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Content Consumer

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  1. Content Consumer
    I've decided to post a sort of playthrough journal that I started writing a few years ago, then stopped writing due to a profound lack of interest. Hopefully someone will get a kick out of it besides me.
    It's divided up into "chapters," some of which are longer, some are much shorter than others. The short ones generally go for about 600 words or so, the long ones upwards of five times that many. EDIT: Nope, I cut them into bite-sized chunks.
    No sexlab content is included, because there are a lot of other people writing here that do a great job with that. This is pure vanilla Skyrim (well, not vanilla, it's heavily modded, but readers probably won't notice the mods I'm using).
    I've currently got 9 chapters written, and I think I'm going to include one chapter per week. It won't end after 9 weeks, because I just started writing again, but I have no idea when it'll be finished...
    The story is from the perspective of a guy newly arrived in Skyrim, and his reactions to the events that happen.
    Note that in the playthrough, I'm doing a lot of stuff I'm not recording, because there would be no point to record everything. There also may be a few little gaps in time, that make for a better story... for example, in chapter 1, I'm attacked by the crazy dunmer with boethia's proving book at level 1, which cannot happen. That's the most egregious of my errors, the rest of my deliberate alterations are pretty minor and shouldn't make anyone intimately familiar with the game do more than raise the occasional eyebrow.
     
    Anyway, here is chapter 1, which happens to be the longest chapter to date, I think.
     
    TABLE OF CONTENTS
    Chapter 1: You're reading it now. Just scroll down a bit after the TOC.
    Chapter 2: Of Jesters And Snow
    Chapter 3: College Guys Gone Wild
    Chapter 4: How Did They Move That Big Blue Ball?
    Chapter 5: Winner Of The Smartest Mage In The World Contest
    Chapter 6: Dropout
    Chapter 7: Yes, I Am A Dragonslayer
    Chapter 8: Mace Raiden, Statue Fondler
    Chapter 9: I Am A Dragonborn
    Chapter 10: A Strange Dress Code
    Chapter 11: Oath Of Celibacy... I Mean Fealty
    Chapter 12: I'm Feeling Horny
    Chapter 13: Plot Armor
    Chapter 14: Possibly Some Ice Hockey Reference
    Chapter 15: Imperials In The Stormcloak Capitol
    Chapter 16: Lovely Party, Pity I Wasn't Invited
    Chapter 17: The Daedric Princes
    Chapter 18: It Was An Accident!
    Chapter 19: Back To Winterhold
    Chapter 20: Forth From Winterhold
    Chapter 21: There's A Dragon, Everybody Follow!
    Chapter 22: The Non-Thieves Guild
    Chapter 23: No Shit!
    Chapter 24: The Case of the Empty Vault
    Chapter 25: Pretty Spry for an Old Guy
    Chapter 26: This Place Has Really Gone To The Dogs
    Chapter 27: I'll Take Option D
    Chapter 28: Heard They're Reforming The Dawnguard
    Chapter 29: Once You Go Black...
    Chapter 30: A Prophetable Venture
    Chapter 31: Vampires and Death Hounds and Gargoyles, Oh My!
    Chapter 32: Chasing Reflected Soundwaves
    Chapter 33: Lost and Found
    Chapter 34: The Seventh Sign, and the Implied Tentacle Rape
    Chapter 35: Some Old Parchment
    Chapter 36: Dimfall or Darkhollow or Something Like That
    Chapter 37: Something Interesting on the Other Side
    Chapter 38: Assault on Vampire Central
    Chapter 39: Tentacle Monsters Ahoy!
    Chapter 40: Mushrooms... Again?
    Chapter 41: X Marks The Spot
    Chapter 42: The Fate Of The Skaal
     
    Intermission 1
    Intermission 2
    Intermission 3 and poll
    Intermission 4 and poll
     
    My Precious
    CSI: Skyrim
     
    A side venture into Fallout 3:
    Diary of a Water Purifier, EP1
    Diary of a Water Purifier, EP2
    Diary of a Water Purifier, EP3
    Diary of a Water Purifier, EP4
     
    And the start of the story:
     

     
    CHAPTER 1: TO HELGEN AND BEYOND
    In which our hero begins his journey.
     
    Hi, everyone. My name is Mace Raiden. I'm a Nord by birth, but was raised Redguard. See, my parents were originally from Skyrim, and they moved to Hammerfell, to a little town called Elinhir. They were hunters by trade. One day, they went out to hunt, and died. Just like that, of natural causes. See, a band of shady-looking ruffians brought in their stripped corpses, and said that they took off their clothes and all their valuables and decided to go swimming, only to trip and fall onto several dozen arrows apiece. Naturally, this ended in death, so there was no reason for any inquiry. Accidents will happen.
    When I became old enough to venture on my own, I decided to head back to my ancestral homeland of Skyrim. I'd follow in my parent's footsteps and become a professional hunter and furrier.
    I picked up some sturdy leather all-weather gear, packed my bags with lots of food, said my goodbyes to my adoptive family, and headed southeast, into Cyrodiil. I was going to skirt the mountains to get to Bruma, then north through a narrow pass into Skyrim. I'd heard there was some sort of minor rebellion going on in the eastern part of the province, but I'd also heard that Whiterun was the jewel of Skyrim, a nice place to live, so I wanted to arrive close to Whiterun but farther away from any potential conflicts.
     
    So here's me, an innocent hunter, just crossing the border, and the next thing I know I'm waking up in the back of a moving cart and my head REALLY FUCKING HURTS. I must have been knocked on the noggin. Apparently, I got swept up in a military-police border patrol, and they think I'm some sort of bandit or thief or something. Because I was trying to cross the border. I must be an evil SOB for doing something as nasty as that. Welcome to Skyrim, where trespassers will be shot, ground up, and fed to the dogs.
     
    I'm in the back of the cart with this Stormcloak guy and a thief in dirty rags. Oh, and another Stormcloak guy, apparently the leader of the rebellion himself. Ulfric Stormcloak. I decide to call him Ulfric the Mute, because he doesn't say much. Can't, really, what with that rag on his face. We quickly become fast friends, lifelong buddies. I can say this with complete conviction because I tend to think that his life isn't going to be all that long. The leader of the rebellion? Here? Why? And how in the HELL did I get picked up with him? I'm not a Stormcloak, but I don't think the soldiers even care.
     
    We're in Helgen. The carts are coming to a stop, and my cart buddies can only talk about how they're about to die and how miserable everything is. Don't they see that the sun is shining, birds are singing, flowers blooming and OH MY GOD MY LIFE IS OVER AND I JUST GOT HERE! No, suck it up. Executions happen every day. I'll just explain to the nice people that I'm not a Stormcloak rebel traitor bastard, and they'll let me go. It's just a misunderstanding. Everything will be nice and hunky-dory and... Lokir? What are you doing? Are you trying to run away? Past the armed guards and through the middle of town? Ooh, two arrows to the back, that's gotta hurt.
     
    The guard captain asks: anyone else feel like running? Yep, me. I could have made a break for it while all you guys were staring at Lokir. Dumbass, run through the middle of town to escape? There's a door in the city wall just behind me here. Unfortunately, I wasn't quick enough, and the guy with the book calls me over. He was riding a horse RIGHT BEHIND the cart the whole way in. Presumably he was also there when they captured me, my memory's kind of foggy on that one. And he doesn't know who I am.
     
    Listen, shitheel. I'm a peaceful traveler, visiting the homeland of my biological parents, maybe looking for work. I'm not a Stormcloak. Am I dressed like one? No, I am not. I'm dressed like a poor beggar. By the way, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY CLOTHES? My good leather all-weather gear? You people suck.
     
    So here we are, all lined up for the guy with the big axe. There's a headsman's block on the ground, looks like it gets its fair share of use. And a basket to catch the heads. Or head, really. It's a tiny basket. I guess it's ceremonial - they fill it up one at a time, empty the basket, and replace it for the next head. Welcome home.
     
    So the priestess starts her funereal blessing, and this Stormcloak guy gets all pissy about something she says. He interrupted right after she said "blessings of the eight divines" so that must have been the trigger, somehow. Sounds legit to me, though. Ruptga, Zeht, Morwha, Tava, HoonDing, Leki, Onsi, Diagna. That Stormcloak seemed pissed about it, though. Probably didn't like including HoonDing. I guess that's understandable, really. HoonDing's always been a bit of a bastard to outsiders.
     
    So the Stormcloak gets his extreme makeover, and I'm next. Because the guard captain likes to fuck with people. Whelp, that's it for me. Goodbye, cruel world. Best of luck to you. I'd sing a sad song or say some last words but I'm not given a choice. I kneel down on the block and could you PLEASE take the other guy's head away? That's just gross. There's no need to be mean about this, you know. I'm going to die, the least you could do is give me a LITTLE dignity. Sharing a tiny box with someone else's head is not how I pictured my afterlife.
     
    As the headsman winds up for the coup, I see a big fucking black dragon land on the tower roof. Wow. Nice timing. I am the LUCKIEST man who's ever lived. EVER. The dragon is accompanied by a rain of fiery rocks, and he belches the biggest burp ever recorded, pushing back the headsman and knocking me to the ground. I get to my feet and there's one of my cart-buddies there, telling me to get inside a tower. Good idea! Wish I'd thought of heading for cover!
     
    Inside is my other cart buddy, Ulfric the Voiceless, who seems to have found his voice. "Legends don't burn down villages." No, dipshit, fire does. And dragons breathe fire. Your point is? Anyway, Ralof tells me to head up the stairs. I do so, and the dragon busts his way in the wall. Why? I don't know. I can think of no reason whatsoever for the dragon to want to punch a hole in the tower wall. Could he, like, sense that people were behind it? Why not downstairs, where MORE people are? And while we're at it, why did Ralof tell me to head up the stairs? What's up there? A trap door to the roof, and back into the dragon's sphere of influence? Maybe the dragon cast a spell of stupidity over the town, and accidentally hit himself with it. "Duh, let's go outside!" (for the humans) and "Duh, I'm gonna fly straight into this tower with my head!" (for the dragon).
     
    Anyway, the dragon (surprise!) breathes fire at us, but I'm too smart for him. The instant I saw his face, I took cover... behind Ralof. I'm not proud of it, but I'm still alive. Anyway, Ralof tells me to jump through the hole and he'll be along shortly. Wait, what? Really? Go outside, where the maneating firebreathing beast can see me, jump through midair, into a burning building, and you're right behind me? Yeah, I believe you. Be honest, jackass. You wanna see if I get eaten or cooked before you chance it, right? I'm no dummy. Or maybe I am, because sure enough I jump through the hole into the burning building. Singed but not badly injured, my hands still tied together, I race through the building and out the other side, where my savior awaits. The book-holding Imperial guard guy.
     
    "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." Really, dude? Statistically speaking, 100% of the time I've been close to you I've been close to death. Besides, you couldn't be bothered correcting your paperwork so you sent me to have my head cut off! I'm just lucky that dragon attacked right there! Screw you and the horse you rode in on, and the horse that pulled the wagon for good measure.
     
    But I stick with the guy with the sword. It's my new rule in my life. Never argue with edged weapons. The people who hold the weapon are incidental - the main thing is the edged weapon itself. Don't argue, just say yes. So I follow the jerkwad through MORE burning buildings, and see General Tullius, the guy who just couldn't be bothered to save an innocent man's life. Fucking Imperials. They can all go suck it.
     
    Racing through the remains of the once idyllic little town, who do I see but Ralof, who apparently took the safer route that did NOT include a long jump into a burning building. He and Hadvar face off for a few seconds, and then head for two different doors. They both exhort me to follow them, and it's down to what's behind door number 1 and door number 2. On the one hand, here's a rebel who's trying to overthrow the peace-loving empire, and on the other hand is a representative of an uncaring bureaucracy that tried to have me killed. A guy who used me as his catspaw, and a guy who couldn't be arsed to cut through red tape to save my life. I'd flip a coin, but I don't have a coin anymore, because the Imperials stole all my stuff and that decides it, Stormcloaks here I come.
     
    Inside, Ralof and I see the corpse of a dead Stormcloak soldier. I have no idea how he got here. Maybe he was another of Ralof's catspaws. Ralof cuts my bonds and instructs me to strip the dead guy and get into his clothes. I'm starting to think that maybe Ralof is a little unscrewed upstairs. Maybe he just misses his friend SO MUCH that he wants to pretend that I'm him. Maybe he's just randy and wants to see me naked for a bit while I dress up in Stormcloak gear. I get it, some people are attracted to men in uniform. That doesn't mean I'm going to just do it, though. I'm about to refuse, but he says something about borrowing his friend's axe, or something like that, which I take as a threat, so here goes the wardrobe change!
     
    So we're trapped in this little room. Not safe from the dragon, if his previous behavior of slamming into walls and busting through is any indicator. I can still hear roars. Down one corridor, I hear voices, and Ralof says that Imperials are coming. Shit, just what I need. Hadvar and Ralof facing off again. It must be Hadvar, of course, since he was the only other person who went in the other door. And here I am, now wearing Stormcloak gear. If he wasn't pissed before, he will be now. Wait... who is it? My old friend, the guard captain! This will be a pleasure. I grab the dead guy's axe. The Imperials open the gate, and Ralof and I tear right through them. Nice armor, dude. I'd wear it - it's better than the blue rags I'm wearing now - but it's all imperialized, you know? And heavy. I'm going to leave it here. Anyway, got a key to the next door, because, obviously, with only one way forward and locked, there HAS to be a key readily available. Otherwise the world makes no sense anymore.
     
    So we head through the fort's dungeons, killing Imperials. One of them shot lightning from his hands. His. Hands. Lightning. Yeah, I stayed away from him. We're joined by two more Stormcloaks who are also escaping. Ralof tells me to unlock a cage door and strip another guy of his outfit. Maybe Ralof is just a necrophiliac and doesn't want to admit it to himself. He likes watching other people undress dead people. I resolve to stay behind him from now on.
     
    Marching through the tunnels, we eventually run into a group of Imperial soldiers, and take them out easily. Ralof and I continue on, while the two Stormcloaks stay behind to wait for Ulfric the Gagged. Just as we cross a little wooden bridge, a rock falls from the ceiling and knocks the bridge out. Nice timing. That seems to happen a lot around me. Almost like the entire world is following a script or something. Ha! What a dumb notion. Just luck, that's all.
     
    Anyway, we keep going. Ralof kills some spiders, and then tells me to take the lead again. I figure that something more dangerous than spiders is up ahead, and sure enough, here's a cave bear. Of COURSE I'll take the lead, Ralof old buddy old pal! Who wouldn't JUMP at the chance to be your point man again? We sneakily skirt the bear, and head out of the damn dungeon. As we exit, the dragon flies off overhead. More nice timing.
     
    Ralof tells me that we should split up, and then tells me that we should continue on together. He must have taken a knock to the head. We run down the road... or should I say, I run and he gently jogs. Slowest goddamn runner ever. No wonder he couldn't escape an Imperial ambush. They probably just sent their crack Sauntering division after him. Anyway, Ralof stops several times too. Once to point out an ancient ruin on a mountain, and once to point out three phallic symbols on the path. Calls them the "guardian stones." He tells me to touch them. He's not a necrophiliac, he's just a pervert. Or a perverted necrophiliac. If he starts sniffing my hair I'm gonna belt him one. I look at the stones, and suddenly, magically, I know that if I touch one of them I'll learn magic, fighting, or thieving skills better.
     
    I touch the thief stone, and Ralof smarms at me. Never too late to take charge of my own fate? You're right. You move too slow, you treat me like some disposable trap detector, and you're a sexual deviant, so I'm going to take charge of my own fate and go to Riverwood on my own.
     
    The path to Riverwood is pretty, and peaceful, broken only by a pair of wolves. Wolves that think a big, tough-looking human wielding an axe is food. Must be starving, or insane... maybe rabid. Lucky for me they both went down with one hit each, and I didn't even get nipped. I should probably avoid touching the corpses for fear of disease and who am I kidding? I rip the skins off BOTH of them. Teach them to try to chew on me.
     
    So here I am, in Riverwood. Nice little burg. Pretty place. Old women rambling about mythical dragons, as if such things actually exist OH WAIT. This will make a nice home here in Skyrim. I need a job to keep myself fed - I'm tired of hunting. Not that I ever got to do any, really - a couple of wolves on the road to Riverwood don't count. Maybe I'll take up mining.
    Somehow, magically, I can sense a mine some distance away... just up the road a bit.
    Passed Ralof on the way, threw a jaunty wave his direction.
     
    So I get to the mine, and I spot the door guard. I'll go ask him if they're in need of any assistance here. I have no skills in mining, but I'm willing to learn. Just as I was about to enter the mine, I was attacked by a crazy dunmer dude, shouting that he had at last found a worthy opponent. The mine's door guard got in on the action and tried to defend me. One hit from the Dunmer's axe, and he goes down.
     
    That blasted dark elf was a really tough goddamn fight. I had to chug all the potions I got from Helgen just to stay alive. Looted the corpse, and found a book about Beothiah. Some crazy cult thing. Should be good for a few coins. I head into the mine to tell the people inside their door guard had died, and to inform them that in the future they should assign the position of door guard to someone NOT made of glass. Everyone starts attacking me! Sneaking about, dropping these insane miners one after another, each with a single arrow from the shadows (and an average of 3-5 sword thrusts), I come to pity them. They don't even have flush toilets here. Just buckets! No wonder they're insane.
     
    I sweep through the place, and find a nice set of Iron armor, and shuck the nasty blue Stormcloak rags. I've gotten a nice haul of gold and gems out of this mess, and a couple of iron weapons. Found a nice warhammer - better than the axe. I've decided that I don't want to be a miner. It looks like hard work, getting slaughtered by wandering Dunmer and savagely attacking anyone who enters the mine. I've no idea who they sell the ore to - they probably kill every merchant who gets close, then sit around all day scratching their heads and asking themselves "Why no-one ever come here? Derp derp derp."
     
    I'm going to go back to Riverwood and see if Ralof's sister is hiring at the lumber mill.
    O...K... after an interminable conversation with Ralof, Gerder, and Hod, about dragons and Stormcloaks, I've got two distinct goals set before me.
    1) Go to Windhelm and join the Stormcloaks, and take back the land for the loyal Sons of Skyrim!
    2) Go to Whiterun and inform the Jarl about the dragon menace!
    So, to reiterate my two options, I have:
    1) Travel all the way across this dangerous landscape, dodging bandits, wolves, bears, and possibly dragons on the way, to a frozen city half the world away, to join a bunch of sexist (SONS of Skyrim?), racist blowhards who claim my gods are false (I may be a Nord, but I was raised as a Redguard, dammit), and help them disrupt a peaceful, principally agrarian country with a civil war in the hopes that they can kill enough innocent soldiers that they can make their regime change stick and put in their chosen leader who, by all accounts, is a murderer.
    2) Take a quick jaunt down a friendly road to a nearby city in beautiful, warm Whiterun Hold, and make sure a reasonable, level-headed guy gets pertinent information about a menace that threatens the entirety of existence.
     
    After a heavy internal debate that lasted approximately 0.003 seconds, I take off running to Whiterun, singing a jaunty tune. Actually, no, wait... I've got a backpack full of crap that I need to sell. I'll just stop in at the local merchant, listen to a conversation in medias res, sell some crap, and THEN on to Whiter... erm, the local tavern for a quick drink and a meal, talk to the barkeep about some rumors, and THEN on to Whit... the tavern's troubadour named Sven interrupts me telling me to stay away from some guy named Faendal, and gives me a letter to give to some lady named Camilla, and THEN on to Wh... on my way out of town, bump into an elf named Faendal who tells me to stay away from Sven, and THEN on to Whiterun! I swear, if I never come back to this craphole it'll be too soon.
     
    Over the river and through the woods, to Jarl Balgruuf's house we go! I'm tempted to call him Jarl Billy-Goats-Gruff but I manfully resist. Gleefully skipping down the road, I pass some pretty flowers, a nice peaceful stream, a pleasant farm, some butterflies, a meadery, a hostile giant attacking the city and being peppered with arrows from three warriors, all of the stuff you'd expect to see in a peaceful, pastoral paradise. I prudently stand off from the fight, and a good thing, too. The three of them take down the giant with no real effort. I've heard that giants are tough fights, but this is apparently NOT the case! When they're done with their exercise, I run up to congratulate them, and get berated by the leader for... drinking milk. Or something. I wasn't really paying attention, I was staring at her face. I get the impression that these people don't know how to put on makeup here. Eye shadow is supposed to be subtle, lady, not swabbed across the face with a trowel. I don't say anything though, because she's got a sword, and I've made it a policy not to insult edged weapons.
     
    So I head on up to the main gate, passing by some rich bastard's carriage and driver. The poor guy has to sit out here, day in and out, rain or shine, waiting for his master to come along. I briefly entertain the notion of starting up a discussion about inalienable rights, but I remember the bit about the dragon and decide to head on up to the castle. This whole town has seen better days, for sure. Half of the walls are crumbling and the defensive towers are made of wood. And they say that Whiterun is the jewel of Skyrim. It's paste, people.
     
    The guard at the gate tells me that the city's closed because dragons are flying around. Whew! I don't have to tell the Jarl after all. They already know here. Although how closing the city helps, I don't know. Maybe they're hoping the dragon will see the closed door and not fly over the wall. Maybe that's just the guard's standing orders in case of emergency. Bandit attack? Close the city. Dragons on the loose? Close the city. Thunderstorms? Close the do I really need to go on, here? The guard, knowing about the dragons and under express orders NOT to open the doors for any reason, takes my news that there are dragons around in shock, and ushers me in. These guys are highly trained professionals. His friend tells me that he has a knee problem. I'm not sure if he's asking for help or coming on to me, so I avert my gaze and head on in.
     
    Ah, Whiterun! As I wander the streets of the beautiful city, I point out to myself the various features of this wonderful place. There's an open sewage canal, and over here is an old dead tree. A zealous proselytizer sermonizes at me on my right and some asshole on my left argues with his wife about how he's taking their life savings to hire mercenaries rather than buy food. As I pass by another guard, he tells me that there's a cave nearby with nasty creatures in it and I should stay clear. Some rich guy in the marketplace (probably the owner/employer of the carriage driver out front) starts yammering on about how his food is better than anyone else's food, and a homeless beggar walks by asking for money. I give him a gold piece and he asks me to steal some booze for him from the local tavern. Way to reinforce the stereotype, dude.
     
    But I'm not here to criticize. I'm here to warn the Jarl about the dragon attack. I know he's already aware of the problem, but I have to warn him anyway. I already made a note of it in my journal/date book. In ink. So I have no choice. Up the stairs, over the stagnant pond with a dead body floating in it, into the beautiful (wooden, flammable) Dragonsreach castle-hall-thing. Once inside, a dark elf draws her sword on me. I swear, these Dunmer are all totally batshit. I tell her that there's a dragon about and she sheathes her sword and points me toward the guy lounging indolently on the big chair. Maybe THIS bastard is the guy who employs/owns the carriage driver.
     
