I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

Ibnor turned around to see the speaker.

"Shadr." he greets him.

"Any luck with Sapphire?"

"Don't worry. You're no longer in debt with Sapphire." Ibnor delivers the news with a smile.

"By the Eight! You actually talked her into it? I don't know what to say. I didn't think anyone in Riften even cared what happened to me. Look, I was saving this, but I wanted you to have it. I thought I might need it if Sapphire came for me, but I don't need it anymore." Shadr said, handing Ibnor a vial of Potion of Invisibility.

"You don't need to. Take it back." Ibnor declined.

"Please, it's the least I can do."

"No. If you really don't need it, just sell it. It should fetch a good price, enough for you to pay off Madesi with some left to spare. But don't go to Grelka, just head over to the Pawn Prawn and sell it to Bersi." 

"How do you..?" Shadr asked, his ears redden. 

"I overheard you the other day. Don't worry, I won't tell Marise." Ibnor laughed and teased him, patting his shoulder. "Take care."

Ibnor climbed the carriage and asked the driver to bring him to Whiterun. The carriage lurched forward, its wooden wheels groaning as they rolled over the cobblestone road. Ibnor, wrapped in a thick woolen cloak, peered out the horizon at the passing landscape. The once familiar sights of Riften – the bustling market, the imposing city walls – faded into the distance.

As they ventured further from the city, the road grew narrower, winding its way through a dense forest. The trees, their branches bare and skeletal, cast long shadows across the path. A chill wind whistled through the trees, sending shivers down his spine.

The journey was dull and monotonous, contrasting with the bright and lively view Skyrim had to offer. The carriage jolted over rough terrain, and the biting cold seeped into the carriage, no matter how many layers of clothing they covered themselves. The only warmth came from the occasional mead offered by the driver.

As they ascended the perilous mountain pass, the wind howled and the snow fell thick and fast. The carriage struggled to make its way up the icy slope, its wheels slipping and sliding on the treacherous road. Ibnor sometimes would climb down from the carriage to help and push it forward.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the carriage reached the summit of the pass. The view was breathtaking, but the cold wind was relentless. The descent was equally perilous, but eventually, the carriage emerged from the mountains and onto the Whiterun's plains.

As the city of Whiterun came into view, Ibnor felt a sense of relief. The warm glow of the city lights, the familiar sounds of life, and the promise of a warm bed filled him with a sense of peace. The journey had been long and arduous, but it had been a great experience.

"Back then I would complain about the lack of immersion, but now I would really be thankful if I can get the fade to black loading screens… sigh…" Ibnor mocks himself internally. 

As he was walking to the Bannered Mare, one of the locals look at him and asked:

"I haven't seen you around. Are you new here?" the man asked. Ibnor knew who the Redguard were, making him let out an evil smile.

"Do you get to the Cloud District very often? Oh, What am I saying? Of course you don't."

The Redguard was stunned before eventually replying.

"Of course I do! I live there. I… I'll let you know that I actually advise the Jarl on political matters. My input is invaluable, of course. But this is all probably a bit over your head."

"Really? If that is the case, I can't believe Avenicci hasn't mentioned you to me. In fact, I'm going to the Dragonsreach to meet Jarl Balgruff right now. Why don't you come along?"

"I… I really do have important matters to attend to. Good day." The Redguard said and quickly left the area making Ibnor chuckled. However there was another laugh that accompanied his. Turning around, he saw a Nord leaning on the door of the Bannered Mare, laughing. 

"That ought to teach him some humility. Well met, traveller. What brings you to Whiterun?" He greeted Ibnor.

"Just passing through."

"A pity. And words I hear too often. But there's no shame in it. One of them dragons comes callin' in Whiterun, the place'll go up like tinder."

"You live here?"

"Aye, that I do. Have all my life. We Battle-Borns have been here since the beginning. Along with the Gray-Manes. Our families have been close as kin for generations. But Ulfric Stormcloak's uprising has divided us. Now seems we can scarcely look at each other without comin' to blows. Petty and foolish, that. They're sayin' dragons have returned to Skyrim. Now that there. That's a real problem."

"I'm going in. Any advice?"

"Ha! See Hulda, she'll keep you swimmin' in mead. But mind the bard, Mikael. Poncy little milk drinker, that one."

"Why? You don't like Mikael?"

"Man gives bards a bad name. We Nords have a long history as warrior poets. I am proud to count myself among them. But Mikael… He sings only for gold and the affection of wenches. He dishonors our traditions. Well, look at the time, I'd better leave now. Till we meet again, traveler. Keep a song in your heart, and a blade in your boot."

