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Content Consumer

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  1. 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!
  2. 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
  3. 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
  4. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 23: NO SHIT!
    In which our hero spends a lot of time thinking about excrement.
    Previous: Chapter 22, The Non-Thieves Guild
     
    Back in Riften (home of the Thieves Guild, as a guard helpfully reminds me, in case I've forgotten), Mercer admires the work of the mysterious person who has been working against the guild. Apparently selling mead halfway across the country is somehow a brilliant move in an intricate chess game or something.
     
    Mercer says that the unknown person is trying to get Maven, the guild boss, mad at the guild. I guess. Really, I'm starting to wonder about the mechanics of this whole operation. Who is the guild leader here? Mercer acts like its him, but everyone, and I mean everyone, not just thieves, but citizens on the street know that Maven runs the guild. The only two people in Riften who don't know it are the Jarl and her bodyguard, and I'm not totally sure about her bodyguard. Anyway, I'm still not sure how starting a competing mead business in an entirely different city is supposed to bring about this division, but I'm just rolling with it, remember?
     
    Mercer sends me to Solitude. I've been here before. This is where they behead people for opening gates at the wrong time. Along with Whiteun's attitude towards bad-tasting ale and Falkreath's "War on Yelling," Skyrim is looking more interesting all the time with regard to crime. Murder is frowned upon, but if you really want to get in trouble, open a door and then serve someone bad tea. Maybe that's why the guild has fallen on such hard times - they've been doing business in Skyrim, where the laws are arbitrary and based on the whims of local guards. It's hard to go through life when you don't know whether "looking at me in a funny way" is illegal today or not. I wouldn't be surprised if Morthal has a zero-tolerance policy on people who deliberately and maliciously fail to put the toilet seat down. Not that there are toilet seats, or toilets, in Skyrim. Not in the houses, anyway. Or palaces. Just in bandit camps and underground vampire lairs. Welcome to Skyrim, where the Bandits have grade-A plumbing and the Jarls don't even have chamberpots. Maybe that's why Mercer Frey is so sour - he lives in a sewer, so he has absolutely no idea where to unload. Maybe that's why...
     
    All RIGHT. Shut UP. We're here in Solitude to talk to a lizard. His name is, depending on who you ask, either Galum-Jei or Gajul-Lei or Gulum-Ei. No wonder the Thieves guild has fallen on such hard times - their fences keep changing their names. I'm thinking he did it to hide his identity. Green and scaly people with big tails can blend right in to typical Nord society if they change their names every now and then. He's streetsmart.
     
    Gulum-Ei, with a little persuasion, a dollop of sympathy, and a case of wine, hands me a bunch of Soul Gems and tells me that it was a strange woman who, out of the blue, handed him a sack of gold in exchange for Goldenglow Estate. So apparently Maven, the elf, this mysterious woman, and Gulum-Ei himself have all been at one point (possibly the SAME point) co-owners of the honeybee island. No wonder the Thieves guild has fallen on hard times - none of them know who they're stealing from at any given time, and occasionally they must wind up stealing from themselves, fencing it off to themselves, and selling it back to themselves for a hefty profit and simultaneous loss, whereupon they clap themselves on the back with the right hand while stabbing themselves in the back with the left hand, leading to increased medical bills, which is where all the money's going. I've got it all figured out. And probably better than the members of the guild themselves. I've revised my earlier opinion about Brynjolf - he's a master of the mind, a genius intellect who should be teaching classes at the College of Winterhold, compared to the idiots who actually run the place. But I'm sticking with it, because I wanna find out what happens next in the comedic soap opera that is Skyrim's Thieves Guild. Every day is a new crazy story, and I sit riveted to the edge of my seat, in the vague hope that someday I'll finish this damn monologue and get back to the story, such as it is.
     
    So Gulum-Ei bought Goldenglow Estate from the elf, who stole it from Maven Black-Briar, and then sold it to a mysterious woman who dropped a bag of gold at his feet. Happens to me all the time, people dropping bags of gold at my feet. I'm still waiting to hear back from my friend in Nigeria who needs to send me many hundreds of thousands of dollars. I've already sent him his advance fee of ten thousand, and my money will be arriving any day now.
     
    On the off chance that it might be proximity to the sewers in Riften that damages people's brains, and not that membership in the guild requires one to be pre-damaged, I figure that Gulum-Ei is hiding something, so I decide to shadow him. Stealthily, I sneakily snoop around, my silent footsteps dogging the tracks of the lizard at a fair distance, so as not to spook him. I stand above his path on the rocks, silently watching with hooded eyes as he makes his way down to the docks of Solitude. I am a master of sneak, a guru of stealth, and he'll never see me, even when I accidentally fall off the rocks and land on top of his head. He doesn't even remark on it, and continues on his way. He must think I'm some OTHER big guy in ebony armor holding a double-handed axe. It's an understandable mistake. There are a lot of us around. Last week there was a convention.
     
    Gulum-Ei doesn't seem displeased at my presence, so I shadow him more closely. Say, six inches behind him, occasionally bumping into him. For a bit of fun, I decide to push him off the pier into the water, which he takes with good grace, still making no remark about how I was the guy who just found out he sold out the Thieves guild. He enters the East Empire Company Warehouse. They don't let anyone in who isn't a member, and apparently my sneak skill isn't up to the challenge of the guard at the front door, so I rush back up the hill as fast as I can, into the alchemists shop, and then right back out again because the alchemist told me I shouldn't be there and it was past closing time. I wait impatiently for twelve hours, knowing that the crafty Gulum-Ei was slipping further and further from my grasp. I eventually rush in, grab a bottle or two of invisibility, throw some money at the shopkeeper, and rush out again, down to the docks, chug the potion, and slip in the door. Gulum-Ei must be long gone, I thought; I'll never find out where the sneaky lizard went.
     
    Just in the door, I narrowly miss stepping on Gulum-Ei's tail.
     
    I follow Mr. Green-and-scaly as he S.L.O.W.L.Y. makes his way around the boxes and crates in the warehouse, apparently forgets where he was going, and backtracks to a super-secret door near the back of the cavern that is cunningly hidden by absolutely nothing at all. I slip in behind him, knowing that he would be right in front of me again when I went through the door and... he's gone. Like, here I am SPRINTING through the cavern, slaughtering every guard in sight (who apparently went to the Commander Caius school of policing, where trespass is punishable by death), and rush up, out of breath, to Gulum-Ei, who had teleported to the back of the super-secret cavern but then decided to wait for me to catch up again. I wait a full hour, catching my breath and glaring balefully at him, counting to ten, and then several hundred, deciding whether or not to have lizard stew for dinner.
     
    Finally I calm down enough to talk to him in a civilized fashion. After threatening to jam his leg down his throat, he tells me that he had neglected to tell me the one piece of evidence in the case that would make everything clear, and justify the DAYS I had spent tracking him down and the expenses I had incurred in the form of invisibility potions.
    This piece of evidence is...
    The name...
    Of the woman...
    Who bought/sold/stole/borrowed Goldenglow Estate, is...
    (cue dramatic music)
    Karliah.
    ...
    ...
    ...
    (stop dramatic music, imprison the orchestra, and shoot the conductor)
     
    Who is Karliah, you ask? I laugh with scorn. Karliah is... well, she's... like, famous! Everybody knows her! She did that thing that one time! And... hates the guild? I guess? Or maybe just hates mead? I can understand that. It's a goal I can get behind - removing all mead from Skyrim. I'm sure this is a quest hook. I can just see it now - Mace Raiden, the man who singlehandedly won the rebellion, who rose to the top of the College of Winterhold, who slaughtered the last, deadly remnants of the ancient and nefarious Dragon Cult, killed Alduin the world-eater, defender of the realm and protector of the innocent, the man who drove the last of the mead-makers from Skyrim. They'll sing songs about me in the taverns all night long, toasting my memory with tankards of water.
     
    But sadly no, it is not to be. Karliah is simply a thief who murdered the last guildmaster, a guy named Gallus. Apparently she's an evil woman who will stop at nothing to destroy the guild. Apparently, she'll also start at nothing too, as her master plan so far has included buying a handful of apiaries on an island and building a meadery halfway across the country.
    Armed with this new information, I decide to head back to Riften to report my success.
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 5
    EXTORTION: 5
    ARSON: 3
    POISONING: 1
    THIEVERY: 0 (pretty sure the case of wine doesn't count, because Falk gave it to me free of charge. I believe it was the same case that I delivered to him previously.)
     
    Mercer Frey seems shaken by the name Karliah. Or, at least, it would be reasonable to assume that someone would be shaken by the mention of the name of the person who murdered his predecessor. In actuality, Mercer seems to be treating the whole thing like a joke. He takes the cryptic clue ("where the ending began" is one of the stupidest contradictio in terminis that has ever existed. Noam Chomsky would be proud) and interprets it to mean that we (yes, the two of us) should head to an ancient Nord ruin way up north. The way he describes it, suddenly everything makes sense - Karliah isn't trying to destroy the guild, or drive a wedge between the guild and its boss or anything like that - she's just kind of a dick.
     
    Once at the ruin, Mercer seems confused as to what to do next. He unlocks the unlockable door, fine, but then... I ask him if he wants me to lead, and he snarks at me, saying that HE is the one in charge, and HE gets to call the shots... and then proceeds to tell ME to lead. I blame it on the stress of the situation; confronting the killer of your old boss has got to be hard. I'm sure he doesn't want me in front of him so he can, I dunno, maybe push me into a trap somewhere or off a cliff or something. He's not that kind of guy.
     
    He's also not your typical thief. He's more my style of thief - stealthy until something interesting happens, when all pretense at sneaking about is abandoned in favor of launching head-first into combat. This gives me hope - if an obvious melee warrior like HIM can become boss of the Thieves Guild, then maybe, someday, I can do it to. Of course, I'll have to grow a moustache and start making plans to kill my underlings, but if that's what the job calls for, I'm up for it.
     
    The pair of us rampage through the ruin, slaughtering draugr left and right. He finds another unlockable door and proceeds to unlock it, because he's just SO COOL. He's beginning to be my hero. My idol. I'm really starting to like this guy. I turn toward him to tell him that I'd even take an arrow for him, and...
     
    Okay, great. So this mysterious Karliah shot me with an arrow. I've been shot by PLENTY of arrows in my time, but nothing has ever hit me like this. She must have poisoned the head with some kind of strange paralysis poison. Or something... paralysis has never done this to me before. Hey, Mercer, I can't move... help a guy out? No? You'd like to just continue your dialog with Karliah? Swell. I guess I'll just... sit here and listen to your scintillating repartee.
     
    So it turns out that Mercer killed Gallus and framed it on Karliah. He then took over the guild and forced Karliah into hiding. She spent her time plotting elaborate revenge that involved buying an island and starting up a mead business. As a plan of vengeance, it was, as Mercer said, inspired. Obviously, inspired by Homer Simpson. As far as I'm concerned, BOTH Mercer and Karliah are villains. Incompetent ones, at that. After a little more chitchat, she turns invisible and walks off. Mercer comes over to me and stabs me. Gee, I never saw that coming.
     
    Instead of dying, though, I wake up outside. Mercer didn't kill me, he just... caressed me with his sword. Maybe he couldn't bring himself to kill is favorite underling after all. Really, my emotional state has been going up and down like a yo-yo about this guy. He's a good guy who's secretly a bad guy who's secretly a good guy who's really a bad guy. His allegiances perfectly reflect how the Thieves guild operates. No wonder the guild has fallen on hard times.
     
    Karliah wakes me up, and apologizes for shooting me. She tells me that she did it to save my life. Wow, really? That's what you're going with? Look, lady, I get it. You just shot the first guy through the door, thinking it was going to be Mercer. It was an accident, a mistake. Mistakes happen! Once I was put in prison just because I Shouted at a guard. I didn't mean to, he was just behind a dragon that had landed and... look, the point is, when you make a mistake, apologize. Don't fabricate some wild story about how you were trying to save my life. Just cop to it so we can get on with our day.
     
    She shot me with a poisoned arrow that puts people to sleep. Why did she even have that? Why not a poison that kills instantly? That would make more sense if she really wanted revenge on Mercer. It took her a year to make the poison, when she could have just gone and found some Jarrin root somewhere. Twenty-five years of plotting and preparing and all she came up with was fermenting honey and making a single paralysis arrow. Good job. Have a cookie.
     