    Anyway, I get to talk to the guy with the crown. He thanks me for telling him about a dragon he already knew about, and rewards me with a pair of iron boots. As a gift, I'm kind of torn about this. Iron boots are nice and all, and they go nicely with my new breastplate I... ahem... FOUND in a mine, but I can't help being a little affronted at the parsimony. I guess I shouldn't be; I just told him a fact he already knew. He imperiously tells me to follow him because he's assigning me a new job. I follow him, because, as I said, I prefer not to argue with edged weapons, and this guy's got a housecarl with an itchy sword hand. She threatened me with death for walking in the building. What would she do if I said "no" right to the guy's face?
     
    The court wizard is an arrogant little dude whom I could break in half with one hand were it not for the fact that he can shoot lightning bolts out of his hands. I amend my "no arguing with edged weapons" rule to include finger-based electricity. Maybe he's supercilious because he's compensating for the fact that he can't masturbate without electrocuting himself. Whatever. Anyway, he tells me to go to some old ruin and recover a mystical magical rock, a Dragonstone. Bleak Falls Barrow. Ralof told me that he was scared of that place, and there's a guy who was facing his imminent execution with aplomb. Farengar tells me to head to Riverwood (shit) and ask around about how to get there. I cheerfully tell him yes, listen to Balgruuf expostulate about the necessity of my "quest" (which basically amounts to a suicidal treasure-hunting job), and get the hell out of the palace, and Whiterun entirely. If he, the other he, they, or anyone thinks I'm heading into an ancient, crumbling ruin on the top of a mountain to face a horde of undead so that I can get some wizard guy's rocks off, they can think again. (I may have mixed up the requirements of the quest in my fear and loathing, but the principle is the thing). Screw you guys, I'm gone. I don't want to be a hunter, miner, or woodcutter. That whole lightning bolt thing sounds pretty cool, after all - maybe I'll head to Whiterun... I mean Windhelm... I mean Winterhold. The college there. Yeah, I'm gonna be a wizard!
     
    As I'm almost out of the city, the captain of the guard stops me in the street to tell me that he's the captain of the guard. How nice for him.
     
    Next: Chapter 2, Of Jesters And Snow
  2. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 10: A STRANGE DRESS CODE
    In which Our Hero joins the Imperial Legion and narrowly escapes flowery death.
    Previous: Intermission 1

    Solitude. It's a big city. Huge, even. That is, compared to the size of other "major" cities here. There are cities in Cyrodiil at three times this size. I heard that the city of Mournhold (official tourism bureau motto: City of Lights, City of Magic) is at least four times this size. I once went through the city of Wayrest in the Iliac Bay that I got seriously lost in for several hours because it was too damn big to navigate. But Solitude, capital city of Skyrim, with a population of less than one hundred, is considered a major city. I'm really starting to wonder about the intelligence of the local nord population.
     
    Anywho, there's a lot of stuff here. The bard's college is here, and the Imperial Legion headquarters, which is why I'm here. On my left are a few shops, and on my right is a guy getting beheaded. Over here... wait, back up a bit. Beheaded? I question the crowd about this particular phenomenon. I'm thinking it's one of the forms of local recreation. They no longer do the Burning of King Olaf ceremony, so they've got to have weekly beheadings.
     
    I'm told that actually, the reason he's being killed here is because he opened the main gate to the city, letting Ulfric Stormcloak out. So, to recap, a lowly guard performed the heinous crime of opening a gate when a Jarl, a ruler in the top echelons of the political system, asked him to. I get that everyone is a little pissed at Ulfric here, but... really? A guy DID HIS JOB and you're executing him for it? That's... broken, dude. Totally bogus. There's obviously something else going on here. Everyone is angry, and they need someone to blame. It can't be the high king, because he's dead. They can't execute Ulfric, because he's not here. So... get a scapegoat. A scapeguard, if you will. Fuckers.
     
    I'm beginning to question my decision to join the legion, if this is that they do. I remember, when I first arrived here in Skyrim I was almost beheaded because they couldn't be arsed to do a little paperwork. But this goes beyond an uncaring and unfeeling bureaucracy, here... this is actual evil. Still, I guess it's better than the rampant sexism and racism prevalent in the other major local political party, so... wingnuts, here I come. Mace Raiden, Legionnaire.
     
    As I walk through the city, I'm accosted by the regular crowd. You know, the crowd that apparently exists in every city in Skyrim? Here's the town drunk; there, a beggar. Over by that wall is an obvious criminal, and here's an asshole of a high elf being an asshole because all elves are assholes. There's a violence-obsessed nord warrior dressed in dead animal skins, and over here's an oddly effeminate breton espousing the virtues of the eight divines. This cookie-cutter approach to city generation is starting to get on my nerves, but I'm not actually going to comment on that because who knows if it'll upset the gods.
     
    So. Castle Dour. Full of guys wearing skirts. The legion has a strange dress code. I've got to talk to Legate Rikke, but I can't right now, because she's arguing with General Tullius. Apparently Ulfric is planning on attacking Whiterun, but Jarl Balgruuf is refusing imperial aid, citing nord tradition. Tullius wants Rikke to send Balgruuf a letter, little knowing that Rikke is actually the illegitimate child of Ulfric who is not the real Ulfric but instead his younger sister who got a sex-change operation in order to carry on the family business, but Tullius is harboring a dark secret that he has recently confided in Elisef's steward who is actually her late husband wearing a disguise who didn't actually die...
     
    Blurgh. Sorry, my brain just got taken over by the Soap Opera Episode Generator, pay me no mind. Actually, when you come to think about it, the entirety of my life so far has been dealing with politics in one way or another. Who gets to control the Eye of Magnus? Do we follow the Way of the Voice as the Greybeards want? Should the Forsworn regain control of the Reach? Should the Stormcloaks or the Legion take control of Skyrim? Should Talos be outlawed? Which Skyrim city should I personally raze first? Politics, with a side order of draugr and a sprinkling of banditry. Dragons to taste. Bake at 180 degrees for thirty minutes. Serves one.
     
    While Tullius and Rikke keep spouting at each other, I wander the area, noticing yet again that there are no bathrooms in any of these high-class places, only in dank dungeons. It actually explains a lot about the political troubles of this land. Nobody can take a shit in comfort, so everyone's walking around fully constipated at all times. Makes 'em irritable.
     
    Finally the two of them stop jabbering at each other, and I can petition to join the legion. Rikke seems hesitant. Apparently she didn't like that I followed Ralof out of Helgen, for which I cannot actually fault her. She decides to give me a simple little test to prove whether I'm legion material or not. I have to go and wipe out a band of bandits (so THAT'S why they're called bandits! They travel around in bands!) at Fort Hraggstad.
     
    Um... really, lady? You want all ONE of me to go and wipe out a well-defended fort filled with murderous malcontents so you can garrison a troop of legionnaires there? Like, this is a job FOR the troop of legionnaires, let THEM do it and then move in? This... this is a suicide mission, isn't it. You're not just suspicious of me, you're actually hostile to me. What the HELL did I ever do to you?
     
    I'd back out, but I'm thinking that this is my last option. I'm not so desperate as to go to that argonian guy back near the front gate and sink a ship for him; the criminal life is not for me. I haven't sunk that low. No, I guess I need to do this. Honestly, I'm probably capable of it. With my big fucking axe and heavy iron armor I can do it. Still, I'd like some help on this one, so... I guess I need to recruit a follower.
     
    I head back out to the local tavern, because as everyone knows, the local tavern is where you go to recruit adventurers. The local adventurer-for-hire is a nord by the name of Belrand, a balding older guy who nevertheless seems quite competent. He's a spellsword, and can use magic and weapons equally well. He's fully equipped for battle and just itching to get out there and mix it up with some bandit scum. I cheerfully tell him welcome aboard, and he cheerfully tells me that he's ready to go, just a few pieces of paperwork to fill out, nothing major, and his fee is 500 gold...
     
    Uh? FIVE HUNDRED GOLD? The local beggar asks me for one gold piece a DAY. 500 gold will keep you in food for the next YEAR, fucker. I'm not going to pay you a year's salary for a day's worth of work! Get bent! I'm paying you 20.
     
    He stares at me for a minute, then quietly proceeds to explain his fee. Apparently, risking one's life being the companion of a guy heading into almost certain doom facing a horde of bandits in a well-defended fortress situated on a dangerous cliff's edge in the icy, troll-infested northland is worth more than a handful of gold. And then there's the roaming charge, too. I sheepishly hand over 500 gold, avoiding eye contact, and he magnanimously says nothing more about it. We're off to Fort Hroggstad! Or Hraggstod. Something like that. Onward!
     
    The trip to the fort is relatively uneventful. We pass by an old nordic ruin, and the big white rock in my backpack starts yammering at me again, apparently THIS is its temple. Who knew? I'll be back soon, I promise. The only other things we encounter are a pair of trolls the two of us easily dispatch, a few bandits the two of us easily dispatch, a couple of wolves the two of us easily dispatch, a bear the two of us easily dispatch, a horde of spriggans the one of us easily dispatch while the other runs and hides and sucks his thumb, etcetera.
     
    The fort itself turns out NOT to be a tough nut to crack. Sort of a soft nut. Pre-cracked, if you catch my drift. Belrand and I run through the place like an awfully sharp thing through a very soft thing, (I am a master of simile) and before you know it, the fort is ours! I walk out of the place loaded down with a dozen sets of bloodstained armor, a bunch of rusty iron hammers, axes, and swords, several bows, several hundred arrows, pots, pans, plates, trinkets, statues, books, ingredients, potions, food... the works. I'm skipping my way down the path, not a care in the world, and I stop to pick up a flower. Suddenly I can't move worth shit. My breath comes in labored gasps as I inch my way on my hands and knees down the trail, barely aware of my environment as a red haze obscures my vision. My joints creak under the heavy load and I swear I can feel my spine beginning to telescope. Desperate, barely aware of my actions, extremities going numb, I fumble in my backpack. I drop a single iron dagger, and I'm back up and sprinting down the path. I need to watch it from now on. That's a leading cause of death here in Skyrim - picking a flower and being crushed under the weight.
     
    Anyway, it's back to Solitude to talk to Rikke, won't SHE be surprised when I show up alive and well!
     
    Next: Chapter 11, Oath Of Celibacy... I Mean Fealty
    Start at Chapter 1
  3. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 16: LOVELY PARTY, PITY I WASN'T INVITED
    In which our hero, despite promises to the contrary, gets drunk again.
    Previous: Chapter 15, Imperials in the Stormcloak Capitol
     
    So. Back in Riverwood. I'm kind of getting sick of this place. It's easy on the eyes, sure, and a nice quaint little backwoods village is the perfect place to settle down and raise a litter of Death Hounds, but there's just something about this place that rubs me wrong. Some bad memories, maybe. Like, memories of living in Skyrim. Those are usually pretty bad.
     
    Anyway, Delphine jumps on me as soon as I enter the inn, never mind heading through her room and the secret wardrobe entrance down the secret stairs to her secret chamber of secrecy. Apparently, the middle of the inn in the middle of the day when everyone is sitting there in earshot, making a concerted effort to appear not be listening but I know the buggers are hanging on her every word, is a good place to discuss a secret mission to overthrow the Thalmor. Or something like that. I kind of got muddled because I decided I'd take a swig of wine for every five minutes of exposition, and after about hour two my brain sort of shut down.
     
    Well, I guess she updated my journal for me, because it says I've got to go to Solitude, home of the legion and an increasingly headless populace. I've got to meet a Bosmer named something, I forget his name, it won't be important for long, I'm sure... and he's got an invitation to a party for me. The party is being held by Elenwen, the leader of the Thalmor in Skyrim, for her bestest traitorous buddies in the whole west side of the province, but not the east side, because the Stormcloaks know a snake when they see one, and so do I, I'm seeing a lot of snakes, and no wonder, considering the sheer amount of booze I've put in my system, I'm surprised I'm not seeing pink mammoths... though I am seeing the occasional mammoth shooting into the sky and falling back to the ground, so I guess that counts. Havok, God of Physics, strikes again.
     
    So off I go to Solitude, after a quick stop in Whiterun for the shops, to stock up on the very best in protective gear, potions, scrolls, enchantments, and a five-month supply of alcohol that I'm hoping will last me until the end of this sentence, but don't hold your breath.
     
    Once in Solitude, I find Mr. Whoever, who asks me to give him everything I can't live without, which right now means I have to give him my money, clothes, armor, weapons, ingredients, soul gems, torches, keys, food, arrows, jewelry, and a wicker basket I apparently picked up somewhere, but there's no way I'm giving him the remnants of my liquor stash, to which I jealously hold on, wild horses couldn't drag my booze from my grip right now. I need it to stay sharp for this quest. The elf takes my shit and rushes off. I hope he really was my contact and not just some opportunistic thief who took advantage of my inebriation and made off with tens of thousands of gold worth of adventuring gear, plus a wicker basket.
     
    I saunter on down to the stables, which are conveniently located about seventy kilometers from the front gate, and lo and behold there's Delphine, who has an invitation to the party. I'm to strip what's left of my dignity gear and hand it to her, she'll keep it safe, no worries. Unfortunately I can't take my booze with me on this one, so rather than let it fall into the wrong hands (meaning any hands but mine), I quickly down the last few bottles and commence swaying slowly side to side. I am now carrying absolutely nothing except a couple of floating gems, a big white talking rock, a giant's toe, and hagraven feather that will NOT come unstuck. Someday soon I've got to get rid of this shit, even if it means finding Sam the disguised daedra and shoving his magical staff up his backside, then taking this stone to the temple of Meridia and shoving it up her backside, and then (because at heart I'm an even-handed person) finding some miscellaneous object to shove up my own backside. Fair's fair, after all.
     
    Sloshing gently, I listen as Delphine tells me I'll be going in alone, clothed only in an admittedly snazzy set of duds, armed only with my charm, native wit, and a talent for making snarky comments. A few of my brain cells register some doubt at this point, but the rest of them are relaxing in the amber-golden bath of fermented grapes, so I enthusiastically agree, and hop up in the back of the cart.
     
    I must have fallen asleep in the wagon, because next thing I know, I'm up a mountain somewhere, it's snowing, and I'm being accosted by a drunk. Since by now my buzz has worn off and a slight headache has set in, I'm having trouble concentrating on what he's saying, which is okay because I'm sure he isn't saying anything important. The guard at the door stops me and asks for my invitation, which I don't remember getting but sure enough, there it is, here you go ma'am, nice weather we're having here, and can you direct me to where you're keeping your sensitive intelligence data and secret documents?
     
    But no, I have to slog through a party scene first. Once inside, I'm immediately singled out by Elenwen, who is hanging around by the front door, just waiting for everyone to get inside so she can lock it and order her guards to commence the slaughter. At least, that's how I expect this evening to go. Wish I'd brought a weapon other than my body odor, which has to be getting fairly obvious considering the fact that it's been about a week since the last time I was immersed in water, and I haven't seen any bath houses, showers, tubs, or even something as basic as soap since I arrived in Skyrim. The Gods saw fit to include every miscellaneous item conceivable in their world, from pots to buckets to brooms to wooden spoons to wicker baskets, but for the life of me I can't figure out why they didn't include something as basic as a guzunder.
     
    Anyway, once I pass the requisite opening conversation gambits in mine and Elenwen's witty repartee, who should interrupt by my old buddy guy-whose-name-is-just-on-the-tip-of-my-tongue, the guy who walked off with all my gear and had better have it all back or I'm gonna be sick all over his shoes, this headache is really getting bad. Whosit tells me to create a distraction somehow, and he'll take me through the door behind me, which is plot-locked until I create the aforesaid distraction, which seems mighty convenient, but there you go.
     
    So I approach the one person in the whole building whom I can trust, the fellow drunk Razelan, and ask him to create a distraction, for the mere price of a single bottle of wine, which I pick up from whoever-he-is, along with a dozen or so more because I'm really needing a hair of the dog right about now, because this is possibly the most tedious gathering of smarmy rich bastards that has ever existed. Razelan accedes to my request gracefully, and proceeds to draw the attention of everyone in the room, myself included, and it's only because of my sheer dedication to duty that I remember to go back to the elf dude and continue on my current quest.
     
    The Bosmer takes me through the kitchens, threatening an innocent cook on the way, and shows me a chest where he put all my shit. I quickly sift through the stash, biting my lip and frantically searching for that most treasured of possessions that I had given the dude, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I find it - the wicker basket. After a moment's consideration, I also put on the armor and draw my axe. The basket is imperative, but you'll never know when the armor and weapon will come in handy. From here on out, I'm on my own, surviving on my wits, skills, heavy armor, a big axe, and whatever potions and gear I brought with me or can scrounge up from a richly appointed mansion. I stop behind a door and listen to a couple of guards talking, something about animated robes marching around that morning, that'd be a sight to see, pity I missed it.
     
    Now I know this is supposed to be a clandestine operation, but I'm not exactly the sneaky type. I'm more the push-fist-through-face type. My axe and I rip through the place like a... like a... well, like a big Nord warrior with a great axe rips through a Thalmor embassy, is what it's like. The clang of metal on metal, battle yells, the loud buzz of lightning magic, and the screams of the dying apparently don't penetrate the walls of the embassy, because by the time I'm done wiping my ass with the last Thalmor's robe, the party is still going strong on the other side of the wall. Either that, or Thalmor parties usually end up with most of the guests decapitated. How should I know? I've never been to a Thalmor party before.
     
    I find my way outside, kill a few more guards, including one wizard who actually puts up something of a fight, and into another building, where I quickly slaughter more Thalmor, pick up a couple of intelligence documents, one of which is something Delphine needs to see, about an old Blade hidden in Riften, and prepare to free a prisoner... wait, what was that I just read? Something about Ulfric Stormcloak...
     
    Oh. Oho. Ah ha ha ha ha. Yeah, I should have seen that coming. Ulfric Stormcloak, a sleeper agent for the Thalmor. Can't wait to show this to someone. Anyone who sees this will be shocked, I'm sure. Now this can be interpreted one of two ways - one, Ulfric is willingly, nay, enthusiastically, engaged in an attempt to destroy the empire at the behest of the Thalmor, and the other is that he is unknowingly working for them. Either way, I've just got to show this to Ulfric as soon as possible. Option 1, I kill him then and there, and option 2 is he ceases his rebellion and rejoins the empire. Of course, knowing the intelligence of the average Nord, there is undoubtedly a third option, where he just disregards this information and continues in his madness, but I'm sure that won't crop up.
     
    But first, I've got to rescue this prisoner. He tells me that there's a quick exit down a trash chute that the Thalmor sometimes throw live prisoners down, and I tell him that there's no fucking way I'm treating a sewer tunnel as an exit. Before I can make my case clear to the idiot, though, more Thalmor come in, with Mr. Noname, and fighting breaks out between the well-armed, armored, and professionally trained Thalmor soldiers on one side, and an unarmed wood elf most known for his skill at mixing drinks and a highly inebriated Nord on the other, which can only end one way... the Thalmor dead and the Bosmer and I almost completely unscathed. Why not?
     
    So, we can't get out the way we came in for some reason. The only way out is through the trap door where healthy people go to die. At first I'm not sanguine about our chances, but I and the nameless one quickly dispatch the dread guardian of the alternate exit - a lone troll. Outside, whatever and Etienne quickly run off for gods-know-where, and I briefly entertain the notion of heading back to the embassy and killing Elenwen for her evil crimes, but I quickly realize the futility of such a course of action, considering that the place is probably crawling with hostile guards now, not to mention the fact that I can't really find my way back up there again, so fuck it all, I'm going back to... (sigh)... Riverwood to give Delphine the good news. Or the news, at any rate.
     
    Once back at the inn, Delphine has hidden herself cunningly in her basement again, overlooking the fact that the room door and wardrobe are wide open for anyone who wants to look in, but I don't even give a shit anymore. Let the bitch blow her own cover. She reacts with shock to the possibility that another Blade is still alive, not just her, apparently because she thinks she's the goddess of hiding herself I guess, open doors and shouting voices notwithstanding. She ignores what I'm trying to tell her about Ulfric being a sleeper agent, but I guess she's got bigger problems, what with the dragons and all, so I let this one slide. She tells me to go to Riften and find him. Armed with a secret code phrase that will immediately cause Esbern to drop his guard and open his door to me as if the possibility of Delphine's capture, torture, and interrogation were impossible, I step outside, ready to head to Riften.
     
    But you know what? I think I'll let Esbern stew for a while. First I'm going to go respond to this letter from the Jerk of Falkreath... I mean, Jarl of Fuckreath... The Furl of Jerkwad... Flibbertigibbet... goddamn it... I'm going to Dawnstar. The wicker basket's coming too.
     
    Next: Chapter 17, The Daedric Princes
    Start at Chapter 1
  4. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 12: I'M FEELING HORNY
    In which our hero complains bitterly about ancient Nordic architects. Again.
    Previous: Chapter 11, Oath of Celebacy... I Mean Fealty
     
    Looks like the closest town to that draugr ruin is Morthal, but I really don't feel like trudging through a swamp today, especially one that is inexplicably located in an area where the average temperature generally hits no higher than "HOLY FUCK I'M FROZEN" on the thermometer. I'll head to Dawnstar and walk from there; it may be a snowy wasteland, but at least it's supposed to be a snowy wasteland.
     
    The trip to Dawnstar is relatively uneventful. Life is quite peaceful when you just hire a carriage driver to take you wherever you want to go. The trip from Dawnstar to the barrow is... less so. Wolves, yes, of course there are homicidal wolves, why wouldn't there be wolves that attack everything they see like they've been infected with some sort of 28-days-later zombie virus. Beyond that, there are a couple of hostile giants, many hostile bandits, and a few trolls even. I cannot help but contrast my current level of combat prowess with what I was doing just a few weeks ago. These days I'm a serious badass who wipes the ground with anything that fucks with me (giants not included), whereas before, I was a weakling who ran from rats. Say what you want about Skyrim, it makes you tough.
     
    The barrow itself is unremarkable on the outside. There's a necromancer waiting at the door with three zombified bandits in tow. Drawing on my considerable intellect and knowledge about summoning spells and how they work, I proceed to thwack down the necromancer first, knowing that his summoned minions (how did he get three of them at once, anyway?) will fall the instant he does. This does not actually appear to be the case here, though - his minions continue to fight on for a few seconds after he goes down, before they apparently realize that their reason for continued existence has been terminated and they fall into blissful ashy slumber.
     
    Inside, there are yet more necromancers. They're having a conversation about how they hate bandits and how bandits are dumb, with which I can heartily agree. I'm about to step out and introduce myself to these apparent intellectual elites when they up and run off down the tunnel to get the fuck beat out of them by a bunch of draugr. I count five necromancers and three draugr at the start of the battle. By the end, there are two draugr and zero necromancers. I'm a little trepidatious, but I really want to try out my new crown of leadership on these draugr, so I stop sneaking and announce myself as their one and only leader.
     
    They didn't take to me.
     
    Personally, I blame the necromancers. I'm sure the draugr would have immediately started bowing down to me as their rightful ruler, bearer of the crown of the High King of Skyrim, except they got all excited about the invading evil mages. It doesn't stop me from destroying them, but it does make me feel a little bad about it.
     
