Skyrim Day 019 - Subject to Daedric Harassment

3 Heartfire, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

I suppose an immortal Khajiit could not have expected to remain out of Daedric sight for long. Today was only to involve the return of a statue and wound up with me confronting yet another Daedric Prince of which I want little to do with.

The walk from Dragon Bridge to Markarth contained all of the usual encounters: attack by Sabre Cats an assassin, a group of bandits, the acquisition of cheap alchemy ingredients, and a wary encounter with some other brave souls journeying across Skyrim.

The Sabre Cats attacked in a trio as I was walking across a hill, but the animals proved to be susceptible to the weak Fury Illusion spell I had purchased some time ago and they soon turned on each other which allowed me to flee down the other side of the hill.

Back on the road I a farmer and his wife stopped to warn me about the dragon attacks plaguing Skyrim. I have only witnessed the one at Helgen, but thanked the man for his concern and asked where they were going. They didn't know, their home having been destroyed, allegedly, by a dragon. I was not sure if I believed his story, but gave the two of them five Septims each and wished them luck.

The pointy ends of the Dark Brotherhood sprang out at me alongside the river, another young Khajiit hoping to make a name for herself among a bandit of mercenary murderers. A small part of me felt bad for having to kill her, but a much larger part did not want to be stabbed. She refused to walk away from the fight and paid the inevitable price. 

I returned to Markarth before noon and wasted no time in returning the statue to Lisbet. My reward was seven hundred and fifty Septims, making the statue a lot more valuable than I assumed. After exchanging some pleasantries with the woman I walked out of her shop intending to leave the city for good, but a man further up the street called out to me, so like a fool I actually stopped and listened to the man's plea.

The man was 'Vigilant Tyranus', a member of the 'Vigilants of Stendarr', a group of Daedric hunters I have talked with a bit along the roads. He had come to Markarth on the rumor that a home was secretly being used for Daedric worship. The townspeople had been of no help, so he was looking for someone to follow him inside should there be hostiles present. I estimated the chance of encountering Daedra inside of Markarth to be fairly low, so I agreed. I wish I had not.

Tyranus immediately noticed as we walked in that there was fresh food laid out on the tables and the furniture and fabrics were clean and without rot. The house had obviously not been abandoned for long. As we proceeded further into the house I began to hear a voice in my head urging me to kill Tyranus, but Barbas was in my head long before this new voice and I was able to ignore it.

However, the Vigilant at my side must have been receiving the same malevolent messages I was ignoring. He became increasingly distracted as the voice grew angrier and finally whomever it was snapped and screamed at us to fight or die together just as fruit, vegetables, and small furniture started to fly at us. I thought it a mere annoyance, but Tyranus panicked and tried to flee out of the house. I followed him but the door was stuck tight, no doubt due to our twisted host. With a shout that he was not going to die here, he drew his mace and attacked me!

Not everyone has had centuries of experience in dealing with Daedra and Daedric Princes, but Tyranus succumbed rather quickly for a Vigilant of Stendarr. He succumbed just as quick to a merciful dagger thrust to the back of his head, killing the poor man instantly without pain.

The voice was pleased then, purring that my reward was to be found on the lowest level of the house. The front door was still stuck shut, so I had little choice but to descend deeper. Each room now had a black, oily cloud hanging about the ceiling, an obvious sign that I was not moving towards something I was going to like.

The home's previous occupants had dug out of the house and into an unused portion of the Dwemer city where I can only assume they decided to install a shrine to Molag Bal, a thoroughly unpleasant Daedric Prince with which involvement could only lead to poor things. I sensed the trap before I approached the shrine, but knew that I would not be leaving the house without springing it.

Sure enough, touching the blood-caked iron mace embedded in the shrine caused spikes to shoot up from the floor around me, trapping me. Predictably the voice, Molag Bal, took great delight in having tricked me and asked what I saw. I replied that I saw an altar and he agreed, stating that it had seen better days, mostly when his worshipers would bring people to it in order to murder them in the Prince's name.

