The Winking Skeever was a fine enough place to get drunk. People didn't bother you, mead was as inexpensive as it was everywhere else, and the bard had a nice enough voice and a better body. Even before Arenar ordered his first flagon he was already mentally undressing her. Then his mind shot back to the sultry woman in Pelagius's head with the man's husky voice. He shivered and turned to the barkeep.
"Say, friend?" Arenar looked up. A man was sitting down next to him, flagon in hand. "Sorry to bother you, but I've been looking for someone man enough for a drinking contest. Are you in? Winner gets a nice magical staff."
"I already have a uh, staff." Arenar could scarcely call the Wabbajack nice.
The man smiled. "Well, well, well. I guess we aren't man enough then."
"Now hold on a minute." Arenar took his drink and grinned. "You're on."
The man took his own flagon. "The name is Sam. First to faint loses. First one." He took a long and hard swig, slamming his flagon down onto the bar.
"I can beat that." He brought his own flagon to his lips and slammed it down, smiling as the barkeep filled his back up. He might not be a Nord, but he sure could hold his drink.
The rest of the Skeever looked up and crowded around them, intent to see who would win this impromptu competition. Sam took this all in stride and forced down his second drink. "Oh. That went down wrong." Arenar took his and chugged it, slamming it down in retaliation. His head felt a little warm, but it was nothing. He could hold his liquor.
"Say, Arenar, I'm done. I can't stomach anymore. You take this last one and you win the staff. Fair and square."
Arenar coughed and grinned, his lips taunt but very loose. "Got ya. That's essay." He brought the lip of the flagon to his and drank quickly and sluggishly, mead falling off of his chin. He slammed it down. "I win?"
"Yes, yes you do. You win my staff. You know, we should do this again. I know a great place where the drink just rolls into your tongue… Are you ok Arenar? You don't look so good, my friend."
The Imperial's eyes closed and he rolled off of his stool, mumbling about manly and beautiful bards.
His eyes opened again after what felt like decades and his ears rang like a dragon was Shouting into his it. It took him a second to realize it was a priestess shouting instead. "…You drunken blasphemer! Are you listening to me! Clean your mess up!"
"By the Eight, what the hell happened?"
"You came in here asking for some staff and when we said we didn't have one you threw trash everywhere! Now get to it!" With a kick, the priestess made the man pick up everything. In all it was a few bottles of wine, a hagraven feather, a giant's toe, and an odd looking note saying all of the things he picked up were needed to fix some staff?
Arenar's eyes widened. "The contest!"
The priest kicked him again. "Forget your contest! Get out of Lady Dibella's temple you blasphemer!"
Arenar sighed and left, pocketing the note. This Sam character would be long gone by now, there probably never was a staff in the first place. The road back to Riverwood and Delphine was going to be very long and very painful.
Rorikstead was a quaint little village in the middle of nowhere as far as Arenar was concerned. It seemed to exist for no other reason than to flesh out Whiterun Hold's land. He was just about to pass the last farm on his way out when a farmer ran at him wielding a hoe. "You! You stole my goat!"
"I didn't steal a goat," Arenar muttered.
"Yes you did! You stole my prized Gleda last night and sold her to a giant! I will never grow another prize winning goat again!"
Arenar pointed to his swords. "I'll go find the giant alright? But I never sold your damn goat." Before the farmer could yell more the Imperial left the village to find the giant. They never moved too fast so he couldn't have gone too far. And sure enough, a few hills away were a goat and a giant.
The giant looked up at Arenar and raised his club in a sign of thanks and petted the goat tenderly. "Ok, maybe I did steal a goat." Arenar cleared his throat. "Mr. Giant, there's a big misunderstanding, I need that goat back." The giant stomped the ground and pointed his club at him. "Damn it all. FUS RO DAH!" The giant and Gleda were sent tumbling back.
Unsheathing his sword, Arenar ran toward the giant swinging. He got in three good slashes with his twin blades before the giant rose again, picking up his club. "FUS RO!" The giant stumbled letting in a few more good hits. Several more and the giant fell, leaving Gleda to look stupidly at Arenar.
He sheathed his blades and smiled gently. "Come on you dumb little goat." The little animal bleated and joined Arenar on the short trip back to the farm. The farmer ran to his goat and hugged it. "Thank you!" he said, forgetting the fact that Arenar caused the whole mess to begin with.
Arenar sighed. What else had he done last night? "Hey, did you hear me talking about anywhere else I'd been last night?"
The man looked up. "Why yes. Something about a Ysolda and a marriage in Whiterun." Without saying a word, Arenar walked toward the city. For some reason being told he was marrying a girl he hardly spoke to didn't surprise him at all. It wasn't that she was an ugly woman (she certainly seemed nice), but compared to the fact he befriended and odd drunk man from the East Empire Company two nights ago, walked around in the mind of a dead and insane emperor, communed with the Daedric Prince of Maddness, received a queer staff (not to mention he had no idea what it did) from said Prince, trashed a temple of Dibella, stole a goat and then sold a goat…
Nine Divines! That Sam character was in for a beating if he didn't have that staff when Arenar finally found him.
