Hjorta Dark Heart intro.

My name's Hjorta Dark-Heart. Born and raised in Bruma of Cyrodiil, blood is true to a daughter of Skyrim though. The family came from there and would only have children with men and women who came from there. Most my family was either treasure hunters, thieves or joined up with the dark brotherhood at some point. Never met most of them, just heard the stories. Only people I know of my family are my mum and father. Brovir and Erna Dark-Heart, father was the great grandchild of Edla Dark-heart, suppose to be some assassin back in the old days.



  Things were simple living in Bruma, mother would tend to the house, and father would go out hunting. We didn't really need him to, our family goes back a bit so money has been saved up over time and we are pretty well off, he just enjoys the sport of it. My parents were always quite distant, never seen them speak much around the house, only when they needed to. It started with them not speaking but after years it climbed into fights. I was torn between in the middle.



I was just entering my early teen years. Mother wished me to become a proper woman, tend the house so when she was gone I could carry on her work. Father had a different idea, he wanted me to be strong, to support myself just like he had to as a child. My father got the better of the fights; he would take me with him when he would go out hunting. After so many weeks of this it seemed like he would take me not to hunt but to just be with me, away from mother.



One weekend he brought me out to a clearing in the woods and had brought along some wooden swords and shields, told me he would teach me how to fight. At first I laughed at him, being so young I thought it was funny an old man like him would teach me how to fight. But the moment I let out a chuckle I was on my back. He was very fast, swept my legs right out from under me. From then on I never laughed at him being old. Week after week we would go out to that same clearing and practice, I was getting better with it every time. After many weeks had passed I was able to block his swings without losing my ground, months later I was able to predict his moves and evade them.



 I began to fall in love with it, the combat, just the art of it all. It all just felt right to me. I explained it to him once and he laughed, told me that’s the blood of a true daughter of Skyrim in my veins. At the time I wasn't sure what it meant. Not sure if it would have changed anything back then. Since my father had been taking me away so much. Mother became very bitter. I never looked forward to heading home, all I had to look forward to was cooking, cleaning, scrubbing floors, carrying buckets of water and milk around for hours and every time I dropped a bucket or made a mistake it would get taken out on me in screaming and harsh words.



After months of being away with father it escaladed to small beatings that only grew worse. I resented her, began to even hate her after many years of the abuse. I was now nearing my 16th birthday, father told me that in Skyrim I would be counted as an adult by that age, but things are a little different in Cyrodiil. This again became a war between mother and father. Father thought since I was 16 I should be treated as an adult and start to hunt for my own keep and start earning my own septiums. I liked the idea, I would be able to put my new training to work and save up some gold so I could visit Hammer and Axe, father says the shop has been around forever, even before the statue was built in honor of the hero of Kavatch. Never made any sense to me though, why isn't the statue in the imperial city or Kavatch? I mean, he was also the champion of Cyrodiil and all... Nothing much to do with Bruma.



  I've had my eye on a sword in the shop which I've wanted but father would refuse to buy for me. Always told me I hadn't earned it yet. Maybe now that I would be earning the money myself he would think I have earned it now that I could buy it for myself. I was ecstatic, but of course mother wanted me to stay home and be a lady, not go out and work. I again chose my father’s path and started hunting, I made myself a good amount of gold over the next year, by the time I was 17 I had bought myself the sword I wished for. A fine steel blade, the edge rang when I would dig it into the heart of a bear when I was attacked while hunting. I loved the blade dearly. I never left home without it.



  Soon mother became sick with bone break fever. I was forced to slow down on my life as a hunter and tend to her and the home. Mother was finally getting what she wished for, a little lady to take care of the home and I hated it. Cleaning and scrubbing and cooking for a family was hard enough but to be by the old hags side day after day was nearly enough to become a lot, lot closer with that blade of mine. Mother and father never seen eye to eye but he also seemed to slow down a lot after she became ill.



  He began to hunt a little less, visit the shops more. He was trying to stay home as much as he could; he was trying to be with her. Though it seemed like they really were out for each other’s throat, I could see there was still love between them, or at least... He still loved her. It wasn't many months before her old body gave in to the illness and she passed away. It wasn't till then I could see how deep the connection between them truly was. My father put down his bow and his sword for good. He took to the bottle and he was never the same.



  Day after day there was just more wine, and more mead. I was losing the father that I had loved so much. Life around the house became better but worse all at once. I didn't have to deal with mother anymore, I was nearly happy she was gone, but now because of it I was losing someone I really did love. Seeing him like this was horrible. I could hardly stand it, he would stumble in the door, speaking complete gibberish and crash onto the floor if he was lucky. I would have to carry him to the bed and sit by him to make sure he was ok. One day he got out of hand, walked out of the tavern drunk and started talking to a guard, began yelling out him and trying to fight him.



  I have no idea what was going through my father’s head. Maybe he thought he was on hunt still. Eventually my father pulled out his knife and tried to attack the guard. After a few warnings the guard struck him down. I heard the yelling outside and quickly ran out the door, just in time to see my father hit the ground, his blood stained the snow. I screamed and ran to his side. It was too late, I held his hand as I felt his grip wither away. He was gone...



Few days later I was under the chapel, honoring his passing. I brought my sword with me, I set it nicely in front of his coffin. I figured he would feel safe with it near him, as I felt safe with him near me. It finally dawned on me, my mother and father were both gone. There was nothing left for me here in Bruma; it was time I went home, my true home, Skyrim.