    She says that she has the diary of the old guild master that exonerates her and pins the blame squarely on Mercer. But she couldn't take it to the guild as proof because it's written in some obscure language. I'm strongly tempted to ask her if it contains a list of names of known communists in office, but I resist the urge. I'm more concerned with how she knows it contains the proof of her innocence if she's never read it, nor has anyone else.
     
    Since Mercer stabbed me, I decide that it would be better to side with the dark elf here for a bit, at least until I can stab him back. So rather than head back to the guild and slaughter everyone there for gross stupidity, I'm heading to Winterhold, to be part of a different sort of stupidity.
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 5
    ATTEMPTED MURDER: 1
    EXTORTION: 5
    ARSON: 3
    POISONING: 1
    THIEVERY: 1 (tomb robbing counts, right?)
    CURSING/BLASPHEMY: 2,147,483,648
     
    So here I am, back in Winterhold. Home of the Mage's guild, or so they'd have you believe. It's all lies. They're just ineffectual, self-absorbed ponces, creeping around their magic castle.
     
    I have to go talk to (shudder) Enthir again. Which means I've got to traipse around the damn college yet again, looking in various buildings, or maybe even the town, for the bloody elf. I wonder what he'll want me to do this time. Maybe go kill a dragon for him. Or become high king of Skyrim. The guy just takes a positive delight in making me jump through hoops.
     
    After a surprisingly pleasant visit with Enthir, wherein he did NOT make me jump through hoops (he likes renegade Thieves Guild people more than the Archmage, apparently), I head toward Markarth again. See, Gallus wrote the journal in the Falmer language. Of which there is only one translation in the entire world, owned by Calcelmo. But Gallus wrote his journal in it, so he knew it, so there must be more than one. Maybe Enthir is making me jump through hoops after all.
     
    Calcelmo is not forthcoming. I fixed his spider infestation problem and solved the case of the missing research team, but he refuses to give me the translation of the journal. I'm going to have to... STEAL it! Yes! Finally, real theft in the Thieves Guild! But first, I have to open this door... and I suck at lockpicking. So I've got to wander back to my house in Whiterun to find the key that I left there that opens the door to the museum wherein is found the Falmer language translation book that I have to steal to bring to Enthir so he can translate Gallus's journal so Karliah can get acquitted of all treason charges and rejoin the guild so we can get revenge on Mercer for killing Gallus and stabbing me, which is why Karliah bought or stole a honey-making operation from up to three owners and opened up a meadery and lured Mercer to an ancient Nord ruin and then shot me with a paralysis arrow. Got all that? There will be an exam later.
     
    So back in Markarth, I open the museum, only to find a museum within the museum. The guards on the inner museum aren't friendly like the guards on the outer museum. I'm really getting quite good at sneaking about, but even my 'leet stealth skills don't help me in here. Not so much the guards that are the problem, as the booby traps. Choking and gagging on noxious fumes, patting out clothing fires, and generally wandering blindly around this funhouse, I manage to make my way back outside, on a ledge high up above the city. Nice view.
     
    In the INNER-inner-museum, there are no more traps. And there it is - the Falmer language translation. A big stone block. Not a book. Hmm, might be a little heavy to carry around. Somebody might comment on the size of my backpack. I know! I'll grab a piece of charcoal and a roll of paper and make a rubbing. There are several left conveniently right here! I'm sure that this stone block contains every word of the Falmer language. And Dwemer language for the translation part. Funny, it doesn't look like they're using 1-point font. Maybe the Falmer language has only one word that is used for any noun or concept. I'm going to call this magic word Marklar. Just because I like to pretend that I'm clever.
     
    So I make a rubbing of the stone, and Calcelmo's nephew comes in, flanked by guards. I dispatch them easily, knowing that Calcelmo probably won't even notice his nephew missing, much less miss the dunce. Calcelmo's not that bright, anyway - he wants to publish a book on Falmer/Dwemer language, but won't let anybody have the translation. His entire book will consist of a single sentence: "I know something you don't know!"
     
    Back in Winterhold, Enthir translates Gallus's journal, thereby proving that Enthir is more intelligent than Calcelmo, because he is able to translate instantly where Calcelmo took years. Maybe Calcelmo's just lazy. I find out that Karliah must have a beautiful singing voice. You wouldn't think it from the way her speaking voice is, but she's a Nightingale, after all, so it must be true. I don't know what else Nightingale might refer to. Maybe some idiot creator-of-the-world thought that it meant something like "the strong wind that passes in the darkness" and nobody bothered to correct him. That'd be my guess. Whatever.
     
    Anyway, Mercer apparently violated something called the Twilight Sepulcher, which is a shrine to Nocturnal, so get those dirty thoughts out of your head. So THAT'S where the missing Daedric Prince is! Karliah gives me a special sword of the beautiful singers, and tells me to head back to Riften again.
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 6 (+however many guards there were in the museums, I lost count)
    ATTEMPTED MURDER: 1
    EXTORTION: 5
    ARSON: 3
    POISONING: 1
    THIEVERY: 3*
    *It should be noted that Enthir is NOT a guild member, so technically the charcoal and roll of paper should not count because it wasn't the guild that sent me to steal them. But I'd really like to get the Thievery stat above the Murder stat, so I'm bending the rules here.
     
    Next: Chapter 24, The Case of the Empty Vault
    Start at Chapter 1
  5. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 22: THE NON-THIEVES GUILD
    In which our hero is shanghaied into joining a guild of thief wannabees.
    Previous: Chapter 21, There's A Dragon, Everybody Follow!
     
    Crisis averted or at least ignored, I walk up to the gate. The guard at the gate tries to extort money from me. I threaten him, but he seems unimpressed. So I tell him that I know it is shakedown, and he gets shaken up, and lets me in. The way I remember the conversation going was this:
    --GUARD: This is a shakedown. Give me money or I won't let you in the gate. If you try to get past me in any way, me and all my corrupt guard friends I met at the Official Corrupt Guard Mixer last night will paint the ground red with your blood. We're a nasty bunch, you know. We kill people without a thought. So gimme money or die!
    --ME: You said this is a shakedown?
    --GUARD: Whoa, this is a shakedown? You're right! I never thought... my whole life has been a series of bad choices. Now that I look at it in retrospect, I realize that things could have been different... that I could have been a better person. Thank you, stranger; I'll let you in without fuss, and from now on I promise you that I'll try to find a more noble calling.
     
    As I walk past his fellow guard, she tells me that Riften is the home of the Thieves Guild and how everyone in town is corrupt. Once inside the city, I overhear a conversation between two people talking about how Riften is the home of the Thieves Guild and everyone is corrupt. Then I'm approached by a big guy in steel armor telling me how Riften is the home of the Thieves Guild and everyone is corrupt. Then I walk past a woman and a man arguing about how she stole his money and he can't do anything about it because Riften is the home of the Thieves Guild and everyone in town is corrupt. Several local shopkeepers tell me that Riften is the home of the Thieves Guild and everyone in town is corrupt. I believe I may be getting some sort of vibe about this place.
     
    Then this guy named Brynjolf walks up to me, a total stranger, and tells me that I've never worked a day in my life for all my money.
    --a. How would he possibly know that about someone he just met?
    --b. HE APPROACHED ME. I didn't walk up to him. He just picks every random dude who walks into town and shouts at them in the middle of the marketplace in the middle of the day that he wants them to join a super-secret order of thieves.
    --c. He says it if I'm wearing beggar's rags. He says it if I'm wearing ebony armor. He apparently cannot differentiate between high-value goods and low-value goods. He's the BEST THIEF IN THE WORLD.
    --d. If someone walked up to you wearing ebony armor and carrying a big damn axe, would you insult him by telling him that he's a thief and hasn't earned anything in his life?
     
    Actually, I suppose it kind of makes sense... the Thieves Guild puts out an obvious dimwit as their front-door guard in the hopes that he attracts all the wrong attention (city guards, curious-but-not-serious amateur thieves, etc) and the other thieves go about their business, safe in the knowledge that they'll never be caught as long as the oh-so-efficient constabulary can't pick out the guild equivalent of a town crier and obvious snake-oil salesman.
     
    Brynjolf assumes from the start that I want to join the Thieves guild. Why else would I be in Riften? I'd hate to disappoint the nimrod; it would be like kicking a dull but friendly puppy. So I say yes. New profession: Mace Raiden, Thief. Yes, I've sunk that low.
     
    He tells me to steal a ring from someone and put it in someone else's pocket. It's a frame job. My first quest for the Thieves Guild involves framing someone. Not thievery at all. In fact, let's keep a tally of the crimes I commit in the guild, yes?
    FRAMING: 1
    THIEVERY: 0 (pickpocketing doesn't count for two reasons: a- I only stole the ring to put it in someone else's pocket, and b- the POINT of the caper was not to steal a single clipped copper coin but to frame someone)
     
    I succeed in my quest to frame an innocent man for theft. Brynjolf then sends me into the sewers to find the super-secret lair of thieves that, once you start asking around town, you find out everyone knows is down there. No wonder the guild has fallen on hard times. Their second in command is a nincompoop and the whole guild has some real security issues.
     
    I wander through the sewers, killing beggars and... thieves. Yep. I can't get into the thieves guild without killing thieves. No wonder the guild has fallen on hard times; their initiation tests include killing guild members.
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 4
    THIEVERY: 0
     
    I've found the Thieves guild! It's a tavern! IN THE SEWERS! No wonder the guild has fallen on hard times; every item of food or drink they eat is laced with bacteria. These people live in human (and elf, and lizard, and cat) excrement.
     
    Brynjolf seems surprised and pleased to see me. He's the only one who is pleased to see me. Everyone else I approach either threatens me with bodily harm or is extremely disdainful of me. Brynjolf rewards me for murdering his fellows by making me a member of the Thieves Guild. Guild membership perks include a wonderful place to sleep, fine food and drink, and pleasant company.
     
    Actually, it still kind of makes sense - if I'm a new Thieves Guild recruit, they might like me. But I'm BRYNJOLF'S recruit, the guy that is universally laughed at by the other, REAL, thieves. No wonder they're leery about me. I'll just have to prove myself and my skills to them. I can do it! There must be something I can do, some thief-like activity such as second-story work or even pickpocketing. Hell, MUGGING, why not?
    Brynjolf tells me to extort money from local shopkeepers. Whippee.
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 4
    EXTORTION: 3
    THIEVERY: 0
     
    Okay, on to bigger and better things. Brynjolf is pleased with my efforts. I momentarily bask in the glow of his praise until I notice the other members of the guild chuckling in the background. Then I get all depressed.
     
    Brynjolf invites me into the inner sanctum. This is pretty cool, actually... there's a SECRET DOOR. In a big barrel. I'm sure that nobody, not one person, say just for the sake of argument a city guard if they ever raided this place, would EVER think to look at a big closet-door looking thing. Still, this is the first "secret" thing about the guild that I've noticed yet. Maybe I'm actually moving up (down?) in the world!
     
    The inner sanctum of the Thieves Guild, hidden behind the disgusting sewers and rodent-infested underground tunnels, is... a disgusting rodent-infested underground sewer!
     
    I am introduced to Mercer Frey, the real head of the guild. He doesn't think I'm worthless at all. This guy doesn't look down on me, no sir. He actually HATES me. Big improvement. I don't know why, but he's really sour on me. I have the sneaky suspicion that good o' Bryn brought him some real winners in the past and he's afraid it's happening again. I have another sneaky suspicion - Mercer is a BAD GUY who will TURN ON ME and is PROBABLY A GUARD IN DISGUISE or maybe THE JARL'S MAIN INFORMANT or some other PERSON WHO WANTS TO DESTROY THE THIEVES GUILD IN GENERAL and ME IN PARTICULAR.
     
    It's actually in writing floating over his head, in big bold letters that anyone can see. All he's missing is a big moustache to twirl... all he's got is a scraggly little thing, which tells me that he will betray me, but will probably do it incompetently.
     
    But none of this is actually apparent to me, because I'm just a character in a game, and we never see it coming. We just go through our scripted days living out our scripted lives waiting to be stabbed in the back with what looks like a Dwemer sword. So forget everything I just said. Mercer Frey is the leader of the Thieves Guild and a really nice guy who just wants everyone to get along and bring back the glory days of the guild.
     
    Anyway, he sends me to talk to Vex about a job she failed at. Vex, back in the less-secret part of the super-secret sewer base tells me that getting into the place was a snap but getting out was hard. Or something like that. I kind of lost interest when she mentioned that I'd have to be trudging through yet more sewers.
     
