Ah, another rainy, dreary day in Riften. There's nothing quite as nice as sipping Nord-brewed alcoholic beverages near a slow, sultry market square in an oppressive rat-hole of a city. Amidst all this dirt, grime, and general suspicion, the Jarl's recent promise made me snort. Thane of the Rift, she said. Ha. I had better things to do than shell out 8000 of my hard-earned gold to buy a shack in town. I said I'd think about it, but the Keep had seen the last of me for the next few years.
I'm not ashamed to say I fit right in here. Besides, Riften was already my home… ish… thing. Eh, well, I was between jobs at the moment, mostly because I'd found myself in the company of the town's biggest anti-thief envoy: Mjoll the Lioness. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. It wasn't like I was pinching her stuff, anyway. The point was, I'd met her some time ago, did her a long, drawn-out favor, and now she'd made herself available whenever I needed a fighting buddy. Seeing as she was one of the few Nords not bent on cracking elf skulls, I was okay with it.
I was also currently in the company of one Erik the Slayer. He was inexperienced, but I figured if he got killed, at least his poor old dad could cash in on that armor that—oh yeah—I had paid for. See? Like I had the funds to buy a house! I was too busy paying for farm boys to get their butts kicked by bandits and bears and trolls and spriggans—
"Can we go inside? I'm suffocating," Erik said.
The only reason I kept the whiner around was because he had a good attitude when I asked him to carry stuff.
"Sure, sure," I muttered, shrugging away from the bridge railing.
"I've never been to Riften before," Erik reflected.
"Heck, you haven't been out of Rorikstead before!" I snapped. After a second of thought, I flung my empty mead bottle into the scummy canal below.
"HEY! What are you doing?" Mjoll squawked, but I was already headed for the tavern.
Riften's booze joint was big and well-lit, but there weren't many people around… just the grumpy Argonian guy sweeping the already spotless floor, the empire-bashing Snow-Shod boys, a mercenary or two, and some sullen meadery workers. What a glorious carnival of fun! The mood seemed to darken even further as we approached the bar, where Keerava was cleaning a tankard in a manner that suggested it had done her a personal wrong.
"You again? What in blazes do you want?"
I think the reason she hated me wasn't so much that I'd beat her up over a debt… no, I think it was because of the time I applied as a bard and demonstrated my, um, expertise with a lute. I thought I did pretty good, but then, I'd had a few tankards of beer at that point…
"Are we really going to sit around drinking all day?" Mjoll muttered.
"Of course… not," I said hastily as her glare intensified. "I thought we could find something useful to do here. Geez, Mjoll."
"Oh yeah? And what are we going to do, chat with the mercenaries? I've never been a sell-sword, you know, never traded my sword for hire. I—"
"Yeah, I know, I know! And what did it get you? A Dwemer centurion in the face—"
"I was reckless and took too many risks, but that was what it was all about—"
"Right, well you're my hireling now, so my adventures are what it's all about—"
"Hireling? Are you paying me? No, I'm helping you out of my own—"
"Door's over there! Why don't you use it?" Keerava hollered.
"You have a lot of nerve, coming back here after what you did to Keerava," Talen-Jei butted in, looking up from his sweeping job.
"Shut it, you!" Keerava bellowed. "I don't want to hear another word out of you 'til you find that blasted ring—"
"You lost it?" I gasped. "Talen-Jei… those amethysts were worth—"
"Never mind," he mumbled quickly.
"Aaaaugh! Look, Keerava, have you heard anything interesting lately? Barkeepers know all the gossip, right?"
Keerava sniggered for some reason. "Here, the Jarl came by and left a bounty letter."
I took the slip of paper. "Hmm… a dragon, huh? Dang it."
"Whaddaya mean, dang it?" Keerava growled. "Aren't you supposed to be—"
"Yes, I'm the stupid dragonborn, and everywhere I go there's great blasted flying reptiles trying to bite my head off," I answered. "Not unlike some tavern keepers around here…"
"Just go and get that head bitten off, 'kay?" Keerava barked.
