Skyrim Day 101 - Forbidden Knowledge

2 Evening's Star, 4E201

College of Winterhold

~~~

I found myself unable to rest after the battle I partially led in Windhelm. The conclusion of the civil war elicited excitement and relief among the Imperial soldiers; the emotion was nearly palpable. From what few citizens I saw scurrying about I suspect they'll be wary of the Imperials for quite some time, but I do not believe they will be treated harshly.

The little Dwemer device the crazy hermit near Winterhold, Septimus Signus, gave me some time back has been making a humming noise as of a few days ago. I looked at it as I left Windhelm, ready to throw it into the river if it appeared ready to explode. Through some method unknown to me the device, which consists of four metal tubes attached to each other, is now full of blood. I can only assume that each vial holds the blood of an Altmer, Bosmer, Falmer, and Orsimer slain during my regular encounters with thieves and bandits. As I wanted to visit the College anyway I thought this a good opportunity to lighten my considerable load.

The city did not appear to be overly damaged, but then again the battle did not last very long. The stable just outside the gate was damaged and a few of the farmhouses destroyed, but I am sure the townspeople will rebuild. Their survival in Skyrim depends on it.

The walk from Windhelm to Winterhold was no better than it usually is, the only excitement came in the form of two Trolls who thought me an easy meal.

The College always looks to be one strong breeze away from collapsing into the sea, but by the wonders of magic or simple Nordic engineering it persists in its existence. My destination lay beyond the College inside a small cave accessible only by hopping between ice floes while trying not to irritate the resident Horkers.

Septimus was still pacing about his cave, muttering too low for me to hear anything. He was still sane enough to recognize me as I carefully stepped down the icy walkway and began to crow about how he could "hear their life energy". I approached the raving man with one hand on my dagger and the other outstretched with his device, but he had eyes only for the strange machine. Holding it in two hands he briefly danced around jabbering about the mixture he needed to make.

I thought the device was going to...do something in a Dwemer-like fashion, maybe link to the giant cube and unlock it somehow, not hold four vials of blood he needed to mix into a potion. I am fairly certain I managed to keep my disgust off my face, but I doubt he would have cared or even noticed if I had failed.

Septimus worked quickly, separating the four bloods each into a small bowl, then adding a sprinkle of powder I could not identify to each one. Once each mixture seemed to thicken he mixed them all into a larger bowl, added a quantity of bonemeal, then lapped up the foul sludge like an animal. Not only did this somehow unlock the Dwemer cube, it also made me wonder why I helped him to begin with.

Heedless of the possibility that Dwemer guardians were waiting to dismember him he rushed inside immediately, but the only thing there was a book on a small pedestal.

Septimus had time only to express his confusion and displeasure before he suddenly burst into white flames and burned away to ash in a matter of moments. I suspect, and hope, that he felt no pain. I was rather wary about approaching it myself, but something about it felt familiar, so I took the book and fortunately did not suffer flames shooting out of my body.

I did, however, experience the extreme unpleasantness of coming face to...something, with Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Prince of Knowledge. In that instant, far too late, I realized why the book looked familiar: it was the Oghma Infinium, the book of knowledge Rajhin stole.

The ever-changing mass of eyeballs and tentacles was difficult to look at, but Hermaeus Mora is not known to be overtly hostile, so I was not greatly concerned. He welcomed me as his champion, but I was not going to accept a debt of service to a Daedra. He was unconcerned about my refusal to accept his title, stating that everyone winds up serving him eventually. With that, he disappeared and I was free to leave.

The walk back was not any more pleasant and I arrived just as the sun was starting to rise and the College starting to wake. I managed to avoid speaking to anyone while on my way to the Archmage's chamber.

I will not be opening the Oghma Infinium. Instead, I will leave it with Urag gro-Shub tomorrow morning as I leave for Riverwood. A Daedric weapon is one thing, Daedric knowledge is an entirely different thing altogether and not to be trifled with.

Skyrim Day 084 - The Dawnguard Rise

13 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Falkreath

~~~

I barely slept last night despite the considerable comfort of the Grandmaster's quarters, too excited to finally march with the Dawnguard against the deadly, but misguided, vampires of Castle Volkihar. My excitement, however, is less to do with the Dawnguard's cause and more for being done with them entirely. Serana, too, was eager to leave early, no doubt for the same reason.

The only saving grace of the taking the eastern path from Winterhold to Windhelm is that no one else is masochistic enough to want to. The trip has the resilient traveler buffeted between winds screaming at her from the mountains at her right and a constant barrage of icy slush from the sea on her left. This continues even as the road does not halfway to the city, leaving you searching for a few Septims to pay for a local fisherman to ferry you from your side of the city's river over to the civilized side containing a road. It is an uneventful, miserable path.

A few Septims poorer, Serana and I set foot on the opposite shore and continued along the mountainside. Taking the road to Riften is easier, but slower and I feel both of us are in agreement that the quicker this is over with, the better.

We came upon an Orsimer fortress and I made to pass it by, but Serana wanted to stop to barter for some furs, her family's raiment being ill-suited for the cold. Inside we found few furs for the fortress protected a mine dug into the side of the mountain, providing the Orsimer with all the wealth they needed.

But the Chief gave me a tale of woe no wealth could alieve him of: every wife he has taken dies soon after, none of them providing him a son. He asked that I inquire about an 'Uglarz', a childhood friend of his whom he, for some reason, thought would make a good wife. Why he thinks Uglarz is still in Skyrim and also why she would consent to marry him (if she is not married already!) is certainly unwarranted optimism. At least the conversation gave Serana enough time to buy her pelts.

