» Sat Feb 19, 2011 7:56 am We all know that our characters in Skyrim will begin in prison, but what happened before? Unless you magically congealed in a cell, you had a story from before you were arrested. Why were you in jail? If you have a story about your character, from before their extended stay in the stone cage, what is it?
This is just me thinking too much about Skyrim and wondering if others do it too. Feel free to post your stories too, and to comment on mine. Constructive criticism only though;
So here's the Story of Sae-Kas the Argonian...
Part 1: The Ancestor's story (Prologue)
Spoiler
The story begins 200 years ago, in the land of Cyrodiil. An Argonian by the name of Sae-Kas, had just saved the world from utter destruction. After many years of adventuring, he decided to settle down with a kind Argonian lass in Leyawiin. After a few years they were married and had had a daughter. Sae-Kas wanted his adventuring legacy to continue with his children, but his wife didn't want their daughter growing up in the life her father had lived. So he planned ahead, and decided that his later generations would continue his profession. He wrote a journal containing all of his exploits. It told of both his pure actions, and of those that could curdle blood. He also detailed his vast knowledge in his writings, telling of his techniques in swordplay, sneaking, magic, and more, as well as detailed instructions on how to replicate these talents. He also left many blank pages at the end, so his descendants could add information that they deemed important. The only thing he didn't include were his motivations, firmly believing that his descendants should follow their own paths.
After the book was done, all of his life cataloged in paper and ink, he stamped the cover of the journal with his personal sigil, also embossed on his sword and armor. He then sealed the book with a spell that prevented it from being opened for fifty years, and even then it could only be opened by a direct descendant. Many years passed. Sae-Kas and his wife grew old, and he passed his book on to his daughter, who swore on his deathbed to keep it in the family line. She then married, and passed the book on to her son when she died, and he to his son, and he to his daughter. The book, despite the seal being gone, lay unopened, still covered in a scrap of cloth cut from Sae-Kas' funeral shroud. The family steadily moved northward to the border of Skyrim.
The name of their ancestor had become legend, but they avoided the public, and their name became anonymous, no longer linked to the hero. And as his family name faded, so did his story
The story of his great feat passed from news, to legend. Occasionally, one would hear whispers of the great Argonian hero in shady, smoke-filled taverns. Small hints of truth, surrounded by great mountains of embellished lies. The only place where the true story was kept alive was the home of his fifth-generation grandson, who shared the same name, nearly two hundred years after the events that created the story.
The story begins 200 years ago, in the land of Cyrodiil. An Argonian by the name of Sae-Kas, had just saved the world from utter destruction. After many years of adventuring, he decided to settle down with a kind Argonian lass in Leyawiin. After a few years they were married and had had a daughter. Sae-Kas wanted his adventuring legacy to continue with his children, but his wife didn't want their daughter growing up in the life her father had lived. So he planned ahead, and decided that his later generations would continue his profession. He wrote a journal containing all of his exploits. It told of both his pure actions, and of those that could curdle blood. He also detailed his vast knowledge in his writings, telling of his techniques in swordplay, sneaking, magic, and more, as well as detailed instructions on how to replicate these talents. He also left many blank pages at the end, so his descendants could add information that they deemed important. The only thing he didn't include were his motivations, firmly believing that his descendants should follow their own paths.
After the book was done, all of his life cataloged in paper and ink, he stamped the cover of the journal with his personal sigil, also embossed on his sword and armor. He then sealed the book with a spell that prevented it from being opened for fifty years, and even then it could only be opened by a direct descendant. Many years passed. Sae-Kas and his wife grew old, and he passed his book on to his daughter, who swore on his deathbed to keep it in the family line. She then married, and passed the book on to her son when she died, and he to his son, and he to his daughter. The book, despite the seal being gone, lay unopened, still covered in a scrap of cloth cut from Sae-Kas' funeral shroud. The family steadily moved northward to the border of Skyrim.
The name of their ancestor had become legend, but they avoided the public, and their name became anonymous, no longer linked to the hero. And as his family name faded, so did his story
The story of his great feat passed from news, to legend. Occasionally, one would hear whispers of the great Argonian hero in shady, smoke-filled taverns. Small hints of truth, surrounded by great mountains of embellished lies. The only place where the true story was kept alive was the home of his fifth-generation grandson, who shared the same name, nearly two hundred years after the events that created the story.