    I headed out to Goldenglow Estate, which is on an island guarded by several really incompetent guards. I walked right up to the gate and nobody noticed. I couldn't get through the gate, because I'm a badass warrior and not a lockpicker. It occurs to me that there's another reason the guild has fallen on hard times - they spend their time recruiting big burly Nords in ebony armor wielding two-handed axes rather than, you know, sneaky-lockpicky-pickpockety people.
     
    I may not be a thief, but I am observant, and I notice that the gate covers the bridge to the island, and... not much else. Wonderful security, that. I could swim to shore and be up on the island in a heartbeat. But I'm supposed to do this without attracting attention, so I head around to the back of the island, where lo and behold there's a trapdoor into the sewers.
     
    I head on in the sewers, thankful that my ebony armor is already black and won't show stains much. For some reason, the inhabitants of the island fastness are a little quicker on the uptake than most; a little more on the ball. They've booby-trapped the sewers. Fire pits and oil and tripwires oh my! It's not much of a problem, though, and the flaming puddles of oil (at least, I really hope it's oil) do manage to kill off their rodent infestation. They'd thank me if they knew.
     
    I manage to make my way into the building, and let me say that whatever crack group of security personnel trapped the tunnels, are no longer in residence. Here's me in big, clanky armor, "sneaking" around behind them as they stare straight ahead at walls, sit in chairs on the main routes completely ignoring any side passages, and generally behave as though they're all brain damaged. My theory is that they actually DID know that I was there. Mercer probably paid them off to ignore me. He'd do it as part of some nefarious plot to destroy me except for the fact that he's such a good guy who really cares for his employees, so what's actually going on is that he feels sorry for Brynjolf, wants the dumbass to succeed at something, so decided to grease the wheels for the first major job for a crappy protégé. I'm going to thank him when I get back to the home sewer. I'll bring him some disinfectant and deodorant.
     
    I make my way upstairs to the elf guy who stopped selling honey to the owner of the place. Why the owner didn't just have the guards kill him, or evict him, or just demand that he sell honey again, I don't know. Neither does the elf guy. He really doesn't know much of anything. Very unhelpful. I convinced him to hand me the key to the safe, chatted with him a while, became friends, and told him that everything would be okay. The jackass then shouted for the guards with no provocation. I was a little worried, but I didn't need to be, because no guards came, the elf continued to sit there doing fuck-all, and I could probably have SKIPPED down to the basement, singing, opened the safe, cleaned it out, thrown the safe at a guard's head, and nobody would have noticed. Honestly, at this point I was baffled about whether my theory regarding Mercer's hand in this was correct, or if I had suddenly morphed into a master sneak specialist. Whatever. I got a bill of sale that told a better story than the elf. Apparently, it's all finders-keepers here, and the elf (who was, by the way, NOT the titular owner of the island... I think) sold it to someone else. Very mysterious. Very cloak and dagger. I have... no words.
     
    I headed back up to the surface and proceeded to sneak my sneaky way to the beehives, and burned three of them down, because... I'm still not sure. The owner of the place (who may or may not be the elf, the person he sold it to, or some as-yet unnamed individual) wanted the beehives burned because the honey stopped flowing into the city. So destroying the supply of the honey makes the honey come. Makes perfect sense. I mean, if there's a magical shrink-a-big-blue-ball-and-then-expand-it-again spell, why can't there be smoke and fire fueled honeybees?
    The current tally:
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 4
    EXTORTION: 4
    ARSON: 3
    THIEVERY: 0
     
    Back to Riften and my home away from home. Brynjolf is happy about the beehives being burned, unhappy about the place being sold. He tells me to go talk to Maven Black-Briar, who, being female, fails the facial hair requirement of being a villain. She makes up for it with her manner, which is distinctly unfriendly. So SHE's the owner of Goldenglow Estate. Not the elf guy. Or rather, she WAS, before the elf guy apparently stole it from her (how?) and sold it (to who?) and again, I have no words.
     
    She's in a really upscale tavern, too. Upscale for the standards of the Thieves Guild, that is. It's not covered in shit. She must be a king.
     
    Maven is pissed off about the whole selling-the-island thing. She doesn't mention the burned beehives, and I choose not to say anything about it, just in case that was just one of Brynjolf's little stupidities. She is apparently the REAL boss of the Thieves Guild, not Mercer Frey. She tells me to head to Whiterun and put another meadery out of business. They got a quick start in the mead-making trade and she doesn't like people who are more successful than she, so I'm to go... I don't know, burn the place down or something. She has a local contact who is staying at another inn. I'm as Nord as the next guy, but I was raised a Redguard, and sometimes all this constant mead swilling in taverns gets on my nerves.
     
    After arriving at the Bannered Mare, the little Breton guy called Mallus tells me that the meadery's owner, Sabjorn, is holding a mead-tasting event for someone important. Probably the Jarl. I'm to poison the mead. And the best part is, the meadery's owner is going to give me the poison! See, the meadery has a rat problem, and I'm to poison the rats nest, then the mead, and the mead-tasting ceremony will be ruined.
     
    I head out to the meadery, get the poison, and through the tunnels. There are some particularly nasty rats down here, but I deal with them easily enough. There is also a crazy half-naked guy running around, and he attacks me with lightning, so I kill him too. Poison the nest, and out the other way. I then put the remainder of the poison into the big mead vat. Tomorrow when the mead tasting event happens, it'll sure make people sick, as planned! Which will... um... somehow put the meadery's ownership in dispute? I'm really not sure about this. Honestly, I zoned out when various people were telling me various things about their evil plots. I really don't care anymore. After all I've been through in this Skyrim place, from the insanity of Markarth to the stupidity of Windhelm to the combined stupidity-insanity of Falkreath, I'm kind of walking through life on autopilot now. People tell me where to go and who to kill or what items to bring back to them and I just do it without thought or question. I'm not so much living my life as wandering through someone else's life, bored out of my skull, with only the constant wildlife and bandit attacks to break up the tedious monotony. Darkness abounds my soul and gloom shrouds my inner mind and I'm really starting to sound like one of those half-naked Forsworn guys, forever painting dark lines on their faces to express their inner pain and making bad poetry about how things were better when there were more human sacrifices. Maybe the color scheme of my armor is getting to me. I'd switch to the Official Thieves Gear but it kind of sucks protection-wise, and feces-colored brown isn't much of an improvement in the color.
     
    Anyway, back to the business at hand. I walk into the meadery to get my money and get out of town before the mead tasting, when what appears before my eyes but the captain of the guard in Whiterun. I know he's the captain of the guard because that's what he says any time I get to within ten feet of him. "I'm the commander of the guard here in Whiterun." Yes, I know. You already told me that ten thousand times before. At least the officers under your command have the decency to break it up every now and then with comments about arrows and knees and the occasional sexual innuendo about my weapon and how I need two hands to hold it. You're all a bunch of idiotic, moronic, idiot-morons and WOW do I need to get some lighter-colored armor, and maybe stop staying in sewers and rat-nests all the time. It's really getting me down.
     
    The captain tastes the mead, which is poisoned. I was a little confused, at first, considering that the vat of mead is next door and there is NO WAY the meadery owner could have gotten the tainted mead yet, but then I realize that he must be a mage. Why can't there be a magical mead-teleporting spell? Anyway, the meadery owner may be a mage, but he's also a real doofus, for not testing the mead before he handed it to the guard captain.
     
    The guard captain tastes the mead, and immediately gets really sick. Not sick as in "can't move" sick, or "throwing up" sick, but... I guess it tastes bad? So he arrests the meadery owner. He has a bad pint so he arrests the barman. This is a guard captain with some unresolved issues. I had once wondered why there was a dead naked guy locked in the Whiterun prison, and it now occurs to me that he must have insulted the captain's mother or something; it seems like this dude is the kind of guy to take that a little too much to heart. He and the college librarian should get together. They could blow up the world. I'm given to understand that the penalty for murder is a small fine and the confiscation of stolen property, while giving someone a tummyache carries a penalty of life imprisonment here. Welcome to Whiterun, where anything goes except heartburn, which is an offense against the gods.
     
    The guard captain is also a man of great political power, because he removes ownership of the meadery from Sabjorn and hands it off to Mallus. No wonder the guild has fallen on hard times, when the local guard captain has more clout than the local Jarl. Mallus is very happy, and sends me upstairs with a key to get a note that proves Sabjorn was working against Maven Black-Briar. Because we didn't already know that.
    FRAMING: 1
    MURDER: 5
    EXTORTION: 4
    ARSON: 3
    POISONING: 1
    THIEVERY: 0
     
    Next: Chapter 23, No Shit!
    Start at Chapter 1
  6. 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
  7. Content Consumer
    DIARY OF A DRAGONBORN - INTERMISSION 2: MEET THE PROTAGONIST
    In which our hero sits down with an interviewer and answers some of your most pressing questions about himself, Skyrim, and his life.
    Previous: Chapter 18, It Was An Accident
     
    Q: Welcome to the show, Mace. Can I call you Mace?
    A: Sure, and glad to be here, anonymous interviewer. Can I call you Anonymous?
     
    Q: Uh... sure.
    A: Nanny for short.
     
    Q: ...Why not. First question. What's it like to be the Dragonborn, savior of mankind?
    A: Well, Nanny, it's really, really, really annoying.
     
    Q: Annoying? Why?
    A: Because whenever I walk through town, any town, anywhere, anytime, townsfolk keep coming up to me and asking me to do shit. Like, every person in the world looks at me and sees, not a person, but a thing... an object, a device that can solve their problems. I'm nothing to them, just someone who can deliver their letters and fetch them ingredients and solve local bandit infestations, as if there is no city watch, courier service, or army about.
     
    Q: I never thought about it that way.
    A: It's really quite awful. Sure, I get respect, and I'm rich, but what can money and love get you, really? It's quite depressing. I try not to dwell on it.
     
    Q: Well, let's move on to something else then. What do you think of the wildlife in Skyrim?
    A: I love it. And I loathe it. I can't walk five steps without getting attacked by wolves, you'd think they'd learn better than to randomly attack humans covered in metal holding big swords... but on the other hand, I love some of the other native life, like mammoths and the giants who herd them.
     
    Q: Speaking of mammoths, how is mammoth cheese actually made?
    A: I'd rather not speculate. The giants make it, and it apparently comes from mammoths... we can only hope it has something to do with milk. The alternative is too nasty to contemplate.
     
    Q: Yeah, let's not go there. You once mentioned that you could never be an alchemist. Why is that?
    A: Well, really, I could be an alchemist. I just couldn't be a harvester. The first time I tried to catch a butterfly, I ended up tearing its wings off, because the gods have decreed that butterflies are ingredients. Now, I'm okay with killing, really - dragons, bandits, bears, trolls, etcetera... but I draw the line at butterflies and foxes. And I usually avoid killing deer too. Basically, I'll cheerfully slaughter anything that attacks me first; I just don't like attacking innocents. And for the record, I do not consider humans or elves innocent.
     
    Q: Speaking of killing things, how does it feel to kill a dragon?
    A: Not much different from killing anything else. Really, there's no real difference between fighting a dragon and fighting any other big creature, like a mammoth or giant. You poke at it with a piece of metal on a stick for a while and try to avoid getting squashed. It's what happens afterwards that's the kicker.
     
    Q: Yes, you absorb dragon souls. Let's talk about that for a minute.
    A: It's the most skeezy feeling ever. It's like this greasy electricity that invades every pore of my skin. As the power passes into me, I can feel the soul of the dragon... sometimes they kind of mutter at me, but most of the time they're just resigned to the situation. Like, they're just going to sit... somewhere... inside me... until the day I die, when they can be free again. Being Dragonborn is NOT a barrel of laughs, let me tell you.
     
    Q: We know that you're the Dragonborn, the one destined to contend with Alduin the World-Eater at the End of Time, but what besides that do you feel is your greatest claim to fame?
    A: Well, I'd have to say it's my ability to eat seventy cheese wheels, sixteen apples, four tomatoes, three pies, twelve flowers, nine bottles of wine including the glass bottle apparently, five bowls of mammoth "cheese," eighty-seven eggs, and a vial of dwemer oil all at once without vomiting. I may be able to absorb dragon souls, but my real talent is winning eating contests.
     
    Q: On the subject of food, what is your favorite?
    A: Most things that are not animal byproducts. No, I'm not a vegetarian, but the thought of chowing down on another raw giant's toe or hacked-off skeever tail makes me nauseous. I've been subsisting on a garlic-and-onion diet for some time now, which may explain why nobody likes to get close to me anymore. Some nice spiced wine on cold winter nights goes down well too.
     