"Alright. Sure. See you later." Ibnor bid him goodbye and entered the inn.

It's late afternoon, and there's only a few patrons inside the inn. Normally, customers begin coming after sunset. Ibnor went straight to the bar and began a conversation with Hulda.

"Hello, good day to you." He said, sitting on the stool in front of the counter.

"It's you… Welcome back. What can I get you?" Hulda recognizes him.

"I would like a cup of warm tea, please."

"Sure, anything else?"

"That'll do for now. You seem busy all the time. Do you ever get time off?"

"I don't get much time off the tavern, but I enjoy it when I do."

"Hear anything new lately?"

"Have you heard about The Companions? In Jorrvaskr? They're recruiting new members, from what I hear."

"That ought to interest a lot of people."

"Yes, and in turns, they flocked here and I've been making money."

"Speaking of money, I'm on an errand and I'm supposed to meet someone here, by the name of Mallus Maccius. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Mallus, huh? You're in luck. He came in before you earlier. Should still be at the back there, near the kitchen. He tends to prefer to be by himself."

"Well I should get to him and get out of his hair as soon as possible. Thanks, Hulda."

"Need anything else, just let me know."

Ibnor walked to the back and found Mallus, sitting by himself, enjoying his drink.

"Mallus?"

"Huh? Can't a man drink in peace?"

"Maven said you're expecting me."

"I'm gonna keep this short, 'cause we got a lot to do. Honningbre's owner, Sabjorn, is about to hold a tasting for Whiterun's Captain of Guard and we're going to poison the mead."

"You got the poison?"

"No, no, no. That's the beauty of the whole plan. We're going to get Sabjorn to give it to us. The meadery has quite a pest problem and the whole city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don't mix well, you know what I mean?"

"How do I fit in?"

"You're going to happen by and lend poor old Sabjorn a helping hand. He's going to give you the poison to use on the pests, but you're also going to dump it into the brewing vat."

"Clever."

"Maven and I spent weeks planning this. All we need is someone like you to get in there and get it done. Now get going before Sabjorn grows a brain and hires someone else to do the dirty work."

"Remember, Sabjorn will be needing a helping hand. Make it look good." Mallus added while Ibnor turned around to head to the Honningbrew Meadery.

Honningbrew Meadery is a small meadery located at the crossroad by the bridges to the south of Whiterun. The meadery also provides an in-house bar for customers. It took a couple of minutes walking to get there. Once Ibnor reached the meadery, he entered it only to see the owner, Sabjorn pacing anxiously inside. 

"What are you gawking at? Can't you see I have a problem here?" Said the owner.

"Err… Is something wrong?"

"Are you kidding me? Look at this place. I'm supposed to be holding a tasting of the new Honningbrew Reserve for the Captain of the Guard. If he sees the meadery in this state, I'll be ruined."

"In that case, I might be able to help."

"Oh, really? And I don't suppose you'd just do it out of the kindness of your heart, would you? I hope you're not expecting to get paid until the job's done."

"That's the only way I operate."

"Well, that's not how I operate, so forget it." Sabjorn refused. 

"The captain could be here any moment now. I may or may not yell 'skeever.'"

"Okay, okay. No need to make rash decisions. Here's half. You get the rest whe the job's done. My only demand is that these vermin are permanently eliminated before my reputation is completely destroyed." Sabjorn gave in. 

"How do I 'permanently' clear the vermin?"

"I brought some poison. I was going to have my lazy, good-for-nothing assistant Mallus handle it, but he seems to have vanished. If you plant this in the vermin nest, it should stop them from ever coming back."

"Nice. You've got a deal."

"Don't come back until every one of those things are dead."

Ibnor went to the basement of the meadery to begin pest extermination. He had plans for the meadery, so he actually had to settle the pest problem. Cheating Sabjorn of his money is just the icing on the cake.

The air was thick and stale, the only sound was the rhythmic dripping of water. Armed with a torch and his trusted dagger, Ibnor cautiously descended the creaking wooden stairs into the dim, subterranean depths of the meadery. The faint glow of the torch illuminated the damp, cobweb-filled room, revealing an unsettling sight.

Skeevers, a type of mutated giant rat with their beady eyes glinting in the dim light, scurried across the floor, their sharp teeth gnashing. A low, guttural growl echoed through the room as they identified him as an intruder. Ibnor, grip his dagger firmly, ready to strike.

