Chapter Text
The night was cold as always. The dreaded harsh and familiar cold of Skyrim. S’varr hated it. He couldn’t stand the snow on his fur or the cold soil beneath his feet. He hated the way the air was so sharp it fought back inside his lungs. He almost understood why so many Nords were full of malice. If Elswyr had been anything like Skyrim he would have been miserable to everyone too.
Not that he had been anywhere near Elswyr for years. In fact he’d been away from home for so long he’d all but forgotten the feeling of nice warm sands and dry warm air. The only reminder he had of home by this point, was the warm feeling of alcohol in his gut.
He wiped his face and tried his best to focus his eyes, but the cocktail of stolen mead and skooma he’d digested was keeping him from seeing straight. The contents of the storage building he was hiding in were blurring together, doubling, and dancing before him. He giggled at the sight of it. But the joy he got from these visuals quickly turned to sour white hot dread. Why? Where was this sickening feeling coming from? His entire body ran cold, colder than usual. Was something watching him? He quickly whipped his head from left to right, but the movements made him realize the true source of such a sickening feeling.
He slammed the door open and ran to the snow covered ground outside. He stumbled and landed on his hands before spilling his guts on the ground. He wretched until his muscles burned, but at least the sickening chill in his body had left with everything else he’d chucked up. His head grew heavy, as if someone had filled his skull with water. His ears rang and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.
‘Why do I keep doing this to myself?’ he thought. But he knew the answer. Mead helped him cope with the cold, and Skooma helped him cope with the loneliness. Sure he had the thieves guild, but did they really know him? Of course not. They were no family. They were merely ‘business associates’. A group of gold seeking rats who only saw him for his capabilities. He wasn’t anything much to appreciate to begin with. Before the Thieves guild he was merely a Bandit. Before that a pirate. Before that a street thief. And before that an Urchin. No he had never had much to begin with. At least the guild was a group of folks who could remember his name.
He closed his eyes and breathed in long and harshly. The air stabbed at his damaged throat. But it also seemed to bring him back to life. He opened his eyes, and for a moment he could see reality again. Just in time too, a woman approached the other side of the storage building, most likely the inn keeper.
“Hello? Is someone there? No trespassers!” She cried angrily.
S’varr quickly gathered himself, stumbling away into the nearest hiding space. He crawled behind a pile of firewood, tripping into place and scraping the balls of his palms. Thankfully his hands were too numb to feel it.
He held his breath as he listened for her footsteps.
“Hello?” She was right behind him now. “Eugh, disgusting.” She had most likely found S’varrs vomit on the ground. He felt humiliated, but remained still. “Must have run off.” She spoke quietly to herself. He listened for her footsteps as she walked away. Once she had gone far enough he released his breath. He relaxed his tired lanky body into the rigid and painful surface of the woodpile he’d chosen to shelter behind. He couldn’t stay here, he would be caught in the morning. What would the guard pin on him? Public intoxication? Damage of property? Theft for the stolen mead? Or of course trespassing. No, he had to find a better place to sleep for the night. But at that moment he felt so comfortable. The wood jabbed into his back through the leather of his guild outfit, the snow seeped through the fabric and soaked his fur, and the air was painful inside his lungs and out. But yet he could rest. He felt peace despite everything. He stared into the sky and watched the northern lights wave and shine bright. Skyrim was so beautiful above the ground. On land the country was harsh and cruel. But in the skies Skyrim danced for him.
The next morning was rough. Eventually he had decided to leave his woodpile and find a better spot to set up camp. He walked and walked for what felt like hours before finding a lighthouse to crash in for the night. He’d thrown some rough bedding on the floor before passing out. Sleeping on the ground never did him any favors. So when he woke up his back ached. His back typically ached anyways, he was a tall man. But it was especially bad that morning. It didn’t matter though, he had to make it back to riften. Back to those gods forsaken sewers. He didn’t completely hate the guild. It was a reliable source of money, and he was good at it. But he wasn’t truly welcome. They didn’t know what he was.
He hated carriage rides. He hated most things, but especially carriage rides. He had no horse of his own, so he had to rely on others for transportation. But the journey was always so dreadfully bland. This go around he decided to pass his time by going through his own journal. He enjoyed flipping through the pages and reading his own thoughts. He was the only person he really knew.
He stopped on a drawing he’d done weeks prior. A job had required him to ride to Whiterun. While there he had met the strangest man. An incredibly short fellow with a jester's costume. S’varr recalled the color of his hair, how it reflected in the sun. He had a distinct nose, thin but long and aquiline. He’d drawn the man a few times on that page, trying to capture his nose just right. What was so special about that jester? Was it because he was different then everyone else? There was something so distinctive, so unique, something no one in all of Skyrim had come close to. Perhaps it was because the man was clearly deranged. But whatever it was it captivated S’varr. He remembered walking away from the man feeling disappointed that the interaction had ended so quickly. As if no one in all of Tamriel would be able to entertain S’varr in any way close to how well that man had. Whatever it was, it had stuck with him. He felt it then once again in that carriage ride to Riften. He flipped past the page, and read the next entry.