"Oh, that's what your ugly grin is for," I snapped. "Fine! Come on, hirelings."
"Hirelings?"
"Mjoll, if you say one more word about your sword not being for hire—"
Erik tapped me on the shoulder. "Say, if it's a dragon we're hunting, I think you should pay me another 500 gold."
"Forget it, kid. You're welcome to head back to boring old Rorikstead whenever you want."
Ah, another gorgeous afternoon in the Rift. There's nothing quite like wandering aimlessly in the woods surrounded by angry wildlife and tripping over foxes every two seconds. My sour mood could only be lightened by the sight of Erik whooping and leaping as a bee chased him from its hive; when it finally stung him, I caught the little insect and stuffed its mangled body in my pocket for future alchemy endeavors.
"So what's got you in such a rotten mood?" Erik eventually asked.
"Do I have to answer that?"
"No. I just thought you might like to vent."
"I can vent without you." A wicked grin crossed my face. "I could teach you a few anger management tricks, if you're interested."
"Sure," the idiot replied. Too bad for him that he was so eager to please.
"Trick number one," I began. "Vocal release. Observe… FUS RO DAH!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"
Mjoll was too shocked to scold me as we watched our companion take a one-way air ticket into a troll's den.
"See?" I called. "I feel way better now!"
"Help!"
"No, no. You need the experience."
Troll snarls rose from the den, accompanied by Erik's alternating screams and war whoops. This kid really needed to get out more. I'd seen dozens of trolls in my travels, but the way he flailed and screeched, you'd think he'd never even heard of one.
"What kind of hero are you?" Mjoll exclaimed, and with that, she rushed to the rescue.
This caught me off guard. Hero? Me? Then I scowled. Just because I was some mythical donut-king or whatever the dragons called it didn't mean I had to be a hero… did it? Well, okay, maybe. It was apparently my destiny to save the world from an evil dragon who apparently ate souls. Hmm… did souls actually have a flavor? Were 'good' souls better-tasting than 'bad' souls? Come to think of it, was my soul good or bad? Sure, I'd consorted with daedra, stolen a dragon's weight in gold, and killed an old lady in the woods, but I'd also done a lot of favors for people and saved a few lives and spent back-breaking hours hacking at ebony veins for a crippled miner… Well! If I ended up getting eaten by Alduin, I figured I at least deserved to know what flavor I was!
"Butterscotch," I said when Mjoll finally hobbled back with a dazed Erik over her shoulders.
"What?"
"That's what kind of hero I am," I answered reflectively. "Butterscotch, I think. It's sort of a good taste, but then it leaves a funny aftertaste that kind of gets worse when you eat pickles… and believe me, Alduin eats pickles. Or is it peppers?"
"What the skeever tail are you yakking about?" Mjoll exclaimed. She dumped Erik at my feet and planted her hands on her hips.
"It's like this," I said, suddenly businesslike. "No matter what I do or say, every dragon I come across wants to eat me. It's like, hel-LO, we could be friends instead of killing each other, but no, they're all power-hungry freaks! Didn't you ever want a pet dragon? But noooooooo, they won't listen! And it's not until they're bleeding everywhere that they land long enough to be in hearing range!"
There was a moment of silence. Birds twittered.
The heap that was Erik stirred in the grass. "Are you… lonely?" he wheezed.
"Heck, no. I just think dragons would be better off doing my bidding than bleeding everywhere."
"Oh."
"Well, maybe someday you can find a way to barter with a dragon for its services," Mjoll said irritably.
"I'd need to rig some kind of trap for that," I mused.
"Right. In the meantime, let's go kill us a dragon, okay?"
"See, it's that attitude that makes the dragons want to kill humans."
