I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

He moved cautiously through the labyrinthine tunnels of Bloated Man's Grotto. His senses were heightened, his mind alert. He knew that danger lurked in every shadow, every crevice.

As he ventured deeper into the grotto, he stumbled upon a grim scene. The bodies of several hunters lay scattered across the floor, their lifeless forms a stark reminder of the deadly game afoot. A lone Khajiit lay dying, his breath shallow and his eyes glazed over.

"Has the Bloodmoon called for you, fellow hunter?" the Khajiit asked, weakly.

"The prey was stronger than the hunter huh? Doesn't that make all of you the prey and him the hunter? Hircine is probably enjoying this all the same." Ibnor said to the Khajiit.

The Khajiit's eyes went wide as he heard what Ibnor said before succumbing to his wounds and died with his eyes opened in disbelief. Not long after, the leaves rustled as figures emerged from the bushes. Before him, a band of hunters, their faces contorted with a mix of adrenaline and bloodlust, encircled him like vultures circling prey. 

"He's not the prey."

"He isn't one of us either."

"Not the hunter? That makes him also the prey..."

The hunters, armed with crude weapons and fueled by a thirst for the thrill of the hunt, seem to be trying to justify themselves to hunt him as well. 

As the hunters closed in, Ibnor's eyes narrowed, his body tensed like a coiled spring. He knew that this would be a battle for survival, either him or them. But he was calm. Fear was a luxury he could not afford in this life-or-death struggle. He knows it too well now.

The first hunter lunged forward, his weapon raised high. Ibnor, with a swift movement, dodged the attack, his blade flashing like lightning as he countered with a deadly strike. The hunter fell to the ground, his life extinguished in an instant.

The remaining hunters, undeterred by the loss of their comrade, charged forward with renewed ferocity. They attacked from all sides, their weapons glinting in the dim light of the grotto. Ibnor, however, was still calm, calculating his next move. He fought with extreme focus, for he knows, a single mistake could cost him dearly. One by one, the hunters fell, their bodies littering the floor.

"AWOOOOOOOO..!!"

A howl echoed throughout the cave. Ibnor snapped his head to his left and spotted a figure perched atop a distant rock. The figure, bathed in the eerie glow of the moon, was Sinding, the mysterious figure who is the catalyst of the deadly hunt within the grotto. Sinding, who was now transformed into a monstrous werewolf, regarded Ibnor with a mixture of surprise and fear. His beastly instinct warned him of the danger Ibnor posed. 

"Are you one of them? Here to kill me? I can't stop you if that's what you want to do," he growled, his voice distorted by the beast within. "Hircine is too powerful. But if you spare me, I can be a powerful ally. I know now that I can't live among people."

Ibnor, his eyes narrowed, studied the creature before him. He saw a man, a victim of a terrible curse, trapped in a cycle of violence and despair. The loss of an innocent little girl was not his fault directly. A decision hung in the balance. 

"Should I strike the killing blow, or should he be given the chance for redemption?" Ibnor took a moment of contemplation. In the end, compassion prevailed. Ibnor lowered his weapon, and looked at the werewolf. 

"Perhaps," he said, "there is still hope for you, Sinding."

Grateful for the reprieve, Sinding joined forces with Ibnor. Together, they faced wave after wave of the remaining hunters, their combined skills proving to be a formidable force. As they cleared the grotto, Sinding's werewolf form proved invaluable, allowing him to strike with deadly precision. When the last hunter defeated, Sinding turned to Ibnor. 

"Thank you for your mercy," he said. "I will make my home here, away from anyone I might hurt." 

And with that, the werewolf vanished into the shadows, leaving Ibnor alone with his thoughts. As he gazed upon the ancient relics of the grotto, he couldn't help but wonder about the fate of Sinding and the curse that bound him.

When he get to the entrance of the cave, to his surprise he saw something he did not expect at all. 

"Well met, hunter."

"Are you Hircine?" Ibnor asked, having a bad feeling. 

"I am the spirit of the hunt, just one glimpse of the glorious stalker your kind calls Hircine. I've been watching you. You have the markings of a fine hunter. You may even be my champion, perhaps."

"What do you want? I have nothing to do with you or your hunt."

"So you may think."

"Shit… It was when I killed those hunters, wasn't it?"

"And you've done it skillfully too. By bringing down my other hunters, you turned the chase inside out. And they were no base prey. You continue to amuse and impress. Go, fourth, with my blessing." The aspect of Hircine threw a ring towards him. 