Without hesitation, he charged into the horde of rodents. The air filled with the sound of crunching bones and the squeaking of dying rats. He fought with a ferocity akin to a predator, brandishing his dagger and physical strength, each slashes sharp and each hit a deadly blow. The skeevers, though numerous, were no match for his prowess. One by one, they fell, their lifeless bodies littering the floor. Knowing things to come, he looks for a collapsed wall, the source of the infestation, which will lead further down into a small but winding cave system. 

The cave system not only houses the skeevers but it is also a habitat for Frostbite Spiders. He had no choice but to go through all the way to make a clean sweep, ensuring no future problem to arise. Moving along the winding cave system, he quickly eliminates both skeevers and spiders with efficiency. He continued moving until he reached a large chamber, where the main nest of the skeevers is. 

In the chamber, guarded by several skeever, stood a mad bandit wizard, called Hamelyn. Hamelyn seems delirious, muttering things to himself. Ibnor wanted to use stealth to quickly take down the madman, but the chamber is an enclosed space, making the skeever easily sniff him out. 

The mad wizard, clothed in rags, emanating an aura of dark magic, stood up in alert. A sinister grin played on his lips as he raised his gnarled hand. With a guttural incantation, the air crackled with energy, and he fired spears of ice towards Ibnor. The temperature drops as the ice spears pierce through the air while the skeevers rushed and lunge at him 

Ibnor with his agility, evades the ice spears with ease. As tough as they were, the ice spears are the second slowest magic projectile, barely faster than a stone spear. The only reason they are popular among mages is because the extreme cold can affect the target's speed, if hit. A classic crowd control spell. While handing the skeevers, Ibnor managed to kick several skeevers towards the mad wizard, affecting his incantation and focus and interrupting his spell casting. 

When the final skeever died, Ibnor lunged towards the mad wizard, kneeing him on the solar plexus, taking the breath out of him. Incapacitated, the last thing the mad wizard saw is the blurry image of the dagger, slashing his throat. Ibnor then gathered all the skeevers and the mad wizard's corpse and dumped them into the main nest before burning them all together after collecting all the colored balls that dropped. Making sure nothing was left behind, he returned to the basement and went to the boilery through the side door. 

After dumping the poison into the brewing vat, he returns to Sabjorn, but not before swiping the Honningbrew Decanter, a unique wine container. When he reached the bar, both Mallus and the Captain of the Guard were already there with Sabjorn seeming to be trying to delay the tasting. Ibnor approached Sabjorn and pulled him to the side for a quick report.

"Was something we discussed unclear? Sabjorn asked, annoyed.

"Job finished."

"Well it's about time! I had to stall the captain until you were finished."

"What about my pay?" Ibnor acted his part, both for Sabjorn and Mallus.

"You'll just have to wait until after the Captain's finished. I suppose you can wait around if you must."

Ibnor took a seat next to Mallus to watch the unfolding drama. Mallus to the chance to whisper to him. 

"I can't wait to see Sabjorn squirm… He he he."

"Well, Sabjorn. Now that you've taken care of your little pest problem, how about I get a taste of some of your mead?" The Captain said.

"Help yourself, Milord. It's my finest brew yet… I call it Honningbrew Reserve. I think you'll find it quite pleasing to your palate." replied Sabjorn, pouring the wine for the Captain from the pipe connected directly to the brewing vat. 

"Oh, come now, this is mead… Not some wine to be sipped and savoured." The Captain said. Soon after he drank the mead, his face turned pale and he seemed to be in pain.

"By the Eight?! What… What's in this?" the Captain winced. 

"I… I don't know. What's wrong?" Sabjorn replied, both anxious and concerned.

"You assured me this place is clean! I'll see… See to it that you remain in irons for the rest of your days!" The Captain roared in pain. 

"No, please… I don't understand…" Sabjorn pleaded.

"Silence, idiot! I should have known better… to trust this place after it's been riddled with filth."

"I beg you… Please. This is not what it seems!"

"You! You're in charge here until I can sort this all out." The captain said, pointing to Mallus. Then he turned to Sabjorn. 

"And you! You're coming with me to Dragonsreach. We'll see how quickly your memory clears in the city's prison. Now, move!" 

"Look, I assure you, this is all just a huge misunderstanding!" Sabjorn said, still trying to convince the Captain.

"I said, move!" The Captain drew his sword. 

At this moment, Sabjorn knew he had to follow the Captain's order. Reluctantly, he walks out the bar with the Captain in tow. As soon as the door closed, Mallus turned to Ibnor.