    Q: No mead?
    A: No.
     
    Q: What is your problem with mead, anyway?
    A: Well, honestly I don't have a problem with mead, per se. It's the Nords who keep on swilling the damn stuff that get to me. They're obsessed with fermented honey. I just think that without mead, Skyrim would probably be a lot better off. More civilized, at any rate. Stupid Nords... they're obsessed with the shit.
     
    Q: But... you're a Nord!
    A: Yeah, but remember, I was raised in a Redguard family. I don't identify with the Nords. Olfred Battle-Born has it right - they're all a bunch of pelt-wearing axe-dragging backward imbeciles. I mean, here's a good example, take a look at their so-called "architecture." Most of their cities are falling apart, and I'm not just talking about Winterhold here. Whiterun itself, the self-styled "jewel" of Skyrim... even before the city got bombarded during the siege, it was falling apart. The stone outer walls were crumbling, reinforced with shoddy wooden fences, and nobody actually seemed interested in doing anything about it. Now consider Stros M'kai , a real jewel of civilization. Beautiful towers surmount a well-kept city, even the outer defensive walls are works of art, lovingly crafted and maintained by skilled artisans.
     
    Q: Uh, okay. Related to architecture, what is your favorite city, or town, in Skyrim?
    A: Probably some place beginning with a W, R, or M. There can't be too many of those, can there?
    Really, if I had to pick, it'd probably be Markarth. I know I made a big deal out of it being all stone and metal, but it's actually quite well maintained, as long as you stay out of Understone Keep. It's a beautiful piece of engineering and artwork rolled into one, well designed for defense while at the same time being a place you can really see yourself settling down in. And I just love the Reach, its misty crags and towering spires of living rock. If there were no people there, Nords or Forsworn criminals or whatever, it'd be perfect.
     
    Q: Speaking of criminals, you were recently arrested. Tell us about that.
    A: The guards in Skyrim are arseholes, man. I mean, here I am, savior of mankind, I just killed a dragon that was freezing people solid, eating guards, landing on houses and causing structural damage and just generally ruining everyone's day... and this dude runs up to me and says I've committed crimes against Skyrim. Because I shouted at the dragon and a guy who had the bad judgment to be standing in the way got hit. It didn't even do any damage to him! But apparently "saving the world" is classified as "assault" in Skyrim's ass-backwards legal system, so I had to do a night in jail. That's all there was to it. It had nothing to do with the other fifty murders on my rap sheet, despite what the court documents say. And if you want to avoid being number fifty-one, I'd suggest we move along here.
     
    Q: Aah... okay. We're about out of time, so one last question. If you could re-do any one thing you've done since crossing the border into Skyrim, what would you do differently?
    A: ...Not crossing the border would probably top my list.
     
    Q: And that's a wrap, folks! Stay tuned next week for another edition of "Meet the Protagonist," we'll be talking with Gordon Freeman, and undoubtedly answering our own questions, since he doesn't actually speak. Thank you, Mace Raiden, for being on the show today.
    A: You're welcome, Nanny. It's been a pleasure. Honest. Now where's my payment your people promised?
     
    Q: Goodnight everyone!
     

     
    Next: Chapter 19, Back To Winterhold
    Start at Chapter 1
  8. 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
  9. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 17: THE DAEDRIC PRINCES
    In which our hero is a total CHEATER!
    Previous: Chapter 16, Lovely Party, Pity I Wasn't Invited
     
    So this is Dawnstar. There's not much I can say about it. Two mines, a boat, a Jarl whose time has most definitely come and gone, and a madman who wants to get his hands on an evil Daedric artifact. This dude is apparently obsessed with the Mythic Dawn cult, which, as anyone who has ever played the last ES game read any history knows, was a cult that assassinated the emperor and tried to take over and/or destroy the world. And if you don't know about it, Silus will be sure to tell you about it. At length.
     
    As I walk into his house, he stands expectantly in the corner, obviously waiting for me to ask him some questions about his Mythic Dawn stuff. He's wearing a big grin, wide-eyed, the sort of face that you'd expect to see on an overeager mongoose confronted with a snake buffet. Just waiting for someone to make a move. Any move. In my case, getting just a little too close to one of his display cases containing robes, where he took it upon himself to tell me exactly what was in the display case. Which was robes. As any idiot could see it. But Silus is the type of guy who likes to explain things about his hobby, ad nauseam, and the only way to get him to shut up is to run, screaming, from the room. There's no way to do it politely. Affect disinterest, yawn dramatically, look at your watch (or, since this is a fantasy game world, examine your wrist-mounted sundial), shift from foot to foot... this kind of guy doesn't take a hint. Gods forbid you actually ask him a question about anything, you'll be there for the next nine hours.
     
    Which... is what I did. And we were. He tells me that the robes were colored with a dye made from blood, which seems kind of like a lot of work to go to for a bunch of canvas-grade cloth. I get the sneaky suspicion that the Mythic Dawn just used regular cheap red dye, then told their members it was dyed in blood, to give it that authentic evil-cult feel. Trust me, I've washed enough blood out of clothing to know it makes for a shitty dye, the robes would be a pale brownish-pink after only a few washings. But whatever. After hour six of the lecture, I managed to get him onto the topic of what he wanted out of me, and it was a fairly straightforward fetch quest. I have to go hunt down three pieces of Mehrunes Razor, a dagger with an apparently awe-inspiring enchantment. After promising profusely to go get his pieces, I managed to skedaddle. Outside, I channeled my magical energies and put several lightning runes on the door in case he ever has the notion to emerge from his sanctum. He'll get a nasty shock, hur hur hur.
     
    Moving on. The town is being plagued by nightmares, which is nothing strange to me. I've been plagued by nightmares since I arrived in this stupid province, but nobody's rushing to help me out. The local priest wants me to deal with their nightmare problem. Well, actually, he says he just wants help, but I know how this sort of thing goes. He'll have me follow him for a while, killing his enemies while he stumbles around in a Nordic ruin hitting trap after trap, and then he'll either turn on me and try to kill me or give me a 500 gold reward for my "help." But I'm gonna do it anyway, because of my oath.
     
    After following him for a while, up a snowy path while he walked very SLOWLY (this guy could give lessons to Ralof), it turns out that he was actually a priest of a Daedric Prince Vaermina, and so I backed out of that relationship too. What is it with people wanting me to do their demonic work for them? To date, I've been accosted by a big white rock in a chest, a berserk Dunmer wielding a book, a critically ill fellow fleeing to High Rock from Peryite's faithful or something, an idiot Vigilant who wants to face off with some daedra or other in Markarth, some dude who wants to resurrect an evil daedra-worshipping cult, another wandering Dunmer who was heading to the shrine of Azura, and now a reformed daedra priest who wants to do something with Vaermina, I don't know what, and I don't really care. Fuck these guys, I want nothing to do with meddling daedra, aedra, divines, old ghosts, or what-have-you.
     
    In fact, I'm going to hunt down every last one of these fuckers, mark them in my journal, and then carefully avoid them for the rest of my life. I focus my powers and use the WIKI shout once more, and learn that in addition to those previously mentioned, there is a dog I have to avoid somewhere outside Falkreath, a dude in Falkreath jail, an orcish tribe somewhere in Riften, a possessed child in Whiterun, and my old buddy Sam is a daedric prince in disguise. I've already been cursed to carry a bunch of their junk, why would I want to burden myself with their "artifacts" which are undoubtedly more junk?
     
    You know what? That WIKI shout has also given me enough information to be able to competently spell "Jarl of Falkreath" now. I'm kind of leery heading there after learning that I have not one but two daedric princes to avoid, but I figure one guy's in jail anyway, and another one is something like trapped in a dog's body, so it should actually be pretty easy. I'm headed to Falkreath.
     
    Next: Chapter 18, It Was An Accident!
    Start at Chapter 1
    Pic: He's not getting out of there alive.

  10. 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
  11. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 15: IMPERIALS IN THE STORMCLOAK CAPITOL
    In which our hero vows to burn a stone city to the ground. Hey, if a dragon can do it, why not the Dragonborn?
    Previous: Chapter 14, Possibly Some Ice Hockey Reference
     
    So, despite my misgivings, I'm headed out of town via boat rather than by foot. The docks are full of Argonians, which makes sense because Argonians love the water, and doesn't make sense at all because Argonians love warm water, and this "water" is only nonsolid because nitrogen remains liquid at these temperatures.
     
    Here's how I picture the first Nord settlers arriving from Atmora:
     
    "Well, we just spent several weeks braving terrible winter storms escaping from a land progressively covered in more and more ice, and we've finally arrived at the southern continent, free at last from the frozen hell that our previous home has become. I think we'll settle here, and build a great city where we can continue to weather the icy storms of a terrible, permanent winter, embracing the subzero temperatures that we fought so hard to escape."
     
    It seems entirely in tune with standard Nord intelligence. To anyone interested in continuing reading these diary entries, yes I do intend to continue belittling the Nords and their lack of intellect, at least until they stop being morons. I can't believe I'm related to these people. To be fair, none of the other nine races are any better... except the Khajiit, I guess. They're pretty cool.
     
    Anyway, my journal does say that I should look up the East Empire company here. Why here and not Solitude makes absolutely no sense. After all, these asshole Stormcloaks are so anti-empire they get almost sexually aroused by the mere thought of killing someone from Cyrodiil, so why is Windhelm one of the headquarters of a company that is entirely Imperial in nature, that even uses the empire's military dress code as its own? Again, I reflect upon the intelligence of the average Nord. Someone once heard the phrase "keep your friends close and your enemies closer" and took it quite literally. I'd make some comment about building your house on a nest of snakes, but the Imperials themselves aren't quite as smart as a nest of snakes, so I'd better just forget the whole thing. Take a few deep breaths, remember my oath to just take whatever quests are thrown my way without analysis.
     
    I walk into an empty warehouse. It's certainly empty, as any idiot can see. Yet the Imperial there feels it necessary to tell me it's an empty warehouse. Thanks, dude, I never would have figured that out on my own. He then proceeds to tell me the company has fallen on hard times, which I also never would have guessed. He then asks me to steal a log book from a rival company, to which I must certainly reply yes, because of the aforementioned oath to say yes to everything, come what may. After retrieving the logbook, which paints an obviously criminal picture of the Shatter-Shield clan, which would almost certainly get their operation stopped if I took it to the Jarl. So Orthus, obviously, wants me to... walk to Dawnstar and question a group of bloodthirsty pirates. After silently staring at him for a while, reflecting on the fact that saying "yes" to a quest doesn't actually mean you have to do the quest, I decide that even though Dawnstar was my recent destination, I'd be damned if I went there now.
     
    Out the door, over the river, it's worth the swim in icy water just to get away from this bloody place. There's a farm here, and the farmer wants help with his crops. He'll pay me some good money for it.
     
    Ooh... make money farming? That's what my new profession is: Mace Raiden, Farmer. It's going on my business cards. So I'll just go pick these crops, and hand... hand them over... and get... paid. Gold. Whuh?
     
    That... that's it? The full extent of farming? Just, pick a couple cabbages, and hand them over for gold? Pick cabbages from your, and I use the word liberally, your "farm," the whole six square feet of it, right at your back door, it took me ten seconds and would probably take you idiots nearly TWICE as long, just pick those cabbages and hand them over, and that's worth twelve gold? Like, and I'm sorry to keep hitting on this one, but WOW, like you just walk, you know, four feet that direction, bend down, grasp the nettle cabbage firmly, lift (with your back, not your knees), and you've got supper, but you can't do it yourself, you've got to pay some random wandering schlub?
     
    You guys have the easiest fucking job in the world, and you can't even do it yourself. You're morons, really. Complete morons. You just paid me twice what the cabbage is actually worth because you couldn't be arsed to wander over there at some point in the day and grab it yourself. If this is what farming does to a person, I'm out. That's it for THIS job. Mace Raiden, Farmer (retired) is going on my business cards.
     
    I silently, calmly walk away, vowing to burn this whole city to the ground one day. I'll tell Urag that there's a book thief hiding out here, he'll take care of it for me. Ugh... I've got to go do something totally different for a while, take my mind off this rampant stupidity. Too bad I'm stuck in Skyrim, where they have indeed heard of a lack of rampant stupidity, but they think it has something to do with building better sloped walkways. Maybe I'll go talk to Delphine again. Why the fuck not?
     
