Monday, February 20, 2017

Skyrim Day 060 - My Dragonborn Initiation

15 Frostfall, 4E201

Waking at Ivarstead meant one was either on her way elsewhere or preparing for a walk up to High Hrothgar. For myself it was the latter, but as I reviewed my list of tasks, I realized that the final fragment of Gauldur's amulet was right next to Ivarstead on a small island sitting amid the lake. Expecting nothing but Draugr, I thought retrieving the fragment would not take much time and chose to do that first.
I was not the only one interested in completing the amulet. Inside the tomb lay the mostly-eaten corpse of a Nord, next to which a family of Skeevers had set up a den. After disposing of the vermin I noticed a copy of 'Lost Legends' in the nest of refuse, the book that likely drove the hopeful man to the cave in the first place.

Unfortunately the only exit from the room that I could find that was not leading back to Ivarstead was a pit next to the dead man which ended at a very cold. small lake some twenty feet below. It was deep enough to prevent injury and faced a door common to the Nordic tombs scattered around Skyrim.
The tomb itself was not very interesting. As I thought, I faced Draugr and some spiders, though a puzzle gave me pause for some time. The walls along a staircase leading to a burial room were lined with four animal motifs and I knew to look for the rotating pillars in the room to match them to. But the motifs were in two pairs, one on each side of the wall. It took time to guess what order the motifs needed to be arranged in and took more time and effort than the Draugr lord I encoutnered further inside.

Before him though I came upon the dessicated corpse of 'Lord Gerimund', the court mage of Windhelm at the time of the three brothers' rebellion. According to the book, Lord Gerimund and a host of warriors was tasked with tracking each of the brothers down  and this he did successfully, slaying each one. The death of the third brother, Sigdis, also resulted in the death of Gerimund, after which he was evidently buried with Sigdis as a sort of guardianship.
I expected the former mage to rise and attack me as I passed his bier, but his corpse was merely a corpse and I left him to his rest.

Sigdis himself lay in state in a watery chamber with two pedestals. As expected, he burst out of his coffin dramatically, flinging the stone lid against the cavern wall with a very solid-sounding crunch.
He had a little trick, teleporting himself around the chamber as he summoned two identical Draugr to lob arrows at me. But I had a trick of my own: Vokun's staff of fireballs which I had derided as useless. The burial chamber's small size meant that one blast from the staff nearly always hit Sigdis and his minions, making the battle very short-lived. I claimed the third fragment of his father's amulet, though I do not recall what I am supposed to do with the three pieces. It can wait.

Having finished with Gauldur's traitorous sons, I had only to walk back up to High Hrothgar, suffering blinding snow and stinging ice while under attack by bears and trolls. For such an important place there seems to be no interest in any sort of patrolling to keep the path safe for travelers.

No one answered my knocks, so I let myself into the Hall where a Greybeard was silently meditating, oblivious to my arrival.
After tracking down Arngeir, the only Greybeard who actually speaks, we all congregated in the Hall, the solemn monks surrounding me as Arngeir warned me that they would speak the required ritual in the Dragon tongue. My surviving this would prove I was the true Dragonborn.

What followed was one of the most painful experiences I can remembering suffering. Their words sounded to me as utter nonsensical moaning, but each syllable felt like someone had hit me in the head with a hammer.
When they finished I could not tell if twenty seconds had passed or twenty minutes. My head was pounding, my ears ringing, and my fur was refusing to relax. I must have been quite a sight. As a consolation I was taught 'Dah', the ancient word for 'push'. With that I can use my "voice" as a bludgeon against my enemies, but having suffered that already I believe a knife in the gut is a more merciful choice.

With nothing else to do there and no place to sleep I had to descend the mountain at night, slipping on ice and nearly falling over the side several times. Eventually I made it back to Ivarstead in one piece and handed over another ten Septims for the inn's bed. Tomorrow I think I shall try to find the remaining pieces of Mehrune's Razor so that I can bury it somewhere, then do what research I can about Gauldur's amulet.

Monday, January 16, 2017

Skyrim Day 059 - Where Be Dragons?

14 Frostfall, 4E201

I delivered the Razor's hilt to the misguided Silus and he just about caressed it, marveling at how it seemed to mold itself to his hand. Having never wielded Mehrune's Razor I cannot say if it actually does that, but the man appeared to be enamored by it. I shall have to be careful in returning the remaining pieces to him, if I do at all. I suspect no one who voluntarily seeks the Razor comes to a good end.