"No, I think as the dragonborn you're the human ambassador to their kind, and since you're obnoxious, you give us all a bad rap. Come on, Erik. We can go without her."
"You can-NOT," I said loudly.
"Don't shout, don't shout!" Erik yelped.
Five bears and a dozen wolves later, we arrived in Shor's Stone, a mining village north of Riften. It was a small, dreary place with a major spider problem. The ebony mine had been suffering a deluge of arachnid invaders, and no matter how many times I cleared them out, they always found their way back in. I'd started charging extra for the extermination. I mean, come on, I had better things to do than kill giant spiders… like gutting the mine, for instance, and selling the ore to the same guy who paid me to slaughter mutant bugs in the first place.
I hadn't been in the settlement five seconds before Sylgja was in my face. For a girl who had had a life-threatening accident and claimed to be crippled, she sure could run when she wanted to.
"Hey, good to see you again!" she gushed. "Listen, you aren't headed to Darkwater, are you?"
"No," I said.
"Oh, good! Would you mind dropping off these letters for me?" She shoved a satchel into my hands.
"By the Nine!" I grouched. "A whole satchel of letters? I thought you were a miner, not a novelist!"
"Well, ever since the accident—"
"Okay, okay!" I said quickly. "No, you don't have to pay me—"
"I insist!"
I sighed. Leave it to a cheerful invalid to make me feel lousy about being a grouch.
"Excuse me! You, there!"
We glanced around in surprise. It was a shock to hear any voices at all in this deserted collection of hovels, and when I saw who the voices belonged to, I nearly wet my pants. Hurrying towards us was a trio of Altmer mages, all of whom looked ominously upset. Great… Thalmor, the most controlling busybodies in Tamriel. It was no use playing my 'hey-there-fellow-elves' card; being a wood elf, I wasn't quite on their self-proclaimed higher plane of existence.
I looked resentfully at Sylgja. "Since when is Shor's Stone a waypoint for them?"
"It's not! They're just passing through… I hope."
"Excuse me," the lead Thalmor said again, shoving his face into mine. This was a considerable feat, seeing as high elves were very tall and wood elves like me were shrimps. I was surprised he was willing to sacrifice his only true claim to high-and-mightiness for the express purpose of getting in my bubble. "Did I hear you blasphemously refer to the Nine?"
"Eh… what? Me? No… no, no. Not me," I said.
"I specifically heard you," the Altmer insisted.
"Well, yes, I said the nine, but I didn't mean the Nine… I was referring to the nine planets, you know? I still don't think they should've bumped off Pluto because it was small. That's like saying wood elves don't count in the grand scheme of things, isn't it? Or like saying normal spiders are small potatoes compared to the hulking ones infesting this place, 'cuz I think they're just as bad—"
"Or like saying mortal heroes aren't good enough to be gods?" Erik said helpfully.
The Thalmor pointed a triumphant finger of condemnation. "Clap 'im in irons, boys!"
"Nooooo, no, no, no!" I tittered maniacally as I jumped in front of Erik. "Don't mind him. He's just a dumb country bumpkin. Can you believe I paid him five hundred gold to help me out with a bandit problem? Honestly, he should be paying me for hands-on training, not to mention that pricey set of steel he's wearing…"
"Tough beans," the Thalmor said, cracking his knuckles. "ALL you Nords are bumpkins, and it's time to make way for the true rulers of Skyrim!"
"I'm not a Nord!" I protested.
Mjoll kicked me in the shins and drew her sword. "Bring it, Thalmor scum!"
The Thalmor leader raised his hand and sent bolts of magical lightning at us. It detonated a whole hundred-foot radius, charring the earth and sending a few unfortunate rabbits sailing sky-high.
"We're routed! Fall back!" Sylgja shouted to no one in particular, and she scampered off with surprising speed.
"Yaaaaah!" Mjoll bellowed, and a full-out fight ensued.
