So tell me if I’m getting this right…
You climb up several thousand feet into Sejuani Sky-Blade’s quarters and steal a pouch of invaluable frost salts off her sleeping body as the storm of the century ravages outside.
Back at the square, you double fist two pints of meade while overlooking the weather tattered beachfront. It’s not long before your belly is full, of course– entirely drunk on your own petty vengeance. The familiar post rain stench wafts through town, signaling that it’s nearly noon by this point. You make quick friends with an elf at the Bannered Mare and find yourself shouting profanities before kicking them in their chest, down a flight of stairs.
You, then, proceed to scuttle through the wood and stone paved Wind District, admiring the distorted view of the tundra that encloses the town. Near the west wall, you’re finally recognized. And you somehow manage to slip the pouch of frost salts into a redguard’s coat pocket before two of my men apprehend you.
Lawspeaker, this report is completely untrue–
–allow me to finish, or I will simply have you beheaded.
Y-yes, lawspeaker.
Now, where was I?
…ah, yes. My men shove you into a cell the size of a shit bucket.
Before the short hand on my clock could move an inch, you manage to escape back onto the streets. You’re spotted at the front steps of the Bannered Mare, but this time, foaming out the sides of your mouth in a fitful panic. Witnesses report you crying out like a dying skeever, ‘I didn’t mean to kill the elf!’
Perhaps you were moved by the consequences of your actions from earlier?
This is all a misunderstanding…
I, hereby, convict you with the charges of grand larceny of sacred frost salts, the manslaughter of an elf, Cal Lovinar, and the fleeing of the Dragonsreach Dungeon. Guards, please have this rubbish removed from my court and taken directly to the block.
Lawspeaker, please! I’ve done nothing wrong.
Hours later, you wake up with hands bound and cheek pressed at the foot of a tree stump. There’s no odor of the market smoke, or the fish from the shore. Nor any sign of a crowd typical of a public execution. There’s only damp bark and the metallic tang of blood lingering on your lip.
You dare raise your head to the two guards who stand in dark cloaks before you. The lanky one lifts their helmet free and their scarlet hair spills out.
It’s the elf.
Cal Lovinar; the one you allegedly killed at the inn.
You gasp through your shattered teeth and this gets a low chuckle from the second guard, whose silver eyes taunt you from beneath their mask.
‘Well well,’ she says, pulling the helmet from her head. ‘Finally awake.’
Beneath the mask is the amused face of Sejuani Sky-Blade.
You twist violently against the ropes.
‘No… you're both supposed to be–’
‘Dead?’ the elf finishes for you, smiling faintly. ‘Yes. A rather convincing performance, wasn’t it?’
The drunken memories return in flashes; Sejuani’s quarters, the Bannered Mare, the argument, and the vicious kick. Then, the poor, lifeless body of an elf at the bottom of the cellar. But your own recollection feels stained with falsehoods.
‘You’ve killed no one,’ Sejuani says. ‘Only yourself.’
The elf walks behind you, the dull scrape of the executioner's axe against the soil sends a shiver down your spine.
‘You set me up.’
‘Now you get it,’ Sejuani smiles. ‘You should have known better than to steal from me.’
You feel the rope bite deeper into your wrists as you struggle to break free.
‘How foolish of you to get caught.’
Sejuani takes a calm breath of one whose plan went accordingly.
Then, the axe whooshes down.
Back in town, the lawspeaker’s report is published as the official truth throughout all of Whiterun.
So tell me if I’m getting this right…
You climb up several thousand feet into Sejuani Sky-Blade’s quarters and steal a pouch of invaluable frost salts off her sleeping body as the storm of the century ravages outside.
Back at the square, you double fist two pints of meade while overlooking the weather tattered beachfront. It’s not long before your belly is full, of course– entirely drunk on your own petty vengeance. The familiar post rain stench wafts through town, signaling that it’s nearly noon by this point. You make quick friends with an elf at the Bannered Mare and find yourself shouting profanities before kicking them in their chest, down a flight of stairs.
You, then, proceed to scuttle through the wood and stone paved Wind District, admiring the distorted view of the tundra that encloses the town. Near the west wall, you’re finally recognized. And you somehow manage to slip the pouch of frost salts into a redguard’s coat pocket before two of my men apprehend you.
Lawspeaker, this report is completely untrue–
–allow me to finish, or I will simply have you beheaded.
Y-yes, lawspeaker.
Now, where was I?
…ah, yes. My men shove you into a cell the size of a shit bucket.
Before the short hand on my clock could move an inch, you manage to escape back onto the streets. You’re spotted at the front steps of the Bannered Mare, but this time, foaming out the sides of your mouth in a fitful panic. Witnesses report you crying out like a dying skeever, ‘I didn’t mean to kill the elf!’
Perhaps you were moved by the consequences of your actions from earlier?
This is all a misunderstanding…
I, hereby, convict you with the charges of grand larceny of sacred frost salts, the manslaughter of an elf, Cal Lovinar, and the fleeing of the Dragonsreach Dungeon. Guards, please have this rubbish removed from my court and taken directly to the block.
Lawspeaker, please! I’ve done nothing wrong.