    The rest of the barrow is about par for the course. Twenty miles of narrow corridors, fifty thousand shambling undead, a chanting wall, a couple of spiders, some absolutely ludicrous "traps," all pretty much standard issue for ancient nord ruins. The only new thing was a different kind of trap that appears to make use of my newly-learned Whirlwind Sprint shout. Fancy that, I learn a new skill just before it becomes applicable. Neat how things work out for me that way, isn't it? Beyond this contrived progress blocker, and past the apparent nod to Indiana Jones, there's a narrow path between two pools of water leading up to an altar, where I suppose the horn I'm here to find is. As I walk down the path, statues begin to emerge from the water, but I don't find this out until after I've screamed like a little girl, hit them with my axe a few times, fired off a few arrows, and run and hid for a bit. Just statues, not horrible monstrosities from the depths of the world come to eat my flesh. In my defense, the statues do kind of look like huge snakes with wide-open mouths.
     
    After my heartrate slows down from a whine to a steady purr, and I clean up my pants in the pool (keeping a weather eye on the statues in case they decide to come to life and try to steal my soul), and I head up to the altar to get the horn, but it's not there. There's a note saying that I need to go to Riverwood and rent a room at the inn.
     
    All of that shit, just for a "the princess is in another castle" moment. Luckily for me, I don't have to traipse back through the entire dungeon, as there is a conveniently located escape tunnel that leads back to the start that is only accessible from this side so people can't just bypass all the content architecture the developers gods wanted them to see in their level ruin, but they put in the shortcut escape tunnel because the players citizens who managed to make it this far might be a little ticked off about having to walk all the way back, and might not buy their games anymore worship them.
     
    So... off to the starting town Riverwood to rent the attic room, only this inn doesn't have an attic. I timidly walk up to the innkeeper and request lodging, and she directs me to one of the two rooms this place has. Once inside, I wait around for a minute, and the innkeeper comes in and hands me the horn. I'd listen to her talk, try to find out how she managed to get her hands on the horn without killing the draugr or setting off the traps in the ruin, not to mention making her way past that you-must-have-a-whirlwind-sprint-shout-to-get-past-this-point gate, but I really don't give a fuck right now. I'm taking this horn back to the Greybeards. What with the horn, and my horned crown, I could really insert some sort of "sexual frustration" joke here but I can't think of one, so... it's off to High Hrothgar again.
     
    Back at High Hrothgar, I hand over the horn and Arngier tells me it's time for my next trial. I swear to GODS if you make me go and put this horn back for the next dragonborn who comes to see you guys, I'm gonna go absolutely apeshit. Luckily, before I can burst a skull-side blood vessel, they do some sort of song and dance number and initiate me fully into their collective. I now know all three words of the Unrelenting Force shout, and I can't wait to try it out on someone. I ask for a new quest from the Greybeards, but lo and behold, they don't have anything for me to do right now. I'm a free man! I can do whatever I want!
     
    I'm gonna go get tanked.
     
    Next: Chapter 13, Plot Armor
    Start at Chapter 1
  5. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 26: THIS PLACE HAS REALLY GONE TO THE DOGS
    In which our hero goes and joins the Companions.
    Previous: Chapter 25, Pretty Spry for an Old Guy
     
    Well, Whiterun hasn't changed much since the last time I was here. Commander Caius is still a right burke, Nazeem is his understudy, and Heimskr is giving them both a run for their money. I've been to every town in this goddamn province except Morthal, and none of them are populated with decent people. I'm deliberately staying away from Morthal, too, because... well, because I want to continue to treasure the illusion that there are some nice, reasonable people there, and I just know if I actually go there I'll be disappointed. Ignorance is bliss.
     
    Anyway, a quick jaunt around the shops to sell off some miscellaneous gear, and it's off to Jorrvaskr, where there's a fistfight going on. Right off the bat I can tell that even if the two fighters are both completely equal in stats, the woman will win, because she's smart enough to wear head protection and the dark elf isn't. I briefly try to remember if I've ever met a Dunmer in Skyrim who hasn't been both homicidal and a dumbass, but right at the moment I'm drawing a blank, so I just head on downstairs.
     
    So downstairs there's vuKodlak, a real white-haired wolf of a man (get it? get it? huh? no? okay...), and Wlkwos Vilkas, who apparently got makeup tips from Aela. I briefly consider telling him that yes, there actually is such a thing as too much eye shadow, but I don't want to interrupt their conversation. It sounds semiserious, almost like there's a power struggle going on or something. Ooh! Maybe I'll be embroiled in an internal squabble! Politics! Intrigue! Shoot me now!
     
    So Kodlak seems okay with my joining the Companions, but Vilkas is being a dick. "I've never heard of this person" he says. Have you been living under a rock, bro? I'm the freaking DRAGONBORN, ass. You know, savior of the city? Archmage of the College of Winterhold? Slayer of damsels and rescuer of dragons? Or something like that? You people are basically glorified thugs, and you have the sheer gall to look down on ME? I'm tempted to Fus-Ro-Dah him through a wall, but then I remember that thin wooden walls are completely indestructible in this world, plus he looks like one of those guys with plot armor, which means that even though he's a real pushover he'll still fuck me up in the long term. Boy, I wish I could just take a swing at him, though, you know? I mean... what... what did you just say to me? Test my arm? Dude, you're pretty enough, I guess, but I'm just not into guys who use that much eye shadow, alright? You want somebody to "test my arm" you'd better call your brother. He's more my style.
     
    Anyway, outside I get my wish, I get to take a swing at the dumbass, who proceeds to cry like a little girl after one hit. What a whiner. I thought you guys were tough. I remember idolizing you people for taking down a troll not that long ago. Truly, the scales have fallen from my eyes. He tries to regain some of his lost manhood by ordering me to have his sword sharpened. I walk on up to the forge, wearing a smirk, because I know damn well that his pathetic attempt to demean me won't work, and also because I'm daydreaming about taking the newly sharpened sword and sticking it in one of his orifices.
     
    The smith, with whom I've had dealings before, is just as grouchy and cantankerous as always. Or maybe not quite as much... it seems that now I'm a Companion, I'm entitled to a bit of respect from him. I briefly consider mentioning that I'm the Dragonborn and thus already worthy of respect, but I don't, because I'm scared he'll just stare at me and say "Yeah? So what?" and I'd have absolutely no response. So I drop off the sword and pick up a shield to give to Aela... it seems as though my primary responsibilities as a Companion will be ferrying weapons and armor back and forth. I'm okay with that, actually... it makes a nice break from assassination. Still, this is ostensibly an organization of warriors, and I'd like to get out and do some fighting.
     
    And Kutya Farkas grants my wish. Finally, I get to do something decent, something worthy! I will use my combat prowess in a noble and moral quest, I will protect the weak against the evil strong and bring glory and honor to my new brothers. I will... ah, shit, you want me to what? To go out and intimidate some guy, beat him into submission? Fuck that, dude, I'm not some hired thug, not just a pair of fists for you to... wait, who do you want me to beat? Umm... hmm.
     
    Crap... I'm really torn here. On the one hand, I find this sort of intimidation morally reprehensible. On the other hand, it's Sven, the tremendous dickhead, I'll get to kick around some. On the other other hand, he's still in Riverwood, and I really want to avoid going back there again. On the fifth hand (I never was very good at counting), it's fucking Sven.
     
    After a hefty internal debate, I decide I might as well go through with it. Maybe this is just an initiation thing, a one-off job and afterward I'll get back on the straight and narrow. Quick trip to Riverwood, one beatdown later, and back to Whiterun. One would almost think this Companions business is just another generic bunch of dudes who hand out standard fetch or kill quests in a bland, all-purpose way, but I'm sure that's not the case. I mean, what's the worst that can happen? I get sent to explore another Nord ruin or have to find another Macguffin or something? Ha ha! I laugh with scorn!
     
    I've decided that since I'm a Companion now, I need companions of my own. Aah, the good old days in Oblivion, when every companion was called a companion, but you can't do that in Skyrim because it gets confusing with the Companions, of which several can become companions... so you have to call the companions followers. I mean not the Companions, you call the Companions Companions, not companions, because that would be confusing, even though some of the Companions are also companions in the sense that they're followers, and not all Companions can become followers. But non-Companion followers are just supposed to be called followers. Or hirelings, but those are only followers that you hire, not followers who follow you without being hired. Everybody get all that? Good.
     
    ANYway, I've got to go get a compa... I mean a follower. To help me out in combat. The best place to find a follower is the local inn, which, according to the narrative laws of the universe and the TV Tropes page, is the best and often only place to hire adventurers for your party. So... it's off to one of the two taverns in Whiterun. I'm pretty sure there's a big Nord warrior woman waiting in the Prancing Pony Bannered Mare, so that's a good start, but I'll go check out this other tavern first, the Drunken Huntsman.
     
    Well hell, it's not a tavern, it's a shop. I didn't even realize! I've been ignoring a place where I can sell shit for months now. I feel like a right dope. Still, there is a hireling in here. She's a Dark Elf, and we all know what that means... batshit crazy with a side order of homicidal maniac. Which is actually exactly what I want right now.
     
    Jenassa is an artist who paints with blood. Okay, I've met some kooky people, I'm not even fazed any more. She probably went to the same art school that taught those Mythic Dawn idiots how to dye their clothes. Whatever. I'm fine with it, really. If she asks me to buy some of her art I'll lop her head off, but until then I'll just roll with it.
     
    She's an archer, a skill in which I sorely lack, and she has nothing to do with magic, for which I hire her on the spot. Funny how she charges exactly the same amount of money to follow me around killing my enemies as Belrand did. Hmm... better not mention my follower to her. She might get jealous. Honestly, baby, he meant nothing to me! It was just a quick fling! Really quick, because he died in the middle of a dungeon when I smacked him and... hmm... better not mention my previous follower to her, she might want to know what killed him. Honestly, baby, it was an accident! My weapon slipped out of my hand!
     
    This may not be the best way to begin a new relationship. Still, she seems eager enough. Let's go murder something.
     
    Next: My Precious
    Start at Chapter 1
  6. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 13: PLOT ARMOR
    In which our hero kills another dragon and tromps back and forth to Riverwood.
    Previous: Chapter 12, I'm Feeling Horny
     
    On second thought, no. The last time I got drunk I woke up in an entirely different city, married to a goat, and I'm still carrying around a bottle of wine, a giant's toe, and a hagraven feather that I just cannot seem to put down. They're cursed - no matter how hard I try, they stick to me. I'm not doing that again. I don't even like mead, you know? Still, I guess a tavern is in my future, because I'm headed back to the inn in Riverfuck to talk to the innkeeper.
     
    Delphine is happy to see me. She tells me to go into her room with her and shut the door, and I'm thinking that nope, I don't need sex, lady. Honestly, I'm not interested. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not attracted to idiots. But it turns out she's not interested in the Little Mace, as I call him, instead she opens her wardrobe door and steps through into a magical land filled with talking animals. At least, that's what I wanted to happen. What actually happens is that this is a secret door that leads to a secret room. It's actually kind of cool - I never would have given the inn's builders credit for that kind of imagination.
     
    Downstairs, she asks me to confirm that I'm the Dragonborn, then subsequently refuses to believe it until I've proven it in a more concrete way. Which makes sense, really... she's sworn to follow the Dragonborn, but she's got a nice gig going here as innkeeper, and in her shoes I'd probably "disbelieve" anyone claiming to be my boss too.
     
    Anyway, it turns out that she's the one who hired Farengar to hire me to go get the dragonstone from Bleak Falls Barrow, because... I dunno. She wasn't up to it? Somehow she made it through one draugr-infested ruin but just couldn't handle a second one. Seems legit. I ask her, does she know how crazy this sounds?
     
    Do you know how crazy this sounds, I ask, having found my way through a draugr-infested trap-filled ruin to rescue a magical horn that, by the time I got there, someone else had already gotten to without killing draugr or hitting traps? Do you know how crazy this sounds, I say, having recently married a goat and been exhorted by a white rock to cleanse some temple of evil? Do You Know How Crazy This Sounds, I wonder, remembering the time I killed those dragons and ATE THEIR SOULS?
     
    DO. YOU. KNOW. HOW. CRAZY. THIS. SOUNDS?????????
     
    Anyway, back to the topic at hand.
     
    So the Dragonstone was a map of ancient dragon burial mounds, and she wants us to go find one. Somehow the map says which dragon will be brought back to life next. Pretty good... explicit instructions from a hunk of rock. Off we go to Kynesgrove! Or rather, off SHE goes. I've got some shit to do first. I'll meet you there. Somehow, just like the mages at the college, I'm sure everything will wait for me to arrive before happening. I am the center of the world, after all.
     
    Actually, on second thought, nah. I'll go ahead and head to Kynesgrove, because there's nothing much else that interests me in my journal. A quick fast-travel to Kynsegrove later, and I'm in the middle of a blinding snowstorm at midnight. Shit. Somewhere in this morass of snow is Delphine, and possibly a dragon being resurrected, but I can't find shit in this frozen soup.
     
    Summoning my inner reserves, I quickly meditate on my powers of the Voice as Dragonborn, and I shout to the heavens with all my strength, to change the weather. I call this shout the "fw 81a" shout. Works like a charm.
     
    So we head on up the path, there are some dead Stormcloaks here, no loss. And a big black dragon flying around. He sneezes at the ground and up pops another dragon from a shallow hole. The two dragons talk to each other for a bit, and while they're talking, suddenly the dragon on the ground loses all his skin and becomes a fleshless skeleton, then proceeds to gradually get it all back as particles of... I don't know, flaming scale, come wafting in and attach themselves to his body. These dragons are weird, all right.
     
    Alduin takes off, and it's down to me, Delphine, and this new dragon. It isn't much of a fight, because the idiot keeps landing, making himself a good target for my axe. Delphine takes a knee repeatedly, but doesn't die, no matter how much the dragon breathes fire on her or closes his huge fucking jaws on her head. I've noticed that a lot of Bretons have plot armor. I wish I was a Breton with plot armor. Trolls wouldn't stand a chance.
     
    Anyway, we finish off the dragon. Mostly it was me, but I don't like to boast. I'm very humble that way. I promise not to keep bringing it up at every opportunity. After I personally kill the dragon by myself and on my own with only some minor assistance from a secret-agent innkeeper, the dragon dissolves like the last one and I eat its soul. Delphine seems impressed, and proceeds to shove about an hour's worth of exposition through my ear canals. I'd pay attention, but I'm really not that interested. Look, lady, I'm sorry about taking credit for your dragon kill, okay? Please just stop talking to me.
     
    The upshot of it all is that now I've got to head back to Shitwood and listen to her jabber more at me. She's got some sort of secret plan to do some sort of secret stuff and it's all very clandestine and hush-hush. We have to talk about it back in Riverass because, I don't know, maybe she's worried about the dead guys nearby overhearing her secret plan, and wants to get back to her basement before she'll feel safe enough to discuss it. I do feel a little bit of obligation, primarily due to the fact that I chose the "Thief" stone when I first arrived in Skyrim, and that seems to fit the cloak-and-dagger feel of this next series of quests well, but I can't be arsed right now.
     
    On second thought (which makes the third second thought I've had recently, totaling six thoughts, which is probably a new record for the typical Nord in Skyrim), Imma head into Windhelm now, mostly because it's right around the corner and I'm sure somebody will have a more interesting job for me there. Let's hope it's doing something nice, like helping a little child, and not something nasty, like killing someone.
     
    Next: Chapter 14, Possibly Some Ice Hockey Reference
    Start at Chapter 1
  7. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 30: A PROPHETABLE VENTURE
    Wherein our hero (surprise!) despairs at other people's apparent lack of brainpower.
    Previous: Chapter 29, Once You Go Black...
     
    So the first person I need to recruit is a woman named Sorine Jurard, who's been studying the Dwemer, because every academic in the entire goddamn world studies the Dwemer, you'd think after thousands of years of people studying the Dwemer someone would have figured something out, but no, they're still a complete mystery. My guess is that the Dwemer disappeared back in the day deliberately because they were fed up with being studied all the time.
     
    Anyway, Sorine's easy enough to find. She's stuck out in the middle of nowhere, studying the Dwemer by standing in one place staring at the ground. There's a Dwemer "ruin" nearby that's about ten feet square, so I guess that counts? I mean, if she were really studying the Dwemer, you'd think she'd be in Blackreach, but no. To be fair, I honestly can't really blame her... she'd get killed going down there. I mean, she lost her research materials to a bunch of mudcrabs. Pathetic, really. I retrieve her Dwemer gyro, which is not a sex toy, so get that thought out of your head. I briefly wonder why the hell a mudcrab made off with it, but this thought is eclipsed by my wondering why she didn't just get the damn thing herself, her bag was like five feet away, and it's not exactly inconspicuous, being an overlarge apothecary's satchel. She's probably afraid of getting killed by the mudcrabs. Ruptga preserve us, if this is the kind of help Isran needs to fight off the vampire menace, we're all doomed.
     
    Gunmar, on the other hand, isn't studying the Dwemer, thank gods. No, he's a stereotypical Nord warrior dressed in animal skins carrying an axe and out to kill bears. He's chased this particular bear for two weeks. I decline to consider how exactly it took him two freaking weeks to hunt down a bear, considering that they aren't exactly cowardly or anything, nor are they particularly difficult to kill. I mean, a vampire could do it, so logically if you are weaker than a bear and a bear is weaker than a vampire then once again, we're all doomed. After killing the bears in the cave for him, I head back to Fort Dawnguard.
     
    The Fort's undergoing some renovations out front. They're building up the defenses here. See, the huge stone building with impenetrably thick walls and big, sturdy gates located in a hidden valley with only easily-guarded entrance isn't enough, so they're putting up a flimsy wooden stockade. That'll keep those damn vampires out! I don't know, maybe the plan is for the vampires to see the wood and think "Oh no, they're stockpiling wooden stakes! Run!" Once inside the foyer, a couple of gates pop up, locking the three of us (me, Gunmar, and Sorine) inside, and Isran up on the balcony says he's making sure we're not vampires, hell if I know how. I'm more troubled about how he closed and then opened the jail-cell doors at all, considering that there's no lever or anything anywhere. Telekinesis, I suppose. He tells Sorine to start tinkering with crossbows and Gunmar to start putting armor on trolls, because if there's anything dumber than putting up a 6-foot wooden palisade in front of a 200-foot stone wall, it's making trolls even more dangerous, and Isran's bound and determined to be the dumbest fuck there is. I should've taken Harkons offer.
     
    Maybe the offer is still open, though. Turns out, Serana's here and she wants to talk to me. Now you may be wondering why Isran, the guy who's totally obsessed with killing vampires and was pissed off at me for not killing Serana before, would have welcomed her into his fortress so recently made impregnable by the addition of a balsa-wood fence. You'd be right to wonder. I do.
     
    Serana tells me that her father isn't a good person, a shocking revelation indeed. I do not deign to respond. Apparently Harkon wants to destroy the sun, plunging the world into a freezing darkness that would kill off everything including vampires, so I guess he belongs to the same "blow up the world" club that counts as its members Urag, Ancano, Alduin, and honestly, about 75% of Skyrim's population. I really have to question Serana's intellect. I mean, she knew about the prophecy, she knew he wanted the Elder Scroll, she knew he was planning on conquering or destroying the world, she knew she didn't actually want that to happen so she shouldn't give him the scroll, she knew that the Dawnguard wants to destroy vampires so coming here put her life in danger... and yet, she did all of that shit anyway. Dipshit. I'd say to hell with it and just walk away, but I've only got two real tasks before me - killing a vampire who wants to rule the world through pain and death in darkness, and killing a dragon who wants to rule the world through pain and death in daylight. So I guess I'll stick with it.
     
    Isran decides that the best method to ensure Serana's cooperation is by threatening me, telling her that if she goes off the rails he's going to make me pay for it. You know what? Fuck you, dude. He tells us that there's a moth priest somewhere in Skyrim, and suggests that innkeepers or carriage drivers may know where he is, because if anyone knows how to find a single individual in the whole fucking province, it's an innkeeper. Why not? Serana, on the other hand, wants us to go check out the College of Winterhold for information on the moth priest. Trust me, lady, they don't know anything. About ANYTHING. Least of all an insectoid cleric. I'd think that local temples would be a better place, but as it turns out, the innkeeper in Whiterun directs me right to him... I guess priests need to unwind with a refreshing beverage now and then too. The problem is, Serana won't come with me to find the moth priest unless Stenvar is not my companion.
     
    You can't trust my friend? Lady, he's not just my friend, he's my husband. If you can trust me, you can trust him. Ah, shit... well, Stenvar, looks like you should head on home. I'm heading off on an adventure with a vampire lady. I'll be back soon, I promise.
     
    Stenvar gives me a wounded look and slinks off. I feel like a heel.
     
    The guards at Dragon Bridge (where the innkeeper told us to go) say they already left, and I begin to wonder if this isn't going to be a quest that makes us travel to every goddamn town in the world looking for this elusive priest, but thankfully that doesn't happen. Just across the eponymous bridge, there's an overturned cart with a couple of corpses, one of which is a vampire, so we're on the right track. The vampire has a note on him that points us in the direction of Forebear's Holdout, because obviously there's got to be a note pointing the hero in the right direction, or telling him about the evil mastermind's one true weakness, or at the very least detailing the villain's grandiose plans at length, preferably with an addendum at the bottom saying "burn this note so as not to let it fall into the hands of the hero!" I mean, without something like that, the world's very foundations would crumble.
     
    Once at the dungeon, I kill a few vampire dogs and then a few vampires, and sneak my way up top. Malkus (the vampire boss) is trying to break Dexion (the moth priest) and subvert his will. This process takes approximately four seconds. I kill off Malkus and the other vampires, and then put the magical gem into the magical pillar and the magical barrier drops. Before I can give any actual thought to this wonderful barrier or its unfortunate status as a one-trick pony, I'm forced to attack Dexion because of the aforementioned breakage of his will. He takes a knee and then suddenly he's all right again. I guess getting smacked with an axe is the ultimate cure for vampiric domination. I'll have to remember that one.
     
    Dexion heads off to Fort Dawnguard all on his lonesome, despite abundant evidence that he can't fight worth a damn and the road there is full of bandits and wild beasts. Here's hoping he actually makes it. Me, I've gotta go to Whiterun once again to sell off some crap.
     
    NEXT: Chapter 31, Vampires and Death Hounds and Gargoyles, Oh My! (skipping Diary of a Water Purifier episodes 1-4)
    Start at Chapter 1
  8. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 34: THE SEVENTH SIGN AND THE IMPLIED TENTACLE RAPE
    In which our hero gets uncomfortably close to Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Prince of Greenish Ooze.
    Previous: Chapter 33, Lost and Found
     

    So I've noticed that I often begin these journal entries with the word "so," and I've decided not to do that this time. Wait... crap.
     