A Dragon roared over top our heads as we were leaving and we rushed back into the fort to prepare to battle alongside the Orsimer. But after roaring a bit more the Dragon flew back over the mountain to wherever it was calling home. They have been less aggressive as of late, though no less advertising.

We arrived at the entrance to Dayspring Canyon by mid-afternoon and did not experience the ambush we were anticipating.

Isran was more awed by seeing Auriel's Bow than I thought the dour man was capable of. He questioned whether Serana could be trusted in the battle ahead and I assured him she was just as eager to see Harkon de-throned as any one of us...possibly even more. He nodded once and turned to the assembling soldiers of the Dawnguard to address them.

The speech was the typical "This is our hour!" sort of thing, but the soldiers seemed to have appreciated it. I thought Serana and I would be traveling with them, but as the Dawnguard began to file out Isran turned and told us to meet them all at Castle Volkihar. Apparently we were to travel on our own.

So on our own we were, once again. We trailed behind the Dawnguard until Riften, where they turned north and we proceeded west, the more direct route. Isran is probably counting on stopping at Windhelm, Whiterun, or Solitude for supplies along the way.

While navigating the now-dark and icy pass between Ivarstead and Helgen we were accosted by a traveler in the escort of several mercenaries. The traveler introduced himself as 'Taron Dreth', an eminent scholar on the subject of Aetherium, or so he claimed. Recognizing my circlet as being of that metal drove him into an unexpected rage, attacking us along with his rather docile guards.

I will never understand why people are so eager to chance their lives over such petty things.

The ambush we had been expecting at the entrance to the valley came nearly seven hours late and half a province to the west: a Vampiress and a gargoyle jumped out of the woodland as we approached the gate of Falkreath. The gargoyle was a surprise, though not an overly dangerous one.

We shall be at Castle Volkihar tomorrow and, for good or ill, this business of the Dawnguard will be concluded.

Skyrim Day 083 - A Long, Boring Walk

12 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Winterhold

~~~

Spending a night at my Solitude estate is a rare blessing, even if it is much too large for one person, or even two, as the case was yesterday.

I woke with Serana patiently waiting in my bedroom, which was a bit disconcerting. She must have guessed as much for she assured me that she spent most of the night in the basement, working on enchantments and alchemy.

Ahead of us was the task to travel to Fort Dawnguard, rally the Dawnguard, and assault her family's castle. The worst part of that, I am sure, is all the walking. I have almost certainly seen more of Skyrim than many of her residents, even if most of it is either forest or barren snow.

As if on cue we were attacked, in full daylight, by a trio of vampires just out of sight of Solitude's ramparts. They nullified what little advantage greater numbers gave them by beginning their attack while nearly fifty yards away. Between Serana's spells and my crossbow two were eliminated before they entered melee range and the other crumpled quickly.

Serana and I continued east without interruption, passing Dawnstar before noon. Just after the town we encountered a rider on the road who, much to our surprise, shouted that she was on urgent business with the Dawnguard and needed us to step aside. She sounded too young to be on any sort of business, but we were both surprised to see any evidence that things were happening without us.

And that was pretty much the day. We both agreed that stopping in Winterhold was preferable to trudging into Fort Dawnguard after midnight, so Serana is back again at the alchemy table and I am again preparing to rest in comfort, this time in the quarters of the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold.

Tomorrow we shall be speaking with Isran and readying the Dawnguard for the assault...meaning another trip across the province for the two of us. For all the preparation Isran has been busying himself with why could he not have purchased some carriages?

Skyrim Day 076 - Winter Hideaway

1 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Winterhold

~~~

Fort Dawnguard does not advertise itself as comfortable for the waylaid traveler from the outside and does nothing to change this once you enter. Dexion finished the reading of Serana's scroll at around two in the morning, but within the entire fortress there was no free quarters for Serana and I, so it was right back out the gate for us in pursuit of the remaining two scrolls, dubbed 'Dragon' and 'Blood'. Not the first night I have gone without sleep, but I would rather not make a habit of this.

Fortunately for me the only lead we had for the 'Dragon' scroll was that Urag, the College's irascible Orsimer librarian, might know where to start looking. The alternative was to start the search for the 'Blood' scroll, requiring a trip across the entire province to a castle garrisoned by vampires. Finding the 'Dragon' scroll first was fine by me.

Almost immediately upon exiting the little canyon which housed the Dawnguard Serana and I were set upon by a group of vampires, one powerful enough to match Serana's magicka, but once I finished dispatching the weaker assailants the leader fell to a combination of vampire magicka and Khajiit swordsmanship. Disappointingly, none had anything of value.

The night gave way to an overcast, hazy morning as we left the sparse pine forest and entered the sulfuric hot springs separating Riften from Windhelm. An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood sprang out from beside the road, wisely cloaked with an Invisbility potion or spell, but the unwisely attacked us from the front, denying himself the benefit of surprise.

Other than a duo of master-less Mammoths crossing the road some way ahead of the assassin's corpse we encountered nothing else on the way to Windhelm.

I met a small group of Khajiit camping by Windhelm's gatehouse, but they were there not to trade, but to pull fish from the nearly-frozen river to sell, dried and prepared, to the caravans.