Part 2: The Forgotten (Character's youth)
Spoiler
Young Sae-Kas was exploring the attic of his family's house, when he found a chest with the family sigil on the front. He flicked his tail, wondering if he should open it. Why not? What harm can there be? , he thought. Inside the chest was a sword and set of armor, both made from a strange golden material and embossed with the same sigil. Wedged in the bottom, looking dusty and forgotten, there lay an object wrapped in dark green and purple silk. He reached towards it and took it in his hands, removing the silken cover, which gave of the faint smell of decay. Despite the smell, the object underneath it was perfectly preserved, the dark leather shining the the dim light from the window. It was a book. A book with the family sigil on the cover. At his touch, the book glowed faintly green, and gave him a small sharp pain in his palm, surprising him into dropping it on the wooden floor.
Once it landed, the book flew open to the first page. Sae-Kas looked at his hand, which had a small puncture, already healing. He looked at the back cover of the book, gingerly touching it to make sure it wouldn't hurt him again. There, dead center on the back, was a small red X forming. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was his own blood that had provided the color, though the symbol held no meaning for him. Deciding it was safe to touch, he picked it up once more and read the first page.
To whoever reads this, my name is Sae-Kas. I am the great hero of Cyrodiil who closed the Oblivion gates. This book is a complete retelling of every major thing I have done in my life, so I suppose it is a journal, though it is much more. This tells the truth of all I have done, good and evil, but not why I have done them. That is for you and any other descendants of mine to decide. It also details many of the skills I have learned throughout my life, and provides enough information for you to learn them as well, so that you too may master them.
I will be long gone before this book is opened, and my first daughter will be spared the truth of her father, but someone must know it. So I have sealed this book, so that only a direct descendant of my blood will be able to open it. The pain you felt upon touching this book was merely a test to discern this. The number of X's on the back cover, shows how many before you, and besides myself, have opened this. I beg that you read it, and live as I have, finding your own path. If you wish the life of the road that I had, know first that there will be hardships, but use this book as a guide, and you will triumph. I have faith in you... after all, it's in your blood.
Never forget the past,
Sae-Kas
Once it landed, the book flew open to the first page. Sae-Kas looked at his hand, which had a small puncture, already healing. He looked at the back cover of the book, gingerly touching it to make sure it wouldn't hurt him again. There, dead center on the back, was a small red X forming. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was his own blood that had provided the color, though the symbol held no meaning for him. Deciding it was safe to touch, he picked it up once more and read the first page.
To whoever reads this, my name is Sae-Kas. I am the great hero of Cyrodiil who closed the Oblivion gates. This book is a complete retelling of every major thing I have done in my life, so I suppose it is a journal, though it is much more. This tells the truth of all I have done, good and evil, but not why I have done them. That is for you and any other descendants of mine to decide. It also details many of the skills I have learned throughout my life, and provides enough information for you to learn them as well, so that you too may master them.
I will be long gone before this book is opened, and my first daughter will be spared the truth of her father, but someone must know it. So I have sealed this book, so that only a direct descendant of my blood will be able to open it. The pain you felt upon touching this book was merely a test to discern this. The number of X's on the back cover, shows how many before you, and besides myself, have opened this. I beg that you read it, and live as I have, finding your own path. If you wish the life of the road that I had, know first that there will be hardships, but use this book as a guide, and you will triumph. I have faith in you... after all, it's in your blood.
Never forget the past,
Sae-Kas
Part 3: The Wanderer ( He actually gets arrested in this part.)
Spoiler
Sae-Kas walked into the tavern, eager to get away from the cold Skyrim air. He sat down at the nearest empty table, giving a polite nod to some nearby patrons. He noticed a small group in the corner that seemed to glare at him, then avoid looking at him altogether. He knew such looks, and paid them no mind. Racism was rare, but not unheard of even this far north. They would complain, and then leave or ignore him. And if they didn't, the ancestral sword at his hip and the matching armor under his furs would ensure his safety, as it had many times before. He briefly caressed the amulet he always wore, embossed with the sigil he had always been familiar with, and tapped his table to signal that he was a paying customer, and within seconds a fairly good-looking waitress appeared, asking him what he'd like. After telling her his preferences in food and drink, he smiled politely and thanked her. He noticed the group in the corner glancing his way again, but ignored them and went back to his thoughts.
After a few minutes, the food and drink arrived, and he absentmindedly ate, occasionally sipping his ale. His real thoughts were on the journal that was in his pack. The innocent book with words that when first read had shaken his very soul, and indeed still made him feel pride, shame, inspiration, disgust, and every other possible emotion that could be felt. Finding out that his ancestor had been not only the great hero, but under assumed identities had become the head of many of the Cyrodiilic Guilds, both reputable and infamous. It spoke of places that seemed so fantastic that they could scarcely be believed, like the realms of Oblivion and the Shivering Isles. Sae-Kas had become lost in thought when a drunken voice broke through his musings.
