So Falkreath is both one of the most interesting and boring Holds out there.On the one hand it's a tiny village that seems to be under constant attack by Dragons and other creatures.But on the other hand there's a lot of history surrounding Falkreath and it's vital to Skyrim for its lumber.
So i wrote a few short stories called Tales of Falkreath about some of the characters that live or pass through Falkreath.It's set in my own headcanon where my Breton Dragonborn Galen helped the Stormcloaks expel the tyrannical Empire.
Out of the six Tales of Falkreath stories i've written.This is probably my favorite.
Rowan drew the bowstring back. Took a deep breath and let the arrow fly. The world stopped for a second before the deer fell over onto its back.
“Good shot!” Kohl exclaimed from a few feet away. Rowan smiled and pushed a lock of dark black hair out of her eyes. The Breton hunter blushed, quickly turning to run over to the deer. She helped Kohl move the animal onto their cart and they took off towards their small camp nestled near the bluff overlooking Evergreen Grove. Falkreath was a quiet Hold. With the Stormcloaks cracking down on bandits the roads had become safe. Kohl dropped the cart at the edge of their camp and lit the fire that sat between their two tents. He moved the animal carcass towards the fire and began to skin it. Rowan took a second look at the tall Nord. He was rather clean-shaven for a Nord, claiming that his father was a high-ranking merchant in Whiterun. He claimed that he grew tired of the Imperial War College in Cyrodil and moved home to be a hunter. The two had met in The Rift when several giant spiders attacked her; Kohl rescued her before sharing that days catch. Rowan stashed her bow and went to look out over the wilderness. As she scanned the tree line she turned her gaze down, seeing a small tent by the pond at the base of bluff. It wasn’t uncommon to see other hunters; Falkreath Hold was a hub for hunting activity. She scanned and saw a figure in black robes floating in the water. The water around the figure red with blood.
“Hey!” Rowan cried. She grabbed her sword and started for the hill. “Someone’s been murdered!” Kohl followed her down the bluff, his bow in hand. Rowan pulled the body from the half sunken ruin and inspected him. He was Dunmer, wearing black robes, probably a mage. A knife buried deep in his chest, a peaceful look on his face.
“Should we report it?” Rowan asked looking up at the Skyrim native.
“To who?” Kohl shrugged. “This guy was out here alone judging by his camp. For all we know he could’ve been a rogue mage”. Rowan looked back to the body.
“We should at least bury him”. The two returned to their camp to retrieve a shovel and Kohl dug a small grave a few feet from his camp. He grabbed a log of firewood the Dunmer mage had in his camp and stuck it in the ground over the disturbed ground. Both were silent before moving on. Kohl and Rowan went over the man’s camp. He carried very little on him. A few minor provisions, several books the two hunters could make nothing of, and several ingredients. Kohl stashed the ingredients in the mage’s knapsack, telling Rowan that they could sell it when they returned to Falkreath. They were about to return to their own camp until a deep black book caught Rowan’s eyes. The Breton picked up the book, finding no title. She opened the cover and saw strange writing. The letters looked somewhat like the writing on the ancient Word Walls that dotted Skyrim.
Tales of Falkreath: The Book
So i wrote a few short stories called Tales of Falkreath about some of the characters that live or pass through Falkreath.It's set in my own headcanon where my Breton Dragonborn Galen helped the Stormcloaks expel the tyrannical Empire.
Out of the six Tales of Falkreath stories i've written.This is probably my favorite.
Enjoy!
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Rowan drew the bowstring back. Took a deep breath and let the arrow fly. The world stopped for a second before the deer fell over onto its back.
“Good shot!” Kohl exclaimed from a few feet away. Rowan smiled and pushed a lock of dark black hair out of her eyes. The Breton hunter blushed, quickly turning to run over to the deer. She helped Kohl move the animal onto their cart and they took off towards their small camp nestled near the bluff overlooking Evergreen Grove. Falkreath was a quiet Hold. With the Stormcloaks cracking down on bandits the roads had become safe. Kohl dropped the cart at the edge of their camp and lit the fire that sat between their two tents. He moved the animal carcass towards the fire and began to skin it. Rowan took a second look at the tall Nord. He was rather clean-shaven for a Nord, claiming that his father was a high-ranking merchant in Whiterun. He claimed that he grew tired of the Imperial War College in Cyrodil and moved home to be a hunter. The two had met in The Rift when several giant spiders attacked her; Kohl rescued her before sharing that days catch. Rowan stashed her bow and went to look out over the wilderness. As she scanned the tree line she turned her gaze down, seeing a small tent by the pond at the base of bluff. It wasn’t uncommon to see other hunters; Falkreath Hold was a hub for hunting activity. She scanned and saw a figure in black robes floating in the water. The water around the figure red with blood.
“Hey!” Rowan cried. She grabbed her sword and started for the hill. “Someone’s been murdered!” Kohl followed her down the bluff, his bow in hand. Rowan pulled the body from the half sunken ruin and inspected him. He was Dunmer, wearing black robes, probably a mage. A knife buried deep in his chest, a peaceful look on his face.
“Should we report it?” Rowan asked looking up at the Skyrim native.
“To who?” Kohl shrugged. “This guy was out here alone judging by his camp. For all we know he could’ve been a rogue mage”. Rowan looked back to the body.
“We should at least bury him”. The two returned to their camp to retrieve a shovel and Kohl dug a small grave a few feet from his camp. He grabbed a log of firewood the Dunmer mage had in his camp and stuck it in the ground over the disturbed ground. Both were silent before moving on. Kohl and Rowan went over the man’s camp. He carried very little on him. A few minor provisions, several books the two hunters could make nothing of, and several ingredients. Kohl stashed the ingredients in the mage’s knapsack, telling Rowan that they could sell it when they returned to Falkreath. They were about to return to their own camp until a deep black book caught Rowan’s eyes. The Breton picked up the book, finding no title. She opened the cover and saw strange writing. The letters looked somewhat like the writing on the ancient Word Walls that dotted Skyrim.
“What?” Rowan asked upon hearing Kohl muttering.