    Next: Chapter 16, Lovely Party, Pity I Wasn't Invited
    Start at Chapter 1
  12. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 14: POSSIBLY SOME ICE HOCKEY REFERENCE
    In which our hero solves a brutal murder by committing brutal murder.
    Previous: Chapter 13, Plot Armor
     
    So... Windhelm. Just like I expected. Racist bastards harassing innocent Dunmer, cold and snowy, and not one but two beggars. That's a 100% increase in the number of beggars most towns have. I wander the streets for a while, and overhear a conversation about a cursed house or something. Someone's trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood, so I resolve to enter said house and convince the misguided soul to desist in following this evil path, with my axe if necessary. Inside, there's a kid who apparently found a skeleton just lying around and brought it home. Can I keep it, mom? Sure, honey, but you have to clean up after it, keep it fed on human flesh, and polish it daily.
     
    This kid is sort of warped. He's ticked off at a woman who runs the orphanage down in Riften, and wants me to kill her. I agree, backing away slowly, keeping a nervous eye on the kid just in case he, I don't know, offers me something to eat or something. Like that bloody heart sitting just over there, next to the dead body. Yep, I'll do it kid, no problem, NO problem, just gonna go and prepare my little-old-lady-killing plans. You wait here, I'll be back, I promise.
     
    Once back outside in the fresh air, I spend the next hour or two moving some of the big stone blocks in a nearby wall to cover up the front door, sealing the evil inside away for good. It's for the best, really.
     
    I continue wandering the streets, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a dead body, covered in scars, with four people standing around it. I try to inch past, carefully avoiding eye contract, in case this is some sort of hazing ritual or something, when the guard stops me dead and tells me to stay away, which is what I was trying to do, but hey. The guard promptly tells me to question the witnesses, which is his job. Normally I'd just thwack him one for his attitude and be on my way, but I have a great respect for the law, especially considering that the law outnumbers me by a factor of 30.
     
    The "witnesses," so-called, didn't actually see anything. One of them's a beggar who heard a scream and came running, which seems counterintuitive to me, another one saw a guy running away, and the third is the local mortician. The guard says it's typical, and tells me to go ask the Jarl's steward if I can help. Since I'm still under that whole 30:1 problem, I agree, and head on up to the palace. The steward informs me that he'll help as much as he can, as long as he can continue to stand in one place and never actually do anything, and assigns me the case.
     
    Hey... wait just a damn minute here. This... this is a murder mystery. A murder mystery! Finally, some depth to this game life! I get to hunt down diabolically hidden clues, question intransigent suspects, and bring the guilty to justice! This is great! In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally unimportant groups: the guards, who don't investigate crime; and the random citizens wandering in off the streets, who do. These are their stories. When I'm done with this, my first case, I'm going to write a detective novel about this whole thing.
     
    It was a cold day in the city. The wind howled forlornly about the buttresses of the castle walls. I was working on the east side of town, trying to solve the case of a stolen ring, when I got the report.
    A code MS11. Murder.
     
    The guard tells me to question the mortician, and to follow the trail of blood that leads away from the scene. Hmm, a trail of blood. A Clue. Clearly the killer is a cunning man, careful and methodical, who just happens to leave trails of blood from his hideout to the murder scene. This might be my toughest case yet. I decide to wander around questioning potential witnesses and suspects first.
     
    Lonely-gale. People call him "Captain." He's a bit of a shady character, and one of my prime sources of information on the streets. Says it's a shame, because they were lovely ladies. I hear ya, mac. If only they'd been ugly, it would have been okay.
     
    Nobody wandering the streets knows anything about anything. I guess I might as well go talk to Silda the Unseen... and she too knows absolutely nothing either. Well, shit. Might as well follow the most obvious of obvious clues to its end. I was looking for some depth to this quest case, but apparently not. Actually, I guess in a way I got it, because a depth of Planck length is still a depth.
     
    The house is full of more non-clues. After a minute of desultory searching, I just decide to randomly interact with everything and pick up every item I can, because my journal is bound to update some time. After finding a bunch of pamphlets, a pair of journals, a hidden room with an evil altar surrounded by corpses and skeletons behind a hidden wardrobe door that might have been more impressive had I not just recently seen an identical one in the basement of an inn, and last but not least a jade amulet, I dejectedly wander back out of the house, on toward the next clue in this linear and obvious mockery of a mystery. Still, I guess I shouldn't be so hard on the designers murderer, he did his best to cover his tracks, and all this would undoubtedly tax the intellect of the average Skyrim inhabitant. Has, actually, considering that this is the third body and the guards haven't been able to figure shit out yet. On my way up to the palace to ask Jorlief about the amulet, I bump into Viola Giordano.
     
    Giordano. Viola Giordano. Probably named for her figure. The lady has always been a prodnose, always looking into other people's private business. And that's my job. She and I go way back. She gives me a sultry look and a come-hither grin. I respond with my trademarked stoic look.
    "How's it shakin, Mace?"
    "Can't complain. How's tricks?"
    "Turning well."
    "What?"
    "I'm turning tricks. For a living."
    "Uh..."
    "Interested in me, are you?"
    "Lady, please go away."
     
    Viola Giordano ignores the amulet and grabs the journal, reads it in the blink of an eye, and tells me that the Wuunferth the Unliving must be the murderer, and I've got to get him arrested. Nah, I think I'll just go kill the fucker. Because I'm sure that's what's going to happen. I'll confront him, maybe with a guard or two at my back, he'll use some necromantic hocus-pocus and slaughter the guards, and then immediately forget his instakill magic and engage me in a good old-fashioned fight, whereupon I will remove his head from his shoulders with extreme prejudice, cue the grateful cheers of the populace, or at least a warm handshake from Jorleif and maybe a couple hundred gold, and on to the next mission. It occurs to me that my life is pretty bleak.
     
    I figure I might as well check out this Wuunferth character. Lives up at the Palace. Nice digs, shame about the landlord.
    Wuunferth, as expected, tries to push the blame off on someone else. Says he doesn't know who's committing the murders, but he knows the next one is going to happen tonight.
    Good timing, like always. Gives me a chance to catch some shuteye before the game's on.
     
    Wuunferth seems a little confused, stating that the College of Winterhold hasn't allowed necromancy for hundreds of years, which is obvious bunk. I should know, I'm a student there. He also says the jade amulet is actually the Necromancer's Amulet, and tells me I've made a grave mistake by not giving it to Calixto first, because now it'll remain a worthless piece of trash for the rest of my life instead of magically turning into something nice. He also tells me that he's been researching the murders, and I need to head to the stone quarter, wherever the hell that is, by midnight, because that's when the killer will strike again. I head out to where my quest pointer is pointing me, and proceed to wait.
     
    For three days.
     
    I've spent the last three goddamn days wandering around Windhelm, to various goddamn places, at various goddamn times, trying to find this goddamn killer and/or his next goddamn victim. I'll create my own victim if it'll just advance this stupid quest. Finally, I focus my Thu'um again to perform the WIKI Shout, and I gain the knowledge that the killer is Calixto, and that I've fucked things up by daring to speak to him before talking to the guard, so now he's locked in the manor waiting for me, and not in the stone quarter as advertised.
     
    A quick trip to Hjerim, one dead Calixto, off to Jorleif for my reward, and I'm outta this stupid town. Permanently, if I have anything to say about it. I'm going down to the docks, catch a ship for Dawnstar, maybe something interesting will be happening there.
     
    The name's Raiden. Mace Raiden, Private eye. And I'm retiring from this fucking job.
     
    Next: Chapter 15, Imperials In The Stormcloak Capitol
    Start at Chapter 1
  13. 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
  14. 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
  15. 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
  16. 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
  17. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 9: I AM A DRAGONBORN
    Wherein our hero dies and then is reborn! (quicksave is our friend)
    Previous: Chapter 8, Mace Raiden, Statue Fondler
     
    Finally at the greybeard temple, I'm here for mental help, I need a therapist, will someone psychoanalyze me please? Magical walls and white rocks are talking to me, dragons are scaring the jeepers out of me on a fairly regular basis, it seems as though everyone in the entire world is dumber than I am, my wife is a goat, and I have come to you, sane and sensible psychiatrists, to help me through my problems. The greybeard in charge tells me that my mother was a dragon and he wants to taste my voice.
     
    After staring dumbly at him for a few minutes, debating whether to draw my axe and proceed a-thwacking or just sit down and weep, I take the middle ground and scream at him with all my force.
     
    Well, that was new. I've shouted a lot before, but never had my voice actually physically make people stumble away from me. Is my breath really that bad?
     
    The guy reiterates his previous statement about my flying reptilian parentage and tells me that he's going to train me to use my voice. To make a long story short (too late), after quite a bit of dialog, exposition, and apparent training in the Voice, it turns out that I am a Dragonborn, someone who can kill Dragons and steal their souls and shout really loud and my voice is a gift from the gods that isn't just like a different sort of magic at all, no sir, it's not magic, it's a gift from god. Arngeir (one of the fake psychiatrists) tells me that I've got to go to a nordic ruin and retrieve a magical maguffin. I ask him if there may be bandits and draugr at this ancient nord ruin, and he tells me that I may expect a generous helping of draugr with a sprinkle of bandits on the side. I decide then and there that I'm never going to any more nordic ruins ever again, no matter what.
     
    On the way out, I decide to pick a couple of the flowers that are just lying around. I quickly discover that the greybeards may be an ancient order of religious monks dedicated to peaceful contemplation of the sky and maintaining the harmonious balance of nature and the universe, but they REALLY don't like it when you knick their stuff. One of them punts me across the room by shouting at me, another one turns me into an ice sculpture, and the other two proceed to beat the living shit out of me. Message received guys. Don't touch the plants.
     
    I had previously wondered about how the greybeards still existed. They obviously don't allow women (no beards to be grey), accept no new members, and have absolutely no interaction with the rest of the world. Now I get it, though - people join them who want to become seriously badass in the vocal department, and they keep getting supplied by other people because if they don't get their daily bread they'll huff and puff and blow the entire goddamn world apart. They are bullies and extortionists, and I reaffirm my vow to never get their maguffin. I am NOT going to be like these assholes. And I think I'm done with being a courier too - on my way out, I grab the bag of food I previously delivered. Let the fuckers starve. Maybe I'll try Solitude next, I hear the Imperial Legion is hiring.
     
    Next: Intermission 1
    Start at Chapter 1
  18. 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
  19. 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
  20. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 6: DROPOUT
    Wherein our hero decides that college just isn't for him.
    Previous: Chapter 5, Winner of the Smartest Mage in the World Contest
     
    Okay, Ancano the Thalmor is being a generic badguy. I never would have expected a high elf to be evil. Who would have thought? Everyone else in the college is a two-dimensional caricature of a real person. You've got the "overworked administrator," the "leader with a heart of gold but a dark past," the "evil traitor who will OBVIOUSLY inevitably betray everyone but when it happens everyone still finds it a surprise," the "absent-minded scholar," the "bumbling researcher," the "subservient middle management toady," the "guy with connections to the underworld," the list goes on and on. None of these people have anything interesting to say, except to say that things are interesting. I mean that quite literally. The big glowing blue ball that hovers? "It's very interesting" and "It's fascinating" and the like. Interesting, fascinating things happen ALL THE FUCKING TIME around here if you go by the way they talk to each other. I've the feeling they're all suffering from mass concussion. The only actually interesting person here is an old orc who stays in the library all day. I believe I could have gotten through my entire college career so far without firing off a single Destruction spell (my hammer solves all my problems for me), not to mention the fact that I can't really see much point in any of the other schools of magic beyond Restoration.
     
    And the story so far? Has not been completely enthralling, if you catch my drift. A vague maguffin that is responsible for something vague or is a harbinger of some vague catastrophe appears, and a vague secret order with vague goals wants to protect it from a vague villain with vague goals who wants to do something vague with it. A vague prophecy says that I will stop this villain somehow, and I'm vaguely fed up.
     
    This is quickly becoming a chore. The whole Community College scene is getting on my nerves. The only person who isn't a stereotype here is an old Orc librarian, and he's the guy who apparently wants to burn down his own library. So...
     
    I quit.
     
    That's right. I'm dropping out. Mom, Dad, I've decided to drop out of school. Sorry about that wasted tuition, but I'm just not cut out for college life. I'm going to work in the private sector for a while instead. Get some life experience before coming back here. I'm sure that Ancano and everyone else will be in the same damn position they are now, no matter how long I take. I've learned a total of four spells, and none of them are as good as my heavy iron armor and hammer. Speaking of hammer, my current score is Hammer 8, Magic 7, and that's where it's STAYING.
     
