Author's notes: Hi folks, it's me again with another piece of Skyrim fun-stories. This one is about one of the more recent player characters I created. An old Altmer war dog by the name of Nergulian Valderion. Well he did many-a-thing apart from completing the main quest. He came into possession of a certain rose-like staff among other artefacts. And when you're bored, what will you do? Talk to your pet dremora, that's what!
Conversations with a pet dremora
Nergulian Valderion found himself in a tight spot. He had been exploring the coastline of the Sea of Ghosts, found many shipwrecks but also two very angry snow bears. And they attacked simultaneously! A startled and very un-Altmerish "Eeep!" escaped his old lips. Despite his mighty sword-arm and magic skills he was only one elf well past his 300th birthday. He knew he had to come up with something. So he unstrapped that weird staff Lord Sanguine had given him. It looked handsome like a rose and equally useless against two snow bears. But oh boy, the story how he got that staff… Well it would have to wait for another time. Those brutish predators were still rushing towards him.
So Nergulian shook and waved the staff about and a black-and-purple vortex formed. Conjuration enchantment? Yep, definitely a conjuration enchantment. Said vortex spit out a freaking dremora caitiff. It had to be a dremora: a huge, bulky body wearing an equally bulky (and very scary!) armour, grey-ish skin and most noticeable cute, little goat horns! The dremora bellowed something about a "challenger" in that loud, raspy voice of his. Then, he drew his scary sword with pulsing red lights and dedicated himself to the snow bears. The next few moments were a frenzy of angry snarls and growls, a session of rude dremora name-calling and bear-fur and bloody meat flying this way and that. All that was left of the snow bears was two mangled carcasses. And a slightly out-of-breath dremora caitiff heaved and huffed and then vanished.
flashback to approximately a month before
Nergulian Valderion knew it had been a bad idea to engage in a drinking contest with that seedy human specimen who called himself Sam Guevene. But he hadn't heeded the warning inner voice. So here he was with a splitting headache and some loss of short-time memory. Anyhow, where the fuck was "here"?
A very peeved priestress of Dibella explained his whereabouts soon enough: the temple of Dibella in Markarth. Oh jeez, no! That fateful drinking contest had taken place in the Winking Skeever Inn in Solitude – in a totally different hold of Skyrim. Annoying enough as it was. But the priestress ranted on about him, a decent seasoned Altmer (!), dropping garbage all over the temple, molesting the statue of Dibella and hollering nonsense at the top of his lungs. Oops! It seemed like an apology was overdue. The priestress however would have none of it. She just shoved a bucket, broomstick and rags in his face. So for the next hour or so, Nergulian was busy cleaning up the unholy mess he had created. Puddle of vomit? Check. Picking up empty wine-bottles, a giant's toe and other strange items? Check. Scrubbing off his seed-fluids from the statue of Dibella? Check.
After that show of good-will, the priestress was a tad bit more forgiving and helpful. She told him some details, him ranting about Rorikstead, goats and giants. And that was the beginning of retracing his shenangians, which became more ridiculous with each new turn and twist.
Apparently, he'd stolen a prized goat and traded it for a giant's toe. And the new owner of the goat was well…a giant. The farmer had yelled at him and told him to "go the hell out there and undo his crime". Nergulian's head was still ringing from farmer-screeching and giant club bashing… Buuut goat Gleda was once more where she really belonged.
Oh and he had become betrothed to a hagraven. Yes a hagraven! Moira, a disgusting old crone with feathers all over her body and four sets of claws. Seriously, how drunk had he been? He killed Moira, who on top of her other vices was also jealous and paranoid, rambling about her rival Esmeralda. He returned the engagement ring to Ysolda, a trader located in Whiterun.
…and had to virtually upturn Fort Morvunskar to retake a quite unique staff Sam Guevene had promised him. Talk about wild-goose-chase! Nergulian cursed and grumbled but he sneaked through the fort, did away with a small army of mages (sigh!), and finally – divines be praised – ended up in a place called Misty Grove, which was the drunkard's paradise. It was a sweet garden spot at night with lanterns hung everywhere and soft music could be heard. At the centre of the area was a feasting table with several people already heavy in the booze. Aaaand Sam Guevene, orchestrator of all this silliness. Soon it became clear, that Sam Guevene was actually Lord Sanguine, deadric prince and patron of drunkards, sex, wild orgies and really mean pranks. Speaking of pranks… Lord Sanguine surely had had the time of an eternity, watching Nergulian's struggles from afar. And what did Nergulian get out of this? He verbally challenged Lord Sanguine and the deadric prince promptly gifted him with the promised staff: Sanguine's Rose as it was called.
end of the flashback
Nergulian Valderion wistfully sighed to himself. Oh those had been the days! The whole nuisance had been hilariously funny in hindsight. And today, that staff had saved his old life. In a more secure location, namely his Whiterun house Breezehome, Nergulian summoned the dremora caitiff again. "You are in need of my combat skills again, mortal? Where's the foe?" asked the very eager dremora.