"I don't think that could have gone any better. Anything else you need before you head back to Riften?"

"I need to get a look at Sabjorn's book."

"So, Maven wants to hunt down Sabjorn's private partner, huh? You're welcome to take a look around Sabjorn's office. He keeps most of his papers stashed in his desk. Here, you'll need this." Mallus hands Ibnor a key. Ibnor took the key and weighed it in his hand, his face apprehensive, as if considering something.

"What's the matter?" Mallus asked.

"You knew about the man in the tunnel, didn't you?"

"I… I thought it would be better to leave some of the details out of our previous discussion. Didn't want to risk you walking away from the job. Besides, you've done Maven a favor getting rid of him and saved me from wasting coin hiring someone else to do it later."

"I see three different aspects in your answer. First, you leave out a detail pertaining to the job that may or may not affect its outcome. Second, you assumed that as a gesture of good will, the Guild would extend a courtesy to Maven by giving her a complimentary service and third, in doing so, the Guild has prevented unnecessary expenditure on your part, that would have been the likely outcome if the Guild didn't, in order to handle said service. Am I correct?"

"I.. Uh.. Yes?"

"Very well. I'll be sure to include that in my report. Have a good day." 

Ibnor left Mallus and went to Sabjorn's office, unlocking the door using the key given to him and collecting the promissory notes in his drawer. With night falling and the journey to Riften would be perilous at night, he rented the room at the Bannered Mare, planning to resume his journey at dawn. 

Early in the morning, the freezing cold wind howled as Ibnor settled into the worn seat of the carriage. A chill crept through the air, a harbinger of the harsh winter to come. He anticipated the return to Riften, its bustling markets and the comforting familiarity of the Ragged Flagon.

As dawn broke, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the landscape, the carriage journeyed through a narrow mountain pass. The air was crisp and clean, the only sound was the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the frozen ground. 

WROARR!!

Out of nowhere, a deafening roar shattered the tranquility. A colossal dragon, its scales shimmering in the morning light, descended from the heavens. Panic seized the driver, his face contorting with fear. The carriage lurched as the dragon unleashed a torrent of fiery breath, engulfing the carriage in a blaze. 

Ibnor, caught off guard, was thrown from the carriage, landing hard on the icy ground. As he struggled to his feet, he saw the dragon circling above, its eyes locked onto him. The dragon swooped down, its claw sharp ready to shred. Ibnor has no choice but to defend himself. 

"Damn it… I'm still not strong enough to solo this dragon!" Ibnor cursed his luck. 

The battle was swift and brutal. Ibnor, armed with only a dagger and his wits, fought desperately against the monstrous creature. He dodged the dragon's fiery breath, parried its clawed attacks, and struck at its vulnerable underbelly. With each blow, the dragon roared in pain, but it continued to fight with relentless fury.

In a moment of desperation, Ibnor launched himself at the dragon, his dagger at the ready. Mustering all his strength, he struck a critical blow, piercing the dragon's eye and drawing blood. The dragon roared in agony, filled with rage. Giving up, it turned and fled, disappearing into the mist-shrouded mountains. 

Ibnor, now battered and bruised, collapsed to the ground. The carriage was destroyed, broken to pieces and in the process, took the driver's life. But he had survived, a testament to his skill and determination. As he gazed at the smoldering wreckage, he knew that he had faced death and emerged victorious. With a heavy heart, he began the long journey back to Riften, his body aching, but his spirit unbroken. 

"At least not all is lost…" he thought as he collected the dropped colored balls using telekinesis. 

Ibnor stumbled along the road, his body still aching from the battle with the dragon. His wounds, though tended to, still throbbed with a dull pain. He pressed on, determined to reach Riften.

As he crested a hill, he witnessed a fierce battle unfolding before him. The Imperial Legion, clad in their distinctive red and gold armor, clashed with the Stormcloaks, their ragged attire a stark contrast to the Imperials' polished appearance. The air was filled with the sounds of clashing steel and the shouts of angry soldiers.

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

"Skyrim belongs to the Nords!"

Caught in the crossfire, Ibnor was mistaken for a Stormcloak rebel by the Imperial soldiers. A volley of arrows flew towards him, piercing his armor and flesh. He stumbled back, his vision blurring. As he fell to the ground, he saw the Stormcloaks charge forward, their axes raised high.

The Stormcloaks, mistaking him for an Imperial soldier, attacked with renewed vigor. Ibnor, weakened and injured, could only watch helplessly as the blades descended. The world around him faded to black as he lost consciousness.