He moved his hand to catch the ring that was heading to his face by reflex, only to see the ring somehow magically slotted itself onto his finger. Concerned of the curse that made the ring unequipable, he immediately try to take it off his finger. Surprisingly, the ring was easily removed. Feeling relief, he turned to the aspect of Hircine only to find it was gone, leaving only its voice echoing.

"The ring is my gift to you. Once a day, you can transform into the Great Beast, and experience the thrill of the hunt freely. A trial of some sort. Should you want more, seek the pack and have them convert you. Until we meet again, hunter."

Ibnor quickly reviewed his panel and confirmed his suspicion. 

Ibnor

Status

Normal / Slightly tired.

Stats 

Strength

33.2

Agility

36.1

Mental

32.8

Physique

35.3

Sub-Stat

Charm

15.2

Actife Effect

[Resist Frost +10%], [Resist Poison +10%], [Resist Magic +10%] 

Skills

Passive

[Peak Human Condition], [Close Quarter Combat - Expert], [Dragon's Tongue - Beginner], [Dibellan Arts - Intermediate.], 

Active

[Archery (49.2)], [Blacksmithing (25.5)], [One Handed (56.3)], [Two Handed (25.2)], [Block 34.8], [Sneak (45.8)], [Lockpicking (39.1)], [Pickpocket (32.3)], 

Spells

[Telekinesis], [Bound Bow], [Magelight], 

Shout

[Shout (Unrelenting Force) - FUS]

Notification

*The Passion Dancer has taken interest in you.

*The Mistress of Night and Darkness is curious about you.

*The Father of Manbeasts finds you amusing.

He moved cautiously through the labyrinthine tunnels of Bloated Man's Grotto. His senses were heightened, his mind alert. He knew that danger lurked in every shadow, every crevice.

As he ventured deeper into the grotto, he stumbled upon a grim scene. The bodies of several hunters lay scattered across the floor, their lifeless forms a stark reminder of the deadly game afoot. A lone Khajiit lay dying, his breath shallow and his eyes glazed over.

"Has the Bloodmoon called for you, fellow hunter?" the Khajiit asked, weakly.

"The prey was stronger than the hunter huh? Doesn't that make all of you the prey and him the hunter? Hircine is probably enjoying this all the same." Ibnor said to the Khajiit.

The Khajiit's eyes went wide as he heard what Ibnor said before succumbing to his wounds and died with his eyes opened in disbelief. Not long after, the leaves rustled as figures emerged from the bushes. Before him, a band of hunters, their faces contorted with a mix of adrenaline and bloodlust, encircled him like vultures circling prey. 

"He's not the prey."

"He isn't one of us either."

"Not the hunter? That makes him also the prey..."

The hunters, armed with crude weapons and fueled by a thirst for the thrill of the hunt, seem to be trying to justify themselves to hunt him as well. 

As the hunters closed in, Ibnor's eyes narrowed, his body tensed like a coiled spring. He knew that this would be a battle for survival, either him or them. But he was calm. Fear was a luxury he could not afford in this life-or-death struggle. He knows it too well now.

The first hunter lunged forward, his weapon raised high. Ibnor, with a swift movement, dodged the attack, his blade flashing like lightning as he countered with a deadly strike. The hunter fell to the ground, his life extinguished in an instant.

The remaining hunters, undeterred by the loss of their comrade, charged forward with renewed ferocity. They attacked from all sides, their weapons glinting in the dim light of the grotto. Ibnor, however, was still calm, calculating his next move. He fought with extreme focus, for he knows, a single mistake could cost him dearly. One by one, the hunters fell, their bodies littering the floor.

"AWOOOOOOOO..!!"

A howl echoed throughout the cave. Ibnor snapped his head to his left and spotted a figure perched atop a distant rock. The figure, bathed in the eerie glow of the moon, was Sinding, the mysterious figure who is the catalyst of the deadly hunt within the grotto. Sinding, who was now transformed into a monstrous werewolf, regarded Ibnor with a mixture of surprise and fear. His beastly instinct warned him of the danger Ibnor posed. 

"Are you one of them? Here to kill me? I can't stop you if that's what you want to do," he growled, his voice distorted by the beast within. "Hircine is too powerful. But if you spare me, I can be a powerful ally. I know now that I can't live among people."