But the altar was not actually sending him any...whatever Daedric Princes receive from worship. A servant of Boethiah, the Daedric Prince of death, had intentionally damaged it to prevent Molag Bal's worshipers from using it. Evidently they were not up to the task of restoring it and abandoned the house and its secret. For some reason Molag Bal thought I would be interested in helping him, but I demanded that he let me go, not actually expecting that to work. To my surprise it did: the spikes retracted and he sighed within my head before letting me know his favor was still available if I rescued the wounded priest of Boethiah and brought him back to the shrine. I could see no reason why Molag Bal would want the priest at his shrine again and resolved to have nothing to do with either Molag Bal or Boethiah. I suppose to them I am a terrible aberration, but I did not ask for my inability to die.

The front door to the house was now unlocked and I stepped over the unfortunate Tyranus on my way out, never to return.

I started my way towards Solitude once again and hope to be at the College of Winterhold within a few days. At a crossroads I came upon three Imperial Legionnaires standing around three dead and nearly naked men. One of the "soldiers" heard me approach and warned me that holding a loaded crossbow around Imperial soldiers warranted a fine of two hundred Septims plus a search of one's belongings to aid in the war effort. I remarked that I had I known that I would have been carrying some shoes, for they had none and the bodies did. Fools to think they could deceive me.

With that I sent a crossbow bolt through the throat of the Orsimer who had tried to shake me down and charged at his two brigand comrades. One was lucky enough to block my chop at his neck and returned with his own semi-skilled blows. The other brigand wisely circled around the two of us to flank me, but was lacking in his approach. When he leaped at my back I turned and drove the pommel of my blade into his face, turning his snarl into a scream as his nose turned into a satisfying spray of blood. A swift cut into his shoulder rendered his weapon useless and I sprang behind his rapidly folding body so that my original foe could watch the man's throat get slit. Morale is key in any fight.

Watching his "leader" get a bolt to the throat and his other comrade get his neck opened took the wind out of the surviving man's sails, as they say on the coast. He halfheartedly started to attack me, but I smashed the sword out of his hand and drove my sword through his stolen Imperial leathers and into his chest. Predictably the trio had nothing of value on them, save for the insight that a more powerful Fury Illusion spell would have been very useful.

I arrived at Dragon Bridge as it began to grow dark and walked through towards Solitude without any further bandits, animal attacks, or Daedric requests. The guards were changing to the night shift as I approached Solitude's gates and gave me no trouble with entering after dark.

There are tasks I have yet to perform for people in Solitude, but I am not sure if I should attend to them now or proceed on along the coast to Winterhold. I face the dismal prospect of venturing through the province's coldest region, but as the name suggests there is no other way to reach the College of Winterhold other than by traveling through what many would consider to be a rather poor winter.

