Hammerchuckery: Thanks :). Strange fact that I like writing the Dragonborn as a dick and poor Doug and Wheatley and probably Lydia at the end of her antics. She's not a bitch because she's pretty much more manly than most men. Bitches whinge. Dicks whinge then take action.
Chapter 9
He tried to be analytical about it. What was it that he said that made her change her behaviour like that? He'd done what she had told him and suddenly it was all about a lack of decisiveness that did not impress her at all. After all he had done for her, she was practically telling him to get up and leave.
From a brief recollection, he'd told her to get married and have kids on the terms of her need to guide and teach. Those were her words. And he was just transforming the data into information she could understand. Under heavy thinking, he believed there something far deeper in the twisted social system of her mind. Something had gone terribly wrong in the early stages of her life.
He'd heard the orphan story one night. Murder of one's parents does not exactly make one normal, even if they tried. But it kind of justified the every slice and slaughter that vented that internal anger. Part of him made him glad he did a bit of Psychological study, if not some of the important parts. And in that, reading several orphans stories extends the research into some of the pathological pathways that one endures when reaching an age where the issue hadn't been pressed, placing deep-seated problems that would linger on for the rest of her life.
They had gotten back and the Dragonborn hadn't said a single word since they returned. She'd spoken to Lydia briefly, although Doug didn't hear what they were saying. She was still silent for the rest of the given week, only hearing from Lydia that the Dragonborn had secured a house not too far away and that he was given permission to make alterations to see that his inventive mind did not go to waste. He'd called it Gildekin, after the the Gildergreen tree that it sat next to. He felt guilty that his house was in the Wind District rather than the Plains District, where the Dragonborn lived. Still, she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she liked having the house so close to the main gates. Heimskr did live there previously, but he had met an unfortunate fate according to the Dragonborn. She didn't say what happened to him but what ever it was...he didn't want to share the same ending. So he ended up renovating it with some of the coin he'd made with helping with maintenance (and a little bit borrowed from the Dragonborn herself who didn't really mind too much.)
Wheatley settled in nicely. Doug had fitted his own personal management rail throughout the house to make it easier for him to get around. The house was double story, so Wheatley had a fixture of the entire floor plan for both floors. It took him a few weeks to build it with some help of the local Nords who were only glad and entirely interested in learning his tricks of the trade. He'd repaid them in installing proper pipelines and so forth.
Within an entire month, the City of Whiterun had become a small metropolis, earning the envy of the other holds. People had requested Doug from all over, to help build or even buy his mighty inventions. He'd written books on different subjects and was very content on just helping people out. There were rumors and myths that he had descended from the late Dwemer, which made him shrug and say why not? Anything was possible in Skyrim after all. Besides, it got him well liked in the nordic community, and gave him fuzzy feelings inside.
Still, his concern for the Dragonborn failed to fade away despite that they were drifting apart. Quick glimpses here and there but no real conversations. Wheatley filled in that quite quickly, talking about what ever a core talks about. One day, he'd met up with Lydia at the local inn. He was securing more materials for one of his famous products and talking with the Inn keeper as Lydia came in. She sat next to him by the bar and ordered a mead.
"So..." Said Doug. "How are things?"
Lydia shrugged. "I have to admit...rather strange." She replied.
Doug sipped his milk, still not drinking himself silly again. "Strange?"
Lydia licked the mead off her lips. "She hasn't slept in forever. I know she has awkward sleeping patterns but not once has she slept in her own bed."
Doug rubbed his chin. "Isn't that normal? I mean, she hardly comes over when she's got a busy schedule."
Lydia sighed, seemingly already defeated. It was an odd sight from the woman, who was normally nearly as strong willed as her Thane. He tilted her head that she held an exhaustion to witness.
"What's the matter?" He asked.
She tapped on the side of the bench, looking awkward. "Look..she hasn't been home in a while. She's most likely being sleeping over at Jovarrskr for all I know."
