Elder Scrolls Fan Fiction - Jolgard the Nord

Getting off of his horse, Jolgard studied the man. He was an Imperial;
he never like Imperials. His pale skin was layered with dirt and grime,
and his brown hair was greasy and unkempt. His green, almond shaped eyes
kept darting from Jolgard to his sword, as if aniticipating battle.
Jolgard regarded him brusquely.

"What do you want?"

"What business do you have on this boat?" the man was quick to reply.

"This is the boat to Vvardenfell, is it not?" Jolgard asked, growing
agitated. The Imperial winced at the raising of his voice.

"Well... I mean... um... yes." He began to grow uncomfortable, and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

"Then, I want to go to Vvardenfell," Jolgard replied, making sure to
add a slight facetious undertone. He was beginning to get annoyed with
this man.

"The ferry to Vvardenfell is closed temporarily,"
the man regarded coldly, with renewed confidence. "You'll have to wait
until the first Turdas of Second Seed-"

"That's almost three
months from now!" Jolgard cried in rage. "I have to be there next week!"
He drew his sword threateningly. Looking around, he suddenly noticed
all the guards around the boat draw their swords and rush to him. Nords,
while good in a fight, are not very observant and lack the ability to
predict the effects of their actions. He thought for a moment, and
decided it best to avoid a fight. He began to sheath his sword, but
changed his mind and stopped.

"Let me onto that boat or I'll
cut you open!" He screamed at the Imperial. The man was terrified now.
He began to run away, but Jolgard grabbed him by his collar and dragged
him back, despite his desperate squirming. He was like a puppy dog
caught in an act of disobedience. Jolgard laughed at the man's
cowardice.

Suddenly, all of the guards charged him.
Surprised, he jumped back, letting go of the man's shirt. The guard to
his left nicked his arm with his blade. Jolgard quickly counted all of
his adversaries. There were two to his left, three to his right, and one
had manged to circle around behind him. He could tell by their posture
that they were relatively unskilled; it would be challenging, but he
could beat them.

He feinted at one of the men on his left,
allowing him to get a quick strike in on his hamstring. His sharpened
blade easily cut through the leather protection and left a deep gash on
his leg. He fell over, crying in pain. He heard somebody approaching
behind him and rolled out of the way, just in time for a sword to strike
through the air behind him. He nimbly got to his feet, accustomed to
the weight of his armor. One of the other men charged at him, his sword
held over his head. Jolgard sidestepped and allowed the guard's momentum
to propel him beyond, granting Jolgard a clean shot at his exposed
lumbar. He thrust his blade into the man's torso, twisting it around. He
retracted his sword and faced the others.

Four men remained,
and they were all much more cautious after seeing the fate that befell
their comrades. They began to slowly fan out around Jolgard, and unless
he acted soon they would have him completely surrounded. He quickly
grabbed his pouch of gold from his belt and through it into the air,
providing a quick distraction. The man on his right looked up, and
Jolgard wasted no time. He slashed at his wrist, severing the radial
artery. He dropped his sword and fell to his knee, holding his wrist and
and staring at the blood flowing out, as if his hand had grown legs and
hopped off of his arm. He was in complete shock, and wouldn't be a
problem any longer.

One of the three remaining men looked at
Jolgard, and his face contorted in rage. He approached Jolgard, not
letting his guard down. The guard made a thrust at him, but it was
easily parried. He countered with a riposte, his blade making a clean
cut on the guard's arm. The guard retreated a few steps, then lunged
forward and slapped Jolgard's blade hard with his own. The sword flew
out of Jolgard's hand and land several feet away, kicking up a small
cloud of dust. He dove for it, but the guard pushed him back. He cleared
his throat.

