28 - Alexander - A Departure from Hammerfell:

Today was the day I finally returned to Cyrodiil, and as expected, it proved entirely unfamiliar – despite being the province of my birth. It had clearly been unrealistic to hope that any memories laid as an infant might be reawakened, however in many ways this is a blessing; I may experience the province anew.

Leaving the Border Inn at dawn and bidding my comrade farewell, I crossed the mountain pass into the westerly regions of the Imperial province. I suppose I should have no reason to feel out of place here, being an Imperial myself, but a lifetime of dwelling among the Redguards of Hammerfell has made an alien of a native.

The worn map in my backpack had indicated that the first town that I would encounter was “Chorrol”, which lay a short distance along the Black Road. Before I caught sight of any town however, I was assailed by a wolf. It proved welcome as a chance to hone my swordsmanship skills, and may indeed have helped steel me for my next encounter – bandits! I had barely left the wolf behind me when an arrow shot from the woods, the shaft glancing off my iron armour. Turning, the ambush was clear – a female archer stood some distance away, while a mace wielding Redguard ran at me.

Despite having imagined situations such as this innumerable times, I was nevertheless frozen to the spot in shock. Frozen that is, until the mace finally swung towards me, at which point my training took over. Raising my iron longsword, I deflected the mace to my left while simultaneously stepping to the right. As momentum carried my assailant past me I stepped into his side heavily, knocking him to the floor.

I stepped close and stretched my arm out, to which he flinched. I paused, confused, didn’t he want to be helped back up, so as to engage on equal terms? It was at this point that the second shaft struck, this time impacting upon the chain glove of my left hand. As I spun around, raising my shield, I felt the bandit lunge towards me from behind. Ducking frantically, the mace whistled past where my head had been, and I struck instinctively, my sword stabbing through the torso of my assailant.

He fell screaming upon the ground as I stood there, shocked. The criminal convulsed, clutching his stomach; I stared. Finally, as the bile rose in my throat, I turned, vomiting upon the grass. Shaking now, I returned to where the bandit lay, his movements feeble. The archer had clearly abandoned her comrade, and we were alone.

Reaching out, I laid my gloved hand upon the forehead of the twitching bandit, casting a spell of healing. The spell took effect slowly, but even as the magical energies circulated his body the life gave out. Where my spell had been acting upon a living being, it now found itself in dead flesh. The energies rebounded back into me, leaving a dull ache. I had killed a man.

He had been deserving of death, I tried to convince myself… but all I could see was the agony in his face as he lay dying, choking, his body twitching in agony. And then the sensation of his life dissolving conveyed to me directly by the failed healing spell…it was too much to bear. I couldn’t bring myself to touch his body, and simply began to shuffle towards Chorrol, my enthusiasm turned to ashes.

Chorrol was a large town, by Hammerfell reckoning at least. Granite stone walls stood in a tall ring, testifying to the military past of the Empire. Here I sat by a statue for a time, the effigy itself portraying a dying soldier. The bandit had deserved to die…surely. I forced into my mind all the murders and thefts done by individuals such as he. It had been self defence. I should have just killed him cleanly and walked away. I told myself these same things again and again, forcing myself to believe them. If I could not bear to kill a bandit in self defence, how could I defend others in need? I steeled myself, rose, and walked the town in search of the Fighters guild.

My first conversation in Cyrodiil, if you could call it that, was not in fact with an Imperial, but rather a female Altmer. She paced the streets, an aged (and slightly singed) book in her hands, looking up only long enough to snap out that the Fighters guild was at the top of the town, beside “Teekeeus’ thrice accursed mages guild”. Suspecting a link between the scarred tome and her obvious antipathy towards the mages guild, I nevertheless departed without further comment – I was not inclined to become involved.

The guild hall did indeed stand at the top of the town, and upon entering I was directed towards the guild hall head; Vilena Donton. It seemed that the sole entry requirement to the guild was a clean criminal record, and this not being a problem, I was entered into the Fighters Guild ranks as an Associate. A problem did exist however; there were no tasks available here for someone of my rank. I would have to visit “Cheydinhal” or “Anvil”. If my map was anything to go by, she could scarcely have picked two more disparate towns.

I departed Chorrol in the afternoon - the Imperial City lay between here and either of these locations, and it was therefore towards the Imperial City that I now travelled. My journey was largely uninterrupted for a time, and indeed I took the opportunity to explore the ruins of an Imperial fort – Fort Ash, now a dwelling place of Goblins. The interior was dark, but my fighting skills proved superior to any of the foul creatures I encountered, and here I killed without regret.

As the afternoon stretched into evening I finally caught sight of the Imperial City. It lay on an island, a lake (“Lake Rumare” claimed my map) surrounding it. The moonlight illuminated the marble walls, their reflection dancing in the dark, mirror-like water below. Above this stood the Imperial Tower; a true wonder. The sight was awe inspiring, and with it came the knowledge that this, this amazing display of power and skill, this was my heritage as an Imperial. I would not forget it.

As the night began to advance I finally arrived at the City bridge, finding lodgings for the night at the “Wawnet Inn” - it had been a long day. Worn, weary, and ten Septims poorer (courtesy of the landlady, Nerussa) I collapsed into bed. I had entered Cyrodiil only today, and I have already killed my first man. Is this the lauded life of a warrior? Struggling to even strip off my armour, let alone put my life into perspective, I soon fell into a deep sleep.