They were willing to ferry Serana and I across the frozen river for a few Septims, sparing us a much longer walk around the hills west of Windhelm. Just out of sight of the river we came under attack by two woman-spirits, each summoning hostile energies similar to those I fought at Winterhold. They were likely the 'wispmothers' the Nords speak of, the first of which I fought weeks ago.

They had been guarding a shrine to Arkay, but I could find no reason why.

Within sight of the College we came upon two bandits arguing near the body of a dead woman. Guessing what had transpired, I motioned Serana to take the one on the left while I readied my crossbow. It was darkly amusing to watch my victim simply drop dead with a bolt through his throat, whereas Serana's was flung sideways by her magicka, across the icy ground and over the cliff behind him.

The woman died wearing a powerfully enchanted pendant around her neck, probably the reason the bandits had been arguing. A letter on her body mournfully informed me that if I was reading it the author was likely dead. The unnamed woman explained that the bandits had broken into her home and taken everything she owned, including the pendant, a family heirloom. She was the last of her family and the comfort  the pendant brought her was dear to her. Regardless of the risk, she was going to get it back, even if it meant her death...which it did, but I am certain she approved of the bandits' fate.

This may be the first day I have visited the College without being suffocated by a snowstorm. The sky was cloudy, but the air was clear of snow and ice.

Urag was as happy to see me as he was anyone, which is to say not at all. He laughed when I asked about finding an Elder Scroll, wondering if I even knew what I was asking for...which I felt was pretty rude to say to the current Arch-Mage, if I may say so.

For his derision the Orsimer was not particularly knowledgeable about them either, content to use frustrating metaphors and state utter nonsense, such as the falsehoods in the Scrolls being truer than the truths...which would cease to make them falsehoods. The only actual help he was able to provide was in the form of a small volume written by a former student of the College, an Imperial named Septimus Signus.

It was titled 'Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls' and consisted entirely of nonsense. When I asked Urag what help it was supposed to be he laughed and said it was to prepare me for when I met the man. Surprised, I asked when the book was penned and found that it was only months old, the man wrote it, left it in at the College, then rambled about a great Dwemer treasure at the tip of the province...just north of Winterhold. Urag made it his business to know where exactly Septimus had disappeared to, but judged the man mad enough to not bother about his "discovery".

The walk along the peninsula north of Winterhold was as miserable as I feared: it was windy, snowy, and very, very cold. We were forced to precariously hop across ice floes just to reach the cavern Urag had found, one wrong step would plunge us into a sea equal parts ice and water. The mad man's boat, now frozen fast to Skyrim, came as a great relief.

Septimus was utterly mad, but he had found something interesting: a giant Dwemer puzzle cube wider than he was tall and taller as well.

He was a very difficult man to talk to, but I managed to get out of him the assurance that there was an Elder Scroll still in Skyrim, despite either the Empire or the Thalmor sweeping the province for them, which he meant was unclear. Predictably Septimus would not tell me where the Scroll was until I performed a task for him.

The Dwemer cube was driving him madder than he already was. He simply had to get inside no matter what was required...so long as he did not have to leave the cave. His belief was that the Scroll would tell him how to open the giant cube.

He claimed that an ancient Dwemer city, Blackreach, more ancient than all the others, lay underneath Skyrim. To reach Blackreach I would have to "delve to the limits, then beyond", a clear description of a city underneath a city, I think. He suggested either 'Tower Mzark' or 'Alftand'.

The Tower is unknown to me but I visited Alftand while searching for Arniel's Dwemer cogwheels a month ago or so. Apparently I missed a lower level, Blackreach, during my first visit and will now have to suffer a second. At least it is not far.

We had only to walk back across the treacherous ice floes, avoid the Horkers, then climb up the frozen beach underneath the College while under constant assault by shards of ice blown about by the coastal winds. Because this was not difficult enough we came under assault by three Trolls and a Dragon once we advanced past the beach.

The Dragon landed right next to Serana, bringing her to her knees. I pulled my crossbow free of my belt, but knew I would not be able to to fire quick enough to save her life. Fortunately, the Trolls arrived ahead of my bolt.

They fearlessly loped over to the Dragon and started beating its armored hide with their fists, doing little more than annoying the beast and distracting it enough to give Serana time to retreat and regroup.

Against a Dragon the Trolls, even three of them, had little chance. Once the last was dead Serana and I launched our attack, her with magicka, as usual, me with crossbow and blade. The first Dragon was a terrifying ordeal, this one...not anymore. Serana too seemed to have quickly gotten used to the routine, only craning her head slightly as the Dragon's soul rushed into my body...a process which I still do not understand. Am I supposed to do something afterwards?

By the team we returned to Winterhold most of it was already sleeping. Rather than waste more time trudging up to the College we wordlessly agreed to head directly for the Inn in the hope for an early start at Alftand tomorrow morning.