"Stop! You violated the law. Pay the court a
fine or serve your sentence." Jolgard was confronted with three options.
He could pay the fine, which would most certainly be thousands of
septims. He didn't have that kind of money, but maybe he could try to
smooth-talk the guard. He could go to jail, but then he would never make
it to Vvardenfell in time. Or, he could make a wild grab for his
opponent's weapon, and attempt to disarm him. He pondered, and
eventually came to a decision....

He wouldn't go down without a fight!

Jolgard lunged forward
toward the guard's right ankle swiftly, locking his foot in his hands in
a vice-like grip. He then stood up, bringing his arms up with all of
his might, flipping the guard head-over-heels. He landed on his stomach
with an audible thud, grunting in pain. The other two guards were too
surprised by Jolgard's sudden surge of ferocity to do anything, and
stood with their mouths slightly ajar, watching. Jolgard looked at the
guard on the ground writhing in pain, brought his foot back, and planted
his iron boot into his cheekbone. The loud crack was sickening; Jolgard
couldn't help but smile.

His eyes looked up from the guard,
and slowly scanned across his two companions. He saw fear engulf their
faces, saw their legs begin to work again. He motioned as if to lunge at
them, and they fled, screaming. Jolgard looked around him at the
battlefield. He had dispatched of four guards. One lay on the ground,
holding his leg and whimpering. Another was dead, and blood poured from
his lower torso. The one whose wrist he had slashed had died from the
blood loss, or soon would; he wasn't breathing. The one that lay at his
feet was completely unconscious. He probably had a fractured skull and
some internal bleeding, and wouldn't last long. "Well," said Jolgard,
smiling again. "A job well done."

He turned to face the
Imperial who had started this whole mess. He was hiding behind a crate,
and doing quite a terrible job at it. He was shaking more than a man
completely smashed on skooma. He walked up to him, and nudged him with
his foot. "Take me to Vvardenfell," he commanded.

"Y-y-yes,
sir," the man said compliantly, and strode off towards the boat at
almost a sprint. "I-I-I'll take you there, sir." Jolgard chuckled, and
followed him. As he walked, he examined the boat more closely. It was a
large, wooden ferry boat, made for transporting people, not cargo. The
starboard side was heavily splintered, and the boards were starting to
warp. There was some loose trash scattered on the deck, and Jolgard
reckoned that nobody was going to go clean it up. The sails were dirty
and tattered at the edges, and they hung unevenly from the mast. The
ship was in bad condition; it was no wonder that the ferryman had
temporarily closed down.

He walked onto the boat and
instructed the man to begin the journey, to which he obliged without
argument. He started to search for the nearest cabin. He found the
captain's cabin at the stern, and made himself at home. He sat on the
bed and began to remove his armor. As he took off his gauntlets, he
examined the cut on his arm. It was a clean cut, made with a sharpened,
clean blade. It was certainly deep, but he'd lived through much worse.
Nevertheless, he made a mental note to try and be more aware of his
surroundings in future fights.

After the last part of his
armor fell heavily to the ground, he lay down and closed his eyes.
Vvardenfell, he thought. I've been there before, but I was incredibly
drunk. I wonder what it's like? Suddenly, he realized that he'd
forgotten what it was he was going there for in the first place.
Searching for it in his memory, he narrowed the possibilities down to
three things. It was either for his brother's wedding, to participate in
an upcoming tournament, or because of a mysterious note he'd found on
his doorstep three weeks prior. Ah, of course. His goal in Vvardenfell
was....

Reaching around to his back pocket, Jolgard pulled out the note that he'd found at his house with nobody in sight. It was a yellowing, wrinkled piece of parchment, folded in two. His fingers fumbled around a bit, still feeling the adrenaline of the fight and unable to stop his fingers from shaking. He finally got it open. He looked at the ink with curiosity. It was written very neatly, lacking any errors or misspellings. The words took up about half of the paper, and still didn't answer any of the questions he had. It read:

If you get this message, I know who you are. I cannot explain it to you now, but it is vitally important that you travel to Vvardenfell as soon as possible. Once there, you are to go to the town of Balmora. You will find an Argonian in the bar named Heedal. Approach him, and show him this note. He will know what to do.