Ysolda was in her usual spot in the marketplace, looking at the wares of the stands and buying food from Carlotta while ignoring Nazeem as best she could. Then again, everyone ignored Nazeem.
Arenar walked up to her, smiling as best he could to his new wife. This was going to be a very awkward conversation. "Hi, Ysolda?"
The woman turned and smiled at her the call of her name. Her face seemed to catch the sun just right and her eye shadow looked particularly nice today. This impromptu marriage might not be that bad after all.
"Oh! Hello again, Arenar. How was your wedding?"
Now this certainly stumped him. "Uh, don't you mean our?"
"No. Last night you came by with a lovely young woman and you wanted to be married so you asked to buy a wedding ring from me. And you owe me for that still…"
"Wait. I'm not married to you?"
She giggled. "No. You were very drunk, so I can see why you're confused."
Never in his life had Arenar ever been happier that a helm was covering his head and concealing his blushing cheeks. "Who was I marrying, exactly?"
"A woman named Moira. She said she lives in Witchmist Grove."
"I'll go get that ring back." Again, Ysolda laughed. A knowing laugh, as if there was some secret she was keeping from him. This could only end well…
The long trip to Witchmist Grove was a painful one. There had been two (two!) dragons, at least five bands of bandits, and one annoyed troll on the way there. He had run out of healing and stamina potions so now he was limping along with the Wabbajack as an impromptu walking stick.
But he was here now. He was finally at Witchmist Grove. He was going to meet his wife and somehow tell her the marriage was off. Maybe if she was nice, like Ysolda said, he could just marry her and figure it all out later.
He stepped up to the little shack and the door opened and slammed shut. An ugly crone with raven feathers and talons for legs sauntered out, a seductive grin on her face. Her outfit was a skimpy black bikini and far too revealing thong. "Helllllloooooo honey. I've been waiting for you to return so we can consummate our marriage."
Without saying anything, Arenar shot off a bolt of the Wabbajack at the hagraven. He was not going to marry that thing! The red bolt hit her and suddenly there was no more hagraven. Intrigued, Arenar moved closer, only to find a sweet roll with its glazing in the shape of a thong. "Of course it'd be a sweet roll ray."
Arenar scooped up the sweet roll and bit in, finding it to actually taste fairly good. Then he realized he was literally 'eating her out'. He cocked his arm back and threw the sweet roll into the trees. Inside the hut he found two wedding rings and a store of other loot, including a mammoth tusk. He was already carrying over five hundred pounds in dragon bones and bandit loot, some more wouldn't kill him (hopefully).
He lugged everything back to Breezehome and dropped everything at the front door. Lydia looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "What have you been doing?"
"It's a very long and wonderful story involving mad Emperors, Thalmor parties, and an asshole with some staff." Arenar kicked his loot off to the side. "Be a dear and stow that away somewhere. Please."
"I am sworn to carry your burdens," she groaned.
"That's the spirit." Arenar picked the two wedding rings and held them in his palm as he walked towards Ysolda's house. At least he thought it was Ysolda's house. He knocked and waited.
"Just a minute!" he heard her call. The lock on the door clinked and Ysolda opened the door. She was wearing only a short dress, obviously made more for comfort than show. She blushed and covered up her top a little better with her hands. "Sorry."
Arenar shook his head and held out the rings. "Don't worry about it. Turns out the marriage is off."
She grinned and took the rings. "I was wondering why a man would marry a hagraven."
"You said she was nice."
"I was being polite."
The two laughed and their eyes met. Ysolda took one of the rings and blushed. "You can keep the other one. Give it to a nicer girl. Something tells me she'd be lucky, if you aren't drunk that is."
Arenar smiled and put the ring in his pocket. "I'll keep it in mind then. I'll also stay away from the mead for a while. I'm starting to see a very bad pattern."
The two shared a laugh again. "Are you still looking for that staff?" she asked.
"Staff?"
"Yes, you were taking about a staff last night to Moira as you were buying the rings."
Arenar laughed slightly. "Honestly, with everything that's been going on, I forgot all about that. Thanks. Did I say where it would be?"
"I think you said Morvunskar."
Instinctively, Arenar pulled out his map. "And that would be… on the other side of Skyrim. .. Which I just walked to... That sort of figures."
She smiled and stepped aside. "You're welcome to spend the night. I just started working on dinner." The aroma's wafting out were more than enough reason to step on in.
"I think I have to take you up on that offer." They went in, taking spots opposite each other on the cooking fire.
They stayed quiet for a short bit, watching Ysolda twirl a spoon in a stew. "So you're a Companion?" she pointed to the wolf armor with her opposite hand.
"The Harbinger actually." She nodded, obviously impressed.
"You know, I only saw you around here starting a few weeks ago." She laughed softly. "You must have a pretty good sword arm to rise up in the ranks that quickly."
"No, no, it's nothing like that. I just was a good friend to Kodlak. I saved his life and he announced me as his successor, nothing too big." It was a half-lie, the afterlife was like life, right?
"Still, to save the old leader is something. You'd think he wouldn't need it." She stared a little at his face and then her eyes widened. "And you're that Dragonborn I've heard the guards talk about!"