Skyrim Day 069 - Word Travels Fast

24 Frostfall, 4E201

Winterhold College

~~~

For all it took to find her book, Jami was not particularly pleased to receive it. Granted, that may be due to my showing up at her home at breakfast, but I have other responsibilities than finding lost tomes. She did extend her gratitude far enough to give me a small booklet of alchemy recipes, some of which I had forgotten over the years.

A distant roar echoed down the mountains and into Morthal as I left Jami's house. The locals, guards included, fled for the nearest doorway, but the Dragon was far away and appeared to be more concerned with making circuits around the mountaintop than descending upon the town.

People had begun peeking outside as I passed the last building on my way out. The famed 'Dragon War' of the Mythic Era is not restarting, it seems. The tablets I read on the way up to the Greybeards spoke of battles in which thousands died fighting against the Dragons. Now one Dragon is sighted miles away and everyone runs away.

I still question the wisdom of the Stormcloaks in allying themselves with the Dragons, as the creatures do not appear to be interested in aiding them in any way that I have seen. For their own part the Stormcloaks are just as willing as the Legion to sit and wait for the other side to do something and the Dragons have not changed this relationship.

But no one else looked eager to climb the mountain only to die in a fiery blaze, so that was left to me alone. The creature's roars continued to echo down the mountain as I trudged through the ice and snow to the base of the hill, only to find that the mountainside rose almost directly vertical, making it impossible to ascend without finding a prepared path of some sort. So with a Dragon spiraling overhead, I worked my way around the base of the mountain in search of a path of some kind.

I did not have to search long. For as long as they have been under Imperial rule, the Nords still have not shaken their habit of worshiping outside. Whether out of preference or a desire for privacy most of their shrines are built near or on the mountains and naturally they would want an easy way to reach their Divines.

This particular shrine was to Dibella and maintained by someone, as there were fresh flowers adorning the altar. I deigned to receive her blessing for I am quite certain it would be quite useless for me. The Dragon, not a lover, awaited me further up the mountain. Fortunately, the path to the altar continued to a destination I should have thought of earlier.

Whatever motivates a Dragon this one was motivated to simply fly around in circles above my head, roaring frequently and taking no notice of anything or anyone scampering underneath it. I scared a small family of goats as I scurried from rock to rock to remain unnoticed and I feared the animals would alert the Dragon to my presence, but it truly had no interest in what was happening around it.

I finally reached the top of the hillside to find myself looking down at another wall of ancient words, one I visited some time ago, though I cannot remember exactly when. The Dragon completed another circuit around the area, then settled down atop the monument, seemingly content to perch and survery the area around it.

Out of curiosity I had taken a bow from one of the Forsworn a few days ago, wondering at how effective such a poor-looking weapon could be. I found that the appearance was quite deceiving: the wood and sinew used was nearly unbreakable and took a terrific amount of effort to pull back. It was like trying to pull back a crossbow without a winch or belthook.

I had managed one wildly inaccurate shot when I found it and figured an arrow whizzing by its head would serve as a good challenge for the Dragon. After a few moments of straining and grunting (a wonder my exertions were not heard!) I had an arrow pointing somewhat in the direction of the Dragon, the arrowhead wavering and dancing with the strain of keeping the bow pulled.

I let it go, sending the arrow shooting forwards, the bowstring nearly shaving the fur off of my left arm. The Dragon started and looked right at me, noticing me at last. I did not see where the arrow ended up, possibly somewhere in High Rock. I then lost my grip on the weapon, sending it clattering down the hillside. If the arrow had not alerted the Dragon my bow's descent certainly would have.

Now it was one Khajiit with a wooden shield, Ebony long blade, Ebony dagger, and a useless repertoire of Illusion magicka against an angry, territorial Dragon.

My experience with Dragons so far is that they are arrogant and are easily riled to a challenge. It was a bad sign that my only hope of survival was to unsheathe my sword and entice the Dragon into melee combat.

It worked, but not exactly to my relief.

The Dragon's tail was different than the others I have seen. This one had fins on the end of its tail, forming a sort of fan. The wings were the same though, as was the head.

It crashed onto the ground in front of me, glowering and shaking its head back and forth. Perhaps it was challenging me? I do not know. Sometimes I think I can hear them speak, other times they appear no wiser than a common animal. This one was not wise and died unceremoniously to a blade through the eye. Being the Dragonborn is a brutal business.

I continued to Winterhold with only a single troll as further disruption. A Dunmer calling himself 'Malur' approached me in front of the Inn hoping to hire someone to steal a staff from the College. The irony of asking the acting Archmage to do this thing went nicely with the implied insult that Khajiit love to thieve and steal. I stopped inside Birna's shop, but she had little of interest to me.

I told Tolfdir of the magicka globe I had fought off a few days ago and he was pleased to hear that the "Jarl's disturbance" had been taken care of. I was not aware a complaint had even been lodged against the thing, I do not think a courier would have cost the College too much coin. Despite the poor communication the problem was solved in the end and Tolfdir parceled out the Jarl's payment, some for the College, some for myself. It was an odd exchange.

The Dragons continue to be a puzzlement for me. I am told I am Dragonborn, just as I was Nerevarine, both constructed falsehoods, of course, but being the Nerevarine meant working towards something. The Dragons act more aloof than violent and do not seem to be aiding the Stormcloaks as I thought they would be. Are they conserving their strength or am I misunderstanding the situation? The Civil War is ongoing, but going nowhere.

At least this night will be spent comfortably as I ponder all of this.

Skyrim Day 040 - Pleasantly Uncomplicated

24 Heartfire, 4E201

The Bannered Mare

~~~

Having been made aware of my forgetfulness surrounding the 'Bleak Falls' business I wasted no time with breakfast this morning, instead grabbing a roll on my way out of the College on yet another urgent task. The court mage of Whiterun, Farengar Secret-Fire, had been waiting for the barrow's stone tablet for well over a month now. I would not think this any more urgent than any one of the other requests I have received except for the suspicion that the tablet may shed some light on a few mysteries I have unearthed.