Ibnor, his eyes narrowed, studied the creature before him. He saw a man, a victim of a terrible curse, trapped in a cycle of violence and despair. The loss of an innocent little girl was not his fault directly. A decision hung in the balance. 

"Should I strike the killing blow, or should he be given the chance for redemption?" Ibnor took a moment of contemplation. In the end, compassion prevailed. Ibnor lowered his weapon, and looked at the werewolf. 

"Perhaps," he said, "there is still hope for you, Sinding."

Grateful for the reprieve, Sinding joined forces with Ibnor. Together, they faced wave after wave of the remaining hunters, their combined skills proving to be a formidable force. As they cleared the grotto, Sinding's werewolf form proved invaluable, allowing him to strike with deadly precision. When the last hunter defeated, Sinding turned to Ibnor. 

"Thank you for your mercy," he said. "I will make my home here, away from anyone I might hurt." 

And with that, the werewolf vanished into the shadows, leaving Ibnor alone with his thoughts. As he gazed upon the ancient relics of the grotto, he couldn't help but wonder about the fate of Sinding and the curse that bound him.

When he get to the entrance of the cave, to his surprise he saw something he did not expect at all. 

"Well met, hunter."

"Are you Hircine?" Ibnor asked, having a bad feeling. 

"I am the spirit of the hunt, just one glimpse of the glorious stalker your kind calls Hircine. I've been watching you. You have the markings of a fine hunter. You may even be my champion, perhaps."

"What do you want? I have nothing to do with you or your hunt."

"So you may think."

"Shit… It was when I killed those hunters, wasn't it?"

"And you've done it skillfully too. By bringing down my other hunters, you turned the chase inside out. And they were no base prey. You continue to amuse and impress. Go, fourth, with my blessing." The aspect of Hircine threw a ring towards him. 

He moved his hand to catch the ring that was heading to his face by reflex, only to see the ring somehow magically slotted itself onto his finger. Concerned by the curse that made the ring unequipable, he immediately tried to take it off his finger. Surprisingly, the ring was easily removed. Feeling relief, he turned to the aspect of Hircine only to find it was gone, leaving only its voice echoing.

"The ring is my gift to you. Once a day, you can transform into the Great Beast, and experience the thrill of the hunt freely. A trial of some sort. Should you want more, seek the pack and have them convert you. Until we meet again, hunter."

Ibnor quickly reviewed his panel and confirmed his suspicion. 

Ibnor

Status

Injured, Exhaustion, Hungry, 

Stats 

Strength

33.2

Agility

36.1

Mental

32.8

Physique

35.3

Sub-Stat

Charm

15.2

Actife Effect

[Resist Frost +10%], [Resist Poison +10%], [Resist Magic +10%] 

Skills

Passive

[Peak Human Condition], [Close Quarter Combat - Expert], [Dragon's Tongue - Beginner], [Dibellan Arts - Intermediate.], 

Active

[Archery (49.2)], [Blacksmithing (25.5)], [One Handed (56.3)], [Two Handed (25.2)], [Block 34.8], [Sneak (45.8)], [Lockpicking (39.1)], [Pickpocket (32.3)], 

Spells

[Telekinesis], [Bound Bow], [Magelight], 

Shout

[Shout (Unrelenting Force) - FUS]

Notification

*The Passion Dancer has taken interest in you.

*The Mistress of Night and Darkness is curious about you.

*The Father of Manbeasts finds you amusing.

"Fuck!" He lets out an exclamation in regret. 

Resigned, he made his way back to Falkreath Town. However, upon reaching the town, it was currently being terrorized by vampires. The once serene town of Falkreath was enveloped in a chilling darkness. A crimson mist hung heavy in the air, and the townsfolk huddled indoors, their hearts pounding with fear. A horde of vampires, creatures of the night, had descended upon the town, their bloodlust taking over their mind.

The town guards were valiant but outnumbered, but still fought desperately against the onslaught. Their weapons, though sharp, were no match for the supernatural strength and speed of their foes. The vampires, with their piercing red eyes and sinister toothy grins, moved with eerie grace, their claws raking across the flesh of their victims. As he witnessed the chaos unfolding before his eyes, a smile formed on his lips. 

"I'm very stressed right now. You lot came at the right time." He said smiling, his smile borderlining both sinister and joy. 