"Hey! You with the... *hic* ... scales!"
Sae-Kas sighed and looked at the lout standing over him. He was a Dunmer, that much was unmistakable with his blue-tinted skin and red eyes. He was slightly more muscular than most of his race, and a little paler as well, some white showing through the blue, which suggested perhaps Nordic ancestry, particularly here in their homeland. The man's red eyes, though glazed with drink, were angry, so instead of ignoring him, he answered as politely as possible, wishing to avoid a fight if he could help it,
"Yes? How can I help you my inebriated friend?" Sae-Kas couldn't quite manage to keep his tone entirely polite. He found it difficult to talk to anyone without being snarky, though in the elf's current state he was unlikely to notice.
"Ine-....inebri-...Whassat?" He scratched hid head in confusion, but then shook his head as though trying to muster up enough brainpower to form a sentence. "I couldn't help but *hic* notice that you....Erm... look... familiar. *hic* I think you ... *hic* have something of mine!" There was an edge to his voice that clearly suggested that he meant that Sae-Kas had stolen something of his. And while his pointed finger was actually aimed a few inches to the left of Sae-Kas, the effect was still palpable. The tavern went quiet with his accusation; clearly whoever this man was, he was respected in the community, though for what reason, Sae-Kas couldn't fathom.
"Yeah! That *hic* pretty amulet you have! That's mine!" The elf was clearly far beyond drunk by this point. Sae-Kas glanced down at the amulet engraved with his family's sigil; there was no way that this man had ever seen it before. but in his drunken mind, or the minds of the others in the tavern, that didn't matter. it seemed as though blood would have been spilled here this night either way, and he had simply been unfortunate. But still, Sae-Kas responded in his usual way to such accusations, though the situation was different. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
He began breathing more slowly, his mind shrugging off the little ale he had consumed and allowing him to focus on the man in front of him. His vision focused on weak points; the throat, the eyes, and numerous other mortal areas. This had been one of the most useful talents the journal had taught him, and he put it to use often. Time slowed down slightly as his reflexes increased. His grip on the sword's hilt tightened, and he flicked the point of his sword up to the man's throat, causing a slight trickle of blood to run down his neck. the tavern was dead silent. Sae-Kas then spoke; calmly, and with authority.
"This amulet is mine; it has been in my family for generations. I have never stolen anything from anyone in this town; in fact, I've never been here before. I have no wish to harm anyone here, but if you refuse to see reason then I will have no choice. So, I ask you all, can we just sit down, eat and drink our fill, and go home? Or are you going to take that option from yourselves?" His words had the desired effect on most patrons; the anger went out of their eyes and they resumed their business. But those in the corner, who'd been glaring at him off and on all night, stood up and moved towards him.
Sae-Kas tensed, identifying possible threats. There were four of them, not counting the man still at sword-point, and all were quite drunk, though two were armed with curved daggers. Again the bar went quiet, and the man who appeared to be the ringleader spoke harshly,
"I think we ought to take that option from you, you filthy lizard! Get 'em boys!" as the louts charged him, he felt the man at his sword's point move and saw him reach for the dagger on his belt. He didn't give himself time to think, he merely drove the point forward into his neck, ripped it out and proceeded to stab one of the armed men in the gut. He felt a knife scraqe his armor and looked down to see another armed man attempting to pierce the cuirass, which, despite its age, held up well. He cracked the man's skull with the hilt of his sword, which caused him to promptly fall down. The last man had fled, so he sheathed his sword and looked around. the area where he was standing was now a scene of carnage, and there he was, covered in the blood of four drunken idiots that should have been knocked out.
He had no words to say. He knew that he had done wrong, just as much as they had. Within minutes, several sober guardsmen appeared to take him away for four. He held out his arms and went without any struggle. Because of this, and his obvious regret, they felt obligated to grant his one request.
"May I keep my journal and amulet?"
Sae-Kas walked into the tavern, eager to get away from the cold Skyrim air. He sat down at the nearest empty table, giving a polite nod to some nearby patrons. He noticed a small group in the corner that seemed to glare at him, then avoid looking at him altogether. He knew such looks, and paid them no mind. Racism was rare, but not unheard of even this far north. They would complain, and then leave or ignore him. And if they didn't, the ancestral sword at his hip and the matching armor under his furs would ensure his safety, as it had many times before. He briefly caressed the amulet he always wore, embossed with the sigil he had always been familiar with, and tapped his table to signal that he was a paying customer, and within seconds a fairly good-looking waitress appeared, asking him what he'd like. After telling her his preferences in food and drink, he smiled politely and thanked her. He noticed the group in the corner glancing his way again, but ignored them and went back to his thoughts.