To my surprise I have absolutely nothing to write about my walk from the College all the way to Whiterun. No assassins, no wolves, nothing. It is a pleasant change from the usual schedule of my life and made for a quick trip, arriving at Whiterun just as the afternoon began. 

The Jarl's palace in Whiterun, the ominously named 'Dragonsreach', is situated at the very top of the hillside Whiterun is built upon, making it a very defensible stronghold. It also makes it quite an ordeal to arrive at. The town is built to the contours of the land it sits on and the path from the town's gate to Dragonsreach required far more steps than I liked.

Jarl Balgruuf was not in attendance this afternoon, but his steward, Proventus Avenicci, was busy worrying about something and distractedly pointed me to the side room that served as Farengar's workshop. The court mage was there, as well as a cloaked and hooded woman who was demanding to know of what progress he had made in deciphering the unfortunate event at Helgen.

What the woman said was interesting: that dragons have come back. Not that a dragon has come back, but dragons. Multiple dragons. I have not seen the one since the attack on the Imperials at Helgen, but perhaps each province of the (former) Empire is suffering from similar attacks. Yet after the destruction of Helgen Skyrim's dragon has not made an appearence. I have certainly witnessed what may be the after-effects of a dragon's attack, but the smoldering carts and dead travelers may just as well have been Fire Atronachs or rogue mages under the employ of bandits.

The woman's knowledge about dragons was evidently not for Khajiit wandering in, for she brought my presence to the Farengar's attention and excused herself from the room. The court mage greeted me by making the observation that I had not died in the barrow and asked after that stone tablet that was said to be there.

He appeared to disapprove of me dumping my travel pack all over his table, but that was the only was I was going to remove the tablet. Handing it to him was like handing a child the most delicious piece of candy in the city, but he quickly composed himself and directed me to the Jarl so that I might receive my reward. As the Jarl was not in attendance, neither was my reward. He asked that I not travel far in case he had additional work for me, but I suspect he will be too busy with the tablet.

With nothing pressing to do I consulted my second, smaller journal which I got in the habit of keeping when I was toying with the idea of becoming a trader...a hundred years ago or so. I wandered around aimlessly, writing down the prices for things in hope that eventually I would come across a profitable connection no one else had noticed. It was not a productive time in my life.

Now though I keep a second journal of mostly work, small tasks. It was more useful when I was a bodyguard, but even now I have been collecting a list of odd jobs to help fill in my days, as if I needed help with that.

One of the tasks was to retrieve a sword for one 'Amren - Redguard - Whiterun'. My notes stated that Amren managed to find out where his sword had been stolen to: Redoran's Retreat, a historically named bandit's hideout that likely had nothing to do with the Great House at all. The Retreat was just a former mine and located close to Whiterun to the west along the road, just north of the ruined fortress.

Amren could have probably retrieved his sword on his own, if his wife would have allowed it. Redoran's Retreat boasted a whole three bandits, plus one dog. What I assumed to be Amren's heirloom was an ordinary-looking iron blade engraved with a name, but I could not read it through the rust.

It was evening when I left the cave and Amren's family was just settling down to dinner when I knocked on their door. He was surprised to see me, having thought that I either forgot his request or simply decided it was not worth my time. Amren's exclaimed how wonderful it was to have the sword back again and his wife, whose name I do not believe I have heard, dryly replied that it could hang next to all the other weapons he never uses anymore. He pressed some coins into my hand, his daughter thanked me, and I left them to their meal.

Next on my list was 'Runil - Altmer - Falkreath' for a misplaced journal in a cave system named 'Southfringe Sanctum' almost directly south of Helgen. As it was already night I took a room at the Bannered Mare and may visit the sanctum tomorrow. 

These minor tasks are a marked contrast to the reality-warping emergency I dealt with at the College, but at least I can use this time to relax a bit, study, and work on my equipment. You never know what tomorrow may bring and it always pays to be prepared.

