Dear Journal;
My name is Ei'lor Yidhra. I want people to remember this name, because I do not seem all that memorable upon first sight. My eyes seem blind, there is a scar on my cheek. Other than this, there is nothing extraordinary about me. I do not stand out from other Dark Elves.
And before today, I would have said I was no one noteworthy. I'd picked up a few smithing tricks in my lifetime, I could wield a blade alright... but I was just another elf trying to find a home.
Until I crossed the border into Nord Country, and found myself arrested! Arrested! Can you believe it? "Everything will be fine, I didn't do anything!" That's what I keep telling myself throughout the next two days you see... until I find out that my wagon-mates are none other than the infamous Stormcloaks. And not just any stormcloaks! Ulfric and his damned bodyguards! Well DAMN!
Needless to say, we were all getting our heads taken in Helgen. No ifs ands or buts about it. I had resigned myself to it by the time we came to a halt. I watched someone's head roll into a basket, and then I heard them say it was my turn. Lovely. At least it would be a quick death, right?
They didn't even move his body! Such sickening behavior. Uncivilized! I could not believe that they were not at least going to move his body to the side. I had to actually lay on him in order to get my head in the proper position. Just then... BAM. Dragon saves my dark skin! A dragon! Can you believe it?
Long story short, I fled with an Imperial guardsman. He untied my bindings, got me geared up, and we battled our way through the bowels of Helgen Keep. We found our way out, and made our way to Riverwood. Well I was able to make some coins through selling some of the loot, and then I made a few things for Alvor. That got me enough money to make or buy some steel armor. If I must be in a brutal land, I will at least be protected!
I decided to check the general store, and I find that it's been broken into! And there is coin in finding the item that was stolen! Some... golden claw thing. So I agree to go looking. And now, Journal, as I sit here resting after many battles, I find myself scrubbing Draugr blood off my blade. And I find myself contemplating life.
If nothing else, Journal... let it be said that I respect the dead. I at least take the time to lay them respectfully to the side after a fight. I also untwist their mangled bodies, so perhaps their dark souls may find peace. Or at the least... not haunt me.
Ei'lor Yidhra
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