Doug nodded. "Ah. Times are tough. Being a Harbinger and all..." He wasn't sure he could convince himself with that type of logic.
Lydia sat back. "It's not that. When I do see her around, she looks terrible. She has bags underneath her eyes and I'm worried she's overdoing herself."
Doug frowned but tried to stay optimistic. But a cloud of doubt hovered. Lydia knew her better than anyone.
"Do you want me to go over there and have a look?" He asked.
Lydia brushed hair out of her face. "The Companions don't just let anyone through their doors. But since she's the Harbinger, you may or may not be an exception."
Doug nodded. "Yeah. It's all I can do at the moment."
Lydia drank her mead, then rested the mug on the table. "Don't you have somewhere to be though? Things to build and things to fix?"
Doug gave a subtle shake of his head, not bothered. "The people understand it takes time to invent things. I'm amazed they have patience."
Lydia gave a small chuckle. "Everything takes forever. Believe me. So unless it's urgent, don't expect something straight away. Heck, look at the Dark Brotherhood. Word around Skyrim is that their assassins are having to go out and seek clients. What an odd sort of thing."
Doug nodded. Then lifted his head. He remembered something from a while back. He traced his thoughts back. A courier had knocked on the door of Breezehome.
A letter.
That lack of prospective bothering was soon filled.
"Lydia..." He said. "Can I ask you something?"
Lydia leaned her arms on the bench. "Yeah what is it?"
"Two months ago, the Dragonborn got a letter. I believe, after that is when she started acting off." He belowed. Doug had proposed that to himself with a minor time period.
Lydia blinked. "Hmmm...you might be right. My Thane usually allows me to read her letters since she obnoxiously declared that we had no secrets between us."
Doug looked at her with serious intent. "She didn't let you."
Another sip. "Yes."
They'd talked to each other for a little while longer. The Dragonborn had been a funny acting individual in the three to four months that they knew each other. He was still fearful of going outside the walls, afraid of what would happen if he took a single step. It was only with the Dragonborn that he felt...safe. Secure. She knew what she was doing and he had her direct confidence. But she had lied to him, making him question what trust they had with each other.
He'd always been honest with her. No doubt about that. Because he hadn't had the experience like she had. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. He was hesitant for that very reason. A uncertainty that was within Doug for most of his life. The very hunch that protected him from the outside world. As well as the inside in other cases. He had returned back home and had a snack, then went back to work on a new project. He had another Wheatley Transport Vehicle coming along nicely. Getting around on wheels and clamping hands wasn't really practical. He'd bump into things, knock stuff over and get told off for breaking vases and bowls that Doug wasn't keen on wasting his money replacing them. Every so often he'd work on it after he'd finish another of his fantastical, nifty inventions. He'd remembered a minor blueprint of a prototype robot that Aperture had been preparing. After decades of physical, solid human test subjects, there were plans of cheaper test subjects that could save them a lot of money on insurance costs and boost their recycling economy. It was proposed during the numerous Artificial Intelligence studies that were in order before Doug had joined as a undergraduate. The Wheatleymobile 2.0 he would call it. Fill with proper arms and legs and numerous joints just to make him feel like he was a proper human.
Speaking of Artificial Intelligence, Doug noticed Wheatley was still quiet. Unusually quiet. Doug had built his own room upstairs filled with books and odd trinkets that Wheatley saw and liked, and pestered Doug to buy them for him. Doug didn't think much of it, but in truth they reminded him of Chell.
Bits of orange and white, using his claws on the Wheatleymobile, he tried to mold a sculpture of her, using previous data imagery and saved videos on his system as a reference. He missed her. Dearly. He wanted her to come back. The sculpture was half-finished and not to mention, looking out of proportion. All he needed to do was create her perfectly shaped strong arms, holding a portal gun. It was what he thought about in space mostly. Retracing back to when she held him, remembering the genuine touch she gave to him, like a mother to a child.
"Ahh love...it's a shame. It's a shame you can't be here and stay..." He said to the sculpture.
