Winterhold is 120ish miles from Windhelm and half of it passes through rugged ice-covered mountains. Walking that far in those conditions smacked of suicide to me so I ponied up eighty of my precious gold pieces for the taxi service – an open-air horse-drawn wagon. I spent the rest on furs and food and was glad I did – the trip took nearly three days of freezing cold.

The wagon travelled through the days but stopped well before dusk so camp could be set up before night fell. Further, the driver took his time getting ready in the mornings, making and eating a leisurely breakfast of eggs and some sort of ham-like meat along with ale. He didn’t offer me any and I didn’t ask, though the smell drove me wild with desire for something other than bread, jerked meat, and cheese.

Strange as it might seem, those two and a half days form my single favorite memory of Skyrim. It was a peaceful journey, the land was wild and beautiful, and, most important, the driver had no interest in conversation. He did sing, from time to time, in a graceful lilting baritone, true enough to key to be pleasant on the ears. It was the calm before the storm, before the loss of an innocence I never knew I possessed, and which can never be returned once taken. I weep for that girl who watched the world with such growing wonder. I am glad she was unable to see the black pit yawning before her.

Anyway. The journey ended, as all things must. We watched a storm push in from over the ocean as the morning slid past the noon mark. It inspired an impromptu race – the driver wanted to get the horses into shelter before the storm hit. Alas, we lost – by the time we reached the edge of town, it was already too snowy to see more than a couple feet ahead. I offered to help with the horses but he just shook his head and pointed at the nearest building, so I nodded, thanked him, and turned away. I was glad to only need a few steps to reach the door of the inn, because it was hard enough to see that I probably would have become lost had I needed to go any farther.

Rayya was - is - a pleasant elf woman who listened to my tale quietly then told me matter-of-factly that I was screwed. “You have the stink of the Daedra on you,” were her exact words. “Whatever you may believe, it was no accident that brought you here.”

A thousand questions immediately sprang to mind, so it took me a moment to get them organized in a way that allowed a question: “What is a ‘Dead Dra?’”

“Day-dra. They are…otherworldly beings of immense power. They have set themselves up as gods in this world and many worship them as such.” She shook her head. “I don’t know who or what you are, but I can feel their influence within you. You practically glow with destiny. Brace yourself – you are on a long, hard road.”

Faced with the information that some strange set of demigods had chosen me as their Barbie doll (a too-apt comparison, turned out, I am sorry to say) deflated the perceived relative value of my other questions. “That…doesn’t sound encouraging.”

“Your instincts serve you well. Being noticed by the Daedra is not a fate for which I would wish.” She shook her head and answered my still-unasked question. “Even had I the knowledge, I would not be able to send you back to your world. The Daedra would not allow it. I am afraid I am no help to you.”

“But…” I had nowhere to go from that word, so it just hung there between us for a solid three seconds.

She tapped her chin. “Perhaps there is still one who can. Seek out Edith, in Riverwood. She is a seer, the wisest woman I know. Perhaps she can give you guidance.”

“Edi…”

“Also, take this.” She rummaged through her pouch and pulled out a jingling coin purse. “Skyrim is a harsh place. I am, frankly, quite amazed that you made it all the way up here. Get some hot food and warmer clothes – what you have are a start but they won’t be warm enough.”

I took the money with deeply-felt appreciation, having just spent all my coins in Windhelm, and Rayya went back to whatever her business was. I moved to a corner table and slumped in the chair. Every step I took was a step back, it seemed.

Still, my brain held onto the hope of Edith. It had been my grandmother’s name – surely that meant something! I’d go to Riverwood, wherever that was (it sounded nice, at any rate – a river in the woods! Quaint!), and Edith would listen and know exactly what to do and I could get home in time for…shit, how many days had it been? I frantically counted back, and the answer left me cold.  This was the tenth day of my time in this god (although not demigod, apparently) forsaken place! Finals had begun three days ago! I cursed out loud, although apparently that was a common enough occurrence that it went ignored by those around me. I’d have to take the entire semester – including fucking O-Chem! – all over again if I didn’t get back soon! The thought left me colder than anything Rayya had told me.

Don’t feed the bastards. They’ll just want more.

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