On my way out of Dawnstar I was accosted by a highwayman who demanded all of my valuables, else he would "gut me like a fish". I paid him no mind and continued walking by. Evidently surprised, he chased after me, yelling his demand for my goods. When he was close enough I spun around, smacked the dagger out of his hand, and held my own to his throat. Perhaps he shall return to gutting fish.

I was walking towards Whiterun for what felt like the hundredth time, intending to take the crossroads towards Ivarstead, thinking about the return of the Dragons. How did the Stormcloaks control them? Did they control all of them, or just the one at Ulfric's would-be execution? Whatever the case, why was the civil war at a standstill? Were the Dragons under anyone's control? If not, why did one intervene to save Ulfric Stormcloak? Mulling such thoughts over my head, I was completely surprised by sudden roaring and the rush of wind following a low-flying Dragon overhead.

When the Dragon attacked I was just outside of Whiterun, a few minutes walk from the crossroads leading to Ivarstead. It seemed to have shown up just for me, stopping on the side of the road to stare at me for a few moments, but the arrival of six Whiterun guards distracted proved more interesting. As I hurried to load my crossbow the beast landed in front of the nearest farmstead and killed two of the guards right away.
Concerned about hitting the surviving guardsmen, I left my crossbow on the side of the road and hurried across the stream to join them. The guards were too preoccupied with the Dragon to comment on the oddity of a Khajiit rushing to fight alongside them, but I imagine my presence raised a few proud Nordic eyebrows.
With myself and three guards fighting against it, the Dragon evidently felt hard-pressed and took to the air, quickly diving upon a lone guard standing in a nearby field who was prudently keeping his distance with his bow and arrows. The man looked to have been instantly crushed beneath the Dragon's claws as it landed on him and the beast dismissively picked the man's corpse up in its mouth and flung it in our direction, taking flight once again.

Rather than do what I would have done and rained fire on us from the sky. the Dragon landed and started to clumsily crawl towards us. It was an odd sight. But against four foes it fell quickly and my accursed "gift" claimed another Dragon's soul, much to the amazement of the surviving guardsmen. I left before they collected their wits and dragged me back to Whiterun, an episode that would have been an embarrassment for everyone.

I discovered a Stormcloak camp between Whiterun and Ivarstead and was invited in the same as at the other campsites, apparently mistaken for a merchant. The leader of the camp, Hjornskar Head-Smasher, growled that the next Imperial he saw was a dead man. I bit back the retort that his blade would have been better served against the Dragon which attacked Whiterun not more than four hundred yards from his camp.

Near the crossroad leading to Ivarstead I was surprised to find a decapitated head impaled on a stake along the path through the mountains. Deciding to investigate, I crept past the unfortunate head and came upon three charred, impaled bodies displayed around a cave.
The gruesome display marked the cavern's occupants as vampires, but once inside I realized they were mere bandits. The only thing of note was that the bandits had taken the trouble to capture and hold several of Skyrim's most dangerous creatures inside of cages. The cages all opened to a pit in which the rotting, mauled bodies of those unfortunate enough to be captured lay.

Thinking I was going to be eliminating a nest of vampires, I entered the cave only to find cruelty and depravity common to the lawless and desperate. The cave is clear now, but within a week or so I am certain others will move in anyway. Such a waste of time.

I arrived at Ivarstead after nightfall and just in time to help the guards chase out a bear that decided on a late dinner in one of the farmers' fields.
Tomorrow morning I will visit the Greybeards and return their horn. Then I may return to Riften to close some business agreements there, then return to collecting the remaining pieces of Mehrune's Razor. Such is my plan, but I am sure something will occur to make everything utterly impossible once again.

Monday, January 2, 2017

Skyrim Day 058 - Vokun, Dragon Priest

13 Frostfall, 4E201

With Potema safely banished to some other plane and Tamriel safe for another day, I was free this morning to attempt an exit from Solitude. I slept later than I intended to, but I think I have earned a little extra rest. The land north of Morthal's swamp was still unknown to me, so I chose to avoid the road to Dawnstar and travel along the coast instead.
Despite its reputation the swamp of Morthal is not a very dangerous place, though I was surprised to find myself under assault from a Chaurus this morning, with no idea as to how the sole creature found its way above ground. I skirted around a Stormcloak camp and caught the scent of smoke on the air. Their cooking fires were downwind, so I followed my nose and found a burned-out home and the charred remains of a woman laying in front of a broken cart.
A few small fires still flickered, so the disaster could not have been too long ago. Was it a Dragon? The Stormcloaks? An accident with the cooking fat? Only the dead woman knows.

