Lacking much alternative, I turned to pickpocketing, and found I had a certain adroitness in the art. ‘If only I could do those wonderful things,’ I thought to myself, as I spent my coin down the Skeever.
From a side street in Solitude, I watched them with Noster Eagle-Eye, a fellow beggar and fierce friend. Every day he saw the kingdom of Erolgard’s richest citizens while nobody saw him: warriors clad in Ebony armour strolled through the streets, and wielders of awesome magic performed dazzling illusions for more septims he’d see in a year. That’s a little reductive of the truth.ĭespite being born into royalty, unbeknownst to himself, Eslaf Erol became a pauper before he could walk. It’s important to recognise his often gross exaggerations and shameless distortions: ‘Beggar, Thief, Warrior, King,’ Reven wrote.
You might be familiar with the tales of Eslaf Erol from the biographer Reven’s accounts of his adventures across Skyrim.
