“A few more hours of walking that lonesome cobblestone road led me to the town of Falkreath – a most peculiar town, I must say! Upon entering through the gate, a guard inquired me about a stray dog! Moreover, the dog did not even belong to the guard himself, but to the town’s blacksmith! Perhaps Skyrim’s guards are simply more caring than Cyrodiil’s… or perhaps the blacksmith is the guard’s father-in-law. One never knows in these occasions…”
“I took the liberty of strolling across the main street as dusk settled in the starry sky. I am not a wanted criminal here, in spite of the Imperial presence in this town, and while an Altmer in a fur vest might be a strange sight for some, my appearance has become very distinct, due to both time and toil, from that which Imperials are looking for. I noticed many shops and facilities in this town bear quite exquisite names: ‘Dead Man’s Drink,’ ‘Corpselight Farm,’ ‘Grave Concoctions’… the list goes on and on. As one who has taken hundreds of lives, I believe death is a matter too serious to jest about. These Nords though… no wonder so many elves think mankind to be but little children.”
“Once night fell I went to the inn. Have to admit I was positively surprised: for a town that makes such a mockery out of death and those it claims to eternal (un)rest, the inn possessed quite a ‘lively’ atmosphere – prompted, with no doubt, by the sweet mead and the fair voice of Delacourt, the bard. The innkeeper had the candor of renting me a room for the night for five septims (with the promise I would pay ten the next day)."
"Before I could finally throw myself onto the cold bed, a barmaid named Narri told me how impressed she had been by my looks; if all goes well, the bed might not end up being as cold as I thought it was…”