Friday, March 3, 2017

Skyrim Day 061 - Bits and Pieces

17 Frostfall, 4E201

My notes placed the blade and pommel of Mehrune's Razor in the western half of Skyrim, the blade near Falkreath and the pommel, Markarth. The two cities, which barely deserve to be called such, proved dismal enough as of late that I promised myself I would not visit them again unless absolutely necessary, though I suppose retrieving the Razor to ensure no one else ever gets a hold of it is a moral necessity of some sort.

Fortunately a copy of 'Lost Legends' I found on a dead adventurer inside of the cave underneath Lake Geir had scrawls pointing to a cave along a waterfall just east of Markarth. There the Archmage Gauldur was said to be waiting for his treasonous sons...or so the dramatic adventurer wrote. It is all I have to go on so far, but it is also on the way to retrieving the Razor's pommel.

I left the inn just in time to witness the end to a battle between a vampire and his thralls versus three guardsmen. The guards appeared to be nonchalant about their morning skirmish, but I heard one questioning why there were so many more vampires about, especially at dawn when they normally went into hiding. I was reminded of Serana's family and my long-overdue promise to Isran but I think securing Mehrune Dagon's artifact is far more important.
Along the road I came upon a shack with a little garden attached to it. The place appeared to be vacant, but a journal (there's always a journal!) looked to have been recently penned with great excitement about how great the location was for the owner's alchemical research. Not wanting to cause the optimistic alchemist any harm, I placed the journal back on the table and left without disturbing anything else.

Once again I had to pass through the ruin of Helgen and again a group of bandits had taken up residence since my last visit. I tried to sneak around, but an Orsimer patrolling the wall spotted me. Instead of alerting his comrades he gave a roar and leaped from the wall to charge at me. His battle-cry did have the effect of alarming the rest of the bandits and soon I found myself in the middle of a rapidly closing circle of angry warriors.

Most of what I have been teaching myself is to help with my most common enemy: the draugr. Illusion spells do nothing against them, but my continual efforts at becoming stealthy has paid off many times over. However, I have not been neglecting my magicka skills either and as the bandits closed in I flung an Illusion spell designed to drive anything alive into a berserk-like fury, attacking friend and foe alike.

A strong mind can resist, of course, but I felt certain that none of the bandits had the mental fortitude to do that. I flung the spell at three bandits that had come charging out of the gate and ran. The sounds of a furious battle erupted behind me, I can only assume my spell worked. I could have killed them all, that I am sure of, but it proved to be a valuable lesson, both in overconfidence in my stealth and the utility of my Illusion spells.

As if they had not been enough to deal with, an Orsimer in full heavy, but mismatched, armor barred the road beyond Helgen. He tried to provoke a fight, insulting me as a "milk drinker". I had no reason to take such from the likes of him and the battle was on.

It was over quickly. Perhaps he was proud of his armor, but the Dwemer chestplate did not have a Dwemer helm above it to match, leaving his throat completely exposed.
Recovering the blade of Mehrune's Razor was only marginally more interesting. Rumors had it that the prior guardians of the artifact had used an ancient keep known now to the locals as 'Cracked Tusk Keep' as a hiding place, but as the name suggested the ruins had been long since taken over by a tribe of Orsimer. Today an Orsimer bandit, an Orsimer highwayman, and a tribe of Orsimer.

The Keep was not much different than Helgen, actually. Just a ruin with bandits trying to scrape whatever life they could from the area before someone killed them or they moved on.
The Razor's blade was broken, but it likely had been dismissed as junk by the bandits and appeared to have been left alone. I carefully brushed the pieces into a satchel and left the Keep with its Orsimer corpses.

Dusk started to creep in as I walked the road between Falkreath and Markarth. I had no desire to set foot in Markarth again, but I knew there was a small mining town north of Markarth named 'Karthwasten' that would probably have a small inn.

Unfortunately I was wrong. The town was there, it was 'Karthwasten', but it had no inn, just a blacksmith, a barracks for miners, and the mine overseer's home. I had no choice but to turn around and walk back to Markarth in the dark.
The drunk innkeeper, Kleppr, was surprised to see me, then laughed and said he was sure the guards did not mean to throw me in jail. I did not know how to respond to that.

So here I am, back in Markarth, lying on the cruel joke this city calls a bed. Tomorrow I will retrieve the final piece of Mehrune's Razor, then ensure it is lost forever. It may be a blow to Silus's museum, but it is for the best of everyone else.

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