    So... what to do? I've tried being a hunter and furrier, a miner, lumberjack, student mage, and archaeologist-slash-tomb raider. None of them was a good fit. You know, that whole Sarthaal thing was pretty easy. Maybe I'll head back to Riverwood and head on up to that barrow on the hill to get the magic stone for the court wizard. My new profession: Mace Raiden, Courier. One teleporting fast-travel later, and...
     
    Here I am, back in Riverwood. It's the most aptly named town in history: it has a river, it has wood, what more do we want? Way back when the town was first established, the original settlers asked themselves what they should name it. "Dirttrees" was hard to say, "Bunnyrock" was taken, and "Cantthinkofanameville" was way too ironic for individuals of limited intellect.
     
    Anyway, I decide to discharge some of the other items in my to-do list. I've got a letter here for someone named Camilla from Faendal. On my way there, this nord guy named Sven stops me in the street. Sven is apparently in competition with Faendal for Camilla's affections. He takes Faendal's letter that was written from Sven, and writes Camilla one of his own, from Faendal... see, Faendal gave me a letter full of absolute shit and signed it Sven, and now Sven is doing the same to Faendal. So I'm supposed to go to Camilla and hand her this letter.
     
    Camilla takes one look at the letter, disregards the possibility that it was written by anyone other than Sven, and vows to never speak to Faendal again. I'd be a little bowled over by her stupidity, but really she's nothing special here. She tells me to go tell Sven the good news. Sven thanks me and offers to travel with me from now on. So... I fix up his love life, setting up his happy future from now until the end of his days, and the best way he can thank me is by becoming my personal servant, carrying my burdens and fighting my battles for me until he ends up dead at the claws of some troll. Really, Camilla, I'm doing you a favor by taking this nutbar off your hands. Off we will go, adventuring together into the deepest darkest recesses of Skyrim, doing quests together, living with one another, getting to know each other intimately, and oh god it just occurred to me that Sven is actually a closet homosexual and he's coming on to me. Look, dude, I'm flattered. The only other person who's come onto me so far is a necrophiliac pervert, though, so your affections just aren't saying much. Go settle down. It's apparent that you and Faendal have some issues to work out and you should probably stop lying to one another and yourselves. Just sit down and talk to each other about your feelings, and I'm sure you'll be happier without that Camilla getting between you.
     
    The other thing on my to-do list here is recovering an ornament for the local shopkeeper. This one I feel obligated to do. I've just sold him several sets of worthless fur armor, some ruined, unreadable books, a kitchen's worth of tin pots and wooden bowls, and there's NO WAY he'll be able to find anyone to pawn this junk off on. I feel bad. I've taken advantage of his trusting nature. And the kicker is, the thieves are hiding out in... BLEAK FALLS BARROW. The place I'm heading up to anyway! What are the odds!
     
    The trip up the mountain was pleasant enough. A wolf, a troll, three idiots in fur... and I do mean idiots. The bandits at Fort Kastav were in the right place. A well-defended fortress on a major road, able to ambush travelers and demand spare change. The fact that they attack on sight in no way diminishes their apparent intelligence at setting up where they did. These guys, though, set up in a rickety tower that looks like it's about to fall apart, and the only people they can prey on are... well, honestly, nobody. Who's going to walk up here? Nobody's that stupid... oh. Yeah. I'm here, aren't I? Then again, considering that they all went down with no more than two or three hits tells me that this may be something more like a territorial thing where one group of predators pushes another, weaker group aside... the bandits were pushed into this inhospitable place by other bandits who are better equipped.
     
    Anyway, what with the freezing cold temperatures and blinding, stinging crystals of ice blowing off the sharp rocks, why the fuck would anyone build anything up here? Did the ancient nords just go around and find the absolute most inhospitable place they could to build their cities? This wasn't just the actions of a few crazed guys with picks and shovels, either. The amount of manpower it would have taken to build this architectural wonder is staggering. This was the effort of perhaps hundreds of people working for years to achieve. And nobody in all that time thought it might be a better idea to head on down to the warm plain where there's abundant game and temperatures that occasionally rise into the positive numbers?
     
    And they're still at it! Bandits are living here! Why? What possible reason could they have for setting up camp here? There are rats, and where there aren't rats there are giant spiders, and where the spiders don't fit there are zombies, and where the zombies fear to tread there are trolls. There's no food (unless you count the aforementioned zombies, rats, trolls, and spiders) and the ambient temperature sits somewhere between damn cold and permanent frostbite.
     
    I take down the bandits outside, head on inside, and take down a few more. I come across my first real test here in Skyrim. This will be my hardest challenge yet, a test of my intellect rather than my muscles. Truly, the ancient nords who designed these barrows were masters of the mind, cunning and shrewd adversaries who built in only the most devious of traps and puzzles. There are three pillars that rotate, each showing three different animals. There are three pictures of animals on the wall. There's a lever. This is truly the ultimate test of my abilities.
     
    Approximately 1.6 seconds later, I'm through the door and moving on. I find a bunch of spiderwebs. I'm sure there won't be any spiders here. After killing the spiderwebs, I free a spider's victim from yet more webs. Why the spider put the victim just there, in the doorway, beats me. Maybe the spider was using the dark elf as a draugr early warning device - if they wanted to attack him, they'd have to go through the elf first, and he'd be bound to make some noise. Clearly this spider was more intelligent than anyone else here, bandits, ancient nords, and the whole population of Skyrim included. As if to prove this hypothesis, once I cut the elf down he proceeds to run off through the dungeon, cackling to himself at how he put one over on me. This idiot wants to betray the guy who saved his life, fine, but I just killed a giant spider you couldn't even touch, dude. Pick a better guy to betray. And running through the corridors? You're bound to hit a trap or run into draugr. As it happens, he does both.
     
    And here again I see yet more evidence of the ancient nord's ingenuity and trap-building skills. Just like in the last barrow I was in, there's a raised plate on the floor that looks nothing like the rest of the floor, is in fact PAINTED with a design so that it's easily avoidable. And just in case you didn't get the hint, there's a wall of sharp spikes over here. At least in Sarthaal, the trigger was obvious but the trap itself was not - little holes that shoot poisoned darts - but here it's like they aren't even trying any more. What's next, a lever with a sign on it saying "pull me" that is directly connected to an axe that swings down and beheads the puller? After that, a table with a sword on it, and a sign that says "please pick up this sword and stab yourself?" Is this an honor system trap?
     
    Bypassing the so-called "trap," killing draugr, dodging some swinging blades and little round buckets full of fire that never goes out that drop onto slicks of oil that never dries up, etcetera etcetera. I come to a door with three rings on it that can be rotated, three pictures of animals on each ring, and a claw-shaped indention. I'm sure it has NOTHING to do with the golden claw in my pack. I'll just sit here, stumped, for a couple of hours before I speak "friend" and enter and oh wow do I need to stop talking about the stupidity of the ancient nords, or I'll never get ANYTHING done.
     
    Through the door, past some bats, and here's ANOTHER of those chanting walls. I'm thinking I'm not going to mention this one to anybody. It didn't go so well the last time. And again, my mind is invaded by some scratches on the wall, and OUT pops a draugr from a chest on the floor. He's mean, this one - a real tough nut to crack, not like the other draugr here. More like he's been taking lessons from the local trolls. After about twenty minutes of alternately slamming my hammer at his head and rushing off to heal, he goes down, and I loot his treasure box. I find a big white stone in there, and it starts speaking to me. I'm starting to get a little irritated at all the inanimate objects that talk to me. Chanting walls, and now a big white gemstone-looking thing that wants me to cleanse its temple, because if you're a big white gemstone, of COURSE you have your own temple.
     
    Out the back door, down the mountainside, around the bend, and off to Riverwood again. I drop the golden claw at the shopkeeper's feet and he gives me some gold that is probably worth a LOT less than the actual price of the claw. I should have kept it, melted it down, and then used the gold to buy his shop from him. But I don't want to be a shopkeeper, I'm sticking with my fairly successful profession of Courier for now. I've delivered some books to a librarian, a golden claw to the shopkeeper, a fake letter to an inbred imperial chick, and now I'm off to Whiterun to deliver a magic stone to a court mage.
     
    Next: Chapter 7, Yes, I Am A Dragonslayer
    Start at Chapter 1
  21. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 7: YES, I AM A DRAGONSLAYER
    In which our hero is truly, truly brave.
    Previous: Chapter 6, Dropout
     
    As I enter the town of Whiterun yet again, the commander of the guard tells me that he is the commander of the guard yet again, a guard tells me about his knee problems yet again, a rich bastard smarms at me yet again, a beggar asks me for money yet again... aah, nostalgia. The good things never change, do they? The only new thing that happened on my path through town was a little girl bullying a little boy, and a pair of nords taunting an old woman because her son died. I'm no friend of the stormcloaks, you know, racist sexist assholes that they are, but these Battle-Born guys aren't exactly increasing my estimation for those that support the empire, either. The old woman takes me aside and tells me to meet her in her house later. Normally I'd make some sort of sexual innuendo joke at this point, but she honestly seems upset about her missing and presumed dead son, so I go ahead and pencil her in on my to-do list. I'd help out now, lady, but my job isn't People-Finder, it's Courier. I'll just get this rock to Farengar and be right back, okay?
     
    Farengar seems excited to see the stone. He's arrogant, like a lot of nords here, but not as bad as some... he's actually coming off as a guy who's trying hard to convince the world that he's smarter than he is. It's not so much an arrogance as it is a crippling lack of self esteem, finger-based electricity notwithstanding. Anyway, before he can pay me, the homicidal dunmer comes running in and tells him that there's a dragon attacking the city. I'm about to make my excuses and slip out to find a good hole to crawl into... after all, the last time I was involved in a dragon attack it overran a fully-equipped Imperial citadel full of mages and archers and warriors of all kinds.
     
    Before I can leg it, though, the dark elf tells me to follow her, and she gives me a look that says if I don't I'll be chopped up into small pieces. So I head upstairs to dick around while people talk at great length with each other about how a dragon is attacking and how we need to do something about it now, so why don't we form a committee to investigate the feasibility of perhaps looking into coming up with a five-point action plan outlining our efforts at maybe fighting back or something? By Diagna, these nords do tend to talk an issue to death before doing anything. Anyway, it turns out the dragon isn't attacking the city, it's attacking a watchtower down the road. The Jarl tells us that we need to go kill the dragon and that information is more important than killing the dragon, and that we are not to risk our lives, but to go out there and kill the dragon anyway... I'm not sure if I'm the one who is confused, or if it's the Jarl. He sends me with the guards and the crazy dark elf, because I've got experience fighting dragons... no, actually, I don't, I've got experience running away from dragons and hiding in caves. Anyway, I'm sure that I'll be fine in the company of one dunmer and her half-dozen guardsmen, even if the Jarl is holding back magical assistance in the form of the court wizard.
     
    Still, it's not like I'm given a choice in the matter. I'll make a big show of following the dark elf until I actually see a dragon, and then I'll scamper. We leave the city, head down the road, and get to the watchtower, which is on fire, because of course stone burns, why wouldn't stone burn? There are some corpses around, but NO DRAGON. Phew! Yeah, fellows, it's lucky for that dragon it ran off. Why, I would have REALLY let it have it, you know? We all start congratulating ourselves on a job well done, when the dragon, which has a really fucked-up sense of humor, comes flying back from behind a mountain.
     
    It's an ice-breathing dragon, this one, so I have no idea how it set the tower on fire. I rushed out with all the other guardsmen to join the fight, swinging my hammer, grabbed a bow off a dead guy and shot arrows into the dragon over and over, committing many daring acts of heroism and valor, and the dragon dropped at my feet, killed stone dead through my battle prowess. Irileth and the guards hoisted me onto their shoulders and headed back to town, where the grateful populace gathered around me, tossing flowers and offering to name their children after me. I was named the high king of Skyrim and lived the rest of my days in peace and plenty, dying at a ripe old age, surrounded by my loving great grandchildren, and never again did I have to fight a dragon.
     