"Blast it," I muttered. Did I have to do everything? I drew my swords—shields were highly overrated, in my opinion—and paused for a moment to watch Erik flail around with zero finesse and Mjoll beat a fallen Thalmor senseless with the flat of her blade. These people were useless, I tell you. When I finally rushed in to help, both of my companions got in the way, and I made a few accidental dents.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm on your side!"
As if I didn't know that.
"Get outta my way!" I yelled. When at last I had a clear shot, I skewered a Thalmor, and his shout of, "Is that your best?" trailed away into a moan of death. This left one Thalmor to deal with. He was the dancey-prancy mage kind, and I couldn't seem to move forward and swing my weapons at the same time, much like overly-insulting Nord children couldn't squeeze and pull at the same time, resulting in a huge market for child-proof doorknobs. Point being, my health and stamina were very low, and I could hear my heart pounding really loudly, which is usually a sign of impending doom.
"Hold up!" I shouted.
Everybody froze mid-swing.
"One sec," I said, pulling a few bottles out of my knapsack. "Philter of Strength… Virulent Magicka Poison… Falmer Blood Elixir… whoops, ha ha, not that I'm buying from charismatic miracle-potion dealers, or anything… ah, Potion of Extreme Healing! Gosh, this is a big bottle… time out for a few minutes, okay?"
The potion tasted like barnacles and chaurus droppings. See if I ever bought anything at the Hag's Cure again.
"Okay, time in!"
With the edge from the disgusting brew, I was able to deliver a killing blow without receiving one myself. The last Thalmor agent lay headless and twitching in a pool of blood. I waited a minute for my adrenaline to evaporate and my theme music to fade out, and then I promptly looted the corpses for gold.
"What cheapskates," I exclaimed in disappointment.
"You don't want these nifty robes?" Erik asked.
"No," I answered. "They're useless, and anyway, I don't think the miners would thank me for leaving naked Thalmor sprawled in their yards."
"Fair point," Erik conceded.
"You have no problem leaving naked bandit chiefs in people's camps," Mjoll pointed out.
"The dude had ebony armor, Mjoll! Ebony! You know how much pocket change that stuff generates?"
"Speaking of which, are we going to clear out the mine again, or not?"
"Like I have time for that." I turned to the dead bodies at my feet. "Point for me, dudes. I may not be a Nord, but I'll always support Talos."
"You're a Nord at heart," Erik said proudly.
"No, I just think if I ever ascended to godhood, I'd want people to grovel at my feet," I replied.
Before either of them could praise my infallible logic, a couple of village guards strolled up the path. For the billionth time I wondered how they saw anything through the chowder cans they used as helmets. Maybe those helmets were the reason they tended to bounce off things instead of helping out when they were needed. Whatever the reason, I figured they deserved a piece of my mind.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Do you realize what awful things are going on in this town? Didn't you hear the ruckus? Where were you?"
The guards stopped and looked at me… at least, I think they were looking at me.
"Let me guess," the first one said. "Someone stole your sweet roll."
I stared back. It suddenly occurred to me why the Jarl put out bounty notices for things like dragons instead of sending her guards to do the job.
"Never mind," I grumbled.
"I've got my eye on you," the guard said.
"Really? I'd never have guessed," I said loudly.
"Go fiddling with any locks around here, and we're going to have a real problem," the guard added.
"What locks? I'm standing in the middle of a three-shack mining camp!"
"Don't cross me, elf."
"You crossed me first!"
"Don't think you can barter with me like I'm one of those dratted shopkeepers."
"Barter? Barter? Did I say anything about money?"
"Disrespect the law, and you disrespect me."
"You're disrespecting my sanity!"
There was a moment of silence. The guards continued to stare at me through the slits in their tin cans.
"Watizit?"
"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"
With that, I ran from the village.
"No lollygaggin'!" he shouted after me.