Oblivion Day 19 - An Orc's Vengence

15 Heartfire, 3E433

Bravil

~~~

Another day, another two or three Oblivion gates. I cannot keep up this pace for much longer and maintain any sort of belief that I will be able to accomplish anything else with my time.

The gate I had marked on my map lay in-between Leyawiin and Fort Blueblood, making it an hour's journey at worst. The increasing stink of molten rock led me in the right direction and the sun was just rising as I finished dispatching the last of the Scamps outside the gate.

Like yesterday's this gate led to a very small pocket of Oblivion with only one tower to ascend, but this one contained far more Dremora than the last and hardly any Scamps. It was a refreshing change of difficulty, for the Dremora themselves were still quite weak and their tactics uninspired. I did find a Dremora bow on one of them, but it was much heavier than my own, so I took it with me to sell later. It is a fearsome looking weapon, but my testing revealed it to be not much more powerful than my simple wooden bow. I suppose that is a good analogy for the Dremora themselves, none of which posed any sort of challenge for me.

The Daedra's hearts fetched a nice price back in Leyawiin, the bow not so much. The story of the Orsimer Knight who had been bothering the Count of Leyawiin about something stuck in my mind, so I put off my trip to Cheydinhal and visited the castle. 

The Count, Marius Caro, is a friendly, approachable sort of person. He greeted me and asked what business I had in his city. When I replied that I was visiting each of the cities in the province to secure my entry into the University, he exclaimed that my quest was an admirable one and asked if I could be persuaded to delay my journey to provide a small service to Leyawiin.

The small service, unsurprisingly was to speak with the Orsimer and determine what it was she was in the city for. Like most of her kind, she was surly and uncooperative and would not reveal her business to anyone, including the Count. I was not sure then what I could do to succeed in this task, but she solved that problem herself.

Upon approaching her she immediately demanded to know if I knew how to speak properly to a Knight. I felt the best answer was "No", receiving the reply that I needed to address her as 'Sir' every time I spoke with her. An Orsimer putting on airs is not the strangest thing I have had to deal with, but she was certainly an odd character. After ensuring my speech was up to her standards she demanded that I fetch an Argonian hunter named 'Weebam-Na'.

Weebam-Na was also less than cooperative and it took some persuading before he would agree to visit the castle to speak with Mazoga.

Mazoga wanted to go to a place known as 'Fisherman's Rock', but Weebam-Na refused to take her. He excused himself from the conversation and told me where this Rock was, wished me luck, and left, leaving me to escort the heavily-armed Orc. She meant to meet a man there named 'Mogens Wind-Shifter', after which we would, in her own words, see what happens. Clearly this was not to be a friendly chat.

It was a short, unfriendly talk. Mazoga accused Mogens and his little band of murdering a friend of hers, Mogens denied it, then as one the gang leaped at us. But an Orc in full steel armor with a heavy shield and long blade is a foe not to be leaped at without a great deal of thought. Mazoga cut down three of the bandits, including Mogens and I accounted for the two who, for some reason, rushed at me instead.

Having killed all the bandits, Mazoga was satisfied that her oath to avenge her friend was complete. Only then did she admit that she did not know much about being a Knight, but that she thought doing some "good deeds" would be a step in the right direction. She declared my helping her to be a good deed of its own and suggested that I become a Knight as well, which I suppose is as kind a word as I will ever get out of Mazoga.

The Count was pleased by my story and of what Mazoga had been seeking. He declared that Mazoga and I should join his chivalric 'Order of the White Stallion' and that eliminating a local bandit leader was the entrance fee to his self-started Order. However, Mazoga still had not returned from Fisherman's Rock and I was due to be elsewhere by nightfall, so if I do join this Order it will have to be during another day.

It was evening when I left the castle again, so traveling to Cheydinhal was out of the question. Instead I climbed back on my horse and rode to Bravil, intending to spend a day or so there training at the Guild before claiming my recommendation at Cheydinhal.

Naturally the sky began to glow almost as soon as I left the stables. A Gate has opened just off the road, but I had no time to close it today. Once again, that will have to wait until tomorrow.

I arrived at Bravil an hour or so before midnight and am staying at the Guild. After some training and perhaps the purchase of a few spells I will begin to make my way to Cheydinhal, then Bruma, and then I will finally be allowed entrance into the University so that I can find out what these Oblivion stones do. They are clearly enchanted with something, but I am reluctant to pry owing to my lack of knowledge and the deterioration of my magicka-related skills. 

Morrowind Day 18 & 19 - A very long day

2nd Hearthfire, 3rd Hearthfire

~~~

The past two days have been busier than usual and given that I worked through the night, today's journal entry will span both today and yesterday. Note to self: don't make this a habit!

I woke at the Vivec Mages Guild late, at 8am and grabbed a mobile breakfast before walking out into a dreary overcast morning. I wonder what it would take for the sun to shine on Morrowind once in a while.

A typical morning in Vivec

Aurane was glad to receive her Roland's Tears and exchanged a rare fate potion for them. I never put much stock into the fate potions myself, but drinking one was said to somehow link you to the Gods, increasing your chances of succeeding at anything...until it wore off. I can't see how a potion that relies on beings so capricious can always be said to have positive results, but I'll hang on to it until I can barter it for something more predictable.