    Anyway (another favorite paragraph starter), after my recent sojourn in the Soul Cairn, I feel that I may actually be skilled enough at killing undead to join the Ash'abah someday. I've got to say, the clatter-and-tinkle of a skeleton falling to bits is actually kind of fun. Too bad we don't have any of that for a while. Right now I've got to go find the next Elder Scroll, to complete a set so I can send it in for a prize. Or something like that. As is my custom here in Skyrim, I'm just kind of running on autopilot right now, waiting for the next NPC to give me instructions, which will invariably include killing monsters and delving dungeons, with the occasional fetch quest thrown in for variety's sake. My life is pretty damn bleak, yeah.
     
    Serana mentions that maybe the people at the College of Winterhold might know where to find an Elder Scroll. I'm not sanguine about that - as Archmage, I am well placed to have certain inside information about the IQ of the average college wizard, and there's nothing that leads me to believe they'll be of any use. I mean, hell, when I was looking for a magical monk it was a bartender who led me in the right direction. Sadly, the local barkeeps have no info for me, so I am forced to return to the magic castle with the implausible bridge.
     
    As it turns out, the curmudgeonly Orc who runs the library actually does have some decent information. After deliberately misleading me into thinking that the only person who knows about these scrolls is dead, he finally breaks down and admits that he's holed up in a... well, holed up in a hole, actually, a bit north of here. Serana and I trudge up there, if you take a fairly liberal meaning of the word "trudge" that includes "hopping like a madman across ice patches" and "occasionally falling into frigid water." At last we arrive at the outpost of Septimus Signus.
     
    He's an odd bird, this guy. He's locked himself into an ice cave with a dwemer box, and he's determined to bust his way in. He tells me that the best way to do it is to go to a different dwemer ruin, conveniently located in Skyrim, and hands me a metal ball and a metal cube. Says they'll help me get the information he needs. Yep, that's right, a ball and a cube. I did say he's a kooky one.
     
    Ding ding ding! "Congratulations!" says a disembodied voice, "You've reached Level 7 of a Nested Problem!" To kill Harkon to stop endless night we've had to hunt down three elder scrolls without our local monk scroll 'expert' having any useful information, and find Serana's mommy and get her scroll, which required us to travel to an extremely boring and drab afterlife, and subsequently find a different expert, and which meant tracking down Septimus at the ass-end of nowhere via the College of Winterhold, and now we must take a metal ball and a metal cube to a different dwemer ruin to uncover the secret of how to open the big box in the hopes that Septimus will then tell us how to find the third scroll so we can read it and learn how to stop Harkon from enacting his evil plan... ugh. Hang on.
     
    Sorry, but I'm a tad confused... can't we just go stab Harkon in the face? Why all the running about? I'm the Dragonborn, a man out of legend, the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, and my powers of vampire-killing just aren't enough yet? Why the hell not? I'm backed up by his daughter, who is no slouch in the murder-department either, and I'm part of a group of people who are well motivated, and well equipped with vampire-slaying weapons, who would gladly JUMP at the chance to slaughter a bunch of vampires. Why can't we just go do that, I whine at Serana, but she just tosses a blank look my way and starts talking about the weather again. Why can't I just go kill Harkon myself? I'm tough enough! What, in short, is wrong with me?
     
    Breathe deeply, Mace. You made a pact with yourself to take whatever job comes along, and this is, in fact, a job that has come along. So what if it's a completely snarled ball of yarn? So what if the story doesn't make any goddamn sense? It's still a job!
     
    Okay... fine. Once at Alftand, we wind our way through the ruin, killing a poor, drugged-up Khajiit on the way, not to mention about ten thousand Falmer and dwemer constructs. The previous expedition to come through here met with an unfortunate fate, and that happened to be at the end of my hammer, because the last two surviving members proceeded to attack me for getting involved in their little internal dispute. Hey, guys, I just wanted to use this metal ball on that metal... revolving... thing over there. You shouldn't have attacked me. Nice shield, though... I could mount it on my wall if I ever want a bunch of spikes sticking out of my wall. I can use it as a coat hook!
     
    So I use the metal ball on the metal revolving thing, and it turns into a staircase. Pretty cool, one nifty thing in this whole place, I'm sure the rest of this quest is going to be bland again. Down the stairs we go, and through a door into...
     
    Holy cow.
     
    Okay, this Blackreach place is pretty damn cool. It's full of falmer and dwemer and chaurus, but there's also a giant walking along, and some trolls, lots of waterfalls, an old laboratory with a dead elf inside who was studying a new type of plant, a big ball of light that erupts in dragons when shouted at, and there's a lot of nifty places and cool architecture. The whole spot is lit by an otherworldly light, there are pretty, giant mushrooms scattered about, and all in all I'm really glad I came down here. A whole new world exists under Skyrim. This just about made my day.
     
    I could actually go on about Blackreach for pages, but no words of mine can do the place justice. If ever, gentle reader, you get the chance to visit (preferably well armed, armored, and backed up by a squadron of soldiers), you should definitely do so. I've spent days exploring the spot, and I'm not totally certain I've seen it all. I gotta say, I don't really miss the sun at all, so if Harkon wants to bring endless night down on the surface world, he can go right ahead, and more power to him. I'm staying right here.
     
    But no, it is not to be, because of that damnable journal full of quests. Such as the one I am, ostensibly, on. So Serana and I make our way to the Tower of Mzark, which is an old Oculory, which has something to do with randomly pressing buttons until random beams of light randomly converge in a random fashion on the center crystal, which opens up, and... hey, there's an Elder Scroll. It wasn't in the dwemer box after all! Don't I feel a silly goose! Yoink!
     
    I sort of feel bad for Septimus, though. He's going to all that trouble to open the big box to find a scroll, and it's not in there. Normally I'd just say "screw him" and wander off to do the next thing on my list, but I feel I need to go tell him he's barking up the wrong tree, or rather prodding at the wrong metal box. So I take the his newly transformed cube and toddle my way back out of there.
     
    Back at the outpost, Septimus is still trying to figure out how to get into the box. I show him the lexicon and he gets all excited, saying something about how the dwemer box will only open for a dwemer. At this point, I would recommend hiring a couple of peons and grabbing a largish drill and just boring my way in, but he's decided to trick the box into thinking he's a dwemer, instead, because of course the dwemer, a race who barely managed to invent steam-powered machinery before disappearing, were also capable of advanced biometric scanners that read a person's DNA. I've got to get a sample of elf blood from all the elven races present in the world today, and somehow mixing them all up and injecting them into his own bloodstream will somehow fool the box into thinking he's a dwemer. I turn to my wicker basket and start enumerating the sheer number of problems with this whole damnable scenario, but it interrupts me and mentions the "archmage" thing and says that if you can make a magic-powered staff of wood that can steal a person's soul, reading genetic markers accurately enough to determine a person's ancestry but still being fooled by mixing blood should be easy-peasy. Didn't I say I was running on autopilot, just doing what people tell me to? Yes, yes I did. So off we go.
     
    Or, at least, we try... the way is blocked by a giant cloud of mucous. With writhing tentacles. That speaks to me. You know, I'm getting pretty blasé about the whole weird-things-talking-to-me bit... stone walls, magical rocks, and now what appears to be a festering compost heap. Sure, why not. The heap tells me that he is Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Prince of Interrupting Quest Progress, and he wants me to kill Septimus as soon as I've gotten the required blood. Normally I'd say no, but it looks like the bugger won't get out of the way until I agree, so... sure, you old pile of green goop! I'd just like to say that on behalf of all sane people everywhere, I'm only too happy to do the bidding of random tentacled sludge monsters!
     
    Onward. We find and kill a bunch of elves, which would make the Stormcloaks proud of me, which only serves to depress me further. Some of the elves were easy enough to track down and slaughter, others less so. An Altmer patrol, a Falmer ruin, an Old Orc wandering the roads and killing sabrecats, looking for a good end... it all added up, eventually. Finally we finish slaughtering elves, and we make it back to Septimus. He takes the blood and injects himself with it I PROMISED MYSELF I WOULDN'T NITPICK DAMMIT and the box opens into a nifty-looking tunnel. Once inside, Septimus gets all weepy, and I have to put him down... partly out of pity, but mostly because the Daedric Prince of Tentacle Rape told me to. The ball of oozing glop appears again and thanks me, and now I've got a strange book bound in human skin cluttering up my inventory.
     
    Okay, moving on. Now we've got all three scrolls... and it's time to get back to Dexion and have him read them.
     
    NEXT: Chapter 35, Some Old Parchment
    Start at Chapter 1
  9. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 31: VAMPIRES AND DEATH HOUNDS AND GARGOYLES, OH MY!
    In which our hero gets back into the swing of things.
    Previous: Chapter 30, A Prophetable Venture (skipped Diary of a Water Purifier episodes 1-4)
     

    Whew! That trip to Whiterun sure took a long damn time.
     
    Anyway, I've decided that I've been spending too much time traveling from shop to shop, selling stuff off. I'm sitting on a pile of gold larger than... larger than... larger than something very large, and I can buy almost anything that I want, like... like... like anything interesting I might want to buy. Sorry, my imagination seems to be broken right now, please call again later. My point is, too many trips to the shops. I've dumped enough cheap weapons and bloodied armor pulled off the still-warm corpses of bandits and vampires into the local economy to sink a battleship, and enough is enough. I grab all the rest of my stashed stuff, excluding the few bits of pretty I want to keep forever, and sell them all off right now for the low-low price of zero gold, to the local food vendor. Poor Carlotta staggers off home under a load of loot, beaming a great big smile at her good fortune, only to inevitably find out that it's all priceless (in the sense of being utterly without value) because of the aforementioned market flooding. I feel sort of bad for her, now she has to rent a large storage locker to hold several tons of animal hides and scrap iron she can't possibly hope to sell to anyone else, but I don't feel bad enough to actually do anything about it. I'm off.
     
    But off to where, exactly? What the hell was I doing, anyway? Lemme take a look at my previous journal entry... hmm, hmm, yes, yes... aha. Serana, Dawnguard, Dexion, Elder Scroll, yadda yadda yadda. Right, I'm off to Fort Dawnguard.
     
    Back at the fort, safely tucked away behind the impenetrable wooden picket fence, Dexion and Isran are waiting for me, just like everyone else in the entire world always waits for me, because I'm the protagonist of this story a very important figure in their lives. Dexion complains about the hospitality - which is understandable, there aren't even any decent beds here, just cots - and tells me that my man Isran has "seen to his needs" which is an unfortunate turn of phrase. I want to make some comment about religious sex scandals, but I resist the urge, and instead just tell him that Isran isn't my man, Stenvar is my man. And he sees to my needs well enough.
     
    Anyway, Dexion whips out the scroll and starts reading. Turns out, darkness will mingle with light, which is another unfortunate turn of phrase, and the night and day will be as one, which is yet another yadda yadda yadda. So I need to find Auriel's Bow. Cool. Too bad I don't actually use bows much. If it was Auriel's Greataxe, that would be a different story.
     
    Apparently, though, the all-powerful repository of great knowledge that details the intricacies of an ancient prophecy is... incomplete. This particular scroll is only the first part of a series. Sorry, Dragonborn, your prophecy is in another scroll. I need a scroll about dragons, and a scroll about blood to complete the trilogy. And guess what? He doesn't have the other two scrolls. Because that would be too damn easy.
     
    Dude, your entire organization is dedicated to finding and protecting these bits of paper, and you tell me that now there's not one, or even two, but THREE of the fuckers hanging around Skyrim? You've been scouring the world for the last two hundred years, since the scrolls disappeared mysteriously, and you're still missing three of the world-altering maguffins?
     
    Now I don't mean to tell you your business, but maybe you should consider instructing your initiates NOT to read the scrolls they have and go blind. Blindness seems to be interfering with your new-scroll-detection powers. Weird how that works, huh? Like, you need to be able to see in order to look for things. Amazing how the world works sometimes.
     
    Actually, it might not be their fault... it could be the same nefarious band of tricksters that stole the Jewels of Barenziah's Crown and scattered them around Skyrim like some demented Easter Bunny gone mad.
     
    Anyway, we (Serana and I) need the other two scrolls before we can continue. Serana thinks that one of them is in the hands of her mother, who is probably hidden away somewhere. And since the designers didn't want to add in too many new worldspaces for such a small DLC her mother is a crafty one, she hid herself in the last place that Harkon would look - in his own castle. Now I don't know about anyone else, but when I lose something, like my keys or money pouch or something, the first place I look is at home. I scour the whole damn house if necessary. But no, apparently Harkon just derps around, not looking in the most obvious spot in the entire damn world.
     
    Since we can't actually talk to Harkon about this, because little-miss-daddy-issues doesn't like him (which, I am forced to admit, is completely understandable), we must sneak around through the side entrance to the castle. Because of course there's an unguarded side entrance. If Harkon can't be bothered to look in his backyard for his missing wife and a powerful artifact of ancient knowledge that contains the keys to ruling the world, why should he bother to guard the goddamn side door? Shaking my head in combined wonderment and bafflement, I gesture onward to Serana and we head on out the door.
     
    NEXT: Chasing Reflected Soundwaves
    Start at Chapter 1
  10. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 28: HEARD THEY'RE REFORMING THE DAWNGUARD
    Wherein our hero begins buying cure disease potions in bulk.
    Previous: Intermission 3
     
    Before I can begin my assassin-assassination assignation, I've got to drop some of this crap in my backpack off back home. A quick fast-travel to the Whiterun gate and BAM I'm attacked by a vampire and his loyal dogs.
     
    Normally this sort of battle might take me around thirty seconds to finish, but what with Stenvar, a pair of city guardsmen, the blacksmith, the town drunk, and some orc guy jumping in, it takes nearly two minutes. I mean, there's no freaking way I'm going to wade in there... the first swing I make, my axe is bound to connect with a guardsman or something, and I'll be under arrest for assault. I learned my lesson in Falkreath - if someone is attacking a town, just let everyone kill each other and pick up the pieces afterward.
     
    After the battle, the orc walks up to me and tells me that the Dawnguard is looking for people to fight against the growing vampire menace. Glancing around at the recently killed vampire and death hounds, I look him straight in the eye and tell him that I am unaware of any vampire menace, just to see what he does. He, too, takes his time looking around at the carnage, and says "You're not paying attention then." I've been out-snarked by an orc! This guy Durak is now my personal hero.
     
    He tells me about how the hall of the Vigilants was destroyed, and to head to Fort Dawnguard, southeast of Riften, to sign up. He says someone named "Isran" is going to like me. So... if I join your club, I'll make new friends? Well, okay then.
     
    Durak walks off, and one of the guards nearby tells me that he heard they're reforming the Dawnguard. Really? You heard they're reforming the Dawnguard? You were standing like two feet away from me and Durak when he told me about it, listening in, and now you're informing me of that which I was just told? Uh, gee, thanks for the info. His fellow guardsman then walks up to me and asks where these vampires are coming from, and how someone needs to wipe them out. SHEESH! Okay, okay, I get it! I'm headed to Fort Dawnguard to join up to kill vampires! Just stop pestering me!
     
    After a round of the shops, Stenvar and I head to Riften to begin our journey south. It's an arduous trek. Bandits, wolves, and spiders hound us on every side. Worse still, halfway down the road the booze runs out, and we seriously consider turning back. See, it's my new defense mechanism... I figure that if vampires are going to try to drink my blood, I'll get 'em good and drunk on the alcohol in my bloodstream and they won't be able to fight back. It's a genius plan, says the equally-drunken Stenvar.
     
    Anyway, we finally reach a place called Dayspring Canyon. Down the path, there's a farmer guy named Agmaer, who wants to join the Dawnguard too, but he's too nervous. As soon as he asks me to hold his widdle hand down the path, I am suddenly teleported back to the entrance to the canyon. I blame the wine. Sprinting down the path, barely noticing the impressive castle, I try to catch up again, only to teleport back to the entrance AGAIN. I'm beginning to wonder if coming here was a mistake, it's obvious the Gods don't actually want me to enter the castle.
     
    But I press on anyway. Durak hands me a crossbow outside, and I've got to say, if this is what the Dawnguard are fighting with, it's no wonder the vampires are winning. The damn thing takes an hour to load and fire a single bolt! I don't care how much more damage it may do than a bow, I don't want it. Maybe Stenvar can make some good use of it.
     
    So we head on inside, my new buddy Agmaer and me, to interrupt a conversation in medias res. Something about the vigilants being wiped out and vampires overrunning everything. I wasn't actually paying attention... I was seeing just how big this castle is inside and out, and incidentally looting about ten thousand pounds of food from the various barrels scattered around.
     
    When I finally wend my way back to the entrance, Isran is showing Agmaer how to use the crossbow, which he does with appalling inaccuracy. Half the bolts ricochet off the stone wall and land at his feet! Well, everyone's got to start somewhere.
     
    Isran, I come to find out, is an obsessive megalomaniac personality... just the right kind of person you want as a boss. He sends me off after Tolan to a place called Dim Hollow Crypt, which normally I'd say is going to be packed with Draugr, but considering that I'm deep in the Dawnguard questline now, I'm sure it'll be packed with Vampires instead.
     
    Oooooohhh-kay. You're sending me, someone you've never met before, someone whose prowess in battle you are unsure of, who could even be a vampire in disguise, along with an old friend, to a nest of horrible vampires that wiped out a bunch of Vigilants of Stendarr? I mean, I know you've got nothing but scorn for the Vigilants, but you must admit that any force big enough to kill a dozen warriors is probably big enough to kill a raw recruit and an old man, right? Why is it that people keep sending me into deathtraps?
     
    But I am bound and determined to end the vampire menace forever, even though the asshat isn't giving any assistance beyond "you can loot this old abandoned castle for some crappy armor and crappier weapons." Except that warhammer there, it looks pretty cool. Stenvar likes it, anyway... he swaps out his sword for the hammer. Now begins the tale of Mace Raiden, Vampire Hunter, and his trusty sidekick Stenvar, Vampire Prodder!
     
    Once at Dim Hollow, Stenvar and I rampage through the ruin, slaughtering skeletons, vampires, and death hounds left and right. We finally get to a big empty room with a lake in it, pretty impressive really. After killing Lokil, who was apparently meant to be a mid-boss battle but ended up being merely a moment's inconvenience, the two of us search the room for anything interesting.
     
    Nothing pops out, and the place is starting to seem a dead end, when I decide to push the button in the middle of the room and YEOUCH! What sadistic bastard designed that? I don't want any stigmata!
     
    After pushing braziers around in the world's dumbest puzzle, the floor sinks in, and there in the middle of the room is a big stone column. With a woman inside. Yippee, Stenvar, we opened the box and found a prize!
     
    Not much of a prize, though. Either the lady is old enough to predate the empire, or she's just brain-damaged and can't remember. She says she wasn't expecting me, and I ask her what she was expecting, manfully resisting the temptation to say "NOBODY EXPECTS THE NORDISH INQUISITION!"
     
    She wants me to escort her home, because as a powerful immortal vampire whose veins run with dark unholy energy, she's afraid the dark or something, and needs someone to hold her hand. The three of us continue our march through the ruin, killing more skeletons, draugr, and a draugr priest who actually puts up something of a fight, and there's another chanting word wall. Neither Serana nor Stenvar comment on the fact that I absorb mystical energy from stone walls with writing on, which I'm okay with... in Stenvar's case, I blame the alcohol, and in Serana's case, I blame the centuries of burial leading to extensive brain cell degradation.
     
    Anyway, once outside, she tells me to head north to a castle off the coast. This lady is really bossy, but I figure, why the hell not? I mean, it's not as if I'm a member of the Dawnguard, sworn to slaughter vampires wherever I find them or anything. Why wouldn't I play tour guide?
     
    As we set off for Solitude, I remark to Stenvar that this may be the start of a beautiful friendship, but I can't keep a straight face and break down sobbing in the middle of the path. Yep, this is gonna be fun.
     
    Next: Chapter 28, Once You Go Black...
    Start at Chapter 1
  11. Content Consumer
    Okay...
    I didn't update last week. Or the previous week.
    I was sick for a while there, and didn't even play Mace Raiden... well, that's not entirely true. I had a high-ish fever and was somewhat delerious, I played Mace Raiden, went to Solstheim, and didn't figure out that Dawnguard != Solstheim for several hours of play. So that was one day wasted.
    Then... I just haven't written anything. I've been sort of concentrating on making a mod, not playing the game.
    Then I skipped playing Skyrim for a while and went to Starcraft, XCom, and Fallout 3.
    Then I kept on playing Fallout 3.

    So... no Mace Raiden.
    But I wrote up a little bit about Fallout 3, so... for the next four weeks, this is what you'll be getting.
    Then back to Mace Raiden.



    DIARY OF A WATER PURIFIER:
    EP1, TRIPPY BIRTH DAY

    So here I am, shoved out of my mother's vagina in a sterile medical room. My first view is the nurse, my second is a dark blur with insanely bright piercing high-beam style eyes. There he is, my father, right in front of me. And I can see him pretty well, actually... my vision clears up and everything in the room comes in crystal clear. I'm pretty advanced for a newborn baby. Apparently my daddy knows it too, because after a few seconds when he starts talking to me, and expecting answers.

    He starts out by asking if I am a boy or a girl. At least, I think he's asking me - with the way his head is bobbing around, he could be asking the nurse, or possibly my mother, but I should hope he's at least somewhat familiar with her gender. He then goes on to ask what my name is, which I thought was HIS job, and what I'm going to look like when I grow up. This is kind of a lot to demand of a newborn, but I throw out some quick answers (I'm a boy, my name is Roberto, and I'm going to look like a mohawk-wearing mexican badass with a big muttonchop moustache). He's about to ask me what I want to do with my life when my mother starts, I don't know, having a heart attack or something. I sympathize, lady. Judging by his questions, this dude jumps the gun a bit, doesn't he? One wonders how the wedding went. Was he cutting the cake five minutes after the proposal? I'll bet sex was nice. "Hey baby foreplay BAM goodnight honey" all within a four-second timespan.

    So mom's over there dying, dad starts chest compressions, and the nurse wheels me out. Everything goes dark, and the next thing I remember is dad motioning me toward him, demanding that his newborn son walk. But wait, I'm not newborn any more... apparently we entered a time warp, and now I'm in a nursery. I'm a year old and I can crawl, walk, handle various objects, jump on top of chairs and tables, read with complete comprehension, operate heavy machinery, and apparently pick locks like a pro. Dad puts me in a playpen, but I can organize prison breaks, buddy. I rattle a few toys around, clamber around on the furniture, and read a scintillating, stimulating novel. The plot is gripping, the characters are deep and complex, and it's a book called S.P.E.C.I.A.L. with a grand total of eight cardboard pages, guaranteed waterproof and chewable. Apparently the book is also a magic spellbook, because by poking my finger at it I get stronger, smarter, more agile, etcetera.

    As soon as I'm done reading the book, dad comes back into the room and starts reading bible quotes at me. Apparently it was my mother's favorite book and, judging from how he acts about it, only book. Not a big reader, I guess. He finishes his spiel, and we walk out the door together, and apparently he knocks me on the head, because everything goes white and...

    Suddenly I'm ten years old, and it's my birthday party! There's dad, and all my friends I've known for years, except I don't know any of them. The overseer (which is apparently an important position around here) comes over and clamps a wrist computer on my arm, surgically bonding to the bone, judging by the way I can't get the damn thing off. Bathing may be a problem. Masturbation should be okay. My only real problem with it is that it doesn't play pong.