"Cause-cause I've gotten real smarter...did you know that the lizard people can breath underwater...oh, and they don't like being called lizard people very much...found that out the hard way." He said, remembering when he was about to punched by one of them in the inn the other day. Not pleasant.
A knock on the door prompted Wheatley to throw a sheet on top of it out of panic.
"It's open...I-I mean, just a minute!"
He shuffled the sculpture away in a cupboard, making loud banging noises that perplexed Doug, who began wondering what the core was doing. He didn't bother asking.
"Okay okay...you can come in!"
Doug entered, seeing Wheatley sitting in the middle of the room with his claws behind his back, looking intently at the man.
"Lovely night innit? It'd be a shame to waste it inside! What with the great big..full...moon...nss..."
Doug had to press his point in regardless. "Okay...uhh yes it is. I was just going to say the Wheatleymobile 2.0 is almost complete. I just need to-"
Doug stopped as he heard a muffled crash from his right as Wheatley's optic was left wide open, then his eye fell to the bottom left.
"Uh...s'nothing. You did not just hear the sound of crashing! Uh...W-well it's a speaker...yes...a speaker. It makes noises and one of them happens to be crashing. Satisfying, brilliant, agonizing crashing."
Doug ignored it. "I'm going to pretend for the moment that I'm going to believe you and say that I have almost finished your walker..."
Wheatley lit up. completely forgetting his problem. "Oh...Oh good! You're amazing Douggy. Just brilliant. While I do say I was having a whale of a time in this Wheatleymobile I believe this...this...robot enhancement doomalacky will be great! No more stinking claws...although, I have never used...hands before. Claws are great...but uh the fact I'd have what you call thumbs."
Doug smiled. "Human thumbs separate us from the more primitive species. That and our growing intelligence."
Wheatley examined his claw, twirling it about until he saw a bit of sculpture material on the top claw. Noticing this, he withdrew it from view. "You didn't see that."
Doug shook his head. He didn't care much for Wheatley's shenanigans. "No...no I didn't. So. Want to try the walker out?"
They'd gotten downstairs where Doug had shuffled back down into his seat, picking up a screw driver and making tiny adjustments. Wheatley sat on his management rail, eye darting on the walker. It had a familiar shape and feel to them, a metallic silver that dully glistened in the candlelight with a series of cables and cords. It fell a bit short compared to Doug's average human height. It had painted blue shoulder pads and knees pads that had WM 2.0 written in small industrial red test. He then looked at the blue prints. It had the Aperture mark on them, and had all sorts of details and nitpicks on them that Wheatley was convinced he entirely understood. On top read, 'ATLAS'. Another sheet had something similar, and that was what Doug was working on. Now he understood it was modified model of the ATLAS Frame.
Wheatley could slightly recall the robot projects, seeing their failed carcasses discarded in large mechanical tips that were nestled near the incinerators. The thought scared him. Back at the facility, Doug and Wheatley would avoid going near there and deliberately take the long way around. It created a surprising spark in his circuitry first time he'd seen it, huddling around Doug long enough to not even look at it.
Doug understood this completely. He'd helped work on many of the cores and never met somewhere as so timid as Wheatley. There were dozens of cores that had their own unique personalities. Doug had undergone a little bit of detective work to find out their programming codes. Unsurprisingly, he'd had to hack through the network of passwords and firewalls, until finding out about the Neurological Brain Scans. His boss, by the name of Henry, was in charge of the entire project. He'd known about the scores of test subjects sacrificed in the name of science, and was sworn to secrecy or else be subject to being fired, or worse. But the line had to be drawn somewhere.
Months in to his job, he started feeling ill. All employees lived on-sight as per the job requirements. Doug was happy with that. His uncle was one of the higher ups so he could jump into it straight away. The rooms were extremely tiny. And in dull white colours, a common theme. Double bed with white sheets and a single piece of artwork that according the studies, was supposed to make you feel refreshed. And the lack of noise...Watercooler gossip developed a rumor about the silence in the bedrooms. The walls weren't insulated with asbestos, much to Doug's relief, but with a type of sound-breaker. It was well known that the employees needed their beauty sleep. Doug hated it. At night, he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. He'd started with hallucinating voices, inanimate objects taunting him, bringing him down and breaking his mind. He'd seen a therapist and talked with on-sight Psychiatrists who prescribed him with the right medication that provided him with much relief.