With nothing else to do in Vivec, I decided to take care of some unfinished business back in Balmora. Ajira greeted me cheerfully when I popped into existence in her "lab" and I bartered the remaining gems I had taken from Arkngthand to her in exchange for various restorative vials.

I also reported my progress on the task my friend had given me and he seemed pleased, but said he would need more time to digest the material I had given him. He gave me some scrolls of Divine Intervention which would teleport me to the nearest Imperial Shrine and promoted me in his organization. What benefits, if any, come with my promotion remain to be seen. So I have some free time from my semi-official obligations for the time being and plan on making the most of it. 

By "most of it" I mean, "wander around Balmora wondering what to do". Working for Ranis at the Mages Guild was an option, but both Ajira & Sharn had recommended speaking with Edwinna at the Ald'ruhn Guild instead. I was about to teleport over to Ald'ruhn before Ygfa suddenly came to mind for some reason. The Nord had mentioned I would be a decent recruit for the more militant side of the Imperial Cult and I thought it would be a nice change from the Mages Guild, so I teleported back to Vivec, much to Ajira's amusement.

The walk to Ebonheart was much like the walk anywhere has been lately: cold, damp, and boring. I need to find more reasons to spread my travels around, so far I've been stuck on the Bitter Coast. I had been hoping that joining the Imperial Cult would widen the scope of my journey, but it did not, as further events would prove.

A few inquiries pointed me towards Ruccia Conician, head of the Morrowind chapter for the Imperial Cult.  She was quite relaxed about my joining, accepting my fifty Septim 'donation' and welcoming me to the organization. She recommended I speak with Lalatia Varian within the Ebonheart Chapel about duties. We spoke about my history and what I was looking She in turn directed me to Kaye, a Redguard in charge of the shrine sergeants of the Imperial Cult.

My first task was to track down an Altmer, Caryarel, who had been a patient at the local infirmary up until a few days ago, when both he and a valuable limeware bowl disappeared from the Chapel. Kaye had no information as to his whereabouts and suggested I speak to the local Altmer living in Ebonheart. This simple task would in some ways wind up being my most trying so far.

An Altmer by the name of Fainertil was able to point me to the fishing village of Gnaar Mok when I asked him if he had heard of Caryarel. The combination of his Altmer skin and the brutish iron armor favored by the Nords made it easy to mistake him for an Orc until he spoke. While certainly not unheard of, it an Altmer wearing heavy armor, especially Nordic iron, was a rare sight and I wonder what his business in Ebonheart was.

An easy mistake to make

I took the boat from Vivec to the fishing village of Hla Oad, but the trip took seven hours, owing to having to sail against Vvardenfell's counter-clockwise coastal currents. It's due to those currents that this journal entry spans two days, since I spent most of those seven hours dozing. The young shipmaster was surprised that I was willing to sleep on the small craft, but shrugged and mumbled her consent. The Dunmer as a whole are not to be sought for their skills in idle conversation.

She gently shook me awake when we finally reached the village and I was startled to see that the overcast afternoon had slipped into an overcast evening. My aquatic guide told me she figured it was about ten in the evening, which proved correct. I had no desire to spend the evening in the village and I wasn't tired anyway, so I hired a second shipmaster to take me to Gnaar Mok immediately.

The second leg of my trip was mercifully shorter and I finally arrived at the village at two in the morning. I hadn't napped on the trip over, but I wasn't tired yet either, so I walked around the town for a few minutes, getting my bearings and trying to locate my prey. Caryarel turned out to be easy to find, being the only Altmer in town. A limeware bowl is a large thing and certainly nothing he would be carrying on him, but I didn't know which house was his. A stranger poking around everyone's  houses would certainly raise some ire, so I had to settle on more subtle methods. A Khajiit who called himself Wadarkhu pointed me to Caryarel's home after my "gift" of one hundred Septims, saying something about not liking independent competitors anyway.