Without hesitation, Ibnor unsheathed his new blade and rushed towards the chaotic scene. He moved with agility, supported by his Peak Human Condition, weaving through the chaos and striking with deadly precision. The vampires, sensing a formidable opponent, turned their attention to him. But Ibnor was undeterred. He fought with a ferocity that belied his human form, his blade leave a trail of blurry images as it danced through the air.

The vampires' main weapon was their life-draining spell, a sinister power that sapped the life force of their victims, leaving them weak and vulnerable. Ibnor, however, was barely affected by it. 

"Either my cheat is OP or these guys have a low mastery of the spell…"

He moved with a strategic mind, parrying their attacks and striking at their weak points. He knew that the only way to truly defeat a vampire was to sever its head, a task that required both skill and precision. His action inadvertently saved a few of the guards where he would happen to slay the vampire in critical moments.

One by one, the vampires fell, their lifeless bodies turning to dust as their heads were severed. The last one seemed to regain his clarity and tried to run away but was blocked by the guards. Having no other option, the vampire burst into one of the resident's homes, intending to take a hostage. 

Unfortunately for him, Ibnor conjured a bow and let loose an arrow straight through his head. The townsfolk who were watching from the shadows, were filled with awe and gratitude. Ibnor, the stranger who had come to their aid, and managed to save their lives.

As the last vampire fell, a sense of peace returned to Falkreath. The crimson mist dissipated, and the moonlights once again began to pierce through the darkness. Ibnor stood amidst the carnage, exhausted, his blade still drawn. 

"Damn, I'm tired." He muttered. 

The wind howled outside, a chilling reminder of the harsh winter that gripped the land. Ibnor, weary from the day's adventure, sought shelter in the nearest inn, a rustic tavern known as the Dead Man's Drink. As he pushed open the creaking door, a wave of warmth washed over him, along with the pungent aroma of roasted meat and stale ale.

The interior of the inn was a cozy, if somewhat chaotic, space. A roaring fire crackled in the center of the common room, casting dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls. Several patrons, their faces etched with the hardships of life, sat huddled around the fire, their voices raised in raucous laughter and heated debate.

Ibnor made his way to the counter, where a burly Nord bartender, his face as red as a freshly cooked beet, eyed him with a mix of curiosity and indifference. 

"What'll it be, stranger?" the bartender grunted, his voice barely audible over the din.

"Do you happen to have coffee?," Ibnor asked, his voice weary but firm.

"What's a coffee?" the bartender asked back.

"Nevermind then, just give me some ale, please. And one room for the night."

The bartender nodded and turned to the taps, pouring a generous measure of dark ale into a heavy wooden mug. Ibnor thanked him and took a seat at one of the long wooden tables. He sipped his ale as the fire crackled and the wind howled outside, finding comfort within the warmth the inn offered. 

He retreated to the room to end the night, feeling a sense of sleepiness. The patrons, now more intoxicated than before, were engaged in a heated argument about the merits of different brands of mead. Ibnor shook his head and made his way to the room, leaving the misfits crowds who were getting energetic under the influence of alcohol.

The dawn light, a stark contrast to the previous night's chaos, filtered through the grimy windowpane, illuminating the room slightly. A sharp knock rattled the door, jolting Ibnor from his slumber. With a groan, he swung the door open to find a stern-faced Altmer woman, Nenya, the Jarl's steward, accompanied by a local guard.

"Yes? How can I help you?"

"Good morning. Pardon our intrusion on this lovely morning. I am Nenya, the steward here. I served under Jarl Siddgeir and Jarl Dengeir before him. Words have spread regarding your heroic deeds last night and the Jarl have summon you for an audience."

"Alright, give me a moment to prepare myself."

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Ibnor, rebooting his mind. He quickly dressed and followed Nenya to the Jarl's longhouse, a grand structure that dominated the town's skyline. The interior was a testament to Nordic opulence, with furs, tapestries, and intricate carvings adorning the walls. The Jarl, a Nord with a lazy countenance, sat on his throne, surrounded by his court.

"Ibnor, it's good you're here to join us. I heard the news of your contribution last night. You have proven yourself reliable and an ally to my people. And for that, you deserve a reward for your service. There is room in my court for a new Thane. It's an honorary title, mainly but there are few perks someone like you could make use of."

"However, Milord, it seems imprudent to appoint someone of such uncertain background to a position of such importance." one of the Jarl advisors said, taken aback by the Jarl decision.

"Yes, Milord. To elevate a stranger to such heights is a reckless endeavor." Nanye supports the other advisor.