Jolgard closed the note and sat there thinking for a while. He hadn't a clue what the note would mean. He usually didn't have contact with people he didn't know, due to his easily agitated personality. He barely knew any other Nords, let alone an Argonian! He let it dwell on his mind while he fell asleep.


When Jolgard woke, the boat was still moving. He sat up and yawned, wondering how long he had slept. It must not have been that long, if they still weren't at Vvardenfell yet. Getting up, he gathered his armor from the floor (he never went anywhere without it) and stumbled out onto the deck.

It turns out, they were almost there. He could see the shore approaching quickly, but it was unlike any other shore he had seen. This shore was almost gloomy. No waves crashed on the beach, no mudcrabs skittered along the sand. It was dark, even thought it could only be midday. He noticed the problem quickly. Overlooking the beach were three willow trees, extending from the grass 50 feet in to the water. They shaded the beach, and made sunbathing impossible. The image was almost macabre.

After a few more minutes of sailing, they arrived at the dock. The ferryman, who had been ignoring him, walked out onto the deck and began to tie the ship down. Jolgard sighed, and walked onto shore, realizing that he'd left his horse back at the mainland. He missed him already. As he left the boat, he heard the ferryman say something under his breath. Jolgard smiled and continued walking.

His current goal was to get to Balmora. He began walking down the only path he saw, for to stray from the path would put him in needless danger. He eventually arrived in a small town on the coast. As he entered the town, people gave him strange looks, mean looks. As he passed by one Dunmer, he hissed at him, "Get out of here, outlander!" Jolgard resisted the urge to lop his head off. As he walked around, he found an Imperial guard, and decided to try his luck asking for directions. The guard was a tall, burly man, but Jolgard was not exactly small. He felt no intimidation in asking him a question.

"How do I get to Balmora?" he asked quickly. The guard looked in all directions, then did a double take when he saw the Nord standing there. Oh, great. He thought. A Nord.

"If you go north and turn right at the path, you can find a silt strider up the hill that will take you there for a modest price." he replied as if he'd said it too many times.

"Hmph." Jolgard walked north, and evenutally came upon a branch. "Now, he said to go... right, I think." He went up the hill to the right, and found the silt strider. He paid the man standing there, and asked to go to Balmora. He said, "Whatever," and they were off. Jolgard fell asleep again on the journey.

The ferryman woke him with a shove. "We're here," he grunted, and stepped off the silt strider. Jolgard got off, and looked around. The town was built around a river, though he was not sure which one. It was somewhat small, yet traffic still bustled throughout. He walked off of the platform and looked around for the bar. He found it; "The Lucky Lockup." Kind of a stupid name, but he hopefully wouldn't have to stay long anyways. He opened the door, and stepped in cautiously.

It was almost empty. A bored bartender stood at the bar, wiping it with a rag. A few Dunmer sat at a table, drinking beer and eating bread, not laughing or even talking. In the corner, an Argonian stood silently, watching Jolgard's every move. Jolgard approached him, and the Argonian looked cautious.

"What do you want?"

"Are you Heedal?" Jolgard asked.

"Who wants to know?" the Argonian asked, looking very annoyed. Jolgard reached into his pocket and pulled out the note. The expression on the Argonian's face changed dramatically to one of covert interest.

"You actually came?" he whispered, drawing close. Jolgard shrugged, confused, and Heedal came up to his ear. "Follow me, but don't make it obvious." He walked upstairs. Jolgard waited a few moments, then followed him up. He saw Heedal standing near a door, beckoning Jolgard. "Hurry up, before someone sees you!" He quickened his pace. When he approached Heedal, he said, "This is for you," and opened the door. Jolgard saw what was behind it, and gasped. Was it a room full of treasure, a whole other world, or a pitch black room?