By four in the morning I was ready to put my plan in effect. Wasn't a big plan: wait until Caryarel wasn't facing his house, then try my unlocking spell to gain entry and hopefully recover the bowl before he noticed what had happened. Sometimes the simple plans are best, because it worked beautifully. 

Luck must have been with me, for he never saw me press my palm to the lock and slip into his house. The bowl was secreted in a worn barrel in the corner of his modest dwelling and I delicately lifted it out. With luck he won't notice it's gone for quite some time and he'll probably blame one of his fellow residents. Now that I had the bowl, leaving was going to be a bit trickier. I had no desire to kill the man, so I had to leave the hut before he decided to come back. In the end I simply trusted fate and sneaked back out as quickly as possible. Fate again was on my side (without drinking the potion!): he was preoccupied on the far side of the village and never saw me lock the door as I left.

I was not looking forward to the boat trip home, but then I remembered the scrolls I was given when my "friend" promoted me. I ducked behind Caryarel's shack, unfurled one of the scrolls and after a moment of disorientation found myself in the Buckmoth Legion Fort at Ald'ruhn, far to the east of Gnaar Mok. A short walk to the Ald'ruhn Mages Guild and I was making the journey from Vivec back to Ebonheart yet again.

Kaye was pleased that I had not killed the Altmer thief and gave me two hundred Septims, plus another three scrolls of Divine Intervention. He also promoted me one rank and I am now a Novice in the Imperial Cult. He was also quick to assign me another task, this time in the much more civilized town of Caldera. A Bosmer had been complaining to the Cult that his house, which he recently moved into, was haunted by a malevolent spirit that kept chasing him out.

By now it was eight in the morning and I hadn't slept since three in the afternoon the previous day, but I was still feeling pretty good. I am growing tired of walking between Ebonheart and Vivec though. If I had more confidence in my water walking spell I could probably jog across the bay to the city. As usual, the weather was grey and wet.

Does the sun ever shine on Vvardenfell?

I exchanged pleasantries with the members of the Caldera Mages Guild on my way out and managed to run into the Bosmer, Nedhelas, all by myself. He was embarrassingly grateful for my assistance despite having received none yet and gave me the key to his basement, where he said the spirit seems to live.

The house was quite nice by the standards of most I've seen so far on Vvardenfell and the Bosmer had apparently tried to solve his problem by piling crates over the basement's trapdoor. After several minutes of exertion I was able to open the trapdoor and descend down into the basement.

There was something odd about how the "basement" looked and the long descending stairway right after the ladder made it seem even odder. The mystery wasn't a long-lived one, I was greeted by an armed skeleton as soon as I opened the door at the end of the stairs. It was quickly dispatched and I took a moment to examine the crates stacked in the corners of the room, but they contained mundane sundries and utensils. The door opposite the one I entered from opened to a small ancestral shrine, from which streamed an angry (I assume) ghost. It was no different than the few spirits I had fought already and it passed on without much fuss.

Nedhelas was still full of gratitude for myself, the Imperial Cult, and the Empire. I managed to get away from him before he started naming thanks to any Gods he could think of. It was starting to get late by now and I was actually growing tired, so I teleported back to Vivec and walked, again, back to Ebonheart, a trip quickly wearing out its welcome.

Closest thing to a sunny day so far

I stumbled into the Ebonheart Chapel at about dinner time and Kaye immediately set upon me another task before I even said anything to him. I've been asked to track down a Dunmer cultist who fled an Imperial Cult raid on a Daedric shrine she had been inhabiting. For whatever reason, she is thought to be hiding in an egg mine near Khuul . Kaye handed me a sack of Septims for my expenses and bade me be on my way. He said not a word about Nedhelas and I was too tired to even bring it up.

Ten Septims later at the Six Fishes got me the bed I'm barely staying conscious in and it's only six in the evening. Hopefully I'll wake up at my normal time tomorrow morning so that I can get an early start towards Khuul. It will be the farthest north I've traveled so far, which is pretty exciting. I'm getting tired of Vivec and the rest of the Bitter Coast.