    At this point, someone shakes me by the arm. A guard looks down at me where I am cowering in the remains of the tower, eyes closed and ears covered, and tells me that it's over, they killed the dragon, I can come out now and find a clean pair of trews. Everyone's gathered around the corpse of the dragon, staring silently in awe at the great flying lizard. I step up, and apparently somebody sets the corpse on fire, because it burns RIGHT up, leaving only bones. At the same time, I feel invaded by a magical force I cannot describe, that enters my inner mind and very soul, flooding my being with power. A short while later, a guardsman comes BACK into the ruined tower and pulls me out of my hiding place yet again, chastising me for sucking my thumb like a small child. Whatever, dude, you didn't just get magically infested with dragon leftovers. The guard tells me to shout, and that DOES sound like a good idea. Scream therapy, you know? I'll just let out all my frustration, fear, and surprise. After screaming at the sky for a few minutes, I really do feel a little better. Irileth tells me to get back to Whiterun and report to the Jarl, so I unsteadily wobble my way back there, flinching at every rabbit that crosses my path, drawing my sword whenever I see a butterfly, and cowering in terror as birds fly by overhead, their shadows on the ground far too reminiscent of recent events. I'm also hallucinating, because when I get to the gates of Whiterun, the ground itself starts to shake and I hear voices. I need a therapist.
     
    The Jarl asks me what happened, and I state, full of conviction, that I killed a dragon and deserve a reward. Yep, that's me, a dragonslayer. Nobody else helped. Irilith and the other guards aren't here to contradict my version of events, so... gimme a reward and let me get the FUCK out of Dodge, okay? The Jarl rewards me generously with a handsome helping of exposition, this guy LOVES to talk. He jumps into a long-winded monologue about some group of monks that live up on a mountain somewhere and how I need to go see them. If this is about my need for therapy, dude, I hear you. I'll head right over there if they can help me forget about the recent past. After about half an hour listening to this dude ramble, he gives me an enchanted great axe and names me Thane of Whiterun. The axe is even better than my warhammer, so I swap it out. On my way out the door, I run into a nord woman who apparently was so impressed with my story about my dragonslaying prowess that she has dedicated her life to serving me. Sure, lady, sure. That's nice. I pat her on the head and tell her to run along. My next stop is High Hrothgar, where the Grey-bearded Psychatrists live.
     
    Actually, come to think about it, my next stop is a tavern where I will get absolutely shitfaced, hopefully my heartrate will wind down a bit with some alcohol fuzzing my nerves.
     
    Next: Chapter 8, Mace Raiden, Statue Fondler
    Start at Chapter 1
  22. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 8: MACE RAIDEN, STATUE FONDLER
    In which our hero gets drunk. A lot drunk.
    Previous: Chapter 7, Yes, I am a Dragon Slayer
     
    So... I stopped in at the tavern last night, to steady my nerves. Got to talking with this guy named Sam. He's a swell dude, you know? Very sympathetic to my plight. We got to drinking, and then drinking a little more. Then we started imbibing alcohol. We downed some brews, drank a few bottles of beer, pounded some brewskies, and then drank some more. We tried Argonian Ale, Cliff Racer, Velvet LeChance, Ale, and Alto Wine. We then washed that down with Argonian Bloodwine, some Colovian Brandy, Firebrand Wine, a couple bottles of Spiced Wine apiece, some regular old Wine, and we shared a bottle of Surilie Brothers Wine. We then went on to a mead-tasting binge with Mead, Black-Briar Mead, Black-Briar Reserve, Dragon's Breath Mead, Honningbrew Mead, and Mead with Juniper Berry. We went on a round-the-world trip with Ashfire Mead, Cyrodilic Brandy, Emberbrand Wine, Sujamma, Shein, Stros M'Kai Rum, Flin, Matze, and White-Gold Tower. We then topped it off with a little Balmora Blue and a chaser of Sleeping Tree Sap.
     
    After that, we started to get a little carried away with the drinking. I don't remember much about the rest of the night, but I do remember it was eventful.
     
    When I wake up, the first thing I see is a big pair of breasts pointed straight at me.
     
    On the entirely reasonable assumption that I am under attack, I whip out my axe and take a mighty swing, only to spin around and fall down. On the entirely reasonable assumption that the floor needs to be scrubbed anyway, I decide to vomit for a while, and then on the entirely reasonable assumption that all wakefulness and no sleep makes Mace a dull boy, I black out again.
     
    And now I'm awake again. There's a woman in priestess robes standing over me, scowling. On the entirely reasonable assumption that it was her breasts I took a swing at, I proceed to crawl away slowly, but she follows me, chastising me about making a mess and fondling the statuary OH THANK GODS IT WAS JUST A STATUE. Where the hell am I? What is this place? Is this heaven? Or hell? Either would fit the decor, it looks like someone built an uncomfortable stone room with uncomfortable stone benches and uncomfortable stone floors and uncomfortable stone statuary, then covered every remaining smooth edge with jagged metal.
     
    Wait, what did you just say, lady? I got married to a goat? And, in addition to fondling the statuary, I fondled some guy's staff? Why do I have a feather and a giant's toe stuffed in my pants?
     
    She won't tell me anything until I clean up my mess, so I proceed to do so, despite my splitting headache. Apparently, I'm in Markarth, and I stumbled in here last night with Sam, rambling about getting married to a goat and a magical staff, fondled the statuary, I KEEP coming back to that one, and passed out. I apologize to her about the mess and the statue fondling, really I'm wanting to be a courier, not a professional fondler, and get the fuck out of there. I'd really like to put this night behind me as far as possible.
     
    Markarth is not a pretty place. Even without occasional recurring bouts of double vision, the place is just nasty to look at. And how the hell did I get here in one night? It's half a province away, did I teleport again? I decide that I need to get back on track. Before I went to get a drink with my new bestest buddy Sam, who apparently left me in the lurch, he's not my bestest buddy any more, I was trying to get to the greybeards for some psychiatric help. I need it even more now, having apparently just married a goat. I head for the city gate, keeping my eyes down and face averted from passers-by, just in case I did something on my way in that I don't want to know about. I am interrupted on my way out the gate only twice - the first time, by a guy who apparently thinks he's very vigilant, and who wants me to help him in a B&E into this abandoned house because he thinks it's infested with daedra. Right, dude. I'll help you fight some daedra! That doesn't seem like a bad idea at all! You go in first, I'm right behind you. The second time I'm interrupted on my way out the gates is by a guy who stabs a woman in the middle of the marketplace. Yep, this place is REAL nice. I'm getting out of here.
     
    Outside the main gate, I find a carriage driver who is willing to take me back to Whiterun for a mere 20 gold, the bargain of a lifetime. I want to go to Whiterun because it's the closest town to Ivarstead, which is the jumping-off place for the trip up the mountain to see the grey-bearded therapists. After arriving at Whiterun, I head immediately up the path, stopping only to let a line of Imperial guardsmen escorting a nord prisoner go by. The nord tells me to join the fight to free Skyrim and head to Windhelm. Yeah, buddy, it's obviously gone SWIMMINGLY well for you so far, hasn't it? That's right at the top of my to-do list, sure. Bye-bye now, have fun in the dungeons.
     
    I decide to take the north road around the mountain rather than the south road, more because the south road heads through Riverwood and then through Helgen, two places with bad memories for me. The north road passes another bandit-infested tower, and these guys are actually sensible about things, just demanding money and then letting me go past. The rest of the trip is fairly uneventful, a peaceful walking journey through a beautiful landscape marred only by the occasional bear attack. It does seem that there are more bears, deer, rabbits, foxes, wolves, birds, snakes, butterflies, and what-have-you along the roads than anywhere else. Either the nords who build these roads put them through the most densely-populated regions they could find, or there's something about the roads that attract hostile animals. Bandits and wanderers I get, but why the fuck does every living thing in the world want to make an ostensibly well-traveled route their home?
     
    Eventually I arrive at Ivarstead. The people here are friendly, and there's even a guy who gives me a job as a courier. I'm to take a bag of food up to the greybeards! This is a pretty good gig - I'm going that way anyway, and making a delivery of necessaries to the greybeards will undoubtedly put them in a good mood, amenable to helping me! I head up the mountain, passing the occasional stone pillar with writing on it and the occasional pilgrim out for a stroll. I stop to read the pillars and talk to the pilgrims, but not for too long. Maybe 0.003 seconds per pillar or pilgrim. See, I'm running as fast as I possibly can, because somehow this road is infested with a dozen trolls. I'm tough enough to take on the occasional troll and win after a few minutes, but not three at once. How the hell did the pilgrims get up here without being attacked? Are you guys in league with the trolls?
     
    Next: Chapter 9, I Am A Dragonborn
    Start at Chapter 1
  23. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 5: WINNER OF THE SMARTEST MAGE IN THE WORLD CONTEST
    In which our hero finds a glowing orb of light truly irritating.
    Previous: Chapter 4, How Did They Move That Big Blue Ball?
     
    There's a trap door in the Hall of Countenance that leads to the midden. By the name, I'm assuming it's a dumping ground for magical trash - half-finished sub-critical spells, flesh golems that didn't quite work out right, defective staves, and the like. It isn't, though. It appears to be a bunch of mage's workrooms tied together in a dungeon-like atmosphere. There's something called an Atronach Forge which, by the books left behind by the previous owner seems like it creates magical staves and summons atronachs that attack you on sight. Why you'd want to summon a hostile fire elemental that attacks on sight is a mystery to me. Practice, maybe. Still, I found that there are actually three (or possibly more?) kinds of atronachs - Flame, Frost, and Storm. I'm guessing that these mimic the three forms of destruction magic. I lack the appropriate stuff to summon atronachs, but I'm coming back here, you can believe it.
     
    The midden also contains other things. In addition to the atronach forge that summons atronachs that want to eat my flesh, there are several necromancer summoning areas (if the bones on the walls are any indication) that contain live skeletons that want to eat my flesh, a daedric gauntlet that apparently can summon a hostile daedra that wants to eat my flesh, some ghostly ice-wraith that wants to eat my flesh, a couple of spiders that want to eat my flesh, and so on. Why the HELL is this here? Why haven't the mages come down here and cleaned it out? Probably didn't want to get their flesh eaten. What idiots are these guys, anyway? All they seem to do is complain about college politics and summon creatures that want to eat flesh, and at least one of them apparently wants to burn down his own library. I should go back to the renegade wizards in the renegade wizard hideout - at least their experimentation seems to be dedicated to finding better ways to kill vampires.
     
    Anyway, I finally get to the Augur of Dunlain. He is... a big glowing ball. Seriously, not a person at all. "He" smarms at me for a bit, talking about how I know nothing and what I am seeking will lead to my doom and other people have been seeking other things that will lead to everyone's doom or something. I really wasn't paying that much attention, because I just KNEW he was going to summon some creatures that wanted to eat my flesh, and I was readying my ward and firebolt spell. He tells me that to properly use the Eye of Magnus, I need the Staff of Magnus, and probably the Mask of Zorro or the Back Scratcher of Uncle Clyde or some other Thing of Person. After smarming at me for a little more, about disasters that cannot be averted and knowledge that cannot be unknown and seeing with no eyes and hearing through my nostrils and urinating without a bladder or something, I don't care, I'm not listening, just hurry up and summon the flesh-eating monstrosities, bring 'em on, fucker, I'm ready this time!
     
    But no, he just sends me back upstairs to talk to Savos Aren and tell him that we need a macguffin. Aren gives me a Mage's Circlet, actually a pretty nice doodad. I was expecting another staff of light balls style reward. He then tells me to talk to Mirabelle, who directs me to a Dwemer ruin and then proceeds to tell me that a bunch of OTHER renegade wizards calling themselves the Synod are there. I'm beginning to get the impression that all of this is just a big facade, that the mages just need someone to go off and kill their enemies. They wanted someone with iron armor and a warhammer because their magic isn't up to the task, but didn't want to actually hire anyone, you know, spend money, so they cooked up this "student wizard" gig. I'll bet there was a guy hidden somewhere near the Augur's room, an illusionist-ventriloquist who made up the whole thing. It's all an elaborate charade designed to fool the new student. I'm on to you people!
     
    After taking several deep breaths, I set off for Mzulft. It's a little southeast of Windhelm, so it looks like my best bet is to head there and THEN to Mzulft. So here I go, wandering ALL THE WAY SOUTH to Windhelm, through ice and snow and frost and trolls and the wind and the rain and the bright blue sky and lions and tigers and bears, oh my! I carefully skirt Windhelm, cross the river, head through a little mining town called Kynesgrove, and in the front door of the dwarven ruin.
     