Continuing along the shore I avoided the brutish Horkers and found one of the hundreds of ruins that occupy Skyrim. This was was a rather large, ornate construction and I felt the twinge of curiosity prodding me inward. Unusually there were several dead Draugr outside of the ruin, making me wary about entering. Whatever killed the Draugr, or enticed them outside into an ambush, was likely inside as well. But that also simply made me even more curious, so of course I had to enter the ruin.
The inside was littered with dead Draugr, some of them showing damage from ice magicka. I found the source of their damage pacing back and forth in a small chamber, muttering to herself. I thought her a bandit or necromancer at first, but took a moment to listen to what she was saying. From what I heard, she was trying to figure out a way to descend deeper inside without meeting a grisly death. I rapped my dagger against the wall to get her attention, greatly startling her.

Her name was Anska and she asked if I was here to help her. Not knowing who Anska was or why she was expecting any help at all, I replied that I happened upon the ruin and thought to investigate it for valuables. Her response was unexpectedly enthusiastic: this was not just an ruin, according to her, but the final resting place of Vokun, an ancient priest who was said to have been buried with a scroll that Anska thought would help prove her family's connection to Ysgramor's bloodline. 

When she said "priest" I could almost feel the dour wooden mask in my pack start to shift. Anska admitted that Vokun was likely to be more powerful a mage than she was and asked if I could assist her with retrieving the scroll. I asked only that I be allowed to claim the priest's mask if he had one, but she only shrugged and said I could take whatever I wanted aside from the scroll.

Anska was a more competent mage than I assumed her to be. Together we fought through at least a dozen powerful and well-armed Draugr, her with lightning and ice magicka, me with my blade and light shield.

Vokun was waiting for us in his large burial room, dramatically erupting from his coffin after we opened the doors.
Vokun was not nearly the mage Morokei was, falling quickly to Anska's spells and my silvered blade.
His staff flung fireballs on command, useful, but not for me. I took it to sell off later and scavenged Vokun's mask from the pile of rags and ashes that remained. Anska's scroll was in a room behind the former priest's resting place, in front of a Dragon-head wall of runes that taught me 'Strun', the ancient word for "storm". If Anska noticed anything unusual about magicka streaming from the stone into the Khajiit's body, she said nothing. The fact that she said nothing makes me suspect I may be the only one to witness the learning of the words. Perhaps the Greybeards can as well. Whatever the case, I usually adventure alone, so it is not a pressing concern.
Anska rewarded my assistance with a tome she said would teach me how to summon a weak fire atronach. I thanked her and will be selling it alongside Vokun's staff.

Once back outside I continued along the coast, passing more horkers and a beached ship which I steered clear of, wary of wasting time fighting a bunch of desperate, frozen bandits.
I arrived at Dawnstar as the night was setting in and fortunately made it to the 'Mortar and Pestle' before Frida closed for the evening. My payment was an hour of instruction from the aged alchemist and I learned quite a bit.

Tomorrow I will continue east towards the Greybeards so that I can return their horn, then perhaps I shall stop at Morthal, detestable place that it is, to take care of some business agreements, or I may turn back west and see about retrieving the final piece of Mehrune's Razor. A part of me recalls my more mundane days wistfully, but I should have known they would not last.

Friday, December 23, 2016

Skyrim Day 057 - Howling Mad

12 Frostfall, 4E201

My return to east Skyrim began in earnest and ended with no progress having been made aside from thwarting the plan of an undead heir to the Septim line.

I woke early in the cold, empty manor I now call home and walked outside to find something aflame to warm myself next to. Though it was still early there was a terrific racket coming from the Bard's College next door. Curious, I tested the front door and found it to be unlocked. Inside an Altmer introduced himself as Viarmo and asked if I wished to become a bard. I did not and informed him of my recent purchase of the adjacent manor. He wished me well and invited me to explore his College at my leisure, a freedom Khajiit are rarely given.

But I was not there to swipe the plates. Instead, I followed the sound of terrible singing and walked in on a class led by an old woman whose lute-playing accompanied her singing. One of the classroom's hopefuls whispered to me that she was known as 'Inge Six Fingers', a name meant to invoke skill rather than mutilation.
I observed the lesson for a few minutes, retreating once one of the students was called up to demonstrate his singing prowess. I would sooner face a Dragon than be sit through that man's warbling.

Mentally tracing the route I would be taking to Dawnstar, I walked right by a courier trying to hail me. The man ran back in front of me, pointedly brandishing a scroll in my face to catch my attention. I was a bit taken aback by his attitude, but the message was from Falk Firebeard and I was apparently the courier's first mark of the day, so he was in a hurry.