Doug was productive in his own, little tight cubicle with a bobble head Siberian Husky sitting on top of his monitor. When he wasn't helping out on projects or doing his primary duty with graphics maintenance, as par the Aperture Image Format, he'd assess and type out test subject reports like everyone else in his department. There were usually dozens of test subjects processed each day and hundreds per month. Within months, he'd recognized a few names in the lists. Fellow employees and some employers. Some came back, some didn't. Some had a blast and others just didn't want to work there anymore.
It was then the Core allocation program was brought in by Henry. Doug had expressed his condition quietly to his friend who found the perfect solution was to have each employee buddied with their own personality core. Doug thought it was brilliant. He'd finally have someone to talk to, since he wasn't really much of a social person. No one down here was, unless you prefer being married to science a social aspect a physical construct.
It was then he first met Wheatley. Chatty, timid thing, but they became the best of friends. Wheatley's nonsensical jabbering was annoying at first, but he came to accept it, needing that more than going mad without proper contact. That wasn't to say that was all that Wheatley did. Each core was corresponded with their own job and had their own employee identification number. Each was tested of their capabilities and general knowledge then were allocated with their role in the facility. Doug was surprised that Wheatley was chosen to tend to the human test subjects. Wheatley was quite confused and unsure of what to do. Doug was more than happy, as his buddy, to help him out.
Doug showed Wheatley where the chambers were for the hundreds of test subjects in storage, then the Extended Relaxation Center where there were the long-term resting subjects. He'd explained how each was put asleep until they were woken up to do a series of tests the scientists had in store for them. Wheatley became enamoured with being in charge of the tending and asked to pluck one out for testing. Doug had to explain to him that he had to wait until one of the scientists had a course set out for one.
He then took the core to the test chambers. There was one test subject already on the course, holding a peculiar white gun in his hand and wearing an orange jumpsuit. He'd gotten through just fine. Wheatley became dumbfounded by the portal process, which Doug, again, worded out the simplest of terms for the dim ball.
Teaching Wheatley the basics wasn't too hard. Doug had to repeat himself several times. And before long, he found himself more comfortable with the prospect, only to still be slightly disgusted that he had to handle their more...unsanitary liquids. Doug reminded him that was only for when they had to be woken up to be checked of course.
Doug remembered those times well. It was...relaxing but tense at first. His concern for the core grew as Wheatley consistently asked questions about humans. Like, where do they charge and what not. His own knowledge was based on what had be programmed, according to what Henry had told him. It was then Doug's curious nature got to the better of him. He had to investigate the Personality Core codes.
Doug was a whizz when it came to hacking. Thousands of dollars worth of computer science education weren't wasted as he bypassed the online security networks. He'd come across a confidential file that was filled with a list of cores and personality byproducts. Wheatley was one of them. He'd had Wheatley behind him the entire time, asking him to be a good core and keep an eye out for anyone who walked passed his office cubicle. He delved in far deeper than he should have, but he'd taken extreme precautions so he wouldn't get caught. Paranoia was at an all time high, whisking down far too many pills for his own good. Fingers twitched as he rapidly typed and clicked his mouse. He stopped as he scanned Wheatley's file and almost gasped at it's content. He looked over his shoulder as Wheatley gently hummed and flapped his handles about as he hung on the management rail. Innocent, ignorant Wheatley. He turned back. He quickly closed the file as Wheatley warned him that Henry was coming over.
He wanted to show Doug something.
And dear God did he show something.
Their latest project was the biggest. A master AI system that would help maintain the status of the facility. Doug became slightly anxious, being around it. It was bigger than anything he'd seen. He'd also seen a lot of sci-fi films to know the possibilities surrounding dependent faith on a system that held a lot of power.
