literature

A Life Once Lived

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A Life Once Lived


       Eric sat atop the watchtower of Whiterun, looking out at the vast tundra that covered the most of the Hold. From 2 pm to well past the sun's set, Eric sat at his station, keeping look for 12 hours a day. He would watch the roads for the threat of bandits, though the most action he usually dealt with was the petty theft of sweetrolls, and the brawls of the local drunks. Eric took a bottle of mead from the bucket that sat next to his seat, as the guards posted here always left a stash for the watchman after them, for the nights of Skyrim could be cold, and the days could be boring. Watching the roods made Eric miss the days of his past, the days when he wandered the paths of Skyrim, on search for adventure and glory. He missed the days of raiding the tombs of draugr's, and spending nights at the closet inn or tavern. Usually sharing a bed with the wench that suited his taste the best, or was lonely for the night.

Eric missed those days. If it hadn't been for the faithful day, the day an arrow struck too far below the belt, and too high above the boot, he would still be out there. One may wonder how an arrow could end ones days of adventuring, Eric would be with them. At first he didn't believe it. But day after day of the healers telling him he would never adventure again, he finally got the picture. The arrow had struck in such a way, that it had torn a muscle, or so the healers told him. With it torn, Eric's legs could no longer support the loads of the loot he would have normally carried out of the tombs, the long treks on the roads of Skyrim, or the weight of tavern wenches. And so Eric was forced to return home. His family did not share his disappointment. Now Eric would be closer to home, to them. They would not have to worry about whether or not he would return home. They also wouldn't have to find room for his many treasures he brought home.

But Eric still yearned for the life of an adventurer. Unfortunately, he couldn't, so he was forced to do the next best thing he could imagine. A guard. His father had been a guard, and his father's father had been a guard. He couldn't join the Legion, for his leg couldn't support the marching. He couldn't join the Stormcloaks, and not just because he didn't agree with Ulfric, for many the same reason. So Eric became a guard. He spent his days on top of a watchtower, breaking up drunken brawls, and finding out what happened to stolen sweetrolls.

Finishing his bottle of mead, as well as his recollections, Eric tossed it down the wall of the watchtower, the bottle landing not far from one of the Kajhiit caravan's tents. Eric turned his attention back to the road. He noticed as a Dunmer woman wearing armor made of Dragon's bones, and a mask of the legendary Dragon Priest, walked towards the cities gates. Her many bags and pouches burst at the seams with loot. Behind her tread a woman in gothic, almost vamperic robes, with glowing red eyes, pale skin, and a circlet around her forehead. Eric sighed, lifting another bottle of mead from the bucket at his side, muttering "I use to be an adventurer like her," taking a sip from the mead, "till I took an arrow to my damned knee."
WARNING: CONTAINS ARROW TO KNEE CONTENT!!!!!1

A Whiterun Guard reminisces his days as an adventurer, and how his life got to where it was now. A Skyrim short story. I'm not the best writer, but this idea was just stuck in my head, and I really felt the need to type it up. So yeah, I ist Go0d @th0rS.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim and all it's content and what not belongs to Bethesda, I'm just a simple nerd with a keyboard and imagination.
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