The scroll was short on details, Falk only willing to explain that there were rumors surrounding my activity at Wolfskull Cave a month ago. He had sent me there to investigate a gathering of mages that had moved in, only for me to stumble into a summoning of the ancient Queen Potema, the "Wolf Queen" of Solitude.

From what I remember she led a rebellion to ensure her son, who would become Uriel Septim III, sat on the throne, only for him to die ignominiously some years later at the hands and torches of a mob. Perhaps Potema had something to do with that as well. Whatever the case, the necromancers had been trying to bind her spirit of themselves, I suppose, so that she could lead Skyrim into a new golden age.

All this is just a guess, I do not know why they really wanted Potema back, but I had thought interrupting the summoning had spelled an end to her meddling. Unfortunately it merely released her spirit into Skyrim and though without a body she has been able to personally direct her tiny cult, causing many problems for the city of Solitude.

A local priest named 'Styrr', follower of Arkay, had been granted the ability to sense Potema's spirit, alerting Falk to her existence. Fearing the Jarl's exuberance in resolving matters, he instead sent for me, a Khajiit much too old to remember what exuberance felt like.
I found Styrr in his Temple musing and muttering at the fire and it took several minutes of trying to politely attract his attention before I gave him and smacked my shield against the stone wall. Awakened out of his mental fog, he introduced himself, asking if I was the mercenary Falk had recommended to him. I cannot say I consider myself a mercenary, but the man seemed to be easily confused, so I told him I was.

Without prompting he started to give me the entire history on the former Queen, musing that if she did return to "life" she would have a legitimate claim to the Imperial throne, an outcome which he described as being the worst possible fate to befall Tamriel. Arkay's gift to his faithful allowed Styrr to sense Potema's spirit, though not to do anything about her. According to him she had fled from Wolfskull Cave to the catacomb underneath Solitude's temple. One of Potema's followers broke into the temple a few days ago and managed to knock door a portion of the temple's wall that had been blocking up a forgotten passage into the catacombs below. My task was to enter the catacombs, retrieve Potema's physical remains, and bring them back to Styrr so that Arkay could divinely cleanse them of their spiritual taint.

Despite the Temple's damage it was still open to the faithful, the breach in the wall visible to anyone wishing to pray at the Eight Divines' altars.
The catacomb was nothing special, typical brickwork and arches surrounding forgotten crates and rotting sacks. A glance inside some of the containers suggested that the catacomb of the Temple may have been a storehouse for Solitude long ago, but today no one could spare the effort required to clean up any of it.

Reaching a metal gate I was startled, but not much surprised, by a woman's voice echoing from somewhere deeper inside. That was no longer a new trick by me, nor was Potema's bragging that my death would net her an excellent slave. Having encountered no one else up to that point, I thought myself alone with the chatty spirit, but I eventually intruded upon her cult, mostly vampires and some Draugr. Nothing very difficult.

Past a small pond (underneath the Temple?) I came upon a set of three portcullises controlled by three levers in front of them. Pulling one lever would close or open a gate, while performing the opposite action against the other two. It did not take long to devise the correct combination of positions to open all three gates.
They led to a chamber with a Draugr positioned on a throne, but I had seen this trick before. As soon as I walked past it the Draugr would "wake" and attack me. On a hunch, I took a vial of weak, useless poison and threw it into the room. The crash alerted the Draugr, who slowly rose from his throne while looking around for something to kill, as well as a young Breton who rushed in from the other door, yelling bravely that such tricks were not enough to save my life. A crossbow bolt put an end to his. The Draugr was strong, but clumsy as all his kind are.
The rash Breton had a key on him which unlocked an ornate stone door which he had been guarding, beyond which lay a grisly collection of Draugr all heaped together in front of an engraving of the Wolf Queen, clad in wolf-skins and holding what were either small trees or dead wolves in each hand.
As I was trying to decided which the objects were, Potema's voice echoed through the catacomb, goading me to continue on towards her, so that I might serve her eternally in death. With that, four of the piled-up Draugr became reanimated, but I lopped off two of their heads before they were on their feet and the other two were very weak and poorly armed.

Potema herself made what appearance she could in the next room. her interrupted summoning limiting her to a glowing, vaguely woman-shaped, collection of energy floating about the ceiling. Tendrils of magicka licked the walls and coffins of the room and I steeled myself for a great battle.
Her voice mocked me, claiming she would enjoy watching me fall at the hands of her trusted advisors, whom I assume were the Draugr she called forth from the coffins. There were many of them, three waves in fact, but Potema made the mistake of not summoning them all at once. Rather she was content to watch five or six at a time die singly at the doorway, as I was not fool enough to enter and risk be surrounded.