Skyrim Day 039 - A Courier Day

23 Heartfire, 4E201

Winterhold College

~~~

I slept much better in the former bandit chief's blood-spattered room than I did in the half-ruined tower the night before, but still woke early and was on my way to the last of the 'Convector' devices as the sun began to rise. The weather was hazy and, being close to the springs, quite warm.

The last of Arniel's 'Convectors' was almost directly due west of the fortress I had emptied of the living the night before. Expecting another Dwemer ruin I was pleased to see that I had arrived at a small shrine built amidst a small collection of Dwemer debris. In one of the debris piles I unearthed the 'Convector' and baked the gem inside of it, as I had done twice yesterday.

Returning to Winterhold via the road would have taken me most of the afternoon. Instead I chose to climb over the hills north of Riften so that I could cut through the hot springs all the while heading in a direct line towards the College. Besides, I have never before been atop the hills near Riften and only really explored the hot springs once before on my quest for Eldergleam's restorative sap.

My seemingly impulsive decision quickly granted me the contemplative gift of a small pond overlooking the northern half of the province. Due to the morning's haze I could not see very far, but it was an oddly peaceful experience nonetheless.

The sulfur springs were an entirely different set of experiences. The heat and humidity hanging over them produced a suffocating sensation of trying to breathe water as I made my way through the area, a task difficult and tiring enough without being attacked twice.

Before I was twice-ambushed I found one of the ancient 'Standing Stones' the ancient Nords enchanted to better communicate with their ancestors...or something like that. This one was carved with the Atronach constellation and I left it alone, at least for now.

The first ambush occurred because I recognized a familiar shape some ways away from the Standing Stone.

The carved stone rising from the hill looked very similar to the wall I found guarded by mages while on my way to reverse another one of Enthir's regrettable business transactions two days ago. A crippling headache always accompanied my involvement with the things, but I felt drawn to it anyway.

Finding a way up the hill was an adventure by itself by eventually I managed to clamber over some boulders and up to the plateau. Bones, both of men and animals, littered the area and it was not much of a surprise when the only coffins present each disgorged a skeletal guardian. One was armed with a bow, the other two a simple iron axe and it took only a single swipe of my axe to disperse the magicka holding them together. It was then just me and carved dragon's head on the wall.

As I approached a portion of the runes began to glow. Rather than try to get away from them as I have previously been doing, I closed my eyes, relaxed, and walked closer. There was a slight sensation in my head that is difficult to describe and I suddenly knew how the word for 'Frost', which is spoken as 'Fo'. There was no pain either immediate or lingering, a curious difference likely related to my approach. While I still have no idea as to what purpose these walls serve or what dragons have to do with them, it is reassuring to know that an encounter with them is no guarantee of pain thereafter.

I was ambushed a second time as I was on my way out of the springs, but this one was far stupider and less rewarding. My walking took me to an altar upon which two Draugr had been laid and I paid it little mind, assuming it was from a mage's experiment gone either wrong or not at all. To my surprise two mages suddenly popped out of their Invisibility magicka in front of me, flinging ice and fire. 

I guess I looked like a wealthy mark of some sort, but they were not prepared to defend themselves against dagger and axe.

My walk from the altar all the way to Windhelm passed without incident, though the weather quickly changed from hot and humid to windy and cold in a startlingly short amount of time. When I arrived outside of the city the wind had blown up a snowstorm that restricted my vision to maybe a dozen paces in front of me.

Given that I was hesitant to proceed to Winterhold via the rougher path east of Windhelm and instead stuck to the road curving around the west of it. A longer walk, but one that would not have me accidentally stepping off the edge of a snow bank and plummeting to the ice thirty feet below.

When I arrived at Winterhold a guard stopped me to inquire about the roads and he mentioned that the Jarl was looking to make a trip to Windhelm. I had not even known there was a Jarl at the ruined town and the guard laughed, telling me that the Jarl felt pretty much the same way.

The Jarl was, understandably, a bitter man. His father was Jarl of a prosperous harbor town and he of a wrecked ship held afloat by the College which he hates. Jarl Korir blames the College for the destruction of Winterhold, but I have heard the mages within the College speculate that the explosion of Red Mountain in Morrowind was responsible. I care not either way. His steward openly asked if I knew anyone who wanted to join the Stormcloaks, so I quickly left before he realized I was not a Nord.

Arniel was surprised to see me back so quickly and escastic over receiving his "cooked" gem. He asked that I not travel far, for he would have additional work for me after experimenting with the gem for a few days. I shrugged and promised him nothing. We parted and as I was leaving the barracks area I heard Enthir and Arniel arguing about the latter's research.

From Phinis I purchased a tome for a soul-trapping spell so that I might start to experiment with Azura's Star and he told me that Urag was asking everyone to tell me to stop at the Arcanaeum as soon as I was in the College. I mounted the staircase with some trepedition, but the gruff Orsimer only wanted to present me with the translations from 'Shalidor's Insights' in the form of three scrolls that he said would prove very instructional in regards to the use of Conjuration magicka...which I do not use.

He also said that Tolfdir left a message of his own with him: the stone plaque from 'Bleak Falls' barrow would likely be of interest to the court mage of Whiterun: 'Farengar Secret-Fire'.

The reminder made me feel very stupid. I had met the court mage roughly a month ago when I first visited Whiterun and he had even asked me to retrieve a stone tablet from within 'Bleak Falls' barrow. Here I have been carrying it with me this whole time when I was already told where to bring it. At least I will be rid of it soon. Reading that day's entry now I seem to have thought then that the Stormcloaks were within the barrow trying to unlock the secret to summoning more Dragons.

I do not believe that is their strategy now. Too much has occurred in relation to Dragons for their awakening to simply be the side effect of the rebellion. The Dragon Priest whose mask I took, the walls which blast words into my head, and the complete lack of Dragons since the attack on Helgen makes me feel as though there is a puzzle here whose pieces are mostly still missing. I learn one thing and uncover three more mysteries at the same time. This will make sense eventually, but not today and probably not tomorrow either.

At least this is one of the few nights I am not either freezing to death or falling asleep well after midnight. It is just after dinner, I have eaten, and am very much looking forward to a long, pleasant sleep in a warm bed. Tomorrow I will visit Whiterun to drop off the stone, then perhaps north to Solitude or even east to Riften, if I feel like having all of my possessions stolen.

Skyrim Day 038 - No Rest For the Weary

23 Heartfire, 4E201

Wilderness

~~~

I napped rather than slept in the near-frozen bedroll, but it was enough to quiet the pain in my head. My goal, as usual, was Winterhold College so that I could deliver another one of Enthir's illict goods. Unable to get much rest I wound up moving out of the towers a little after midnight and was halfway to Winterhold when the sun started to rise.

