I actually wrote this for a thread in Skyrim GD, but as it is the first thing I've written in over three years, I would like some input from people who are more experienced, or at least more practiced than myself. It is based off of an in-game event (or at least my obsessive role-playing interpretation of an in-game event) that I experienced with one of my characters.

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Remus Draconis, Cyrodiilic Soldier-of-Fortune, was trekking from Riften to Ivarstead on one particularly clear Frost Fall's afternoon. The autumn foliage had proved more a vexing trifle than scenic wonder, as the brown and orange surrounding him gave the packs of ravenous wolves foraging the countryside a perfect environs for launching sneak assaults on weary travelers. While not so much a threat to Remus as chore (cleaning blood from the crevasses of Dwemer armor is no simple task), the Greybeards were not men to keep waiting, and he was direly desiring to return to Whiterun and Camilla, his ravishing and industrious new bride.

After realizing he had gone too far north, he checked his map and decided the best way to correct his path would be to scale the rocky cliffs to the southeast of his position, resuming his journey on the caravan road just beyond. An hour later, he found his way to said road, though sweaty and tired enough from the exertion of the scaling that even the bare straw-and-fur beds of Ivarstead's Vilemyr Inn sounded more than accommodating. But the road beckoned.

Soon the golden light of dusk had begun to fall, and to Remus' weary relief, the sun was only just peeking behind the outline of a windmill. Perhaps some kind folk can spare a meal or bed for such a handsome fellow as myself, he thought to himself. Knowing well just how suspicious the locals of the Rift could be of strangers, let alone Imperials in golden armor, he allowed himself a distraught chuckle.

His approach to the farm was greeted by a weary Dunmer woman, well in her years. "I'm the only person this side of Elsweyr who can cultivate nirnroot from seed to maturity." Seeing the way her crop glowed and seemed to make the very air around him vibrate with energy, Remus judged they must have some sort of magickal value. The farm was small, and by the way this elf looked ready to keel over from age, work, and hunger, he thought better of requesting lodging.

"As it happens, my younger sister is something of a free spirit and has wandered off into the hills east of here to admire the autumnal scenery. I've told her time and again it isn't safe and to be home by dusk, but she insists on 'paying homage to the handiwork of Azura' or some such idiocy. Should you come across her, would you send her home?'

Remus agreed, bade her farewell, and set off. He could just spy the roof of Vilemyr Inn but an hour's distance to east over the trees and decided to break from the road, trekking as the hawk flies. He could almost smell the hall's tables when he heard a scream and howling chorus to his left, Drawing his sword, he bolted off towards the clamor, hoping to find breath of the living. Amidst a meadow of purple and red flowers, a young red-haired girl was cowering behind a large stone, with a pair of slavering wolves on her either flank, toying with the thought of her supple flesh.

Without a moment's hesitation, Remus let out a roar that shook the predators' concentration, or rather attuned it towards himself. With a blast of flame from his left hand, he scorched petals and fur, leaving one beast whimpering in the dirt. But its fellow darted to the side and lunged at Remus, locking its jaw into his left gauntlet. Remus drew back his sword arm and pierced the beast's gut, blood and bile spilling at his feet. After prying the corpse's mouth from his arm, Remus sheathed his sword, and started to ask if the elf was unharmed, but she merely let out an exasperated gasp and darted off toward the shadow of a windmill in the distance. A hero's duties so rarely are appreciated, he thought to himself. A cup of Alto had never sounded better.