After a few minutes, the food and drink arrived, and he absentmindedly ate, occasionally sipping his ale. His real thoughts were on the journal that was in his pack. The innocent book with words that when first read had shaken his very soul, and indeed still made him feel pride, shame, inspiration, disgust, and every other possible emotion that could be felt. Finding out that his ancestor had been not only the great hero, but under assumed identities had become the head of many of the Cyrodiilic Guilds, both reputable and infamous. It spoke of places that seemed so fantastic that they could scarcely be believed, like the realms of Oblivion and the Shivering Isles. Sae-Kas had become lost in thought when a drunken voice broke through his musings.
"Hey! You with the... *hic* ... scales!"
Sae-Kas sighed and looked at the lout standing over him. He was a Dunmer, that much was unmistakable with his blue-tinted skin and red eyes. He was slightly more muscular than most of his race, and a little paler as well, some white showing through the blue, which suggested perhaps Nordic ancestry, particularly here in their homeland. The man's red eyes, though glazed with drink, were angry, so instead of ignoring him, he answered as politely as possible, wishing to avoid a fight if he could help it,
"Yes? How can I help you my inebriated friend?" Sae-Kas couldn't quite manage to keep his tone entirely polite. He found it difficult to talk to anyone without being snarky, though in the elf's current state he was unlikely to notice.
"Ine-....inebri-...Whassat?" He scratched hid head in confusion, but then shook his head as though trying to muster up enough brainpower to form a sentence. "I couldn't help but *hic* notice that you....Erm... look... familiar. *hic* I think you ... *hic* have something of mine!" There was an edge to his voice that clearly suggested that he meant that Sae-Kas had stolen something of his. And while his pointed finger was actually aimed a few inches to the left of Sae-Kas, the effect was still palpable. The tavern went quiet with his accusation; clearly whoever this man was, he was respected in the community, though for what reason, Sae-Kas couldn't fathom.
"Yeah! That *hic* pretty amulet you have! That's mine!" The elf was clearly far beyond drunk by this point. Sae-Kas glanced down at the amulet engraved with his family's sigil; there was no way that this man had ever seen it before. but in his drunken mind, or the minds of the others in the tavern, that didn't matter. it seemed as though blood would have been spilled here this night either way, and he had simply been unfortunate. But still, Sae-Kas responded in his usual way to such accusations, though the situation was different. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
He began breathing more slowly, his mind shrugging off the little ale he had consumed and allowing him to focus on the man in front of him. His vision focused on weak points; the throat, the eyes, and numerous other mortal areas. This had been one of the most useful talents the journal had taught him, and he put it to use often. Time slowed down slightly as his reflexes increased. His grip on the sword's hilt tightened, and he flicked the point of his sword up to the man's throat, causing a slight trickle of blood to run down his neck. the tavern was dead silent. Sae-Kas then spoke; calmly, and with authority.
"This amulet is mine; it has been in my family for generations. I have never stolen anything from anyone in this town; in fact, I've never been here before. I have no wish to harm anyone here, but if you refuse to see reason then I will have no choice. So, I ask you all, can we just sit down, eat and drink our fill, and go home? Or are you going to take that option from yourselves?" His words had the desired effect on most patrons; the anger went out of their eyes and they resumed their business. But those in the corner, who'd been glaring at him off and on all night, stood up and moved towards him.
Sae-Kas tensed, identifying possible threats. There were four of them, not counting the man still at sword-point, and all were quite drunk, though two were armed with curved daggers. Again the bar went quiet, and the man who appeared to be the ringleader spoke harshly,
"I think we ought to take that option from you, you filthy lizard! Get 'em boys!" as the louts charged him, he felt the man at his sword's point move and saw him reach for the dagger on his belt. He didn't give himself time to think, he merely drove the point forward into his neck, ripped it out and proceeded to stab one of the armed men in the gut. He felt a knife scraqe his armor and looked down to see another armed man attempting to pierce the cuirass, which, despite its age, held up well. He cracked the man's skull with the hilt of his sword, which caused him to promptly fall down. The last man had fled, so he sheathed his sword and looked around. the area where he was standing was now a scene of carnage, and there he was, covered in the blood of four drunken idiots that should have been knocked out.
He had no words to say. He knew that he had done wrong, just as much as they had. Within minutes, several sober guardsmen appeared to take him away for four. He held out his arms and went without any struggle. Because of this, and his obvious regret, they felt obligated to grant his one request.
"May I keep my journal and amulet?"