And Nergulian said alarmed: "What? Oh, no, wait! There is no battle to fight right now. I just wanted to indulge in conversation."
"Conversation? I don't understand the use of idle chit-chat." said the dremora caitiff clearly puzzled.
"Well it's considered polite, for one." Nergulian replied. "So what's your name? We'll stick together for some time from now on. And it's really awkward to just call you 'dremora caitiff' each and every time. "
"Horny." the dremora caitiff simply grumbled.
Nergulian shook his grizzled head, laughing long and hard. "No silly!" he wheezed at last. "I didn't ask for your emotional state. I wanted to know your name."
But the dremora caitiff looked down and self-conciously dragged his armoured boot along the floor. "But it's true! Horny is my name." he wailed in that gurgle-with-sketch-pins-voice of his.
Nergulian looked at him dumbfounded. "Oh you poor, poor guy!" he exclaimed at last. And here, Stendarr had mercy on said dremora. Yeah, it happens from time to time. The conjuration spell ran out, and poor humiliated Horny disappeared back to Oblivion.
Some weeks later, Nergulian had another problem. It was that dratted, no-good fools errand of Delphine's. It had led him to a party at the Thalmor embassy. And although he was of one and the same people with the Thalmor, he held zero love for them. He was to sneak away from the party and steal sensitive documents. Argh, the nerve of that Blades woman! Malborn, the wood elf had been helpful enough. But a small army of dead Thalmor later (among them that bastard of a chief interrogator Ruindil), Nergulian was at a loss. Malborn, poor Malborn had been bludgeoned to death for helping him out. But there were still two other prisoners in the Thalmor dungeon. They were alive, even if barely so. Nergulian unshackled them and together they escaped through a trap door. It led to a cave. But that cave housed a nasty ice-troll! How to get past an ice-troll with two mistreated, half-starved prisoners in tow? Yes, it was a difficult riddle.
Luckily, Nergulian had given Sanguine's Rose to Malborn to be smuggled into the embassy. So he summoned Horny on the ledge above the lower cave. "Horny", he asked. "Can you distract or kill that ice-troll down there? I want for Breyla and Etienne to get out of here alive."
"I can try." rasped Horny. He jumped down into the pit and threw himself at the ice-troll. But the ice-troll was of a really sturdy kind. It bashed and mauled at the armoured dremora caitiff until he vanished back to Oblivion. So Nergulian had to summon Horny again. And again…and again. While the ice-troll was still standing. Finally, Nergulian snapped. He yelled at Horny and berated him. "For crying out loud! Horny, what sort of a dremora caitiff are you? You mean to tell me that you can take on two snow bears, but against one stinking ice-troll you're lost?"
Horny had had enough. He stuck up his armoured middle finger and yelled back. "Oh that's great! You know what? If you want that [profanity with skull-and-bones, ticking bombshell, dagger, balled fist and Japanese calligraphy too] ice-troll dead, come down there and fight it yourself. I quit." Thus Horny spoke and vanished back to Oblivion. And somehow, he refused to be summoned again on that day.
"Gah!" Nergulian yelled out in frustration. "Looks like I have to do this the old-fashioned way." Long story, short reader – somehow, Nergulian managed to defeat the ice-troll and save the escapees. But the best was yet to come. Right outside the Reeking Cave, Nergulian was ambushed by two dragons dropping on him like hawks. What an awful bother of a day!
Months later, Nergulian had built his home sweet manor on the hills above Lake Illinalta. And he had adopted two war orphans: Lucia, a Breton girl from the streets of Whiterun and Alesan, a Redguard boy from the mines of Dawnstar. But how do two kids and a pet dremora coexist? Nergulian had to make a difficult choice. He summoned Horny for one last time.
"Horny" he said somewhat guiltily. "You've been a great comrade, well on most days. But now, a new section of my life will start: the trials and tribulations of a foster father. And…well you are very scary. Too scary for kids. So our time together is over. It's been a pleasure. I'm going to put Sanguine's Rose on that weapons-rack over there and I won't use it ever again. Call me thief, slave and puppy all you want but my decision is final. Besides I'm already overburdened with plunder and where's a housecarl when you need one?"
And so, Sanguine's Rose, containing Horny the dremora, was degraded to dust-catcher.