I had met some vampire hunting vigilantes on the way to the Fort, the place that saved my life from boredom. Lydia can remember it fully. I told her to tell me the tale a million times as I picked through the darkened land back to Whiterun.

"You bent over the vampire woman and prayed to Akatosh for her. You said you wanted her soul to not be eternally damned - Vigilante nearly kicked your head off for it. Told us to leave; obviously he wasn't very keen on you praying over his dead prey."

I bent my head backward, feeling the cool breeze over the plain and sighing at her words. "Yes...I was awesome. I prayed for a soul. Good me."

"Are you doing this to gloss over your guilt?"

I snapped my head up and glared at her for the remembrance of slayings that just went through my head from that sentence of hers. "Lydia...I don't care. I did a good deed. Who knew what was going on in that fort (which is why I probably shouldn't have been in there, but I didn't say that)? Honestly. I just like to bask in things I did good. Makes for a good story, too." She humphed. We looked for dragon bones while picking through the weeds, which became evident as we trampled over the rocky land and plains and into more of a 'Riverwood'. It was amazing how much Skyrim's terrain changed over a small radius.

The bones were those that I didn't collect because I was helping out fight thugs, those few days ago. We never found them day, though, and I accredited it to the annoying thugs that existed and hunters, adventurers, and whatever other creepy crawling thing that preyed on dragon bones in Skyrim.

Those sweet walls of the city greeted me with a familiar, eerie gray hue. "Hi to you too," I said to one of the guards, even though he didn't speak to me.

"You know what the problem is with Skyrim these days?"

"There's not enough hot men like you," I replied to the Battle-born that was talking to me on my way into the Inn. I just stop remembering their names.

"Oh. Well, thanks," he said, stroking his unapparent beard.

I entered the Bannered Mare, and when I did, I caught my breath, feeling as if floating on a boat of feathers as my balance shifted under me like water in a canteen. My head hurt successionally, and an emphatic throb continued in my brain when I could finally blink, noises like thems truly making me wanna cringe my ears up into tiny balls:

"What's wrong with her?"

"Too much mead?"

"I think we need some medicine."

I couldn't move; I was paralyzed from all the senses, or sensations, I could take in all at once in this sleepy state. Sour mead, the kind the innkeeper tries to give out before it goes too bad (by too bad, I mean it was already bad mead with little age and the more is drank the worst it tastes), floated into my nostrils from the Mare. Sweat trickled down my nostrils, and made me snort. I coughed in response, turning onto my side off from my stomach. "Are you alright," the Innkeeper, I could tell, said as she shook me.

"Ah, would you stop it you -" I started, my arm already sore like heck...I bet my whole body was feeling the repercussions of war-then-sleep...really bad combination, and reminded me why I sleep so less than normal...I just wanted a nice warm bed, now, and I could remember the words of a guard, "...a belly full of mead..." he'd completed his things that would make him happy with...if I had the contentment of a safe, full, and whatever else he'd wished for man, yeah, I'd be happy too. Another hand wagered in on my sight and I looked at it, familiar with it, and altogether disgusted with its dangling in my sight. The gauntlet, the width of the hand and the fingers.

I growled in my throat and slapped the phalanges out the way, coming to a stand with the help of the Innkeeper, because to my humility, I couldn't stand on my own; my body ripped about me, the muscles straining to stay together and ultimately failing, a tear slipping past my eye...I know I didn't get that injured, did I? I rolled my arm, biting my lip off almost from the pain, and the dull pain of remembrance of a scar on there I don't know how many days or hours ago it was landed.

Her hair or face weren't concealed by the helmet that I now despised less than her...I couldn't help it, therefore, when I pushed her, the force however shockingly minuscule when it didn't nothing but slightly teeter her.

Now that I'm back on topic, strong lass...Her little sad face...it made me wanna cut her.

I swung a fist into her nose bridge ad it didn't crack like expected, but her nose sure did bleed...made of steel lass...I was getting back at her for my emotions...this was therapy.