifteen - The Axe and the Masque
- Day Fourteen - A Daedra and His Dog
- Day Thirteen - Treason and Betrayal
- Day Twelve - Counsel from the Greybeards
- Day Eleven - Old Towns, New Faces
- Day Ten - New Thu'um, New House
- Day Nine - Retrieving the Star
- Day Eight - Azura's Champion
- Day Seven - Wuuthrad and Werewolves
- Day Six - Kynareth's Will Be Done?
- Day Five - The Companions and the Sleeping Tree
- Day Four - Duelling With a Dragon
- Day Three - The Bandit, the Wife and Her Lover
- Day Two - The Golden Claw
- Day One - Escape from Helgen
- Day Zero - Here Begins My Journal