    So I walk around and talk to people, all of whom are wearing glazed expressions, and some of whom are real assholes. The girl Amata is apparently my best friend, and she gives me a comic book. Stanley the mechanic gives me a hat, old lady Palmer gives me a sweetroll, and a kind named Butch smarms at me. That's a good name, there. Your parents said to themselves "we want our son to be a bully when he grows up. Should his name be Alan? No, Marvin? No, what about Butch?" and it stuck. With a name like Butch, you're bound for prison.

    So the robot with a buzzsaw mertilizes my birthday cake, and Butch comes over and demands my sweetroll. I refuse, and he starts to hit me. I try to hit back, but apparently I'm suffering from a chronic case of arms-with-no-strength-disease, because I can't raise my hands above my waist. Or maybe it's the goddamn wrist computer, weighing me down. Anyway, I take a few licks, and then a security guard comes over and stops the "fight." The intercom beeps, and dad tells me that my other good friend Jonas has a surprise for me in the reactor. I head out the door, and a lady named Beatrice gives me a birthday poem full of light and happiness (not really). I head down the stairs into the dark and scary reactor, and a pedophile jumps out at me, but I'm rescued in the nick of time by dad, who gives me a gun. I'm not allowed to head back up and shoot Butch, so I settle for shooting Jonas, but he doesn't care. So I have to do some target practice, then kill a giant cockroach, and Jonas takes out a camera and snaps a picture. Apparently something really traumatic happens next, because I black out and when I wake up I'm in a medical clinic.

    Dad's giving me an eye exam, and tells me I have to go eat a goat or something. I'm kind of operating on autopilot, now, wondering when the next time warp is going to happen, so I don't really pay attention to his words. I head out the door and there's Amata, Butch, and my other childhood friends and playmates, all grown up. I walk into a classroom, and the teacher says it's time to take a test, the final exam. He's either the nicest teacher in the world or the dumbest, because he lets me off without taking the test, saying I can just give myself a grade. I do, specializing in peaceful skills like Big Guns, Explosives, and Lockpicking, walk out of the room, and goddamn I must have a brain tumor or something, because all of these blackouts and lost time are getting commonplace. I can understand losing some time before I even turn one year old, but to lose nine years? Then another six? Then, I dunno, a few more? It's as if my life has been a few short episodes stitched together with blackouts.

    I wake up in bed, with Amata shouting at me and an alarm blaring. Dad's gone and the vault is infested with giant cockroaches. I suddenly realize that the best thing for me to do is not aid in defense of the vault, or talk to people, or find out what happened to dad, no... apparently I NEED TO FLEE THE VAULT BECAUSE REASONS. So I grab my baseball bat, a gun, a few changes of clothes, and I skedaddle on out of there. A security guard tries to stop me, but I whomp him a few times with my bat and steal his clothes. Thus begins my life of crime. Honestly, I'm given no option here - some people choose crime, some are driven to it by circumstances, and some are given a linear corridor to go down with only one possible option. It was him or me, so here I am starting my adventure with a murder and theft.

    As I wander the corridors, looking for the exit to leave everything I've ever known and everyone I've ever cared about to venture into a radioactive hellhole to find my dad who apparently cares jack shit about any other human beings, his son included, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, there's Butch. He wants help, his mother is being eaten alive by cockroaches. Dude, you are like the king asshole here, and apparently a really tough guy, so just go step on the damn things. They aren't that hard to kill. He curses at me and runs off, but fuck him. The security guards on the front door have orders to shoot to kill, and they do kill two innocent civilians who were running for the front door for god-only-knows-why. It's like everyone in the entire vault was just waiting for dad to leave so they could go either homicidal or suicidal. "Hey, James is gone! Party time! You swallow this live hand grenade and I'll shoot that guy in the face!"

    I wander the corridors some more, whomping roaches and the occasional security guard, and there's the overseer and another guard, smacking Amata around. So I head in, Amata runs out, and I murder yet another security guard. The overseer smarms at me for a bit and then starts yelling for help, so I run to his office (stepping over the corpse of the pedophile, good riddance I suppose), hack his computer, get the vault door password, and open up the secret exit tunnel. Down the tunnel and through a hole in the wall, and I press a control panel and suddenly the vault starts to open. Amata teleports in, somehow, and seems very surprised that this has happened, despite the fact that dad apparently just did it. She refuses to come with me, choosing to stay here and be beaten by her father's mooks instead. She heads out the door, a couple more security guards come in, and I've got some more security guard uniforms off their corpses.

    As I head up the tunnel, the vault door closes behind me, forever sealing me out of the vault, and I honestly can't say I'm sad about that. Those people are nutcases, all of them. I'm sure everyone in the wide outer world will be a lot more sane and sensible.

    The outer door is a magical portal, because as soon as I touch it I am transformed from a tough mexican hombre into a petite black woman named Mary with a completely different personality, but I'm sure dad will still recognize me. Because that's why I'm out here, and that's where I'm going, to track him down. He left about ten minutes ago, but due to all the delays it'll probably take me about an hour to find him, and that's my goal in life, because fuck if I know, I just don't have anything better to do.

    NEXT EPISODE: SOMEONE SET US UP THE BOMB
  12. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 2: OF JESTERS AND SNOW
    Wherein our hero finds a funny man unfunny.
    Previous: Chapter 1, To Helgen and Beyond
     

    Out of the city, I can see that there are basically three routes to get to Winterhold. There's the overland route, over mountains and down canyons, and probably full of monsters. And there are two roads. One passes through Windhelm, hometown of my execution-cart-buddies Ralof and Ulfric the Muffled, bastion of a bunch of racist bastards who are trying to shatter the empire, the only thing that stands between the Thalmor and an eternity of human enslavement. Or there's the other road that looks like it passes through... nothing much in particular. I know instinctively that it's too much to hope for that either way won't be dangerous, but I decide to pick the northern route through the Pale, as it avoids Windhelm. I briefly consider asking the carriage driver to take me, but I decide that he's got enough problems working for Nazeem or Balgruuf or whoever he works for.
     
    On my way up the road, I pass a watchtower. I decide to investigate, just for kicks. Standing around outside are a few guys dressed in hides and fur, alongside a couple of Whiterun guardsmen. They're all just standing there, watching me cow-like, not even speaking to each other. One of the fur-clad guys mutters something about mead and how he prefers wine. I hear ya, buddy. As I turn to head back along my path, everyone galvanizes into action. Apparently it's a deadly insult to turn your back on these people. A brief, violent fight ensues, with one guard and three bandits dead, and myself nearly spent. I decide to get in a little magic practice and pull out the good old healing spell and MAN I suck at magic. Maybe this whole wizard thing is a bad choice. No, I must stick to my convictions that almost ANYTHING is better than going back to Riverwood. Winterhold it is.
     
    Doo de doo doo, hum de da da, just walking my way along the road, picking daisies and cotton balls. I try to catch a pretty butterfly, accidentally tear its wings off, and decide that I'm NEVER going to be an alchemist. It's too cruel. There's a cart here in the middle of the road, busted up pretty bad. And a horse, just standing there, bored out of its mind. Or maybe just catatonic. If I had to sit there, listening to the fool in motley and his shrill voice for any length of time, I'd eventually shut down too. The jester asks me for help repairing his wagon. Except he doesn't want me to help, he wants the local farmer to help. Fine, asshole. Flag down a passing traveler and ask him to get somebody more competent. Maybe I'm not a professional cart-fixer, but you really can hurt a guy's feelings, you know? Up the path to the quaint little farmhouse. The farmer's kind of a dick, but I manage to convince him to help out old scaramouche. The clown then rewards me with some gold, and I'm back on my way, a new lightness in my steps as I've enriched two people's lives - the farmer, for getting the damn mummer out of his hair, and mine, with gold. The buffoon himself, I fear, cannot be helped save by an arrow to the skull. Or maybe the knee - then he can go get a job as a city guardsman. It seems to be a prerequisite.
     
    The weather's getting nasty. The ground is covered in snow, and wind whistles up - it's a cold wind that blows no warmth (see what I did there?). My journey onward is enlivened by a troll attack. We trade blows for a couple of seconds, and then I realize that even though I'm fighting as hard as I can, and well-armored in thick iron plates, I'm almost dead and the damn troll is fine. I look at its face and it's SMILING at me. I make a break for it and continue along the path. I pass some building, probably a little village or maybe a wayward inn, on my right, but I'm running from a troll that could have taken down the dragon that attacked Helgen, here. This fucker is nasty. Lucky for me he's slow as shit, and I soon outdistance him. My journey onward is again enlivened, this time by a couple of wolves. I salve my wounded pride by taking them out with one hit each, and start to wonder about the predator-prey relationships around here. The food chain seems to go Rabbit - Fox - Wolf - Giant - Man/Mer/Khajiit/Argonian - Dragon - Daedric Prince - Troll.
     
    There's a big fort on my right. I instinctively know that it's called Fort Kastav. I also instinctively know that it's manned by raiders, because when I enter the walls I'm set upon by, at my estimation, eight thousand fur-covered idiots screaming at me. I kill off a few, take cover from arrows, heal up a bit, and whack a few more. They just keep coming, though, and I'm getting irritated. I briefly consider going back for the troll and leading him in here. Maybe he'll be grateful for the meal and we'll become friends. Or maybe he'll just treat me as a dessert. I sprint off, leaving the remaining bandits still on the walls, shouting imprecations at my retreating back. I honestly could take them all, eventually, but I'm bored with this, and maybe I'll be back someday with my wizardly training and charbroil some marauder asses.
     
    My path continues mostly northeast, then north. I pass a few caves, kill a couple of wolves, see a troll in the distance, curl up into a little huddled ball and whimper for a while, then decide to sneak my way around the troll. I also see a couple of warriors there. I think they're bandits at first, but then realize that one of them is the same woman from the giant attack outside Whiterun (not the one who was pissed at me for drinking milk - the other one). These "companions" must have fucking SPRINTED to get here ahead of me. Just for giggles, I go press the troll's hunger button and lead him into the middle of the pair of them. They take him down in like thirty seconds flat. I simply stand there, jaw dropped, staring mawkishly at the three of them. I've revised my food chain: Rabbit - Fox - Wolf - Giant - Man/Mer/Khajiit/Argonian - Dragon - Daedric Prince - Troll - Companion. I'm almost tempted to turn back around and head to Whiterun to join their gang - with guys like this around me, I'll ever be safe from here on. Then again, they might have some sort of initiation trial like "go kill ten trolls" and I don't even want to THINK about someone asking me to do that. I continue on my path, and eventually arrive in the great city of Winterhold.
     
    What a dump.
     
    Next: Chapter 3, College Guys Gone Wild
    Start at chapter 1
  13. Content Consumer
    Previous: Chapter 27, I'll Take Option D
     
    POLL:



     

     
    DIARY OF A DRAGONBORN: INTERMISSION 3
     
    Hey, uh... I actually don't have a journal entry written yet. I haven't actually played Mace Raiden's game for a couple of weeks now. I'm sort of half-assed working on a mod, and I've got some vague, disconnected ideas about how I'm going to keep writing Mace Raiden, but... as it stands, I gots nothin' fer ya'll.
    So... I suppose I'll just post this crap. I wrote it up just after finishing writing Chapter 19 as sort of a method of venting to myself, but never actually intended to post it at all, because there's nothing funny in it... it's just one big wall of text, filled to the brim with petty grievances.
    I guess it kind of makes sense to put it here actually, because the first intermission was just after Chapter 9, and the second was just after Chapter 18, so putting the third after Chapter 27... hey, wait a minute... I can say that I'm maintaining continuity! Yeah, this was all planned out, people! Please ignore anything said previously about not having stuff to post here, because this is what I always intended to put here.

    Yeah.
     

     

     

     

     


    !!!WARNING WARNING WARNING!!!



    WALL OF RAMBLING, VAGUELY-CONNECTED BITS OF TEXT WITH AN EMPHASIS ON SNARK VERGING INTO ASSHOLE TERRITORY INCOMING!



    !!!WARNING WARNING WARNING!!!

    I will now post about something near and dear to my heart, or maybe near my spleen, or colon. Some random internal organ, anyway. Probably not a splanch, though. Bonus points to anyone who gets the reference.
     
    One last note before I get to what I originally wrote - this was originally written in a single sitting, and then shoved into a directory and semi-forgotten. I just reread it now, before posting, and added a few additions, differently colored, but I didn't bother to actually correct anything, so there are probably spelling and grammar mistakes in here.
    EDIT: Shit. Somehow the entire thing turned green, I lost all my edits, and all the links disappeared. Then it truncated halfway through.
    I don't know why... but I just ran out of steam. You guys are getting a poor version. I'll see if I can go through and redo that stuff later.
     
    EDIT: Okay, fuck it all... seems that this blog doesn't support 13,000 words for some reason. Hell if I know why.
    So here. Microsoft Word should open it up fine.
    a.rtf
     
    NB: 8 (10)
     
    Next: Chapter 28, Heard They're Reforming the Dawnguard
     
    Some helpful links:
    College of Winterhold Entry Requirements
    Example of Other Critiques
    College Days: Winterhold
    Cutting Room Floor
    Vaarsuvius
  14. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 29: ONCE YOU GO BLACK...
    In which our hero narrowly escapes sexual assault by Batman
    Previous: Chapter 28, Heard They're Reforming the Dawnguard
     

    So, we head off to where Serana says there's a boat waiting for us. We kill a Thalmor patrol along the way who were (surprise!) escorting a poor nord prisoner whom I free and he subsequently runs off into the snow clad only in sackcloth. After that, we are attacked by a Thalmor hit squad who (surprise!) have a kill order out on me, probably for breaking up Elenwen's party.
     
    Near where her boat is stashed is Northwatch Keep, which is full of Thalmor who are (surprise!) being dicks to passers-by, we reach a small boat that Serana says should be there. How long have you been locked underground, lady? You know this boat is still there? What if someone's made off with it?
     
    Unsurprisingly, because the world would make no sense for anything else, the boat is there, and we hop in, and BAM we're at the castle. I tell Stenvar to wait on the shore, because I have the sneaky suspicion (probably from a past life or something) that if he comes in with me, when we get out again he'll be stuck behind the gate permanently.
     
    Serana and I walk up the ramp, and she stops me and throws some exposition my way, and asks me to let her take the lead. I agree, and she proceeds to do... nothing. Swell. I guess you mean take the lead once we're inside the castle? Still can't walk ten feet without me holding your hand? Grow a backbone, kid.
     
    The elderly gatekeeper, who I'm sure is a permanent resident of the castle and not someone who's just going to disappear forever in a moment, opens the gate and we walk on in. Inside is an Altmer who (surprise!) acts all condescending... but only for a moment. The instant he realizes who is with me, he gets all flustered and shouts to everyone that Serana has returned. Everyone proceeds a-murmering.
     
    Everyone, in this case, being a bunch of vampires in a filthy dining room. For a group of people who pride themselves on their sophistication and class, they keep a pretty disgustingly-laid table. Bones, bloody dishes, and live people are strewn across the table, it's really quite gruesome. If I were a vampire lord, I'd have one of the thralls pick up once in a while.
     
    Serana's daddy seems more interested in the scroll she's carrying than in Serana herself, for which I cannot fault him... I mean, there are vampires all over the place, but only one Elder Scroll. Still, you'd think he'd at least be a tiny bit grateful to me for retrieving his daughter from the ancient nord pez dispenser where she stuffed herself.
     
    But I guess he actually is grateful after all. He introduces himself and tells me he's offering a reward for finding his daughter... I can become a vampire. Gee, thanks... fear of sunlight, threat of living with constant Dawnguard attacks, and a predilection for red-splattered decor aside, I'm just not interested in having my face transform like that. Looks like some of these vampires can split right down the middle. Amoebas ahoy!
     
    I indicate my hesitation, and he tells me that I still need convincing. Behold the power, he says... and then explodes. Whoa. Dude... I, uh, I think you may have overdone "the power" just a bit. They'll be scraping bits of Batman off the walls for months!
     
    But no, he's actually just transformed. Oh, wait, I get it... you're talking about the power to transform into a bat-winged monstrosity. Uh... nah. I'll pass. That power kind of (wait for it)... sucks. See, I thought that fear was the path to the dark side. Apparently all it really takes is an aggressively-delivered hickey. And that guy's just not quite as pretty as Stenvar... don't get me wrong, I'm sure he's got a nice personality, but I prefer my men with to have both feet on the ground, and this guy appears to be hovering just above it on a cloud of evil energy. I'll pass on the bite.
     
    So... no thank you sir, I'm trying to limit the number of deific and demonic entities that hold claim over my soul on my death. Right now there's Shor and Nocturnal, I've narrowly slipped through Hircine's grasp, and I've no intention on worshipping Molag Bal. Harkon is so broken up about my refusal of his offer to nuzzle my neck that he summarily kicks me out into the snow. Some men just can't handle rejection. I guess I'll head back to Isran now. I do so, then smack my head and fast-travel back to the castle to pick up poor Stenvar, who was left alone and shivering in the cold. Sorry, dude. My bad.
     
    Once we arrive (for reals, this time!) at Fort Dawnguard, we find out that it's under attack by a trio of vampires, who you'd think would have more sense than to assault a strong fortress full of heavily-armed vampire killers, but at this point I'm not surprised at vampiric idiocy any more. Isran starts speaking to me, but it's kind of hard to hear him because he's surrounded in a numbus of light that's making an awful racket. He seems irked that his hidden fortress was discovered so soon. I briefly reflect on how I was recruited (by a guy openly walking up to me and asking me to join in a loud voice that could be heard by anyone nearby), and then take my time looking over the fortress, examining the extremely visible high walls, and wonder how exactly he thinks this fortress is "hidden."
     
    I give him the news, which was that I didn't kill a vampire and instead delivered an elder scroll, an object of apparently immense power, to a clan of vampires. He rightly expresses his exasperation at my refusal to kill a vampire and deliver the powerful thing to the vampires, at which I can only hang my head in shame. Sorry, dude. My bad.
     
    Isran decides the best way to combat the vampires is to get some more recruits, so he sends me out after two of his old buddies, because nepotism is universal.
     
    NEXT: Chapter 30, A Prophetable Venture
    Start at Chapter 1
  15. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 25: PRETTY SPRY FOR AN OLD GUY
    In which our hero rescues one old person and kills another old person.
    Previous: Chapter 24, The Case of the Empty Vault
     
    You'd think that, as head of not one but two major factions in Skyrim, I'd want to settle down and just run one of them. Shame I've picked the two dumbest factions to head, so no, I'm gonna go ahead and keep delivering mail and killing rats for anyone who asks me. And the last rat I was asked to kill was an old lady in the local orphanage.
     
    Normally I'd go into a short sarcastic rant about this, but really she deserves it. I'm doing all these kids a favor. What I don't get is how nobody outside the walls heard her loud, quavering scream as my axe cleaved her head from her shoulders. The only people who heard it were the kids and the boss lady's assistant, and only the assistant seemed mildly perturbed. The kids just seemed to take it in stride, cheering and laughing for a bit then going back to burning bugs with magnifying glasses or skinning their knees or walking on my lawn or other things young whippersnappers do these days. A quick jaunt to Windhelm and I've got a snazzy new platter for my table, which I am gonna sell at the earliest opportunity, it's probably had, I dunno, human bodyparts on it or something. That Aventus kid is messed up.
     
    So... next I guess is to find Esbern for Delphine. He's living in (sigh) the sewers. As if I haven't had enough of that lately. There's just something about living in Riften that makes people want to dive underground and cover themselves in shit. I'm getting Esbern and then getting out of this place permanently, just in case it starts happening to me.
     
    Underground, I fight my way through some inexplicably-present Thalmor, kill a cannibal chef, and knock on Esbern's door. He opens a little shutter in the door, and I manfully resist the urge to throw a smoke bomb in and then slam the shutter closed again. He actually lets me in without question as soon as I tell him the Thalmor are after him... apparently Delphine's secret code phrase was unnecessary. And this makes total sense. I mean, if you're being hunted by a shadowy cabal of evil elves, why wouldn't you open your door to the first bastard who knocks on it without requesting some sort of ID? If you can't trust heavily-armed wandering strangers, who can you trust?
     
    He tosses some exposition my way, and I bat some right back at him. He gets flustered when I tell him that I'm the Dragonborn... in much the same way that Delphine only grudgingly accepted my authority as head of the order (I guess that's how this works?), Esbern likewise seems hesitant to accept me as his new boss. But after wandering around aimlessly for a minute muttering about how he needs to take his books with him, he proceeds to leave all his books on the shelves, desks, and floor, and just walk right out with me. Cool.
     
    We're assaulted by Thalmor again, and Esbern actually turns out to be pretty handy in a fight. Well, not Esbern himself, actually, but the big mobile wall of ice he summons seems to have a fun time knocking Thalmor about. I think I'll keep ol' Esbern around, if he can consistently summon Frost Atronachs to aid me... I mean us... in battle. Maybe I'll just keep wandering Skyrim for a bit, and take him back to Riverwood later, after I'm done using his magical talents to aid in the pursuit of my own goals.
     
    Just outside the sewers, Esbern's Atronach decides to take a break and sit in the doorway, unmoving, and it takes a very long damn time for the thing to melt before I can get through myself. You know what? Nevermind, fuck Esbern if that's how he's going to play it. I don't want him around if all he's going to do is kill a few of my enemies then proceed to block my way. Two steps forward and two steps back is not progress. We're going to Riverwood.
     
    Here in Riverwood, Esbern walks into the inn, and I follow. Inside, he starts talking to thin air, saying how it's 'good to see you again.' At first, I think he might be addressing me, and considering how he just saw me outside I start to wonder whether or not he's getting senile on me, and then off in the distance I hear somebody's voice murmuring back. Apparently Delphine is down in her "open-secret" cellar again, and the two of them are talking to each other through the floor. These people...
     
    Esbern trots downstairs to Delphine, and I follow. He spends some quality time pumping more exposition into the air, but really, to call it exposition is an insult to exposition everywhere. He's apparently been taking lessons from some Psijic monks, because everything he says is sort of cryptic bullshit, and the only thing that I get out of it is that there's a secret written on a wall somewhere and we need to go find something that was lost but not lost, just forgotten... at this point I stuff a few wads of Tundra Cotton in my ears to avoid having to listen to any more of this crap. In the blissful silence, I take the time to make some potions at Delphine's alchemy table, and when I turn around Delphine is sitting there staring at me. I reluctantly pull the cotton out of my ears, and she says we've got to go to Sky Haven Temple and find Alduin's Wall.
     
    Delphine and Esbern head on upstairs, whereupon Delphine bequeaths the entire inn to the barman, who responds with overwhelming happiness cleverly concealed beneath a veneer of boredom. You'd think going from a position of low-level peon up to corporate owner in the blink of an eye would affect him just a tiny bit, but no. Maybe the inn has termites or is heavily mortgaged or something. I don't know, and I don't care, and considering that Delphine just dropped this place, that means... yes, it means I WON'T HAVE TO COME BACK HERE ANYMORE! Happy day!
     