"Oh yeah. And there is that..."
"One was saying how you killed that one dragon with just one blow!" she started.
"It wasn't like that at all…"
Ysolda ignored him, excitement in her voice. "And then when you killed it you absorbed its power!" That much at least was indisputable.
Arenar nodded, a little blush on his cheeks. "I did what I had to do. I knew I was Dragonborn just as well as anyone else before then. It's hard, but it if I can do it I'll do it." Ysolda smiled at that and poured him a bowl of soup.
"If you ever need someplace to stay and a warm meal and a cozy bed, don't hesitate to stop by. It's really the least I could do."
The man could only smile as he drank his soup, taking the helm from his head so he could eat better. They ate in silence, moving a bit closer to each other as dinner went on. Once they were done, it was Arenar's time to speak. "So why do you spend so much time in the market?"
"It's nothing; I just want to own the Bannered Mare. I buy in the market and sell to the Khajiit traders." She pointed to a small urn, only to shake it. A few coins rattled about inside. "I'll get there some day. If I had something bigger like a mammoth's tusk I might be able to get enough gold to start on a payment but I'm no hunter. Giants and mammoths and dragons aren't as easy to kill for the rest of us," she joked.
Arenar's eyes widened and he smiled. "I'll be right back. I think I have something you might want." And he stood, taking his helm in hand as he ran out the door and back to Breezehome. A moment later he returned, tusk under his arm. "Is this what you're looking for?"
All at once Ysolda's face brightened and she jumped up to hug him. Arenar dropped the tusk and hugged back.
The next morning with a small breakfast (courtesy of Ysolda), Arenar was on the road again. He ran past the gate, restocked completely on potions and a sack full of money from selling all the spare pieces of armor and weapons to Adrianne, Ulfberth, Elrindir, and Belethor. He passed by the Whiterun stables and looked at the stable-master for a moment. "Are any of these horses for sale?"
The man looked almost surprised. "Yeah. Her name's Queen Alfsigr. What will you offer?"
"One thousand septims?" The man smiled and motioned for a hand to bring out the horse.
"You're his now, Allie." Arenar nodded and hopped on, riding off toward Morvunskar.
He reached the little fort by nightfall. Peering out from behind a bush he grimaced. "Mages. Fun." He pulled out a mostly unused bow and shot at one of them, magically landing a shot between her eyes. Almost at once the fort was on high alert, mages running to and fro and atronachs being summoned to man the walls.
And then suddenly, the call of a dragon hit all of their ears as it came swooping in on a pass at the fort.
As the atronachs and their masters turned their eyes to the skies, Arenar let off more arrows, wounding and killing most until it was just him and the dragon.
"Thanks, but it's your turn now!" Arenar pulled out his two blades and ran at the dragon that had just landed in the courtyard.
"YOL…" Arenar cut him off with a clean swipe to the face, making the dragon shudder. Enraged, it turned back "TOOR SHUL!" Fire raced across the wolf armor, seeping into the metal and onto his skin. They fought savagely, the dragon using its bestial might and Arenar using the skills he learned from fighting bandit, draugr, and trained mercenary. Then Arenar struck a lucky blow to the dragon's neck, cutting it more than deep enough. Arenar pushed into the weakened opening, killing the dragon.
He pulled out his potions as the dragon's skin burned up and flickered. That bow was harder to pull back than it looked and a bit of that fire had chewed through the armor. Eorlund was not going to be happy. It looked to him like he'd need to go hunting with Aela again, and not as wolves this time. He wouldn't be this lucky all the time and he'd need a way to take out the mages before they could spot him.
Still, what's done was done. As he absorbed the soul he walked into the fort. A flash of purple light hit him and he was in a murky and forested grove. "Sheogorath!" Arenar muttered, drawing his swords. "Just when I thought this whole staff thing was over with he has to step in again!"
He wandered down the lantern-lit trails until he was at a large feasting table. Sheogorath however, was nowhere to be found. Instead, Sam was watching the festivities, cup in hand. "Oh hey, glad you could make it. Sorry about those mages, that's why I called for that dragon. Me and him go way back."
"You promised a staff?"
Sam looked hurt. "You go through all of that and that's the first thing you say to me, to your friend Sanguine?" Before Arenar could reply, Sam disappeared, only to be replaced by a daedra in full armor. "You don't look impressed."
Arenar nodded and crossed his arms. "I've had a long three days. You aren't the craziest thing I've met." That 'honor' went to Sheogorath. "And I'm really annoyed at this little prank."
"Little prank! Little prank! My friend, the Daedric Lord of Debauchery and Hedonism does not dawdle in mere pranks! I was simple spreading merriment, with you as my tool! Come on now! Look, take the staff and spread happiness with it. You can put it to better use than I can, I guess."
And then the Daedra handed over an odd, rose-like staff before another flash of purple light sent Arenar back to the Winking Skeever. The bard stopped midsong and everyone turned to look at him. "Hi guys…"
Author's Note: Good god... I'm going to give myself carpal tunnel at this rate... Also this will probably be the last happy chapter for a while. The rest of the game tends to be not so happy and cheerful. Here's to you Namira...