Hours later, you wake up with hands bound and cheek pressed at the foot of a tree stump. There’s no odor of the market smoke, or the fish from the shore. Nor any sign of a crowd typical of a public execution. There’s only damp bark and the metallic tang of blood lingering on your lip.
You dare raise your head to the two guards who stand in dark cloaks before you. The lanky one lifts their helmet free and their scarlet hair spills out.
It’s the elf.
Cal Lovinar; the one you allegedly killed at the inn.
You gasp through your shattered teeth and this gets a low chuckle from the second guard, whose silver eyes taunt you from beneath their mask.
‘Well well,’ she says, pulling the helmet from her head. ‘Finally awake.’
Beneath the mask is the amused face of Sejuani Sky-Blade.
You twist violently against the ropes.
‘No… you're both supposed to be–’
‘Dead?’ the elf finishes for you, smiling faintly. ‘Yes. A rather convincing performance, wasn’t it?’
The drunken memories return in flashes; Sejuani’s quarters, the Bannered Mare, the argument, and the vicious kick. Then, the poor, lifeless body of an elf at the bottom of the cellar. But your own recollection feels stained with falsehoods.
‘You’ve killed no one,’ Sejuani says. ‘Only yourself.’
The elf walks behind you, the dull scrape of the executioner's axe against the soil sends a shiver down your spine.
‘You set me up.’
‘Now you get it,’ Sejuani smiles. ‘You should have known better than to steal from me.’
You feel the rope bite deeper into your wrists as you struggle to break free.
‘How foolish of you to get caught.’
Sejuani takes a calm breath of one whose plan went accordingly.
Then, the axe whooshes down.
Back in town, the lawspeaker’s report is published as the official truth throughout all of Whiterun.
You climb up several thousand feet into Sejuani Sky-Blade’s quarters and steal a pouch of invaluable frost salts off her sleeping body as the storm of the century ravages outside.
Back at the square, you double fist two pints of meade while overlooking the weather tattered beachfront. It’s not long before your belly is full, of course– entirely drunk on your own petty vengeance. The familiar post rain stench wafts through town, signaling that it’s nearly noon by this point. You make quick friends with an elf at the Bannered Mare and find yourself shouting profanities before kicking them in their chest, down a flight of stairs.
You, then, proceed to scuttle through the wood and stone paved Wind District, admiring the distorted view of the tundra that encloses the town. Near the west wall, you’re finally recognized. And you somehow manage to slip the pouch of frost salts into a redguard’s coat pocket before two of my men apprehend you.
Lawspeaker, this report is completely untrue–
–allow me to finish, or I will simply have you beheaded.
Y-yes, lawspeaker.
Now, where was I?
…ah, yes. My men shove you into a cell the size of a shit bucket.
Before the short hand on my clock could move an inch, you manage to escape back onto the streets. You’re spotted at the front steps of the Bannered Mare, but this time, foaming out the sides of your mouth in a fitful panic. Witnesses report you crying out like a dying skeever, ‘I didn’t mean to kill the elf!’
Perhaps you were moved by the consequences of your actions from earlier?
This is all a misunderstanding…
I, hereby, convict you with the charges of grand larceny of sacred frost salts, the manslaughter of an elf, Cal Lovinar, and the fleeing of the Dragonsreach Dungeon. Guards, please have this rubbish removed from my court and taken directly to the block.
Lawspeaker, please! I’ve done nothing wrong.
Hours later, you wake up with hands bound and cheek pressed at the foot of a tree stump. There’s no odor of the market smoke, or the fish from the shore. Nor any sign of a crowd typical of a public execution. There’s only damp bark and the metallic tang of blood lingering on your lip.
You dare raise your head to the two guards who stand in dark cloaks before you. The lanky one lifts their helmet free and their scarlet hair spills out.
It’s the elf.
Cal Lovinar; the one you allegedly killed at the inn.
You gasp through your shattered teeth and this gets a low chuckle from the second guard, whose silver eyes taunt you from beneath their mask.
‘Well well,’ she says, pulling the helmet from her head. ‘Finally awake.’
Beneath the mask is the amused face of Sejuani Sky-Blade.
You twist violently against the ropes.
‘No… you're both supposed to be–’
‘Dead?’ the elf finishes for you, smiling faintly. ‘Yes. A rather convincing performance, wasn’t it?’
The drunken memories return in flashes; Sejuani’s quarters, the Bannered Mare, the argument, and the vicious kick. Then, the poor, lifeless body of an elf at the bottom of the cellar. But your own recollection feels stained with falsehoods.
‘You’ve killed no one,’ Sejuani says. ‘Only yourself.’
The elf walks behind you, the dull scrape of the executioner's axe against the soil sends a shiver down your spine.
‘You set me up.’
‘Now you get it,’ Sejuani smiles. ‘You should have known better than to steal from me.’
You feel the rope bite deeper into your wrists as you struggle to break free.
‘How foolish of you to get caught.’
Sejuani takes a calm breath of one whose plan went accordingly.
Then, the axe whooshes down.
Back in town, the lawspeaker’s report is published as the official truth throughout all of Whiterun.