    Outside, Delphine and Esbern take off for Sky Haven Temple. I'd tag along, but I really don't want to at the moment. I've been eying an entry in my journal that says to talk to the leader of the Companions for a while now, so I figure now's a good time. I'm off to Whiterun. Me and my Wicker Basket. Bet you'd forgotten about that, didn't you!
     
    Next: Chapter 26, This Place Has Really Gone To The Dogs
    Start at Chapter 1
  16. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 11: OATH OF CELIBACY... I MEAN, FEALTY
    In which our hero becomes authentically Nord by getting a horned helmet.
    Previous: Chapter 10, A Strange Dress Code
     
    So I just blew up the Hidden Valley bunker for the Legion, and with Raoul in tow I've got to head back to the Fort to talk to Caesar again. I'm sure he'll have another task for me... wait, shit, no. Let's start again.
     
    So I just conquered Fort Hraggstad for the Legion, and with Belrand in tow I've got to head back to Castle Dour and talk to General Tullius again. I'm sure he'll have another task for me. Sorry, little cross-dimensional confusion, there. I think it's the guys in skirts.
     
    Back at the fort, I mean castle, Rikke and Tullius both seem surprised to see me. Yeah, eat it, bitches. Y'all sent me on a suicide mission and I'M BACK, motherfuckers. I killed a dragon, asshats. Don't fuck with me, I am death incarnate. A band of bandits holds no terror for me. Pay no attention to the hireling behind me, he's just here to carry my loot. No help in battle at all, man. For 500 gold, he can keep his damn mouth SHUT and let me expostulate about my combat prowess.
     
    Anyway, they give me the oath of fealty, which says I have to defend the empire until my dying days, protect the emperor and uphold the yadda yadda yadda when do I get to kill Stormcloaks? Rikke sends me out to pick up my official Legion Armor, and whoa boy it's actually quite a bit better than the scrap metal I'm wearing now. I give my leavings to Belrand, who examines them with distaste and puts them on with some trepidation. Apparently his fastidious nature makes him uncomfortable wearing someone else's cast-offs, especially when they're covered with bandit blood and globs of draugr skunge.
     
    Legate Rikke has a new task for me: I'm to go to, and get this, you'll never believe it, I have to go to a draugr ruin! Yes! I have to fetch an item! Looks like I'm mixing up professions now. Courier/legionnaire/tomb raider! But this time I'll have help, and I'm not just talking about Belrand. As soon as I get out there into the snowy wasteland, I see Rikke herself, a handful of legion soldiers, and Hadvar. Remember him? The guy who just couldn't rouse himself from his stupor of indifference long enough to save my life at Helgen? He tells me that he knew I'd come around and join the legion.
     
    Dude, don't make me regret my decision. The only reason I joined the legion is because the Stormcloaks are all assholes, and the legion is only something like 90% asshole-infested, not that I'm pointing fingers, HADVAR. Actually, now that I come to think about it, really the only reason I joined the legion was because my job of being a courier came to an abrupt end. Anyway, Hadvar says that he much prefers a straight-up fight than creeping around in ruins. I sympathize. I, too, prefer a stand-up fight to a bughunt. I'm going to try to stab him in the back when nobody's looking as soon as we get inside.
     
    We kill a few Stormcloaks outside, then a few more inside. Then a few more. The Stormcloaks set up an elaborate trap inside, a cunningly set series of firepots hanging over a big pool of oil. They're crafty, those Stormcloaks. Nobody can see THAT coming. However, there is a conveniently overlooked ledge just above where a sneaky sort of fellow can get up there and take out a few Stormcloaks and spring the trap before any legion soldiers fall into it. It'll take a good archer, skilled in the stealthy arts, to overcome this trap. So I go ahead and rush right through the main entrance ignoring the upper ledge, slaughtering Stormcloaks, Belrand at my side, while the legion cowards sit back. I don't know if it was an arrow, the Stormcloaks, my Shouting, or what, but someone sprang the trap and I lost a whole two hitpoints. Way to go, Stormcloak trap-maker, whoever you are. You probably spent thousands of gold on this trap and all it managed to do was irritate me. Good job.
     
    Anyway, several Stormcloaks, a few draugr, and another one of the nord's cunningly constructed puzzles (Pull a lever! Gate opens!) later, we get to the ancient king's throne room. This draugr is one of those unique tough ones, who apparently spent quite some time working out in the gym. This one is a little tougher even than the others. In the ensuing fight, we lose the remaining legion soldiers, Rikke takes a knee a couple of times, and I accidentally kill Belrand. It wasn't really my fault, he just got in the way of my axe. I emerge relatively unscathed, courtesy of pounding a dozen healing potions during the scuffle, but RIP Belrand, you were a good minion, can I get my 500 gold back now? The only other unfortunate thing is that Hadvar managed to survive, despite my best efforts. Still, it isn't a total loss. I found another chanting wall, and now I've got this sweet horned helmet that I am in no way going to just hand over to the legion. I'm keeping it for now, maybe I'll think about giving it away some time in the future, but I think I earned it.
     
    I've come up with an interesting theory. This crown is the crown of the high king of Skyrim. So now, as long as I'm wearing it, I'm considered the high king, right? Okay, maybe not to the living, even the nords of Skyrim aren't that stupid (I think), but the draugr are dumb enough to fall for it, right? I mean, they can't figure out their own so-called "traps" or how to get past cleverly constructed progress blockers (spin three rings and win a prize!), so they're bound to be stupid enough to fall for this ruse, right? All of the draugr here are dead, so I can't test it out, but in checking my journal I've got a quest to go find a maguffin for the Greybeards, and it's in a draugr ruin, so... I can test my theory there. The draugr should bow right down to me, no problem. I'm a little leery about doing anything for the self-righteous jackasses that never shave, but... fuck it. Why not? I'm starting to get fatalistic about my life here in Skyrim. Maybe I'll just go ahead and do whatever people tell me to, regardless of how idiotic. New profession: Mace Raiden, Yes-Man!
     
    Next: Chapter 12, I'm Feeling Horny
    Start at Chapter 1
  17. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 27: I'LL TAKE OPTION D
    In which our hero decides not to bark at the moon, and gets married.
    Previous: My Precious
     
    So back at Jorrvaskr, Farkas seems mildly impressed that I managed to beat Sven into submission. I'd take it as a compliment, but really, a fucking rabbit could beat Sven into submission. He tells me to go see Mr. Fragile Skjor, who has a new job for me. Farkas and I are supposed to go find a Fragment of Wuuthrad (a famous axe of famousness that everybody knows about because it's so famous), which is inexplicably buried in a Nord ruin and has recently been dug up. It would be me and Farkas and Jenassa but apparently three's a crowd and the clubhouse is only open to Companions. Sorry Jenny, go back to Breezehome, I'll catch up with you later.
     
    Once inside the ruin, Farkas tells me to be careful because it looks like somebody's been digging here. Which I actually thought was kind of the point. But whatever. In the Nord ruin we're accosted (shock!) by Draugr. I dispatch my share of the Draugr with ease, and most of Farkas's share, and then just sit back and watch him and another one duke it out for about five minutes before the undead thing finally gives in, probably out of boredom more than injury. I swear, these Companions are the weakest fighting force in the world.
     
    So we march through the ruins and I try to keep the big guy from getting himself killed. Eventually I find a small room with a lever, and pulling the lever drops a gate and gets me stuck, which I honestly should have seen coming. I mean, really, there's a gate, there's a lever, why wouldn't it lock me in? As I stare at the lever in resignation, I briefly entertain the delusion that somewhere in the world is an ancient ruin or dungeon where there are not inexplicably placed traps that would mean the death of any careless citizen living there before it was abandoned... but I know deep in my heart that such a fantasy cannot be.
     
    Farkas comes by and snarks at me, but I really can't blame him for this one. I deserve a bit of a verbal lambasting for my rampant stupidity. He says he's going to let me out, and then some bandits mysteriously pop into existence and say they're going to kill him, and I can't help but agree with them... he's got absolutely no chance here. I'd help but for some reason I can't even draw a weapon behind these bars, so Farkas, sorry dude, you're fucked. If only there was some way to HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT THING KILL IT WITH FIRE! Some sort of weird alien human-bear crossbreed just tore its way out of Farkas's body! I've heard of deadly parasites, but this is ridiculous!
     
    Hang on, Mace, get a grip. That must be Farkas. He makes short work of the bandits, unlocks the door, then comes back and tells me that several of the Companions can turn into werewolves. I'm really, really tempted to grab a stick, shout "fetch," and throw it just to see what happens, but considering that Farkas made shorter work of those bandits than I could, I resist the urge.
     
    And they're not exactly bandits either. They're the (cue dramatic music and flash of lightning) Silver Hand. Which are just exactly like Bandits in every way except they carry silver swords. Which is pretty cool... I'm waiting for a silver great axe, it'll offset my midnight-black Ebony armor nicely.
     
    Anyway, we keep heading through the ruins, but Farkas stays in human form, so we actually have to do some fighting. Eventually we make it to the end room, find the fragment of the ancient axe, another of those chanting walls, and we're ambushed by about a hundred more Draugr. Or that's what would have happened, but I had a bright idea to cast a rune spell on the coffins so the Draugr would catch it as soon as they leapt out... and apparently that triggers them immediately. Some of the Draugr died as soon as I cast the spell, some of them not, but in any case it allowed the pair of us to fight them one at a time rather than all together. Eventually we finish them all off and head out the ever-present alternate exit.
     
    Back in Whiterun, I undergo a ceremony that some developer got out of a book, and now I'm officially a Companion, apparently I wasn't one before, but whatever. Eorlund gives me a Skyforge Steel battleaxe, which is actually pretty good, but my current weapon is heavily enchanted, so into the hock it goes.
     
    A quick quest to kill a bear that somehow got into Ysolda's house later, and Skjor has another job for me... I'm to meet him in the Underforge after nightfall, wherever the hell that is. Probably in that cunningly concealed secret hidden obscured door that's extremely visible just behind Jorrvaskr here.
     
    Sure enough, down there after night, there's Skjor and Farkas again, this time in his werewolf form... or so I think. Apparently it's Aela. I search in vain for any secondary sexual characteristics that can help me differentiate between the various members of the secret werewolf clan, but Aela growls at me, so I decide that feeling a woman up, even if she is a real dog, isn't the best idea.
     
    Skjor proceeds to slit Aela's wrist, which is kind of intrusive, but does she growl at him? Nooooo. Fine, whatever. She starts to bleed into a basin... wait, scratch that, she doesn't start to bleed, actually about a pint of blood just sorta dumps into the basin. And Skjor wants me to drink it.
     
    You... you want me to... drink that? Some, and please excuse the terminology, but it seems appropriate here, some bitch's blood? Are you (wait for it) barking mad? No thank you, I'm outta here, is that an alternate exit over this way? Bye.
     
    Back at Breezehome, I vow never to return to the fucked up place that is Jorrvaskr. I pick up Jenassa, drop off some miscellaneous goods, and lie my head down for a good night's sleep, guarded by Jenassa and Lydia both. Tomorrow I'm going to see about finding a job that doesn't involve killing people, but for now I'm really tired...
     
    And I wake up in a shack, and there's a lady sitting there languorously, with three dudes wearing sacks on their heads tied up on the floor. Aah, this must obviously be some sort of crazy sex cult.
     
    The lady (Astrid's her name) is a member of the Dark Brotherhood, and it seems she's a tad upset about what I did to the orphanage lady. So I guess there really was some response to her murder. I fucking knew that Aventus Aretino was bad news! He summoned the Dark Brotherhood for real or something! Astrid wants me to prove that I'm worthy to join her merry band of secretive assassins by killing one of the three people tied up on the floor.
     
    Hmm. Is it Door Number One, Door Number Two, or Door Number Three? I'll pick... Option D. Astrid goes down with a couple of well-placed whacks to the neck. And I leave the fuckers tied up on the floor. Maybe I'll come back in a month or too and see if they managed to wiggle free. My money is on them still being there, just three dead, emaciated bodies in a row, bound and gagged, waiting forever for a savior to give them permission to stand up.
     
    Outside, I take a moment to get my bearings (somehow I ended up north of Morthal in one night), and then head for Whiterun. Obviously the Dark Brotherhood killed both Lydia and Jenassa last night in order to get me out without a fuss, so I've got two funerals to arrange. I'll also be out of commission for a couple days with the mourning... they were good guards, both of them, and I'll miss them.
     
    Back in Breezehome, both of the idiots are just wandering around without a care in the world. Apparently, they didn't even fucking notice that I'd been missing. I consider how best to broach the subject of proper bodyguard procedures, and decide that the best course of gentle correction is to fire Jenassa and punch Lydia full in the head. She seems mildly disconcerted, asking why I would do such a thing, and I honestly have no response to that. I mean, how can you tell someone how badly they fucked up as a bodyguard when they don't even realize they fucked up at all? After staring at her stupid, stupid face for a while, I just silently walk out of the house, vowing to burn it to the ground. I then stop for a while as I realize that one by one I'm adding every single town in Skyrim to my "purify by fire" list. It's enough to make a person very depressed.
     
    A guard told me to go to Dragon Bridge and talk to a dude about Astrid and the Dark Brotherhood... but after traveling with Farkas for a while, I've come to rely on a second big weapon. I'm gonna go hire me someone. NOT Jenassa again, the untrustworthy narcoleptic crazy artist-wannabe. And not Lydia, the world's worst bodyguard. There was this guy in Windhelm, I remember, at the inn... he looked like the warrior type. I wonder if he's for sale.
     
    Sure enough, 500 gold later (what is it with that magic number?), and Stenvar is in my retinue. I decide this time to try him out first, see what he's made of... let's go find a dragon, I remember there was one just south of here in the geyser fields.
     
    We trigger the dragon's aggressive tendencies, and he lands in front of us. I ready my axe to do battle, take a couple of swings, and about 15 seconds later, the dragon drops dead. I take a step back for a bit, wondering if he, I dunno, maybe landed on a tree and drove a branch through his heart or something, that was an awfully quick death. I turn to Stenvar to ask what he thought, and I stop, mesmerized.
     
    He's covered in dragon blood, greatsword held lightly, and on his face is a wide smile as he casually gazes around at the carnage. I'd like to think I had a hand in that, but if I'm honest with myself it was all Stenvar. He's a badass killing machine with a big weapon and those muscles are just about driving me crazy. I... I am so turned on right now. Stenvar, baby, is there any chance you swing my way too? Is there any chance the game designers gods would be that open minded?
     
    "Who wouldn't be interested in you?"
     
    Okay, you great hunk of man you, we're off to Riften like right now to get hitched. I think a 4-hour engagement is about appropriate, don't you? I never want you anywhere but by my side from here on out. A quick trip to Riften, talk to Maramal, and the date is on for tomorrow. I'd go do something right now but I'm just so excited, I'm just going to wait here just outside the door until morning, and when morning comes, we head on in to start the ceremony.
     
    It is such a moving ceremony, full of tradition and meaning, that I feel compelled to write it down, in its entirety, right here.
     
    "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in sight of two friends of the groom, a random citizen who happened to be wandering by the temple, and the corpse of a dragon that mysteriously teleports around, to witness these two people as they join together in the bonds of holy matrimony, assuming one of them doesn't use console commands to destroy the union moments after it is made.
    At this point in any normal ceremony, I as the priest would normally go into a speech about love and loyalty, but considering that one of the grooms is a PC, the other will almost certainly end up a permanent fixture of a random house somewhere, so why bother?"
    To Stenvar: "Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever, in vampirism and in lycanthropy, never standing placidly in a doorway preventing your spouse from exiting, never tripping traps because you are just too damn stupid to see the big triggers, never getting in the way of your spouse's arrows as you try to reenact the charge of Leeroy Jenkins, so long as you both shall continue your pixelated existence?"
    Stenvar: "I do."
    To me: "Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever, never Unrelenting Force-ing your spouse off a cliff just for fun, never using your spouse for target practice as a cheap method of improving your skills, until you find someone more handsome or 5,000 miles, whichever comes first?"
    Me: "I do."
    "Then with the presentation of these two rings that you're just going to immediately chuck into a drawer somewhere because you can find better magic items almost everywhere including your own asshole, I join the two of you in marriage. From this day forth, let all and sundry know that these two lovebirds are married, you can take off that ridiculous amulet of Mara now and replace it with an aforesaid better magic item.
    Amen, and be sure to tip your waitress."
     
    And... that's it, apparently. Delphine and Ria get up and start walking out, while the dunmer food vendor lady stays seated. Stenvar starts walking away too, but I drag him back. His first question is where we are going to live, to which I can only reply "on the road, dumbass, we've got dragons to kill." He loves it when I talk dirty to him.
     
    Speaking of killing dragons, someday soon I've got to get back to the main questline... but first, a guard told me to go to Dragon Bridge to ask some dude about that Astrid lady and the assassin's guild.
     
    Next: Intermission 3
    Start at Chapter 1
     
    Ladies and gentlemen, we have some stoners in our midst.
     



     
    These images result of a conversation both in private and public. Just let your imaginations run wild!
  18. Content Consumer
    DIARY OF A DRAGONBORN - INTERMISSION 1
    Previous: Chapter 9, I Am Dragonborn
     
    I guess I should stop and explain a few things about this particular Skyrim playthrough.
     
    The reader may have noticed that I'm skipping around a bunch. I've yet to follow through on any of my "professions." This is partly because, to be honest, most "professions," such as miner, or farmer, or even dragonslayer, are part-time at best. Honestly, I'm not expecting Sims-level diversity here, but when you try to be a miner and you clean out the mine after five minutes of pickaxe-whirling, there's not much incentive to stick around. The most consistent job in Skyrim is Courier, because the most consistent quest in Skyrim is Fetch.
     
    The other major reason for my constant seeking of new professions is that most of the extant ones are really stupid. And not stupid in a good way, as in "this is so stupid I've got to see it through to poke fun at it" but more like... well, consider the mage guild quests. The entire setup was gormless, the quests themselves mostly milquetoast, and the only real reaction I can work myself up to is "meh." The rewards aren't spectacular, and especially not worth the actual game time it takes to get them. The major questlines, and here I'm particularly thinking about the civil war questlines, are cookie-cutter blah stuff. I get that Elder Scrolls roots are in the traditional tabletop RPG, and that involved almost entirely dungeon raiding and monster killing, but in an open-world CRPG that ostensibly tries to be all things to all people, there is a distressing lack of depth. Most of the time that's fine - the game mechanics are solid enough that you'll enjoy playing no matter what you do - but I can't really write about nothingness. I stopped being a mage not because I stopped having fun as a mage, or because it was too hard, or because I particularly wanted to play something else, but because I got bored writing about it. Trust me, I can play the game to absolute death - Steam logs my playtime as over 1,700 hours, and I've played and become archmage several times, but I can only rehash it in text form for so long before I come to the realization that it's all very samey.
     
    I never played Arena, my start in the series began at Daggerfall. Morrowind got more depth and narrower focus, Oblivion sacrificed some of that in favor of (admittedly much improved) mechanics, physics, and graphics, and Skyrim improves them even more... but I'm seeing a departure from Morrowind's depth and strength of story back to Daggerfall-like shallowness. Most of the quests in the game are hand-made, carefully scripted and built, but they end up feeling like quests made by a random number generator. I'm not talking about the "kill bandit" quests you get in taverns, or the guild-approved sidequests you get by joining the major factions - I'm talking about main questlines. Every last one is a prettily dressed-up fetch or kill quest. I grant you, there's not a lot you can do with scripted quests when you give the player so much freedom and agency, but to then deliberately design quests to limit that agency seems counterproductive. I get the feeling that Skyrim was built simultaneously by two different groups of designers - one group who tried to experiment with new and interesting things, and the other group with a severely specific background in traditional RPG tropes that tried to shoehorn every last one of them in. There are many places in the game, both mechanically, graphically, and within the context of the story, where you can honestly say to yourself "Aha, I see that designer X had a hand in this part." So I'll hop around the job boards, picking and choosing that which seems the most fun at that particular time. It's inconsistent, but I'd rather be random than burn myself out and stop writing altogether. Which actually did happen once, right around chapter 5, and I had to take a break for a few months.
     
    Anyway, that's my problem. Your problem is that you don't see things that are going on behind the scenes. Frequently I'll complete quests I won't write about, specifically because of the aforementioned banality of those quests. I cannot adequately describe the beautiful scenery or level design, so mostly I just skip it entirely. I also cannot adequately describe most of the quests, story, NPC interaction, and general non-graphical environment, because there really isn't that much TO describe. So I never mentioned how I killed a mammoth and brought its tusk to Ysolda, or went through with stealing the ale for the town drunk, or stole a magic staff for the steward in Winterhold, or killed ice wraiths and brought their teeth to that dunmer food-vendor lady whose name escapes me at the moment. These things are so irrelevant that I couldn't force myself to chug out even a sentence or two about them. Even longer fetch quests like (for example) finding Noster's helmet in Steepfall Barrow I couldn't do anything with - it's an interesting little tidbit of lore, talking about the legion and how it's merely the military arm of a faceless and uncaring bureaucracy, and how well designed and pretty Steepfall Barrow is, but what could I say about it that I haven't already said before? Or someone else has said, and done a better job of it?
     
    Which brings me to my next point, and this one is something of a problem. I've borrowed concepts quite liberally from other sources, particularly Adam DeCamp (chocolatehammer.org) and the whole group at Twenty Sided's Skyrim playthroughs (shamusyoung.com, look for Let's Play Skyrim), so the language of my writing may at times seem derivative. That's because it is. There are just so many things that other, more professional people can say about the game and its wacky hijinks that I can't do justice to, and so I try to mimic as much as possible from people who have a better sense of humor than I do. I've never committed exact theft, and my most egregious and flagrant lift I believe is in Chapter 6, Dropout. Please forgive me for borrowing the thoughts of others when my own are inadequate.
     
    Anyway, the last piece of this intermission deals with the mods I'm running. I am not running vanilla Skyrim, because vanilla Skyrim is just as shallow and banal as modded Skyrim, but less pretty. So I run a lot of mods. So if I end up mentioning something in my playthrough that doesn't exist in the vanilla game, or not mentioning something obvious that does, that's why. I was going to include my load order, but I really can't be arsed, so just know that I'm running a lot of mods. But no sexlab mods for this playthrough. Maybe next time.
     
    Next: Chapter 10, A Strange Dress Code
    Start at Chapter 1
  19. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 18: IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!
    In which our hero gets arrested for saving the world.
    Previous: Chapter 17, The Daedric Princes
     
    Unfortunately for me, there's no carriage driver here at Dawnstar, because the official Carriage Driver's Association was muscled out by the Boat Driver's Guild in a sort of surf-and-turf war sometime in the past. So, it's a quick teleport to Whiterun and a carriage from there to Falkreath, and right off the bat I'm accosted by a guard who wants me to look for a dog. No way, buddy, I know where you're going with this. That dog is an evil demon intent on... well, doing something I'm not really sure about, but it's undoubtedly a bad idea to get involved. Go look for the dog yourself.
     