"Ibnor, a renowned warrior who participated in the slaying of the dragon at Whiterun and was personally commended by Balgruuf himself, is hardly an unknown entity." Jarl Siddgeir responded.

"Nevertheless, defeating a handful of vampires is insufficient to demonstrate his true capabilities." The advisor is still against the decision.

"Insufficient? Your men is what insufficient! The vampire toyed with your men with ease."

"But Milord…"

"Enough! Am I still Jarl, or are you the one giving orders now?"

"I meant no such thing, Jarl."

"What say you, Ibnor?" The Jarl turned to Ibnor.

"It would be an honor." Ibnor replied, his eyes glinting.

"Then, by my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Falkreath. Congratulations. I grant you this weapon as your badge of office. I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble. You shall have the privilege of owning land within the hold and I assign you Rayya, as your housecarl."

"Thank you, Jarl." Ibnor said, receiving an axe that he would propably never use. 

"Well, let's begin our court. Feel free to join, as you are one of the important people of the hold now." The Jarl said, before turning to Nenya. 

"Nenya, why have taxes not come in from Granite Hill? We should send some guards down there. We should send some guards down there."

"They are only a little late, Jarl. The trade routes are affected by the war, we should give them another day." Nenya replied.

"Very well, but when their emissary arrives I want words with him." The Jarl then turned towards the other advisor. 

"Helvard! The guards are looking sloppy today and their performance last night is disappointing. I want you to reduce their wages for the month."

"Sir, I will shape them up but with the war on, it is unwise to reduce their wages any further." Helvard, the Nord Housecarl replied.

"I would think a man of your military training would be able to do with less but so be it. Any other matter that needs my attention?"

"Jarl, the bandit problem at Helgen has escalated. They've become more aggressive, attacking not just travelers but also our own people. We need to mobilize our forces and eliminate this threat before it's too late." Nenya said.

"Helvard, I want those bandits at Helgen eradicated! Dispatch a squad immediately!"

"Jarl, while eliminating the Helgen bandits is crucial, we must prioritize the defense of Falkreath. Perhaps a more stealthy approach, using fewer men, could be more effective." Helvard replied, looking at Ibnor. "Given our new Thane recent display of courage and skill, I believe he might be the right man for this task." 

"Well, would you look at that... Throwing me to the wolves, are we? Joke's on you because I am actually planning to do it." Ibnor thought.

"What do you think, Ibnor?" Jarl Siddgeir asked. 

"It would be an honor, Jarl. However, there's something Helvard hasn't considered."

"What is it?"

"Even if we eliminate this group, others will rise to take their place. A constant back and forth cycle isn't a sustainable solution."

"Any suggestions on how we should proceed??"

"It's simple, Jarl. Station Ibnor at Helgen permanently. This will not only solve the immediate problem but also deter future threats." Helvard said, eyeing Ibnor with a smirk.

A collective gasp echoes through the room and a thousand thoughts race through their minds. Ibnor on the other hand was overjoyed.

"Nice! Line, hook… and sinker!" he thought.

Still sitting on the throne, the Jarl's face etched with contemplation. Helvard, the burly housecarl, stands to his right, his expression resolute. Nenya, the shrewd steward, sits to his left, her eyes fixed on the Jarl.

"Stationing Ibnor at Helgen... it's a bold proposition, Helvard. He's a valuable asset to Falkreath. We can't afford to lose him." the Jarl said.

"With respect, Jarl, Ibnor's unique skills are better utilized in a more proactive role. Helgen is a constant threat, and his presence there will deter future attacks. Besides, Falkreath has its own defenses. We can manage." Helvard argued.

"I agree with Helvard. Ibnor's talents would be wasted here. However, we cannot afford to support him indefinitely. He must be self-sufficient in his endeavors." Nanye gave her opinion.

"Very well, then. Ibnor may be stationed at Helgen. But remember, Falkreath will not be providing any additional support. He must fend for himself." The Jarl said, after a brief contemplation.

Ibnor, who has been quietly observing the conversation, steps forward.

"I accept your order, Jarl. I will make sure that Helgen won't be a problem anymore."

"Very well, Ibnor. Prove your worth. And remember, the eyes of Falkreath are upon you." The Jarl nods, a hint of respect in his eyes. 

Ibnor was about to leave the Jarl's Longhouse when his new Housecarl, Rayya, a tall, muscular Redguard woman, stands before him, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

"So, this is it, huh? The famed Ibnor, Thane of Falkreath. I'm Rayya, your new housecarl."

