Giveaway - October 2011 - The Elder Scrolls V Skyrim

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....