With the freedom more time had given me I felt at liberty to wander a bit and discovered absolutely nothing of value or use. I stopped at a ruined fortress and slew several hostile necromancers before realizing I was surrounded by the dead bodies of the fort's former garrison: Stormcloaks. It would have been quite a fright to have had one of the necromancers re-animate an unseen body behind me, but I was the unseen body behind them this time, stabbing them in the back or drawing my blade across their throat.

I saw no reason to enter the fort and left the crumpled necromancers in the courtyard as a gift to the next person to step outside for a moment.

Enthir was pleased to have the staff back and exchanged it for a twisted soul gem. I could not see the use for the broken thing and neither could Enthir, but he shrugged and said that is what Arniel had specifically requested.

I found Arniel fretting and pacing in his room, muttering something about heat exchange calculations. Neither understanding this or caring, I interrupted him to present the soul gem I killed a keep's worth of mages for. He immediately pressed it back into my hand and began telling a tale of perseverance and broken dreams.

At least that's how he described it. The "tale" was really an explanation of where ten Dwemer cogs had disappeared to: into a machine he built and designed so that the soul gem would retain Dwemer energies for the final phase of his experiment. The machine exploded, melted, or simply failed to work when he turned it on and he had no patience to build another. Instead I was given a list of Dwemer ruin locations, vague directions on how to find each one, and told to bring the gem to part-magicka, part-mechanical Dwemer devices. With the gem inserted into these machines I was then to cast a specific spell (which he quickly taught me) to siphon the Dwemer machine's energy into the gem.

This ritual need not be completed just once, of course, but three times! The only bright light in this terrible turn of events was that the ruin Mzulft, where I had found the Synod mages from Cyrodiil and used the Dwemer Observatory, had two of these machines, requiring a trip only to one other ruin rather than two.

My head filled with satisfying images of Arniel's experiment concluding to an explosive, fatal end as I agreed to travel to another place I have already been to for the sake of someone else.

Fortunately the ruin was still completely deserted and I easily found the chest-like deviecs Arniel described. They looked like simple boxes with a small lid on the top. Per Arniel's instructions I opened the lid, placed the gem inside the compartment, closed the lid, then used his otherwise-useless flame magicka spell on the whole thing for several seconds. I retrieved the gem which was no different for the process and repeated it for the second device in Mzulft.

The third and final device, the 'Convector', as Arniel calls them, was listed as being near the mining village of 'Shor's Stone' on the road between Windhelm and Riften.

Night fell as I walked into an area of Skyrim I have not seen in probably forty years. When I was last in Skyrim doing odd jobs and being accused of thievery I avoided the southeast, choosing instead to work between Solitude, Whiterun, and Falkreath escorting wagons of lumber and the occasional merchant.

Mindful of the previous night's unsatisfactory sleeping arrangements I put off any thought of finding the third 'Convector' and instead concentrated on a place to sleep that would not have me waking up within a shell of ice and snow.

A lit cooking fire by a watchtower suggested a warm place to rest, but when I arrived I was greeted only by Stormcloak corpses.

A letter inside (with Stormcloak letterhead, no less!) warned of Legion troops heading their way, but either they dismissed the letter or received it too late to make preparations. The battle must have been over quickly, of the five dead soldiers only one had even withdrawn his weapon. Even the two sentries atop the tower died without their bows in hand, suggesting a puzzling lack of concern among the tiny garrison.

The tower also looked over Shor's Stone and I heard the sound of arguing before I sighted the little town. Several miners were seated around a fire, most of them arguing with an older Nord whom I assumed was the overseer or more likely, the oldest miner there.

The Nord introduced himself as 'Filnjar', the village's blacksmith as well as one of the miners. The argument was over a large family of spiders that had infested the mine. Most of the miners wanted to abandon the mine until the local guards took care of it, but Filnjar wanted to pool everyone's money to hire a mercenary or two instead.

I felt that spiders were something I could easily handle and offered my services. He was surprised to hear a Khajiit walking out of the dark offer to assist him with his problem, but agreed very quickly. Filnjar warned me that the mine had a constant red haze floating about, the origin of which no one was quite sure of. I thanked him and walked past a nervous guardsman at the entrance of the mine.

The mine was a lot smaller than I expected and the spiders far fewer. The red haze reminded me of something from long ago and though I wracked my brain trying to remember, I could not. I crept along, bow at the ready and the sensation of a memory just about to emerge playing at my mind. I shot nine spiders, making the mine safe again. I returned to Filnjar and was paid over a thousand Septims, an embarrassing amount for such a simple task.

But all the money in Skyrim could not rent a bedroll that did not exist and I had to leave Shor's Stone still searching for a place to sleep. When I spied the silhouette of a ruined castle hanging over the road I made the decision to sleep there, regardless of who currently occupied it.

It was a lucky night for me and I managed to kill all the rogue mages wandering blind in the castle's courtyard without being noticed, then descended inside and silently eliminated the rest one-by-one. The leader of the little band had an expertly-crafted, engraved steel breastplate that would probably fetch over a thousand Septims...if I felt like carrying it, which I do not.

Having pushed her body out of the room I have barred the former chief's bedroom door and am ready for a good night's sleep on a warm bed in a heated room. Tomorrow I will find the last 'Convector' and return to the College to see if anyone has any clue as to what the stone plaque is supposed to represent. The words I continue to have blasted into my mind also bear mentioning, though to who I am not sure.