"A pleasure to meet you, Rayya. I trust you're ready for what lies ahead."

"Always."

"Alright, prepare what you need. We move at dusk."

Later that night, beneath the cloak of darkness, Ibnor and Rayya infiltrate the ruins of Helgen.

"Remember, move silently. Let's take them one by one." Ibnor whispered before vanishing into the shadows, his movements silent and precise. 

One by one, the bandits fall, their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Meanwhile, Rayya, though skilled, is less subtle. She's unfortunately discovered by two bandits who were actually coming back from leaving their post.

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

"Let's have some fun with her."

Rayya fights valiantly, her sword a blur of steel. But the two bandits are relentless, their blades flashing with deadly intent. The bandits close in, their eyes glinting with malice. In a desperate move, she lunges forward, but they anticipate her attack. Just as she's about to fall, a figure emerges from the darkness, blocking the attack.

TING!

"You left me a bit of work, didn't you, Rayya?" Ibnor teased.

"Apologies, my Thane. I will do better."

"Relax, I'm just joking."

With a swift, decisive strike, Ibnor's blade pierces the heart of one bandit, silencing his cries. The bandit's eyes widen in disbelief as he falls to the ground. Seizing the moment, Rayya lunges forward, her scimitar flashes, slashing the second bandit's throat, ending his life.

"Thank you, my Thane."

"Anytime. Now, let's finish this." 

With ruthless efficiency, they eliminate the last of the bandits. A ruined tower, overlooking the valley, becomes their temporary base. 

The crackling firelight danced across Rayya's face, casting an ethereal glow upon her weathered features. Her eyes, a piercing shade of blue, held a quiet strength that was represented by her athletic frame. She sat across from Ibnor, a sense of calm settling over the night.

"A good day's work, Thane," Rayya remarked, her voice a soft whisper.

Ibnor nodded, his gaze fixed on the flames. 

"Indeed. A good day. Helgen is ours now."

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional snap of a burning log. The night sky, a canvas of countless stars, stretched above them, a stark contrast to the smoky atmosphere.

"You fought well today, Rayya," Ibnor said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Particularly your skill with those scimitar. It is impressive."

"It's the way of the Redguard, Thane. To fight with honor and courage." Rayya smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes. 

"And you've done both in abundance," Ibnor replied. "I'm glad to have you by my side."

"And I'm honored to serve you, Thane." Rayya's smile widened as she replied. A moment passed, and then Rayya spoke again.

"I've heard tales of your journey. Particularly the one where you were involved in slaying the dragon at whiterun. You've come a long way." 

"A long way indeed. But I wouldn't be here without the help of many." Ibnor nodded, lost in thought. 

"And now, you stand as Thane of Falkreath," Rayya said. "A great responsibility."

Ibnor looked at her, a serious expression on his face. 

"A great responsibility, yes. But one I'm ready to shoulder."

He turned his gaze back to the fire, a sense of purpose filling him. After a brief silence, he turned to Rayya once more.

"Damn, the formal speech is suffocating me. Let's just be casual to each other. Anyway, I need you to stay here. I will gather more people and send them here to help you. However, if worse comes to worst, I want you to save yourself and wait for me to come back."

"As you wish, my Thane."

"Rayya… Can I ask you a question?"

"You may not ask if you may ask, just ask, my Thane."

"Whaa… Oh, I see. Hahaha.. Okay, okay. You got me. You're a Redguard, right?"

"I believe so, my Thane. I don't have pointy ears like the elves, furs like the Khajiits or scales like those of Argonian. My skin is darker than the Imperials, my body smaller than the Nords but slightly bigger than the Bretons."

"Alright. My bad. That was on me. Hindsight 20/20."

"I never knew you are one of those who love to ask such strange questions." 

"What I'm trying to ask is, how long have you been in Skyrim?" 

"I have been all my life."

"So, how do people communicate with each other?"

"By talking..?" Rayya answered, giving Ibnor a strange look. 

"I mean over the distance. Apart from the courier." Ibnor palmed his face. 

"Some mages will use lesser daedra as a medium, a shared summon. Other conjures familiar while non magic folk like us usually tame birds. The likes of hawks and pigeons are usually prefered."

"I need to visit Winterhold College." Ibnor sighs. "Looks like I need to settle the Guild matter as soon as possible."