    So I go to the Jarl's longhouse, and here's an indolent bastard. He wants me to go assassinate a group of bandits, fine, but his reason for my doing so is because they were paying him part of their take and they stopped. Now I'm no fan of the Stormcloaks, but it's guaranteed that his uncle would be a better choice for the hold if he were in charge, so I head to the inn and talk to him, and the first thing he wants me to do is go break in to someone else's house and steal a letter. Great. Both of these assholes need to die, maybe I'll go see about that dog and see if the mutt would like to become Jarl. It couldn't be worse, right?
     
    The instant I exit the inn, I notice that something may be wrong. Call it what you will; a hunch, the tingling of my spider-sense, but something about this situation doesn't seem quite right. Maybe it has to do with the fact that it's raining, making everything look depressing. Maybe it's something to do with the apparent presence of daedra around here. Maybe it's the guards running through the street, bows out, shooting at the air, while a big lizard-thing flies overhead, breathing ice on the innocent townsfolk. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I vow to get to the bottom of whatever is bothering me.
     
    This dragon is a tough fight. Partly because my mid-level ass is no match for a dragon without some serious backup, but mostly because the fucker refuses to land, presenting himself to my great axe for a shave and haircut. He spends all his time flying around, breathing ice, and the few times he does land he lands on the roofs of houses, which mysteriously don't break or even look damaged. Sixteen hours into the battle, I've trained my Destruction skill considerably using firebolts and my archery using bows, most of the townsfolk and half of the guards are dead, I've ransacked everyone's bodies for more arrows, and the beast finally crashes down outside of town and converts himself into bite-sized, easily consumed pieces of dragon soul, with some bone and scale for dessert.
     
    Exhausted, stumbling with fatigue and weaving dangerously, I attempt to seek out lodging for the night, when a single guard runs up to me and tries to arrest me. For what, I don't know... this guard, Sheriff John Brown, he always hated me. After arguing with the bastard for a while, and finally taking a look at my log, it turns out that at one point, I must have assaulted someone. They're arresting me for the killing of a deputy. I believe it was when I used my Unrelenting Force shout on the dragon, and it hit a guard too. Instead of taking it with grace and an understanding nature, the guard put a bounty on my head, which makes perfect sense. All I was doing was saving the town, it obviously makes sense for a guard to get pissy about it. After all, I did what they could not. Asshole. I may have shot a guard, but I didn't kill a deputy, and I promise that's the last mangled song lyric I try to wrangle in here. You know, when I took a misaimed arrow in the fight, did I put a bounty on your head? No, but you shitheels feel perfectly justified in arresting me for the terrible crime of what essentially amounts to HARSH LANGUAGE. I'm going to add this town to my list of places to burn to the ground. Old Urag's going to be working overtime. In fact, I think I'll go hire him for the job now.
     
    Uh, that is, after my night in jail. Then I'm off, back to Winterhold.

    Next: Intermission 2
    Start at Chapter 1
  20. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 21: THERE'S A DRAGON, EVERYBODY FOLLOW!
    In which our hero gets lost while fighting random monsters.
    Previous: Chapter 20, Forth From Winterhold
     
    So the best way to get to Riften is via carriage, probably from Windhelm, but I'll be fucked if I go back to Windhelm without an army at my back and a torch in my hand, so I'll just teleport to Kynesgrove and walk from there.
     
    It's a long, arduous trip. Danger abounds on every side. The danger of this trip taking three times how long it's supposed to, because every five feet I'm being attacked again. First it's a giant and mammoths, which I successfully defeat, if you consider "run screaming like a little girl" defeating them. Next, a bear, which I really do successfully defeat. Then a pack of wolves. Then another bear, and another bear, and another wolf. I pass through Shor's Stone without stopping, because something killed the guards in the watchtower outside of town, and the only threats nearby are bears and wolves and I've seen guards take them down no problem, so it must be something pretty goddamn bad, and I don't want to get involved, so onward I go. I pass through an old fort and slaughter the bandits there, you'd think they'd have more sense than to attack an ebony-clad warrior wielding a big fucking axe. Next there are a couple more bears and some wolves, and I've finally reached Riften, I'm here to rescue Esbern and maybe take a look at that orphanage lady the insane kid in Windhelm wanted me to kill, but it is not to be just yet, because a pair of spiders are attacking the town. I kill the spiders and run into a bear, then a troll, then another troll, then a pack of wolves, then another bear, then a spriggan, then a couple of green glowing deer and a goat the spriggan enchanted who don't seem to be able to make up their minds whether to attack or run away and I can't get a moment's rest while those little red dots are sitting on my compass.
     
    Finally, the chain battle seems to be over, all hostiles eliminated sir. I pause to take a few breaths, wipe my brow, take a sip of water, then I look up and I have no idea where I am. There are trees stuck in permanent autumn colors, so I must still be in the Rift, but where the hell is Riften? Where's the nearest road? My map says I'm almost to Ivarstead here! What the fuck just happened?
     
    So I fast travel again, back to Riften, only to find a dragon circling overhead peacefully, not attacking anybody, but the guards don't seem to get that. They're wandering around with their bows out and fully drawn, which you'd think would put a bit of strain on the muscles after holding the bow taut for more than a few seconds, but whatever. Eventually the dragon flies off, bored of the circling game and probably never to be seen again, and the guards slowly walk after him, bows still at full draw, probably never to be seen again either. I'm sure they'll eventually make it to Cyrodiil, the idiots.
     
    I make a quick teleport back to Whiterun to drop off some stuff and pick up some other stuff, carefully holding onto my precious wicker basket (bet you thought that joke was gone), then back to Riften, where the guards apparently got bored of their game too, because they're back now. Either that or they're just two new guards, I can't really tell with those helmets they wear. As far as I know, they could be monkeys in there (and really, they are monkeys in there), suffering from a crisis of identity.
     
    Next: Chapter 22, The Non-Thieves guild
    Start at Chapter 1
  21. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 32: CHASING REFLECTED SOUNDWAVES
    In which our hero refuses to get bitten. Again.
    Previous: Chapter 31, Vampires and Death Hounds and Gargoyles, Oh My!
     
    So, here we are again at Castle Volkihar. After a shortish interlude where Serana talks about her childhood yet again, we walk around the castle's left side to the old docks. Apparently not unguarded, as I had thought... there are some skeletons here. These are the "tough" versions, too - none of that wussy held-together-with-string-and-gum kind you find in most places in Skyrim. It's nice to see my expectations thwarted. Let's hope this quest doesn't devolve into a trap-laden treck through some narrow corridors or anything while Serana continually blurts out stuff about her childhood.
     
    Once inside - and I have no idea where we actually are, maybe sewers, I'm going to just call it the castle's basement - once inside, I get another healthy dose of exposition and reminiscences from Serana and we begin the (sigh) tunnel crawling. You know, I'd be fine with the constant tunnel crawling and exposition-slash-reminiscences, if only... uh, if only... huh. Nope, guess I wouldn't be fine with it no matter what. Oh well.
     
    After killing off a couple of demon dogs, a big spider, and a feral vampire, and making our way past a diabolically clever constructed set of traps and progress blockers (not one, but two pressure plates that lower bridges! Genius!), we make it to the courtyard. Ack! Serana, what the hell happened to the tempered and enchanted glass armor I gave you? Why are you wearing that old vampire crap? I mean, nice cleavage and all, but the protection level is shit.
     
    Immediate wardrobe changes and poor fashion choices aside, Serana begins another bout of expositional rambling. She's just so damn eager to tell her story, I really hope she saves some for later, so she doesn't run through the whole batch, and later on we're forced to journey around in complete silence while we kill a bunch of Falmer in a snowy wasteland or something.
     
    Anydangway, there's a moondial here, that's... hang on, moondial? Moondial? Oh, yes. Vampires, anti-day, pro-night, uh-huh. Very clever. My sides are splitting. I don't really care about that, because I'm busy caring about why in the hell Harkon destroyed the entire place because Valerica loved it, but didn't bother to touch the damn moondial. Like, he thought to himself "I am going to destroy what Valerica loved, but not that piece, because it's just so awesome." I hereby rescind my opinion of Harkon as being the dumbest dumbass in the world. He's the dumbest dumbass in all the worlds because, in his destructive rampage, he didn't bother to even look at the damn thing.
     
    The game dev contractor who built the thing seems to have momentarily forgotten that Nirn has more than one moon. Oops... like Hiemskr calling this place "Earth," (*) it's a simple accident that any continuity director should have caught. The contractor also obviously took inspiration from Nord puzzle traps, because apparently removing three of the sigils causes the moondial to spin around and block the stairs going down. What an ingenious way to block progress! Le sigh.
     
    Down again, and through another secret passage. Serana (who inexplicably has chosen to wear the glass armor again) and I wend our way through this castle's super-secret places. Gods know why Harkon or, really, anyone else never bothered to search an entire half of their home for Valerica. It's not important. We travel through the place, undoing secret walls, killing skeletons and gargoyles. Are these Valerica's skeletons? If so, why are they here? Gods know they're tough for skeletons, but not that tough... Harkon, from whom she is ostensibly hiding, could rip right through them in vampire lord form, I'm sure. The gargoyles put up a tougher fight, but after Dimhollow Crypt, it's not exactly a surprise when one bursts out. Just lay down a couple of fire runes, and the thing is halfway dead as soon as it emerges. Oh, yes, there are several more gargoyle statues here. It's like traps in a draugr ruin - on the one hand, it's painfully obvious, but on the other, it's goddamn stupid. I can't decide which I dislike more - the painfully obvious, or the GODDAMN STUPID.
     
    Serana says her mother likes gargoyles, and proceeds to hand me a double entendre... actually, it's more of a single entendre, and unhappy with its existence as such. Her dialog with me so far has been laced with the occasional innuendo, and I just feel sorry for those poor innuendos, all sad and alone amidst a sea of otherwise fairly stock dialog. I fear that next she's going to say something like: "Yeah, I like swords. Because you can stick them into people. Like penises into vaginas. You know, sex! Get it? Should I say it again? You're not responding!" It's just so painfully obvious and contrived it's kind of embarrassing. Her recently reanimated thrall and I share a glance, and then we do our best to ignore her.
     
    Thinly veiled sexual references aside, Serana isn't that bad a companion through here. She's absolutely shit on the offensive, but she does tend to distract enemies, allowing me to get in a few free shots while they proceed a-thwacking on her. I wish Stenvar was here, he's better at this whole killing-shit thing than Serana, but honestly, I'm sort of worried that the same thing will happen to him that happened to Belrand, considering the dangerous waters I'm entering now.
     
    Because apparently we're about to enter another dimension. The devs are really hitting the "many and varied planes of Oblivion" pretty hard. This place we're going into is full of the souls of people who've been trapped in black soul gems. This makes me nervous. I've trapped a lot of people in black soulgems over the last few months, and I'm not looking forward to meeting them again. Not because I feel they're a threat, or anything like that, but because the meeting would just be so damn awkward. "Oh, hey there, Estormo. Nice to see you again. Too bad the author didn't have Do You Know Who I Am installed, you might've gotten through this in better shape, hey?" Blatant self-plugs that break the fourth wall in a story are comedy gold, says my agent.
     
    Anyway, the other dimension thing. After "we" search the place, and "we" read Valerica's journal, and "we" gather up the necessary ingredients, "we" open the portal by slicing Serana's wrist and dumping blood into the bowl. Or at least, that's what's supposed to happen. Nothing actually does. The bowl looks like it just has a bit of powder in it, not soul gems or blood. I wander around a bit, and prod at Serana, going through all the dialogue options again, and nothing happens. Finally I break down and use the "dlc1vq04 75" dragon shout because stupid Serana won't advance the damn quest.
     
    Finally the portal opens, and we make Dante proud. We try, anyway. I guess Valerica forgot to put up a "you must be this soulless to enter the underworld" sign next to the portal, because it burns us, precious. Apparently I need to be either soultrapped, which would weaken me, or turned into a vampire, which would strengthen me, in order to go inside. I'm honestly liking the whole "become stronger" thing, but there are two reasons I wouldn't want to do that. One is that the Dawnguard might be slightly irritated at me. It wouldn't change their letting me, a newly-minted vampire lord, into their super-defended stronghold, because fucking Isran's idea of security is a little wooden fence and not, you know, keeping vampires like me or Serana out... but it might hurt my chances of getting some more sweet retrieve-the-fancy-loot quests from Florentius. That's not the major concern, though, because the second reason is that the screen whiteout and sound effect that plays whenever a vampire enters the sun is a hell of a lot more irritating than, oh, say, actual sun damage would be. Sometimes I really miss TES 4.
     
    Anyway, I opt for the soul trap, because even weakened I'm still a badass warrior, and I'm backed by the raw unholy power of a little girl with daddy issues. She soultraps me and we head down the weird staircase again.
     
    As we emerge into the eldritch violet-tinted twilight of the Soul Cairn, I can't help but wonder how the hell Valerica got into this place at all. Yes, yes, I know, the blood, soul gems, bone powder, etcetera, but I'm talking more prosaically than that. I mean, how did she trigger those two bridges to go up again after she went through? If removing the moondial sigils makes the stairs spin 'round and hide the passage, then how the hell did she remove them and still manage to get inside? And then, how did she manage to get the fireplace secret passages to lock behind her? Can she reach through stone? Did she trip the lever and then do a quick dive through the closing aperture? Did she hire, and then subsequently erase the memory of, that feral vampire? How the hell did she close this portal behind her? I didn't see any W. Heath Robinson contraptions in the study that would have emptied the bowl and put the ingredients back on the shelves. How, in short, did she fucking get into this place without leaving all the doors opened behind her? I'd have to say that it's fairly obvious that this whole place was the devs were going for some demonic version of a Rube Goldberg-esque castle. Spoiler alert: They failed.
     
    Bah. Irrelevant. Let's go find mommy, shall we?
     
    NEXT: Chapter 33, Lost and Found
    Start at Chapter 1
     
    (*) - Apparently he isn't actually talking about Earth, just... the dirt they're all standing on. So it's okay after all. My bad.
  22. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 24: THE CASE OF THE EMPTY VAULT
    In which our hero takes the short end of the stick.
    Previous: Chapter 23, No Shit!
     
    Twenty five years after Mercer killed Gallus and framed Karliah, she's back on her home turf. Brynjolf, the idiot that he is, seems inclined to trust me and Karliah enough to let us talk without going for our throats. The other members of the guild are, contradictory to my original estimation, even dumber than he, because they let him. So Brynjolf takes Karliah's word that this journal is really Gallus's, and that Mercer (his boss for the last two decades) is a bad man, that Karliah is innocent, and we all need to tromp down into the vault. The rest of the guild is overcome with their newfound loyalty and backs us up.
     
    So, the guild vault. It's a super-secret room in the secret cistern area of the secret sewers area of the underground secret area of the Thieves guild. It's a big set of golden double-doors. This makes perfect sense to me. This is a guild of Thieves, people who ostensibly got into the business to make money. So once they make money, the first place they put it is in a vault. Wait, no, the actual FIRST place they put it is in the pocket of the door-smith who made these big golden doors. Then they put all the rest of their money in a vault. Rather than spending it, maybe getting up out of the shithole they're in and building a house with it on the surface, out in the clean air.
     
    So... the vault is empty. Mercer apparently cleaned everyone out last night and nobody noticed. I spend the next three hours carefully going over every candlestick, loose brick, and questionable shadow in the room, and am unable to find a secret passage out. My only conclusion is that the guild members are both stupid and blind, because they didn't see him carting truckloads of money out the vault. Everyone's really surprised that Mercer (the guy who routinely unlocks unlockable doors) managed to get through a door that requires (gasp!) TWO keys! That's right, you heard it correctly... he unlocked a door that had not one, but TWO keys! The sheer skill of the man! What grace, what poise he must have, to be able to perform such an impossible feat! He's supposedly a thief, right? Maybe he could have stolen a key? Or made a duplicate? Or unlocked one with a key and picked the lock on the other?
     
    According to Brynjolf, Mercer has been stealing from the guild for years. He knows this because he read it in Gallus's journal. Why Gallus didn't do anything about it is beyond me, but hey, this is the Thieves Guild, so maybe Gallus was just proud that SOMEBODY did some actual thieving here.
     
    Anyway, Brynjolf sends me out of the sewers to Mercer's house. I'm really on a roller coaster here. Mercer is obviously the smartest, most competent thief in the world. He is the ONLY ONE OF THEM TO NOT LIVE IN A SEWER. But according to Brynjolf, Mercer never actually stayed there. So he's obviously the dumbest, most incompetent thief in the world. But he stole all the money in the guild vault, making him the best thief in the world. He stole it from these people, who collectively lack the intelligence of spore molds, meaning that he could be a real dipshit and still succeed here.
     
    Didn't I make a pact with myself that I was just going to do what I'm told to do and not analyze things anymore? Yes, yes I did. So I'm headed to Mercer's house. I have to get past the guard outside, but I can't kill him because then the entire town will be after me. So I've got to get rid of him peacefully. So I talk to him, find out that he's being forced to work here by Maven Black-Briar. Off to Maven, and she says that she'll only let him go if I can find her a magical pen. It's in a chest sunk in the middle of the lake.
     
    Two days later, I've trained my Alteration skill considerably on waterbreathing spells, scoured the lake from one side to the other, every inch in between, and finally I've found this @#^%^&$&@#%# magic quill she wants. I'm tempted to stab her in the eye with it, but I just hand it over, seething with barely suppressed rage. She lets the dude out of his contract, and I'm in to the house. He didn't go check with her about it, so I guess I could have avoided all this shit and just lied to him, but apparently that thought didn't cross the designer's minds.
     
    Aside: I've noticed that my magical skills are being much improved by my thievery career. I had previously trained my combat skills quite a lot as a member of the mage's guild. I'm sure the Companions are going to insist I sneak around and pick locks if I ever join that little group.
     
    Mercer keeps his plans in the basement of his house (even when living aboveground, these mole-people keep their valuables in their basements), and I take them to Brynjolf, and he's even more upset than before. Apparently the head of the Thieves guild was making plans to steal things! The nerve! How dare he! What cheek! If he steals these big Falmer gemstones, he'll be rich! Because he isn't rich now, no sir, not with the entirety of the guild's fortune in his pockets. We need to get to the treasure first!
     
    But wait, we can't do that yet. Mercer's got a good singing voice too, so the only way we can defeat him is by becoming a barbershop triplet. We all have to become Nightingales in order to defeat a fellow Nightingale. Not sure why this is - Karliah was planning to bring Mercer to justice previously WITHOUT the help of a fellow thief and another badass warrior, so why do we need to go to choir practice now? Ugh. Remember the self-made pact. Just roll with it.
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 6 (+however many guards there were in the museums)
    ATTEMPTED MURDER: 1
    EXTORTION: 5
    ARSON: 3
    POISONING: 1
    THIEVERY: 4 (I stole the plans from Mercer's basement!)
     
    We head off to the conservatory, Nightingale Hall. We're the first new members to set foot in here for a century. So I guess Mercer isn't really a Nightingale after all, because he's never been here. Gallus, too, probably - he was human, right? I know elves live a long time, so I guess you're okay, Karliah. Nightingale Hall itself is (get ready for a real shocker) an underground complex of tunnels, full of murky water and bad smells.
     
    I have to touch a rock to get my Official Nightingale Singing Outfit . Once I don the armor, I really feel sneaky and secretive. I'm dressed all in black, with a neat little cape and black hood and facemask. The enchantments on the armor are actually pretty good for a combat character, and I'd use it normally except for the fact that my ebony is better quality and I'm trained in heavy armor and I already have enchantments that are better. Still, it looks neat, and the darkness of the cloth reflects the inky blackness of my soul. So now we're ready to take on Mercer, right?
     
    Wrong. First we have to swear an oath. To Nocturnal. To serve her in life and death. Forever. Not sure how this works. As Dragonborn, I'm supposed to head to Sovngard when I'm done here. I'm not sure if Shor's claim does or does not stand up to Nocturnal's, but honestly I like the idea of endless feasts better than the idea of endless nights of guardianship of... something. Not sure what yet. Nobody seems to want to tell me.
     
    Anyway, my self-made pact requires me to yell an enthusiastic "YES!" so here I go. In return for eternal servitude, Nocturnal gives me powers and abilities that will really help me defeat Mercer. Except, I can't find them - there's nothing new in my magic effects page. I appear to have consigned my soul to eternal night in return for a set of relatively cheap armor. If I listen closely, I can hear Nocturnal snickering to herself as she disappears.
     
    It turns out that Mercer's super lockpick ability is because he has a super lockpick. Mercer defiled the Nightingale temple by stealing this uber-pick, and Nocturnal decided to get revenge on him by doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to him but CURSING THE REST OF THE THIEVES GUILD. No wonder the guild has fallen on hard times - the Daedric Prince of Night and Darkness is a whiny little bitch that lashes out at her worshippers at any perceived injustice. We're off to a Dwemer ruin to hunt down Mercer Frey!
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 6 (+however many guards there were in the museums)
    ATTEMPTED MURDER: 1
    EXTORTION: 5
    ARSON: 3
    POISONING: 1
    THIEVERY: 4
    SELLING MY SOUL TO THE DEVIL: 1
     
    Here at the dwarven ruin, I meet up with Karliah and Brynjolf, and together we plow through the Falmer residents. At least, I plow, and the other two yell a lot and keep getting knocked down. I am a melee warrior, and I excel at things like this. They are supposedly sneaky stealth characters, but they charge in head-on rather than sit back in the shadows peppering the Falmer with arrows. One more point on the side of glorious stupidity on their parts. But who am I to talk? I just sold my soul for a couple pieces of dark leather armor that I'm going to get rid of at the earliest opportunity.
     
    When we finally track down Mercer, he has just pried the eyes out of their sockets. We all stand around for a bit taunting each other, then he takes mental control of Brynjolf and sets him to attacking Karliah, while the two of us duke it out. You'd think that he'd use his mind control powers to disable the strongest opponent (me) but you'd be wrong. A couple of hits with a big piece of metal later, and down he goes. But not before activating the self-destruct-device-slash-Bond-villain-trap and the room starts filling up with water.
     
    By virtue of the fact that super-heavy ebony armor floats pretty well, I manage to make it up through the cavern's ceiling, WITH the eyes of the Falmer prince, and the uber-lockpick. Now all I have to do is sell off these eyes and return the uber-pick to Nightingale Hall and all will be well.
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 6 (+however many guards there were in the museums)*
    ATTEMPTED MURDER: 1
    EXTORTION: 5
    ARSON: 3
    POISONING: 1
    THIEVERY: 4 (another one for tomb raiding!)
    *Killing Mercer doesn't count as murder because it was self-defense.
     
    Outside the collapsing Dwemer ruin, I find out that I can't take the Skeleton Key back to Nightingale Hall. It has to go to the Twilight Sepulcher. Which I had thought WAS Nightingale Hall, but I guess not. Karliah can't do it because she's worried that Nocturnal might be mad at her. Not sure what for, but she seems to think she's failed in some way. Fine. I'll head off to Falkreath now.
     