After all the Draugr had been defeated, Potema's spirit shrieked and flew through the closed door at the end of the chamber. I followed, finding a more distinguishable Potema waiting for me upon a throne.
Jumping up, she charged down the stairway, but her magicka was weak and spirits hold much less strength than they seem to believe they do. Once she had been banished, again, I approached the throne expecting a skeleton, but found only a skull with a circlet, I  threw that into my pack and looked for the back-exit that the Nords liked to build in their ruins.
The exit must have been a secret sally port long ago, for it led me well outside the city, on a cliff-side overlooking the bay. They must have relied on ropes or ladders to get down, but having neither, I could only slide down the icy mountainside and hope for the best. Fortunately I managed to avoid injuring myself.

Styrr was pleased at my quick return and took eagerly took Potema's skull to be purified. He advised that I returned to Falk Firebeard to let him know of our success while he prepared the rituals required to put the ancient would-be Queen to her final rest.

Falk ruefully admitted that he should have paid more attention to the the warnings that came from Dragon Bridge before all this started and declared me the "Protector of Solitude", a title that came with fifteen hundred Septims and a painted wooden shield from the city's armory.

Having averted yet another grisly disaster upon Tamriel, I retired to my new home and very welcoming bed. Tomorrow I shall yet again try to make it to Dawnguard.

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Skyrim Day 056 - Time Travel & Real Estate

11 Frostfall, 4E201

When Savos and his fellow students explored Labyrinthian they uncovered more than they had hoped for. One by one, the inexperienced students fell to traps or creatures, until just Savos and two others were left. In Labyrinthian's final chamber they encountered the Dragon Priest Morokei, a creature which I suspect is tied to the Dragon cult that keeps assaulting me, though how exactly I cannot yet say.

The only thing that remained of Morokei after its defeat was a stern-looking metal mask that served as the thing's face. It matched a wooden mask I found in a small dome above Labyrinthian, but I recall not paying the masks much attention then.

The place was still infested with trolls, but my new silvered blade, due to Adrianne's attention this morning, cut through them effortlessly. She was eager to accept the carved blade I had found a week or so ago in exchange for a little work in finishing my weapon, which suited me just fine.
The dome where I had found the wooden mask (which stays warm in any weather) was still there, of course and just as run-down as the first time I had seen it.
The headless skeleton was still there, as well as the scraps of parchment the man's mercenaries had been using for their journal. A particular passage, which I either failed to notice the first time or have simply forgotten, caught my eye: their employer had a wooden mask, the one I found next to the corpse, and upon placing it on his face while inside the dome, he vanished instantly. Judging by the decapitated skeleton at my feet he eventually came back, so I guessed it was safe to try it myself so long as I left no irate mercenaries behind.

I pressed the mask to my face and everything went white for a moment. When my vision cleared, I was still in the same place, but apparently at a very different time.
I may have been in a more prosperous time for Labyrinthian, but it was not a busier time. The ruin was still abandoned and utterly silent. The restored altar had eight small statues of a hooded figure, the robe just large enough to fit the wooden mask. I tried fitting it on each of the statues. but could discover no way to make it stay. On a hunch I pulled out the metal mask I had taken off of Morokei's remains and tried the same thing. The mask snapped on to one of the statues with such force that it almost took my fingers off.
That left seven statues unadorned with no clue as to where their masks were. At least I know where to go if I find any more. Placing the wooden mask back on to my face sent me to the frozen ruin I was more familiar with and I left Labyrinthian for Solitude so that I could tell Elisif that her husband's horn was safely at the feet of Talos.

I decided to pass through Morthal and its swamp to shorten my walk to Solitude. While sloshing through the marsh I came upon an empty campsite nestled alongside a large Nordic ruin I had ignored while I was in the marsh collecting Deathbells. The requisite left-behind journal briefly chronicled the efforts of one Daynas Valen to acquire an amulet that was said to be inside. Interestingly, the Daynas admitted to murdering a merchant in Bravil in order to steal the Dragon Claw key (Ivory, this time) required to breach the lowest level of the ruin. I never thought about the possibility that some of these Claws would find their way out of Skyrim.

Enroute from Cyrodiil, he recruited two adventurers to assist with the expected Draugr and mechanical traps, then burned all his possessions (except his journal!) before he led his small band inside.
There is not much to say about what I found inside. Two dead adventurers, of course, and a bunch of Draugr. Daynas had not made it much further than his companions and still had the cumbersome Dragon Claw key on his body. Next to his corpse was a second journal, this one explaining what the amulet he sought was, something called the Gauldur Amulet. He had gone through the trouble to write down the entire history of an ancient family of mages whose elder fathered three sons. The sons murdered the father, Gauldur, so that they would have the amulet, then ravaged the surrounding countryside for no discernible reason.

