After the feast was over, Senna convinced Ryel to share some of his story with us.
“I’m afraid there’s not much to share, my lady,” he said with a more respectful tone than he had given to any of us men. “I was born in the Helkori Plains of Hammerfell to a tribe of nomadic traders. Raised by my mother, never knew my father. She said he was a Nordic man, worked for the Legion. All I ever knew of him was this necklace, Amulet of Zenithar...he left if with my mother. I was always an outcast because of my blood. One day I got caught stealing food and sent off to an arena to fight for the amusement of the rich. I was one of the best fighters they’d ever had. Earned my freedom three times, but each time I asked for a place in the Forebear Royal Guard. Got denied each time...having a half Nord in the Guard would be a disgrace I guess. So the third time I killed the Forebear soldier that denied me and ran. Couldn’t stand to fight for nothing anymore. Went east and visited my mother’s tribe. She did all she could to help me escape, sent me into Skyrim. That’s when I started fighting in Markath’s Coliseum. A few months later, you guys found me.”
We were all silent for a moment after his story.
“Well, Ryel,” I finally broke the silence. “Now you’ve got something noble to fight for.”
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