    Here in the Twilight Sepulcher, I meet the ghost of Gallus. Service after death, remember? Gallus is the only one of Nocturnal's singers that hasn't gone insane yet. The explanation for this is a little convoluted, so I'll omit it. Suffice to say that I've got to take the key through the place, avoiding the spirits of dead vocalists. The trip through here is actually pretty nifty - there's a section where I have to walk through shadow, because straying into the light means burning hot death. I jump down into a pit, plug the uber-lockpick into the floor, and Nocturnal shows up to spout at me for a while. Her "Oh look at me I'm so powerful" claptrap gets wearing really quick. MASSIVE inferiority complex, that one.
     
    Karliah shows up, thus invalidating her previous position that she was afraid of Nocturnal. She talks to dead Gallus for a while, then tells me that it's finally time to start thieving. For reals. Actually she tells me to hone my pickpocketing skills or something like that. I zoned out again, about halfway through Nocturnal's speech, so I don't really care anymore.
     
    And here I am, the new head of the guild. I guess. Maybe Maven still is. Maybe it's Karliah, or even Brynjolf. Shit, for all I know Mercer could still be in charge. I just don't care anymore. Nobody is telling me what to do, so... why did I show up in Riften in the first place? Oh, yeah. The orphan told me to kill the orphanage lady, because he thinks I'm one of the Dark Brotherhood. And find Esbern in the sewers, forgot about him. Save the world and all that. I guess I'm not done yet...
    FINAL CRIME TALLY:
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 6 (+however many guards there were in the museums)
    ATTEMPTED MURDER: 1
    EXTORTION: 5
    ARSON: 3
    POISONING: 1
    THIEVERY: 4
    LOSS OF THE WILL TO LIVE: 1
     
    Next: Chapter 25, Pretty Spry for an Old Guy
    Start at Chapter 1
  23. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 3: COLLEGE GUYS GONE WILD
    In which our hero explores life in the dorms.
    Previous: Chapter 2, Of Jesters and Snow
     

    Well, not really. It's not a sty, per se - there aren't piles of trash lying around or anything. It's just that Winterhold the town consists of a couple of intact houses, a bunch of busted houses, and that's about it. There's a tavern, a store, the Jarl's place, and some other guy's house along the main road up to what I can only assume is the college. I pretty much ignore the town, because the college is what I'm here for.
     
    I'm stopped at the front entrance by an elf. She tells me that I can't enter the college because the way is shut. Looks open to me, but whatever. I tell her that I basically want to murder people with magic, and she says that's fine, they can teach me here. But first I need to pass a simple test. I need to cast a firebolt spell at the ground.
     
    Really? I thought people came here to learn magic. You know, like, people who don't already know magic? I'm supposed to go learn magic somewhere else before I can come learn it at the place that teaches it? I'm guessing you don't get a lot of students with that attitude. I wonder if the Bard's college requires you to be a professional bard with years of experience under your belt before you join. Anyway, she offers to teach me the spell for 30 gold, which I'm guessing is either a real steal or ruinously expensive. I hand her the gold, sit down, and prepare to spend hours learning how to conjure raw elemental fire and gain control enough to form it into a sphere.
     
    And... nothing happens. She just sits there. I perform a self-examination only to find that I've already learned the spell. Apparently you learn spells just by handing over gold. Which begs the question - why is there an educational institution dedicated to the teaching of arcane arts, when all you need is half a second and a small sum of gold to learn earth-shattering spells? Actually, it makes sense. Here they teach you not to USE magic, but how NOT to use magic. Like, the ethics of using said earthshattering spells. And then they offer said spells for tiny amounts of gold to anyone who walks up to them and says they want to use ice and fire to destroy their opponents. My thoughts get a little twisted at this point, but I decide to just go with it and see what happens. I pull out my newly-learned firebolt spell and throw it on the ground. The elf lady says that I've passed, and she'll lead me across the bridge. She walks SLOWLY across the bridge, occasionally casting some sort of white bolt at what look like magical wells. I guess the way really WAS shut! These magical wells probably do horrible things to the uninitiated who try to cross without permission. The bridge is in terrible repair. I have a sudden premonition that somewhere in my future, this bridge will shatter, maybe under a dragon attack, or possibly some magical accident.
     
    So I get to the college proper and see a woman arguing with another elf. This guy's bad news - he's wearing Thalmor gear. He has "bad guy" written all over his face. The only thing missing is a goatee. I'm certain we'll come into conflict in the future. Maybe he'll collapse the bridge.
     
    Anyway, Mirabelle Ervine, a Breton, is apparently the second in command here. Her duties include running the college, officiating at important events, fielding questions and requests from other organizations, and other super-important things that take up all of her time and energy. She offers to personally tour the college's newest student around. Either she's not as important as she wants me to think, or she's bug-crazy with all her work and wants to get out and do something, anything, that doesn't involve paperwork.
     
    She shows me around a bit, directs me to my room, and I feel right at home. The dorms are a little crowded and cold, and there are no bathrooms anywhere here. Come to think of it, the only bathroom I've seen so far was in a dinky little mine. There's a thought. Anyway, she gives me some new clothes and bids me put them on. I'm now a student, and ready to learn new spells!
     
    I head into the lecture hall to talk to my first instructor, Tolfdir. He is teaching me and three other new students about wards today. As a practical demonstration, he shoves the knowledge of ward magic into my head and then tells me to stand opposite him. He's going to cast some sort of fire spell at me, and I pray to Ruptga that this works, and sure enough, it does! I've learned a magic that can protect me from all harm! BRING ON THE DRAGONS! I'll bet I can even take on a troll now, assuming I've got a small army to back me up.
     
    So Tolfdir says that one example means the four of us are ready for some advanced fieldwork. I guess so? I now know a grand total of four spells, all of which are really weak, so... where are we going? To practice our firebolts on wolves? Use our wards in snowball throwing contests as protection? Tolfdir is all about safety, so wherever we're going it won't be too dangerous, we'll be just fine and oh... my... gods. The local nord ruin? A place full of undead shambling monstrosities? Look, dude, if I wanted to do that I could have gone back to Riverwood. The last wizard I associated with told me to go to a ruin full of undead too! What's with you people?
     
    Then again, maybe my newfound mastery of destruction and restoration magics will aid me in this fight. The rest of the class heads off for Saarthal, but I decide to explore the college, my new home, a bit more first. I find several new friends:
    --Savos Aren, the Dunmer Archmage. He's a nice enough guy, personable and friendly for the head of the college. I'm sure he won't die horribly at the hands of an evil Thalmor mage.
    --Mirabelle Ervine, Breton wizard. She's the second in command here and also a friendly sort, if a bit more standoffish than Savos Aren.
    --Colette Marence, another Breton. She's obsessed with Restoration magic and how it's a perfectly valid school of magic. I've always thought so, but her vehement insistence sounds more like she's trying to convince herself.
    --Drevis Neloren, instructor in the arts of Illusion. He's not too bright. Walks up to me and asks me if I can see him, then tells me I shouldn't be able to hear him, and then asks me to put on a pair of gloves and "cleanse" the magical wells around here. Sure, dude. I'll get right on cleaning your magical bidets.
    --Faralda, the gate guard. An Altmer, but not really a bad sort for all that, and a trainer in destruction magic.
    --Phinis Gestor, another Breton. This guy seems obsessed with conjuration magic, and he may or may not be a necromancer in disguise and may or may not have sacrificed four previous students to an evil deity. I decide to steer clear of him.
    --Sergius Turrianus. With a name like that, he must be an Imperial. He's all about enchanting magical weapons and armor. He's playing up the whole "grumpy old man" gig but he's coming across as more of just an asshole. Wants me to wander the breadth of Skyrim looking for people who want stuff enchanted by him. Yeah, dude, no.
    --Tolfdir is the Alteration trainer and is on his way to the nord ruin.
    --Ancano. He's Altmer, and Thalmor. Nothing more needs be said.
    --Urag gro-Shub: An orc. And a wizard. Not a common occurrence, I'd wager. He's the local librarian, and takes his job very seriously. He seems nice and all, but then quietly and casually mentions that he will have me torn apart by atronachs (whatever those are) if I damage any books. Gotcha, dude. Message received. He then asks me to wander the breadth of Skyrim looking for books for his collection. Sure, right after I'm done with Sergius's request, after I finish cleaning the magic wells around here.
     
    Enough of that guff. The college is truly bustling with important people and nifty sights, but I've got a nordic ruin to plunder! I wander off in the direction of Saarthal, only to find another couple of trolls in my way. THIS time, I'm ready for them. I've got my firebolt spell and my ward, and I'm sure I won't completely lose! Actually, the fight goes pretty well at first... then I run out of magic. I quickly whip out my warhammer and spend the next month playing cat and mouse with a couple of furry killing machines. I would have been better off sticking with the iron armor and hammer in the first place. Maybe magic isn't meant for combat; it's more subtle, see? The hidden power that moves the universe and all that. Gotta be, because currently a big hunk of metal on a stick is a better tool in combat than the raw fury of pure elemental fire.
     
    So I get to Saarthal, and there are the three students and Tolfdir. We're all just kind of standing around. I don't know if we're waiting for someone else to arrive or what, so I start chatting with my fellow students. The Dunmer girl seems a little on edge, quick to jump to conclusions and apparently holds a grudge. The Khajiit is all about ambition and power, he's like an alpha-jock of the magical world and I can't say I care for him. My fellow Nord student is quite happy to see me, tells me that he's anxious to learn all about magic in general and Saarthal in particular, then tells me that we shouldn't be here, desecrating the graves of his ancestors. I really don't know which direction this guy is going to take... is he going to wait until we're inside and then stab us all in the back as heretics, or is he going to dive headfirst in to an archaeological frenzy of discovery? Find out in our next episode of UNDER SAARTHAL!
     
    No, really, after a few minutes, the three students enter the ruin, leaving Tolfdir and me out in the cold. He asks if I'm ready, and tells me to be safe, then heads on inside, and I follow. Inside, he gives a short lecture on the history of the place and then gives us each assignments, tells us to have fun and be safe, and then treks off on his own. I'm relieved to see no undead about, so I figure the mages must have already taken care of any problems that may arise. I head off to find Arniel Gane, and he puts me to work searching for enchanted items.
     
    I find a few paltry enchanted rings, nothing spectacular, and then I locate what can only be a magical necklace. Nifty! The instant I pick it up, a cage drops down and isolates me in this little cubby. Phooey. I should have known better. Tolfdir wanders up and asks what happened. He seems unaware that he's speaking to me through a cage door, and asks what all the noise is about. After looking at him silently for a moment, I point, wordlessly, to the cage door. He asks how it happened, and I show him the necklace. He tells me to use it.
     
    Use it? How, exactly? Should I, like, cast a spell on it? Drop it on the ground, throw it against a wall, hand it to you? What's going on here? I'm sure not gonna put it on. For all I know it'll constrict around my neck and choke me to death. After a few minutes of fruitless knocking about, I don the necklace, and suddenly a beam of light emerges from the wall to me! After shrieking like a little girl and curling into a fetal position for a moment, I ask Tolfdir what to do, and he tells me to cast a spell on the wall. I ready my trusty firebolt, say a prayer, and cast it... and the wall disintegrates and the cage door opens up again. Whew! I'm safe, and I'm outta here. I'd give you the necklace, Tolfdir, but after looking at it a little more it seems as though it will reduce the cost of casting magic spells a bit, so... it's mine now.
     
    Tolfdir and I wander through the tunnel a bit, and then everything goes white. Tolfdir stands, stock-still, paralyzed, or... I've entered a time warp! The necklace! That damnable cursed thing is going to be the death of me! No, wait, it's another elf! The Thalmor! He'll be the death of me! After looking at his robes, he's not Thalmor after all, but just Altmer. Elves! They'll be the death of me! Uh, he just wants to talk. About my future. He tosses some cryptic shit my way about judgement being passed and not being passed and passing judgements and I don't know what all, after the first self-contradictory statement I stopped listening. Just because you speak in riddles does not mean you're smart. After a minute or so of ignoring his bleating, he apparently gets pissed that I'm not listening to him and disappears, ending the time warp and... draugr! They'll be the death of me! THEY'RE COMING OUT OF THE WALLS! Tolfdir starts blasting away with his magic, and I start blasting away with my magic, and the draugr die, and Tolfdir keeps blasting away... at ME... for a second or two. Tolfdir! You'll be the death of me!
     
    No, wait, get a grip. Not everything in the entire universe is out to kill me. Just MOST things in the universe. I steady my nerves by drinking about twenty gallons of Alto Wine, then continue on with Tolfdir until we reach a room full of coffins. I'm sure THIS won't be dangerous! No sir, no draugr here! Except for those few who jump out at us. Tolfdir is no help, stuck behind a grate, and I'm sure my magic alone isn't up to the task. So I expend the last of my magical resources on useless fireballs (who would have thought that long-dead things could dodge so well?) and then pull out my warhammer... and dispatch the damnable zombies posthaste. You mean... all this time, I've been afraid of draugr, and here they are, easier to kill than the average bandit? Powerful, ruthless, relentless caricatures of their previous existence, animated by unholy energy, wielding sharpened blades and wicked axes at the invading foe, and they're about as tough as the average mine's front door guard? YIPPEE! I've found my new calling! TOMB RAIDER!
     
    No, not really. I'm sticking with this magic thing for now. Tolfdir tells me that he'll stay here and examine this burial chamber, and I should continue onward. I'm down with that. Me and my big metal stick will go ahead and clean out the rest of this ruin. It isn't actually that easy - some of the draugr here are tougher than others - but I make it through pretty much intact. There are some secret, well-hidden, almost invisible traps that are triggered by easily seen, giant foot plates that look completely different from the rest of the floor, so I'm not sure who's fooling who here. Tolfdir catches up again, and we enter a big room, filled with a big blue, floaty, metal thing that apparently radiates magical energy. And another draugr. This one's going DOWN! Except, not. The fucker is immune to my warhammer and just laughs at me when I cast a firebolt at him. I'm down on health and Tolfdir, rather than helping me, is shooting lightning at the big blue ball. Wait, I get it, the draugr is being powered by the blue battery ball thing, and Tolfdir is helping me by getting rid of its immunities. I whack at it for a while, alternately casting spells and pummeling with my hammer, and the dead thing goes down. I pick up a magical staff on a table that casts lightning bolts, and there's a little note here, something about the Galdur Amulet. I should check that out some time. Make a note of it in my journal, along with the other things I should check out, like find books for an Orcish librarian and cleaning some wizard's sewage system.
     
    Anyway, Tolfdir tells me to head on out and back to the archmage to inform him of the presence of the big glowing blue ball thing. On my way out, I enter a moss and fern-covered room, and the very floor seems to be huffing and chanting at me. After wandering about for a bit, I realize that it's this wall covered in scratches that's chanting at me. It doesn't seem to want to talk, though, just chant. I'm strangely attracted to the wall - I examine it for a bit, and then my vision goes dark, and one set of scratches etches itself into my mind. I don't know what just happened, but it's pretty cool. The chanting has stopped, and the world is back to normal. A little shaken, I head back outside.
     
    As I stand at the door to Saarthal, I reflect on my recent past, and realize that I've use magic, what, a half-dozen times? And, my firebolt has never been quite as effective as my warhammer, and the ward not as effective is good iron armor. As a student mage, this is unacceptable. I decide to keep closer track of the times my Warhammer has gotten me through a tough situation, and times Magic has gotten me through a tough situation. If magic doesn't take the lead pretty soon, maybe I should rethink this whole mage thing.
     
    HAMMER: 4
    MAGIC: 2 (I'm counting casting a spell at the ground to gain entrance to the college, AND casting a spell at a wall to get out of a trap)
     
    Next: Chapter 4, How Did They Move That Big Blue Ball?
    Start at Chapter 1
  24. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 39: TENTACLE MONSTERS AHOY
    Wherein our hero begins exploring a new land.
    Previous: CSI: Skyrim
     
    Recent events have made me really wish for a real villain, a foe worthy of my caliber. Holmes had his Moriarty, Xavier had his Magneto, Toothpaste had Mr. Tooth Decay... and what do I have? A vampire who wants to kill himself off by blotting out the sun, an Elf who wants to conquer the world by playing with a big blue ball, and a master thief who goes about stealing stuff in the most ludicrous way possible. Not to say that the good guys are any great minds either, but really... where have all the bad men gone, and where are all the demons?
     
    Not around here, I can tell you that. Take, for instance, these Cultists. They've been popping up every so often, under a contract to kill me. Because I am Dragonborn. See what I mean? They've targeted me for assassination because I'm as powerful as a mighty fire-breathing lizard. That's like refusing to walk out your front door unless you're forced to do a fifty-mile hike, or starting a drinking game where you have to down a pint of 181-proof rum every time someone says a word with a vowel in it. You're setting yourself up for failure, heartbreak, and possibly death by alcohol poisoning. Some idiot decided that his master would be pleased by my demise, and has been sending these three-man hit squads after me from time to time. This is what I'm talking about, with the stupidity of villains. I can just see the guy sending these hit squads saying to himself: "The last dozen attempts failed, but I'm sure that this time it'll work!" This mastermind is a dude who seriously needs to rethink his strategy, and his minions are no better, because they're saying "I know that the last thirty assassins died, but I'm going to win! Derpy derpy derp!"
     
    Additionally, I'm sick of fighting people who work without any fleshed-out plan. These are folks who, when they take a step forward with their right foot, have no clear idea what the left foot is supposed to do next. Just... send assassins out after me? That's it? Why not try to make up an ambush, maybe? More than three assassins at a time, perhaps? Train them in some decent magic or arm them with good weapons and armor? And speaking of attire, these cultist assassins are topheavy. I mean that literally. Boots and robes of cloth, gloves of leather, and a heavy facemask apparently made of... bone? Resin? Unusually sturdy whitewashed dead squid? Your guess is as good as mine. They can't even coordinate their outfits. I'm not complaining because I want to wear this ugly crap - the "helmet" looks as though somebody strapped a bucket of plaster to his forehead and rammed his face into a wall - I'm just complaining because it's either that or go mad.
     
    But, in the absence of a good villain, or even a mediocre one, I might as well take a shot at the third string, eh? Let's go. To Windhelm, apparently. Yippee skippy, I get to go to the frozen ass-end of nowhere again.
     
    There's a ship captain here who initially refuses to take me to Solstheim, which if I'm not mistaken means "home of the sun." I point out the raging blizzard, snow-covered stone, and freezing water full of ice floes, and he has a change of heart. Off we go to someplace that, if you believe the nomenclature, must be warmer. Please, Gods, let it be so.
     
    And apparently it is, if a bit dusty. Not since Point Lookout has there been a look-upon-ye-landmass-and-despair boatride cinematic of such quality. The initial overview doesn't make the place look attractive, I can tell you that. It looks like somebody took the Clochán na bhFomhórach and covered it in dirt, then dug a hole and plopped down a couple of rickety houses. Not, if you get my drift, particularly inviting. Warmer than Windhelm, though, so I guess I'll take what I can get.
     
    Once we arrive at the dock, the ship captain and the dockmaster engage in some witty banter about how prices have gone up and supplies are missing or something. I honestly didn't catch much of it, because I was off the pier like a shot and exploring this new place. My inspection does not prove encouraging. This town, although it looks more like a desert tossed over a bucket of gravel, reminds me a lot of Riften. Poor, destitute people being bullied by rich bastards, Thieves Guild members masquerading as merchants, corrupt guards, venal priests... The only difference is in the racial demographic, which has been reversed - instead of mostly Nords and a few Dunmer, it's mostly Dunmer and a few Nords. With an Orc thrown in for good measure, just in case that stereotype had been running a little thin. I am tempted to beat a little sense into this asshole's head, but I don't particularly want to examine the local gulag from the inside, so I restrain myself. Later, Mr. Green-And-Toothy.
     
    Let' see, what else is here? A temple of sorts, worshipping Daedra of all things. I get it, it's your religion and all, and we're not supposed to be disdainful of other people's beliefs, but... really? You worship the Daedra? A group of extraplanar entities who delight in tormenting those who worship them? Why not Sithrak, the God who Hates You Unconditionally? The head priest tells me that "dangers lurk beyond the light" and "They [the Daedra] will not abandon us again" which seems overly optimistic, if you ask me. His choirboy seems to be even worse, a real asshole who may be involved in a plot to do... something... with the tombs. I'm not sure what, to be honest, it's all very confusing. A quick quest to kill a bunch of ash ghouls later, and this house is clear.
     
    Anyway, other services in town include an underground (literally) bar that sells some nifty new alcoholic drinks that, upon closer inspection, turn out to be identical to all other alcoholic drinks back in Skyrim, so you wonder why the hell they bother putting them in different jars and labeling them with different names. Just call them all "booze" and get on with your day, okay? The local blacksmith is a thief, the local food vendors sell food that is apparently grown in the ashes of the dead, and the local mine is all mined out, except for one old guy who wants me to steal someone's pickaxe. Yep, this is sure a better place to live than anywhere else. The Dunmer in the Gray Quarter of Windhelm at least have decently constructed houses to live in! Sheesh, sell your place and take the next boat to the mainland, invest in a farm, and pay some wandering schlubs to do your produce harvesting for you!
     
    But it is not for me to tell these people how to get along. I mean, look at me, I came here to this crap heap voluntarily because I wanted to fight some people who got their fashion ideas out of "Cephalopod Monthly" magazine. In other words, I am not the go-to guy for advice on how to live your life.
     
    After enriching the local economy substantially by buying up every bit of booze the local barkeep would sell, I decide to check out other nearby attractions. Like that phallic symbol over there with people all 'round it. Stenvar seems intimidated, but I reassure him that he's the only "Earth Stone" for me. The workers consist of local guardsmen and a couple of civilians. They are disinclined to engage in speech with me, content instead to mumble broken phrases periodically. I stand around for a bit, twiddling my thumbs, whistling a few tuneless bars of something or other, and then I toddle off, with a couple of backward glances. They seem like nice folk, I guess, if a bit single-minded.
     
    That's about it for the town. What else is around here? Let's take a look at the map. Hmm... it appears that I can easily circumnavigate the entire island in, say, two days? Three, tops, if I take my time and explore carefully. Might as well get to it. I'm sure a quest or two will just drop into my lap. And by "quest" I don't mean stealing someone's pickaxe... I'm actually hoping I'll sort of trip over the main plotline if I wander about a bit. It's as good a guess as any. I think I'll start my search traveling counterclockwise.
     
    NEXT: Chapter 40, Mushrooms... again?
    Start at Chapter 1
  25. Content Consumer
    Some kinda bug or something.
    Previous: Chapter 26, This Place has Really Gone to the Dogs
     

    Just checking my inventory...

     

    Everything seems to be in order.

     

    Nap time!

     

    Something feels different...

     

    What... where is it? WHERE IS IT?

     

    Whoever took my wicker basket... shall burn.

     

    Hey, Brenuin, have you seen...

     

    ...

     

    Start. Running.

     

    Have you learned your lesson?

     

    Safe and sound...

     

    And everything is right with the world once again.

     
    Next: Chapter 27, I'll Take Option D
    Start at Chapter 1