A local noble dispatched warriors and mages to track down the sons and end them, each being isolated and followed to remote corners of Skyrim. The eldest, Jyrick, was the ancient Draugr Tolfdir and I had fought in front of the Eye of Magnus and the youngest son, Mikrul, was entombed in the ruin Daynas had hopefully invaded. The middle son, Sigdis, fell near Ivarstead.

Each of the sons had a fragment of their father's amulet, the three together would produce what I can only assume would be an item potent enough to be worth all the trouble they went through.
After a few more Draugr I almost had the opportunity to ask Mikrul himself about his amulet, but he burst from his coffin in a decidedly hostile manner which led to me to believe stabbing him in the back, much as he did to his father, was a healthier decision.
Gauldur's youngest proved to be a perceptive, if weak, opponent. Undead though he was, my attempt to sneak up on him was foiled, only for him to fall rather effortlessly to my blade. His cohorts were simple Draugr armed with bows so old that I could probably have caught their arrows if I wanted to waste my time. On Mikrul's body was a scroll with a similar condemnation as his brother's had and his fragment of the amulet, which his condemners had not saw fit to separate him from.
Past Mikrul's resting place was a portcullis opened with the Claw with a wall of ancient words behind it. Standing before it allowed me to learn the word for 'cold': krah, a very useful thing to know here in Skyrim. The expected secret exit was quite clever this time, using an empty Draugr coffin leaning against the door to disguise it.

My curiosity satiated for the moment, I left the ruin and completed my trip back to Solitude. I needed to deliver the Ring of Pure Mixtures to the old alchemist and inform Jarl Elisif of the completion of her task.

However, I had made a mistake. I had thought the name of the alchemist in Solitude to be Frida, but she was Angeline of 'Angeline's Aromatics'. Bemused, Angeline politely informed me that Frida was a bit younger and far to the east, in Dawnstar. I thanked her and left feeling a bit foolish.

But Jarl Elisif was certainly in Solitude, no mistake there. Though the day was crawling into the evening the Blue Palace was still seeing visitors and as I entered the court I heard the Jarl discussing an idea with her steward to have the Legion parade around the town to bolster the peoples' morale. The steward gently replied that a parade would be seen as inciting the Stormcloaks and Elisif agreed, sounding disappointed.
Her reaction to my return was...unexpected. After I told her that Torygg's horn was safely at the feet of Talos, she clapped her hands (once) and announced that such a deed was worthy of a Thane...but she hoped I would settle on being able to purchase a home in Solitude at discount, instead. She then called her steward over to tell him that I would be buying 'Proudspire Manor' at the reduced price of twenty-five thousand Septims.

It was an embarrassing situation for myself and the Steward, Falk Firebeard. He pulled me aside as Elisif became distracted with someone new entering the room and told me that I was under no actual obligation to buy anything if I did not wish to, or could not.

But I thought the idea was a good one. I have been traveling between Whiterun, where I have a home, and Solitude, where I do not, regularly as of late. The price was steep, even if it was reduced, but my various adventures over the past two months have brought great, and largely useless, wealth. What is the point of money if it cannot be spent? There are just over forty-thousand Septims hidden about Breezehome in five-hundred Septim ingots, a ploy made possible by living next door to a smelter.

So why not buy Proudspire? I gave Falk the one thousand Septims I was carrying with me and signed a document as Thane of Whiterun promising payment of the remainder. Rank occasionally has its privileges. An additional six thousand Septims purchased living accommodations for several rooms, much in the same way as Breezehome.

With key in pocket, I thanked the Jarl and her Steward and left to examine my new home. Arriving in front of it, I was just in time to witness a guardsman run a vampire through with his blade, right on my doorstep. A lovely welcoming, but also a sign of the growing vampire problem I am supposed to be helping fight against.
The manor is squeezed in-between a school for bards and another house, but has more rooms than Whiterun has buildings. I am not sure what to do with the place, but it is nice to be sleeping in a bed free of louses. I should start to make my way back to the Dawnguard's fortress and stop at Dawnstar to see Frida about her ring. I have also to find the last piece of Mehrune's accursed dagger, but I do not feel that is a high priority.