Skyrim Day 037 - What's Old is New Again

21 Heartfire, 4E201

Wilderness

~~~

Can no one do anything for themselves in this province? Maybe I am being a bit harsh, but today I have risked my life for very little, visited a place I have already been to, and am now ending the day in a freezing, broken tower with almost nothing to show for my troubles and discomfort. Meanwhile, the reason I am out here is probably settling down to a nice supper at a comfortable table in a heated hall. I must remember to murder Enthir when I next get the chance.

Before leaving the College this morning I dumped the engraved plaque I had taken from Bleak Falls Barrow and asked Tolfdir to take a look at it, maybe show it around a bit, try to figure out just what the thing actually is. The dragon's head on the plaque closely matches the engravings I have been seeing just before ancient, useless words are burned into my head, but I cannot quite make the connection between the two.

I had not planned on staying at the College today and I happened to run into Arniel as he was heading to breakfast, so I asked him if there was anything else he needed for his experiment. I really should have expected that he did. Unfortunately for me, what he needed could only be acquired through Enthir, my rapidly least-favorite individual at the College.

Enthir could provide what Arniel needed...for a price, of course. I was ready to hand over any number of Septims just to avoid another droll task from the slippery Bosmer, but the cost of his assistance was the retrieval of yet another piece of merchandise he parted with too hastily. The job was no more attractive for the fact that the staff had made its way to Fellglow Keep, the place where the late Orthorn had stolen away to with the College's books and where I was sent two weeks ago to undo that little event. 

Apparently more necromancers had moved in and started delicately sourcing magical items for some sort of ritual. Enthir, never one to turn his nose up at profit, sold one of their number a staff that he was now having seller's remorse over. He asked that I travel to the ruined keep and bring back the staff. The survival of his former customers was not a concern. I also strangled him right then and there. I wish I had.

And so it was back into the hills of north Skyrim. I passed by a wrecked horse-and-cart and its former occupants, all of them frozen solid into the ground.

Continuing along the rough-hewn path I came upon a shrine of some sort built up against the mountainside. There were mages examining the shrine's wall, but when I drew closer one of them shouted and started flinging spells at me.

I was very quickly engaged by four mages and spent a lovely time running and jumping all over the place, firing my bow when I could between the giant icicles and fireballs they threw at me. Eventually the last of them fell into the snow clutching an arrow sticking from his chest and I returned to the shrine to see what it was that interested them.

Unaccustomed to finding the things outside, I realized too late that it was another teaching-wall and before I could get away I had a terrific headache and the knowledge of how to spell "ice" in a language no one else is using. Very useful.

Cursing my luck and curiosity I resolved to waste no further time in getting to Fellglow Keep and immediately broke my own promise. Trudging along the road I heard two people arguing and just had to know what it was they were angry about. Their names were Salma and Beem-Ja, a Redguard and Argonian. They were undecided as to whether they should enter the barrow they were camping in front of, but my arrival emboldened the adventurers and they dove inside, calling for me to follow.

The two of them dealt with the spiders and Draugr that infested the barrow and we soon came upon a rather imposing dome of granite. They paid my warnings no heed and rushed up the stairs and inside what I knew to be the tomb of whomever the barrow had been dug for.

The barrow's owner, a hulking seven-foot armored Draugr, was not pleased to have visitors.

In its bony hand the Draugr wielded an Ebony blade, guaranteed to lop off an arm or a leg with a single blow. Against this and his retinue of skeleton archers I had a brave but rather inexperienced Redguard warrior and an Argonian mage above us. Beem-Ja was actually very helpful, killing the skeleton archers with bolts of lightning before turning his magicka against the Draugr Salma and I were dancing around.

The Draugr fell and Salma re-joined Beem-Ja above the little pit we had been fighting in, but they started arguing almost immediately, so I walked back to them to see what the trouble was after their victory.

Their trouble turned out to be the small matter of Beem-Ja announcing he would kill us both and use our blood to enact a ritual designed to siphon the Draugr's power into his own body. I have no idea why these sort of plans are always boastfully declared beforehand. The Argonian had hardly stopped speaking before my battle-ax cleaved his skull in two, greatly startling Salma. Understandable she was very upset and tearfully made an announcement of her own: a retirement from adventuring and a return to her father's home in High Rock. I wished her well and began to walk past the Draugr's ancient throne, when my head exploded.

I had not even noticed the wall of runes this time. A blast of pain and another word: "Fade", spoken and written in the ancient style. Two words in the same day and I could barely see for the pain lancing through my skull. I stumbled out of the barrow and back outside, the sunlight elevating my headache to new, undiscovered heights.

Fortunately the pain diminished somewhat to a dull hammering by the time I found the road again and when a thief jumped out of the bushes demanding my money I irritably asked him to look at the ax on my belt and reconsider his demand. He fled, wisely.

Fellglow Keep had not changed in the two weeks since I had last seen it and I remembered the layout quite well, enabling me to slay the entire group of wayward mages with not a single alarm or shout. Enthir's staff was in a chest stuffed into an alcove at the back of the ruin. When I exited Fellglow it was already night and I decided to investigate the two towers that spanned the river nearby. If they were still abandoned from the last time I visited I would stay there for the night, saving myself an hour's walk in the dark with my head feeling like it was about to split open.

Luck finally showed its hand to me today for the towers were free of inhabitants. I chose the least-frozen bedroll in the least-ruined of the two towers and am not looking forward to a very cold night. Still, I know I will fall asleep eventually and feel all the better for it tomorrow morning, frozen or not.