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You did it! Fresh night air accosts your testosterone-fueled senses and ripples through your impressive mane. Freedom is a fine thing, indeed, though your jailers should have known that no prison could hope to hold someone as STRONG as you are. Regardless, you allow yourself a cheer and thrust your manly fist upward toward the night sky.
Looks like the moons are full tonight. You pause to admire the effect they have on the night by adding a rough-but-distinguished power to the otherwise sparkly blackness, which could use a bit of mangrit. But, uh... where are you exactly?
You seem to have found yourself by a small dock, in the company of a mysterious, bookish man and his cat. You greet him, but he seems less than enthusiastic. You decide he must be intimidated. Understandable. You decide to loosen up the tension with some conversation. You assure him that you are benign and ask him what a small, bookish person like himself is doing out here without a weapon. He requests that you stop calling him a small, bookish man, and tells you that his name is Romunus.
He explains that he is writing a book for his company and he needs the stories of adventurers and other people to put to paper. The books apparently do well in other provinces, and they are trying to increase their business here in Cyrodiil. You decide that you and your pecs could help this
You decide to stand and explain that your adolescence was somewhat ill-defined in terms of occupations. And beards.
Look at that. You barely had a shadow of facial hair.
You suppose that you could have been a lumberjack, as you did collect trees from their MIGHTY WOOD for people who were not as STRONG as you were. You and your faithful family companion, Asskicker the dog, would venture out into the wilds of your home in Skyrim and challenge the mighty trees to battle. You used to use your fists, but people said that they couldn't use exploded wood, so you had to use an axe like a pussy.
However, it eventually gave way to your true calling: wresting bears and challenging various other wildlife in tests of strength, speed, endurance, and being sleek and powerful. Naturally, you were victorious in all of these endeavors.
If you ever had want of anything, you could hunt for what you needed. You suppose you could have been considered a hunter? You certainly never wanted for fur. You only took what you needed, though. The animals are your brothers and companions in STRONGNESS.
Of course, this is also when you started drinking like your father, so maybe Alcohol Connoisseur could also be accurate....
Romunus notes all of this, and asks about your childhood. Childhood? you ask. Romunus says when you were little. You chuckle and say that you were never "little", only smaller and slightly less tanned.
You suppose you could be considered a feral child. Most of your time was spent running through the woods with the wolves and fighting bears (really, you were fated to be a bear wrestler). After getting the wolves in a headlock, they accepted you as their own and together you were a force to be reckoned with.
It was from the animals that you learned the art of the hunt and the ways of the wilds. Of course, you were the only pack member that kept the skins of your fallen adversaries. You recall the proud moment of your first successful bear fight, and the vest you made to commemorate the occasion.
You were such a cheeky little bastard.
It became an important garment that you've kept even to this day. Gods, it smelled, but it was yours. It smelled like manliness. And bears. You note that your latest misadventure into a prison has left you without it, and you really should seek it soon.
Romunus asks to confirm the amazingly manly story he just heard, to which you happily comply. He says that you mentioned a father earlier, though, and asks if he had passed away. No, no, you say, laughing your manly laugh. Your father was, indeed, a hearty man of the mountain, much like yourself.
Most of the time he was busy keeping food on the table and ale in the barrels. Especially the ale. As he was always preoccupied with important MANLY duties, he usually left you to your own devices, letting nature take its course in chiseling you into the fine example of MAN you see before you. You think that this is a good way to raise a STRONG child.
Though he did not interfere much, you did learn many things from him, such as wild living, that a man and solitude are a natural pair on the road to greatness, and a fine appreciation of good beer. Your father was a fine man with a fine taste for fine alcoholic beverages. How naïve you were back then, as you did not understand their greatness back then. We were all kids once.
Much of your time at home was spent with Asskicker. It was from him that you learned the proper way to greet other animals, and that doing the same to a humanoid being would likely earn you a kick in the face and curses for some reason. You suppose that was a joint lesson from both Asskicker and your father. One that has served you well!
Romunus seems speechless after such an amazing tale, but after a minute or so he comes up with something to say in the face of awesome and compliments your physical abilities. You can tell he is very enthusiastic about the origin story of such a model of manliness.
He asks you for your fears. You fear nothing, you tell him! Except maybe rabbits. It's not really a fear, but something about their weird paws and beady little eyes and long ears make you uncomfortable. You suppose it's the lack of manliness. Romunus raises an eyebrow, and asks for any weaknesses you have. Weakness?! you shout heroically, making the little balding man jump. You laugh in the face of such notions! The common man may harbor weaknesses, but not you! You are as close to a perfect man as you can manage.
Romunus responds tentatively, with an odd look of skepticism on his face. You find it appropriately funny that he would be unsure such a paragon of masculinity would help someone like him, and chuckle at the thought. You say that you understand and give him a bro-slap. He answers with a nervous laugh.
He seems curious as to what makes Swordbeard the man he is. Grit and determination, say you, flexing a bit. Strength, physique, and a sharp mind to use them! The ability to wrestle bears, tackle any problem, and punch it into a fine paste in a sporting manner. A diet of rough greens and red meat! Fine taste in women and alcohol. Also, magnificent facial hair. That last one is important. Romunus sighs as his quill scratches away. This much STRONG must be tiring for him.
He seems to want to know what got you here in the first place, particularly in prison, leaving you to crawl out through the sewers. You frown, brow furrowed. You're not really sure, yourself, and have to think hard about the answer. It's all a bit of a blur, but you recall a fist fight of some kind, so you suppose it's the thing most people usually complain about.
You'll find out what happened later, maybe. It's not that important.
Romunus thanks you for your help and runs off down the road with his cat at top speed. He must be so excited to get started! You boom a farewell and poke around the dock a bit.
Ah, perfect! A bedroll, a sack, and plenty of dry wood! Just what you need for a campsite! You decide not to bother searching for a makeshift tent; real men use the sky as their roof! Time to pick a spot.
The locals seem unhappy that you are spending the night near their shore, so you work quickly to establish dominance. They won't be bothering you again!
You create a fine campsite and settle down to sleep. You will go exploring in the morning!
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