I will start on my journey back to the east tomorrow, perhaps even chance a visit to Windhelm.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Skyrim Day 055 - In Memory of the Late King

10 Frostfall, 4E201

Waking up alone again was a great relief, a freedom from a burden I am not accustomed to carrying. What I am accustomed to carrying is a long list of tasks I have promised to resolve for people all over the province. One was the delivery of the late King's war horn to a shrine of Talos east of Whiterun, near the river.

While on my way out of Solitude I stopped at the local apothecary, bought some supplies, and added another task to my list: locate and return a ring said to posses an alchemy-enhancing enchantment. The alchemist, an old woman named Angeline, admitted she and her niece could use the ring's help with keeping their shop profitable. This surprised me, but I suppose having the East Empire Company housed in the city undercuts her business.

Angeline had already purchased the ring from a traveling mage of the College, the man having promised to send the ring to her after he returned to Windhelm. She received a letter a week later saying it would be on its way via a caravan, then...nothing. Her inquiries resulted in an apologetic letter clarifying that the road between Windhelm and Solitude was frequented by bandits, but he was not responsible for its loss. Her money, naturally, was not returned.

So I was to search a road spanning nearly the entire width of the province for bandits carrying a small enchanted ring. I agreed, it would give me something to do for the next few days, or so I thought.

I left Solitude and followed the unmistakable sound of hammer-strikes against an anvil and in this way "found" a not-so-hidden camp of Stormcloak rebels. They turned to me and I nearly fled right then, but one stood up and greeted me rather jovially, asking if I was from one of the caravans. I was not, but they still bought some gemstones from me and bade me return if I was in the area. Strange, for I expected hostility.

Stranger still was my encounter with an Imperial Legion patrol not more than two minutes later along the road, the sounds of the Stormcloaks' blacksmithing ringing clearly in our ears. The three Legionnaires were pointedly not hearing it and walked along the road, not more than a hundred yards from the rebels, without a concern. This "civil war" seems to have not yet started in full.

Dragon Bridge was fortunately free of live dragons and I made good time, passing Morthal before noon. Near Stonehills I ambushed a trio of dragon-mask cultists, announcing myself by slaying one of them outright. Their fire magicka was surprisingly weak and even what little resistance I had owing to my own experience with spells nullified much of their force. One of them had a note on his body that alluded to a cultist shrine somewhere in Labyrinthian, the ruin where I had been sent to retrieve the Staff of Magnus. Another thing to worry about now.

A Khajiit caravan came upon the remains of my little battle as I was rifling through the cultists' meager possessions and they politely pretended to not notice anything unusual as they marched by. Through with searching the bodies, I hailed their leader, Ri'saad, and asked about any rumors of bandits between Dawnstar and Winterhold, as I had not found any from Solitude onward.

Ri'saad told me of a group of bandits near the crossroads between Dawnstar and Windhelm who were occupying a cave near the road. The caravan had no issues passing by, but he had been warned of them before leaving Windhelm and they were known as a troublesome group. He felt certain that my ring would be found with them. In thanks I discounted my offers to him and we parted amicably. After I was a fair distance down the road I looked back to see them stripping the corpses of their clothing and mundanes. Anything for a Septim, I suppose.

Scouring the crossroad revealed a small cave on Windhelm's side, but inside were no bandits, just a dead vampire, a very live giant bear, and a Spriggan which managed to surprise me after successfully pretending to be a small tree. For whatever reason it only attacked after the bear was dead, so its ambush caused me no trouble. What I assume is Angeline's ring was in a half-frozen chest in the back of the cave, the only sign that the bandits had been there at all.

Coincidentally the shrine to Talos wound up being almost exactly due south of the former bandits' cave and I needed only walk along the road to Whiterun for an hour or so to reach it with nary a problem. Once I found the shrine I had only to kill two Thalmor agents sent to destroy it, take the horn out of my pack, and lay it reverently at the feet of Talos.
I returned to Whiterun, the  city I cannot seem to escape, and stopped at Warmaiden's to make use of their forge. My armor needed repair and I wanted to experiment (and probably ruin) with a steel sword I found to see if I could heat the blade enough to introduce silver into the metal, which is said to make weapons cut vampires and werewolves more effectively. After several attempts and a great deal of patience I think I managed it, but I shall see if Adrianne can examine it tomorrow, just to be sure.

After that the only thing left to do was aggravate Lydia with my presence at Breezehome, but while her facial expression did not change, her mood seemed to be a bit better. I wonder what occupies her here while I am away.
Labyrinthian is not terribly far from here, I think I will pay it another visit and see if I cannot figure out what the cultists are after.