From the village, it was a relatively short walk to our destination, but that didn't mean it was easy. The bounty note listed the dragon's lair as Northwind Summit, meaning we had to drag ourselves hundreds of vertical feet to the highest point in the Rift. Did I mention the wildlife on the way? Bears, I tell you! Sure, they try to warn you away, but it's kind of hard to avoid confrontations on those narrow mountain trails.
We were nearing the peak when Erik finally collapsed. "Are we there yet?" he moaned.
"Almost, so shut up before you give us away," I answered.
"Are there any air conditioning devices for armor?" he wheezed.
"Why don't you go ask the Dwemer? I'm sure they cooked something up before they went extinct. Bahahahahaha!"
Neither of my companions laughed. It looked like Valenwood-style humor wasn't going to be a hit in this forsaken wasteland at all.
"Forsaken wasteland?" Mjoll screeched.
"Oh… did I say that out loud?"
"People say Skyrim is one of the most dangerous places in Tamriel," Mjoll said heatedly. "I think they're wrong. It's magnificent, and I'm proud to call it—"
Her monologue was interrupted by a thunderous roar from somewhere ahead of us.
"Shush," I hissed, pushing them to the ground. "You guys just hang back and let me do the talking, okay?"
"I bet Keerava gets her wish," Mjoll muttered.
"Oh, shut up. The dragon won't bite me. Hey, we're practically family!"
"Ha! I think I'm more your family than any dragon, and that's not something I'd claim anytime soon."
Another roar shattered the peaceful mountain air.
"Trust me," I said. Straightening, I strode confidently up the last few feet of hillside and came up on a flat stretch of ground. The clearing was surrounded by trees and charred houses, and—glory of glories—there was a word wall! I could hear its power sizzling already.
Lounging across the wall was a large white Frost Dragon. He looked all laid-back and chillin', like he'd just snacked on a few cows and was planning on a nice snooze. His beady yellow eyes appraised me hungrily as I approached.
"Heeeeey, there, brother!" I called. "What's up? I'd chat in your language, but the only words I know are offensive shouts, so let's just parlay in human talk, okie-tay?"
The next second, I was frozen in ice particles, and the dragon was wheeling above my head, roaring and screeching unintelligibly. Apparently my human speech was as offensive as my dragon speech.
"HEY! Let's just be friends! I'll bring you juicy cattle, you give me rides and kill my enemies, and we're cool! Hey, are you listening?"
Twang.
"MJOLL! YOU JUST SHOT A POTENTIAL ALLY IN THE BUTT!"
"He's not an ally, he's trying to kill us!" Mjoll hollered.
"Yeah, now he is!"
Twang, twang.
"Hey, I actually hit something!" Erik exclaimed.
The dragon bellowed and swooped down, spewing ice everywhere. Hey, I'd be mad too if I had arrows embedded in my posterior. Now I'd never know if we were meant to be friends.
Ducking, Erik stared up at the raging beast. "I think he just said something!"
"Yeah, I think he said his name's Drogfrinklov."
"Some introduction," Erik mused.
"Die, dragon!" Mjoll yelled.
It was like a game of dodge ball, only the ball was a jet of ice and the reward was our lives. We sniped at the silly thing until he crash-landed in a scaly heap in the middle of the clearing. Now maybe he would listen! If I could just get past his thrashing limbs…
"Hey, look," I said, dodging up to his blood-covered head. "I never meant for this to happen, buddy. You just took that little arrow the wrong way. I can get it out, and then how 'bout we—AAAAAACK, MMMMmmmmph…"
Ever jammed the whole upper half of your body into a dragon's mouth? Didn't think so. Let's just say I was thoroughly dazed by the reek billowing up from its throat, even more so than the fangs impaling my gut… nothing a little potion wouldn't fix, I hoped. I promptly decided to shop at Angeline's Aromatics from now on. Then at least I'd have a useful weapon against draconic halitosis.
