Heading to the Western Watchtower as commanded by the Jarl, I find the detachment of Whiterun guards accompanying me are the talk-less-fight-more type. They have little time for my rather amusing antics, if I say so myself, and instead are after one thing: honour. Honour bores me, however. What good is respect if you’re dead?
I intend to avoid the trappings of ill health as long as possible. While these nameless warriors want to find fame and glory, all I want is a bit of cash and a quick exit from this dragon nonsense. It would appear however, that fate has something else planned for me.
Approaching the Western Watchtower we discover it in ruins. It’s clear that the information was correct and a dragon had attacked the encampment. After a small amount of investigation we realise it’s still in the area, and as we do it returns for another round. I quickly make my way past the Whiterun guards and into the derelict tower, hoping to find some cover from the raging fire and flowing arrows. However, as I make my way to the top of the tower I see the guards are falling at the hand of the dragon’s breath quicker than I ever could imagine. I could say that I resolved to what was my given duty, and that I should take my place alongside these brave men. In truth however, I realised that if the entire battalion were to fall it would mean facing the dragon entirely on my own; not a task I would relish.
I return to the battlefield and quickly catch the dragon unawares; spewing fire and swinging my blade as if I were invincible. It so happens that, in that moment at least, I more or less was.
The dragon fell quickly and, as it did, something overcame me. That same power seeping into my consciousness I felt at Bleak Falls Barrow returned, as if the dragon’s soul was entering me and taking control of my body. As I regained full consciousness, I noticed the remaining guards standing around in astonishment.
Cries of the ‘dragonborn’ and ‘shouts’ were calling from what few men remain. I listened to their tales of heroic deeds and legends from the Nord, unconvinced. However, I decided to try and appease them. Summoning all of my inner strength, I discover something new inside and let out a great burst of energy; it appears I have developed a new talent. One which is, according to my companions here and now, is made of legend.
I return to the Jarl of Whiterun and inform him of the incidents that have occurred. He is surprisingly pleased and informs me of the Greybeards; a group of supposedly peaceful fellows whom have been calling to me. He names me Thane of Whiterun and advises me to follow the call; two assets which one of his advisors is none-to-happy with. Decidedly irritated by his snide remarks, I lose my temper. This was a mistake.