Friday, November 11, 2016

Skyrim Day 054 - The Unhappiest Family Reunion

9 Frostfall, 4E201

If I had to choose between Lydia and Serana as my companion, I would be hard pressed to make a decision within the week. Lydia may wear an expression that suggests mucking out stables is preferably to traveling with me, but at least she is quiet about it. Serana complains about getting up too early, starting out too late, the sun being out, the sun not being out, and also refuses to follow me inside anything resembling a cave or a tomb. In favor to Lydia she seemed to enjoy bashing Draugr into pieces.

Due to our relationship we were both eager to be on our way out of Morthal at first light. We left the inn before the sun burned away the morning's cold fog and made our way towards Dragon Bridge. A dog was waiting for us between Morthal and Dragon Bridge, immediately reminding me of Barbas. I nearly slew the dog right then and there, but it ran a ways into the trees, stopped, and looked at us, evidently waiting for us to follow. He led us to a small cabin in which his master lay dead, the man's journal revealing that he left his home to die in solitude of Rockjoint, accompanied only by his dog.
It is ceratinly the oddest suicide I have witnessed, Rockjoint is easily curable at any Temple or alchemist. The dog continued to follow Serana and I until we reached Dragon Bridge, after which it rushed off towards a farm and likely its new home.

A Khajiit caravan was leaving Solitude as we approached, irritating Serana as I stopped to chat and trade with them. After that she was free to direct our path over the hills to a small dock on the coast which faced an imposing, if somewhat foggy and blurry, island castle in the distance.
Naturally it was up to me to man the oars. but once we landed on the island she broke her normal silence to discuss what would happen inside Volkihar Keep. Serana thanked me for accompanying here thus far and announced that she would be staying at the Keep once my business inside was concluded, which was not a surprise. She suggested I say as little as possible inside and rely on her to speak instead. I was not willing to concede to this advice from someone who has barely said anything to me within the last few days, so I shrugged and walked up to the gatehouse.

I was challenged by a haggard-looking guard, but his demeanor changed once he saw who I was with. In a voice I can reasonably described as 'suffused with awe', he babbled about how great it was to have Serana back and welcomed her, and her "friend", to the Keep.
The gate opened and a blast of warm air stinking of death and blood rushed out of it to greet us, causing me to retch. Inside was worse: Bodies lay upon long tables next to blood-filled silver goblets, with the bloody remains of previous feasts scattered about the floor. I was glad to have Serana talking in place of myself for fear of being a poor guest via vomiting all over the hall.

Her father, Lord Harkon, greeted us cordially and demanded to know if Serana still carried his Elder Scroll. If I had not been so nauseous I might have been surprised to hear she had an actual Elder Scroll. The reunion was not a happy one. Serana was obviously annoyed at the Scroll being inquired after before her well-being, but Harkon brushed her concern off with a laugh, instead asking who I was.
Serana introduced me as her "savior" and Lord Harkon explained that his late wife had stolen his "greatest treasure" from him long ago. One could think the treasure was Serana, but was obvious that the treasure is the Elder Scroll, not the daughter. He offered me a reward of dubious value: vampirism, in exchange for my having returned it.

But this was not to be an ordinary exchange of blood. Lord Harkon bade me to behold his true form and with a crackling of magicka transformed himself into what could be described as an incredibly ugly half-giant, half-bat form.
I have no desire to look like I live inside of a child's nightmare so I rejected his offer as politely as I could while mumbling as few words as possible, but he did not take offense. He explained that in gratitude for my service I would be allowed to leave, but would never be welcome in his Keep again. Another crackling of magicka and I found myself back on the castle's jetty, for once glad to be breathing the freezing sea air of Skyrim. I gratefully took a deep breath...then promptly lost my breakfast on the shore. Heroic.

Isran will need to know that Serana's Elder Scroll was the true treasure of Dimhollow Crypt, though I have a feeling that the ancient vampiress still has a part to play in whatever the future brings. My more immediate future after rowing back to the mainland involved a room at Solitude's 'Winking Skeever' inn, but not before I was ambushed by three of the mask-wearing Dragon cultists I met in Whiterun.

Fortunately it was dark by then and they were foolish enough to use fire magicka, making it easy for me to circle around the group and eliminate them one-by-one. Warriors these cultists are not.

I reached Solitude, in solitude, just before midnight and handed over my ten Septims for a room. I need to speak with Isran, but he is on the opposite side of the province. I also should speak with the Greybeards, as well as investigate this Dragon cult that seems to be stalking me. Then there is also the matter of the Dark Brotherhood assassins I seem to be plagued with.

The list goes on and on.