The next thing I knew, I was flying, and I smashed headlong into the wall. There was a sizzling sound accompanied by the fearsome chant of heroes past, and suddenly I was one dragon word smarter. It didn't make me feel any better. I slid to the base of the wall in a heap of torn flesh and Thieves' Guild armor, wishing I'd come alone. Then maybe that dratted dragon would've listened to me. Trust hirelings to wreck a good adventure.
While Mjoll repeatedly bashed the dragon upside the head, Erik raced to my side and shoved a potion down my throat. It was only seconds before I was cured. Unfortunately, it was too late; Mjoll landed a killing blow, making me look bad. I was the dragonborn, for Talos's sake! If dragons had to die, I ought to be the one bashing 'em.
"Is she alive?" Mjoll called.
"Yep! Once again, alchemy saves the day," Erik replied.
I used him to drag myself to my feet. Something odd was happening; the dragon's corpse was going up in flames and a strong wind began to roar. It was odd, but not unexpected. All at once the strange noise and light engulfed me, and I fell writhing to the ground.
"AAAAAAAAUUUGH!"
"What, what?" Erik gasped. (I noted that instead of trying to help, the little coward jumped away in terror.)
"Nothing… it… aaack! It just…" I squirmed for a moment longer in silence. Then I sat up and took a deep breath. "It just tickles like heck, that's all."
"Soul absorption tickles?" Erik's eyebrows went up.
Mjoll snorted. "That doesn't seem very dignified."
"Shut up," I muttered.
Erik glanced at the wall. "So did you learn a new word?"
"Huh? Oh… oh yeah, I did. Um…" I squinched my eyes up and tried to think. It was hard with them watching me. I was pretty self-conscious about this whole dragonborn thing. I mean, here I was absorbing dragons' souls, and I wondered… did dragons go someplace when they died? Did this automatically make me some kind of heavenly vessel? Somehow I didn't think my essence was very divine. Again, I wondered whether my soul was good or bad, and then, thinking of the dragon's ticklish soul, I realized there were three kinds: the good, the bad, and the fuzzy.
Wait. That would make MY soul fuzzy! I had a dragon soul myself, and—"
"Snap out of it!" Mjoll said sharply. "Your eyes are going all vacant again."
"Mjoll…" I said hesitantly. "I have a very serious question for you."
"Yeah?"
"If you were given a piece of furry, butterscotch-flavored candy, would you eat it?"
Both Mjoll and Erik stared at me.
"Never mind," I mumbled. "Let's go home."
To make a long story short, the trip back was filled with bear fights and companion chatter. The Jarl of Riften—well, her steward, actually—welcomed us back with a purse of gold, which I divided up in my favor. Hey, I was the one who nearly got bitten in half, and it was Mjoll's fault. I was disappointed that I'd come out of it all without a dragon friend, but oh well… I was getting used to it.
We spent the next day loitering at the tavern. Keerava was most disappointed that I'd survived, but I had little concern for her feelings; I was having too much fun with my new "shout." Actually, it was more of a whisper… and it was getting on Mjoll's nerves.
"Laas," I hissed. Every living thing in the tavern became a pulsing red glow. "Hey, Keerava, you've got a skeever in your basement!"
"Would you STOP IT?" Mjoll snarled.
"I think it's cool," Erik commented.
"You think baked potatoes are cool," Mjoll shot back.
"I can bake potatoes with my breath," I reminded her.
"Ha. 'Bake' wasn't the word for what happened to those things."
"So they were a little charred!"
"Yeah, so was the shop."
"Hey Mutton-Head," Keerava hollered. "I've got another bounty notice here…"
"I don't want it!" I yelled. "I'm sick of slaughtering reptilian beasts!"
"This one ain't a dragon. It's a giant."
"Even worse! A giant's club does more damage with one swing than a dragon does in a bite!"
"So you want me to tell those other mercenaries about it?"
"WHAT? I have COMPETITION? Gimme that!"
Ah, Riften. It was definitely time to wander on.