    There's a guy sitting here, stoned out of his mind on some kind of hallucinogen. He tells me: "Crystal gone, find paratu's oculory" which I take to mean that his drugs, called "paratu's eyes," have run out and he needs more. He promptly falls asleep, and I need to get me some of that shit. I rifle through his clothes and find a key, but no more drugs. Probably deeper in the ruin. He isn't asleep, of course, or it would be pickpocketing. See, if someone is alive, it's stealing, but if they're dead, it's finder's-keepers. And I'm no thief. Wandering through the ruins, I find several more dead guys in blue robes, so they all must have overdosed at once. I mean, it's not as if they were killed by anything. These were professional wizards, at the top of their game, full of magical destructive power. What, am I supposed to believe that they were killed by blind, ugly goblin-looking dudes with no magic? Give me a break, shit like that doesn't exist in a rational world.
     
    So, after killing several dozen blind goblin-looking dudes with no magic, not to mention a couple of poison-spitting giant earwigs and a few mechanical spiders and roller-balls that shoot arrows, I finally get to a door I cannot unlock. I spend a good three days wandering through this big room, searching every nook and cranny, rummaging through every container and looking at every corpse I can find, MULTIPLE TIMES, and there's no key anywhere. Fuck this shit, I'm outta here. I head back out the exit tunnel, take out my warhammer, and slam it into my head a few times for being such an idiot, because this isn't the exit tunnel, it's probably the way forward. Here's an amphitheater, and here's another one of those dwarven constructs that are apparently immune to fire, so we tussle a bit and I finally take it out with my warhammer and about seven thousand healing potions. At this point, I notice that my diary is beginning to bulge with all the hyperbole, so I decide to tone it down a bit, loot a key from the construct, and head back to the locked door. Speaking of tussling, warhammers, and magic, it's time for another status update:
     
    HAMMER: 8 (+1 for all the dozens of rats, wolves, bears, tigers, falmer, spiders, dwarven spiders, and so on I've killed in the last few days)
    MAGIC: 4 (+1 for using my ward when facing a single magic-wielding falmer)
     
    It turns out, the guy up front wasn't asking for paratu's eyes, he was asking me to gouge out Paratus's eyes. I guess. I really can't remember what he said, but it had something to do with a crystal. After looking in my backpack, I find out that somewhere along the way I did manage to pick up some sort of focusing crystal. Paratus is a real sharp dude, smart as a whip. Probably the winner of the Official Annual Smartest Mage In The World Contest. The guy opens his locked door, that he was using to protect himself against the falmer, to the first guy who comes along, then seems surprised that I'm not his friend. Did I sound like your friend, dude? He proceeds to tell me about his plans, his friend's plans, his story, his friend's story, his future, hopes, dreams, and fears, shows me pictures of his children, gets to become good buddies with me, we're the best of friends, let's never be apart, you're my hetero life partner, let's move in together and open up a little coffee shop just like we always wanted, and by the way he's still really suspicious of me and won't trust me a bit with any information including the volume he's STILL pumping into my ears, which are, by the way, bleeding from the overload. He takes the crystal, tells me to cast fire and frost magic at it a bit, smarms at me, insults me, compliments me, tells me to flip some switches, exults at me for solving his problem, damns me for not solving his problem, and then yells at me to get out, he's discovered my nefarious plot. No jury in the land will convict me for what I'm about to do to you, Paratus. One more dead Synod researcher will only improve the overall intelligence quotient of the world.
     
    HAMMER: 8
    MAGIC: 6 (Yay! +1 for killing the Synod guy with magic, +1 for using flames and frostbite on the focusing crystal!)
     
    On my way out the door, I'm interrupted YET AGAIN by that goddamn Psijic guy who stops time and smarms at me. I'm REALLY GETTING TIRED of being SMARMED AT by ASSHOLES all the time. He tells me that, sur-FUCKING-prise, I will face difficulties ahead. HOLY SHIT WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT? Is smarming all you people do? DON'T YOU HAVE LIVES? A few minutes later, out of breath and hoarse from screaming obscenities at the walls, I leave the ruin and head back to the college, veins visibly throbbing in my face.
     
    Back at the college, everyone is panicking, running around in fear, and trying to get their shit together. At least, that's what SHOULD be happening. What's actually happening is that everyone except Aren and Mirabelle are just going about their daily lives, and Aren and Mirabelle are standing outside the lecture hall and the Eye of Magnus, calmly talking about how Ancano has warded them out and, by the by, shouldn't we consider making an action plan to formulate a committee to discuss the long-term benefits and negatives of possibly considering doing something about the insane guy with the key to the world, if it's not too much trouble, whenever you're ready, on your own time, let's do lunch and talk about it? They tell me to attack the ward, and I proceed to do so for a while before I realize they meant with MAGIC. Oh, yeah. I forgot I had that. So far, it's been useful about 42% of the time, if you really stretch your definition of "useful."
     
    So we blast at the ward for a while, it goes away, we go in, Ancano smarms at us, and then Aren walks up to Ancano and he... apparently... explodes? I dunno, the next thing I know there's another ward up, Mirabelle is nursing a broken ankle, and Aren was apparently blown right outside the building. Ancano is still there, shooting lightning bolts at the Eye of Magnus.
     
    HAMMER: 8
    MAGIC: 7
     
    Next: Chapter 6, Dropout
    Start at Chapter 1
  24. Content Consumer
    CHAPTER 4: HOW DID THEY MOVE THAT BIG BLUE BALL?
    In which our hero meets the one person in Skyrim he actually likes
    Previous: Chapter 3, College Guys Gone Wild
     
    I get back to the college, and Arch-Mage Aren seems less than fascinated with my news. Look, dude, there's a big glowing blue ball thing, and an undead wizard dude, and magic walls tied to magic necklaces, time warp spells... and... uh... chanting walls. Really, it wasn't my imagination. The walls were chanting at me. I'm sure if you go listen they'll chant at you too.
     
    Aren doesn't believe me about the chanting walls, and sends me to talk to Urag. Get me out of his hair, really. Maybe Urag will believe me about the chanting walls. He doesn't though. He's more concerned with completing his book collection. Look, dude, I'll get around to it, okay? He doesn't care about my lack of interest in his books, and sends me off after some dude named Orthorn who apparently stole some books. So... he didn't have Orthorn torn apart by atronachs, and instead just decides to send some random freshman after this renegade wizard who joined other renegade wizards and are now holed up in a renegade wizard fortress, plotting renegade wizard plots and scheming renegade wizard schemes, and nightly dreaming renegade wizard dreams. By day they play renegade wizard games and I'm spiraling down into a hole here, need to get back to the story at hand. Off to the renegade wizard hangout to raid it for books. Maybe I can mix the professions of Mage and Tomb Raider. Mace Raiden, Tomb-Raiding Wizard Extraordinaire!
     
    Fellglow Keep is nestled high in the mountains of Whiterun, or possibly Windhelm. It's hard to tell with these W-places. I head to Whiterun, then walk the long way around to Fellglow Keep. I would have taken the short way, but there IS no short way. There are several long ways, though, so I pick one at random and start walking.
     
    When I finally reach the renegade wizard fort, I am immediately attacked by two renegade wizards and a human-shaped mobile fire. I've finally found out what an atronach is! It's a wall of mobile fire that shoots fireballs, and when it dies, explodes in fire! So when Urag threatened me with atronachs, he was basically saying that if I damaged one of his books, he would personally set in motion events that would lead to his entire library burning to the ground. I'm glad I didn't insult his mother; he'd have summoned an army of daedra to wipe out the countryside. He should have a sign on the library door that reads "disproportionate response." The wizards go down easy enough with a quick application of warhammer to sternum, and I actually get some use out of my wards when facing the atronach!
     
    Anyway, the main doors are locked, so through a side door I go. First I'm attacked by a bunch of renegade wizard's giant spider pets, then the renegade wizard himself. Then I find out the renegade wizards have been keeping some young women prisoner, probably to aid in their renegade wizard plots. I kill the renegade wizard jailer, let the prisoners free, and they immediately sprint for their freedom out the back door... at least, that's what happened in Sane World. In this world, they sprinted into the next room and proceeded to start flinging magic spells at other renegade wizards. Guys, if you could use magic yourselves, how did you end up being taken prisoner? And, once taken prisoner, why not just shoot the jailer yourselves? And if you didn't want to do that, or were too afraid, why are you engaging them now? Why not just slip out the back door?
    So it turns out those nice young women are actually vampires. Seems legit - the only thing that could possibly be WEAKER than a mage is a VAMPIRE MAGE boosted by unholy power. The renegade wizards dispatch them, but not without losses, and now it's my turn. I continue wandering through the complex, killing renegade wizards and the occasional vampire prisoner. Eventually I find the one renegade wizard I was sent here to find - Orthorn the Altmer. He's a little coward, and he doesn't have the books Urag wants. I tell him to stick with me, we'll make it out together. I figure I can always feed him to some spiders if I need to.
     
    The two of us continue through the dungeon, killing renegade wizards and renegade wizard pets. We pass through the renegade wizard library, but none of these are the books Urag wants. We head up some renegade stairs and through some more renegade doors, along some renegade tunnels, and I find a Renegade Unusual Gem. It floats! It must be magic! And now I can't get rid of it! We eventually come to the top of the dungeon complex/fort/keep/tower, and we meet... The Caller.
     
    Orthorn made her sound like some real monstrous renegade bitch, but she's actually the only person I've met here (besides Orthorn) who doesn't attack me on sight. She is actually quite open-minded about my disrupting her renegade experiments and killing her renegade followers. She'll let me go, and with the books, if I leave Orthorn here. You got it, dude! It's a deal! Suck it up, Orthorn, you brought this on yourself. I grab the books and head out the way I came.
     
    Back at the college, I walk in the main building, going to head upstairs to deliver the books and WHAT THE HELL IS THAT DOING HERE? The great big glowy blue ball thing? How did you get it out of that chamber in Saarthal? The doors out of there were barely big enough for a person to walk through! Don't tell me you guys can shrink things down and then expand them back up again? I WANT TO LEARN THAT SPELL! Seething with envy, I head upstairs and give the books to Urag, who promptly gives one of them right back to me. And some other books. Look, dude, if all you're interested in is trading books back and forth, just say so. Don't send me across the country... ah, who the hell am I kidding? You're going to do that anyway, aren't you?
     
    So I head back to talk to Tolfdir and maybe learn the secrets of the magic shrinking-expanding spell. Tolfdir is unhelpful on that regard, more interested in the big blue ball that he has dubbed the Eye of Magnus. He talks about the ball for a while and then Ancano comes in and demands that I follow him. No way, dude, you're probably just wanting to get me alone to kill me quietly. I know your type. But somehow, following him ended up in my journal/date book, in ink again, so I've got no choice. Upstairs to the Arch-Mage's quarters. If this ends up being something sexual between you guys and you need a third partner, I'm outta here.
     
    Hey, it's that time-stopping, teleporting wizard dude from Saarthal! Look, Arch-Mage, I told you! He's real, not a figment of my imagination! He can stop time! Ah, crap, you did it again, didn't you, you bastard? Look, are you just fucking with me? What is this, tease-the-freshman day? Gonna spout some more cryptic bullshit my way then teleport out of here again? Yep, looks like it. He tells me that I have to stop people from using the Eye of Magnus. Well, hell, dude, couldn't you have done that yourself? I mean, you can obviously teleport around and stop time, why couldn't you teleport the goddamn eye out of Saarthal? Or shrink it down? By the way, can you teach me that shrink-expand spell?
     
    It is not to be. The elf tells me to seek out the Augur of Dunlain, whatever/whoever the hell that is, and then unfreezes time. Ancano gets pissed and tells the elf that he can't leave. I've got to say, I'm with Ancano on this one. This dude shows up out of nowhere, demands to see the college's latest recruit, stops time, resumes time, and then says it's all a mistake and he should not be here? Fuck off, dude. Either tell me what you know or hit the road. He hits the road.
     
    Well, hell. I guess I might as well go find out about this Augur of Dunlain thing. the Arch-Mage tells me to talk to Mirabelle, who tells me to talk to Tolfdir, who tells me to jump in the sewer. Or head into the midden. Something like that. I get the impression that Tolfdir's brain may have been damaged sometime recently.
     
    So I'm off to the midden. It's under the college and I'm sure it won't be full of magical creatures that want to eat my flesh. Time for a status update:
    HAMMER: 7
    MAGIC: 3
     
    Next: Chapter 5, Winner Of The Smartest Mage In The World Contest
    Start at Chapter 1
  25. 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