After small chatter and a bit of a small check out of the system, he went straight back to his cubicle and resumed hacking. Wheatley pestered him briefly about what Henry wanted to show him. Doug ignored him as he poured his fingers onto the keyboard, finding out about the Master AI.
Doug threw up a little in his mouth as he read through the file, making Wheatley worried. Doug shot up from his chair, needing to take a breather. Wheatley was adamant in following him. But Doug had to move. He'd walked passed an interview room and bumped into an employee who came out of the room. He noted Doug for his perfect timing and handed him a vermillion folder. Doug eyed the file curiously, opening up and seeing big red text stamped on the first page. "Rejected."
He was about to ask about it, before his co-worker walked off without saying anything. Doug looked through the window next to the door, seeing a hunched over woman with tanned skin, tight white singlet with loose orange three quarter pants, her black hair tied back with bits hang out on the side and a bit of a stubborn expression on her face. But she didn't look angry, happy or sad. Her body language and hair style suggested professionalism with an attitude problem but something about her made Doug's thoughts click. He didn't understand what, however.
He'd filed the folder away after he inserted the details onto the test subject list, listing her as test subject #1498. Eying the reports carefully, his initial thought description was correct. Her last name was erased, making Doug even more interested in this woman. Flipping a page, he could see that her psychological profile was rather...well noted. Scoring into the 99th percentile in the traits of tenacity, Doug read further that his thoughts about her being stubborn were also correct. It also explained why she was rejected, due to Apertures testing standards. He took the folder out and stared at it for a long time. In a hunch that suddenly built up, he stored it away into his personal files. He didn't know why and for the life of him didn't care. He needed that file close...in a flight of sudden preparation.
In the coming weeks the Master AI's development was nearing to it's activation stage. Doug grew increasingly anxious because of it. He'd up the dosage of his medication, despite his doctors suggested he do the opposite. His sanity was at the end of a losing battle and nearly snapped when the Master AI was finally activated.
Despite the fact that they had personality cores everywhere in the facility, Henry had become entirely obsessed with the fact that what they were making was the absolute pinnacle of science and what they strive to achieve. He had Doug help him in minor fractions to develop the Morality Core as a precaution to the original activation protocols. Doug wasn't too convinced that this was going to work. And as a result, and the sheer accuracy of his gut, it didn't.
Doug recalled being frustrated and annoyed as Wheatley attempt to aid the man to relax. But the babbling core wasn't doing anything to settle him. He had more episodes, skipped taking his medication and mentioned that nobody was bothering to listen to him anymore, despite that Wheatley was on the only one who could possibly put up with it and pleaded that he was listening the entire time, no matter how insane the remarks had been. Doug had the inkling that they only kept him around for the time being due to his connection to a higher up. He was on the verge of breaking point when he found out Wheatley was taken away. When he asked about it, it was mentioned that Wheatley had the programming necessary to help hinder the Master AI and get them to control her a lot easier, his new identification stationed as, "Intelligence Dampening Sphere." Doug knew that Wheatley did not like his intelligence being insulted. But the scientists were smart enough not to give a word about it to him, instead explaining that he had done so well (Not really) in tending to the test subjects that they had given him a promotion to help out the Master AI. From memory, Doug was told that Wheatley was ecstatic and very eager to assist, that little idiot brain of his filtering out what he thought were great ideas. The Master AI absolutely hated it. She'd declared to be good if the Sphere was taken out and that she felt no need to hurt anybody. To say that while the scientists were...intelligent, their judgment, was completely absent.
They'd organized a "Bring your Daughter to Work Day." on the account that the Master AI was going to set up standardized testing for them. All for science of course. Doug knew this was far worse than what Wheatley could conjure. At least he didn't want anyone to die. The day came as the daughters were brought to the main testing chambers. One waited, in her orange Aperture jumpsuit, in the waiting room with the other girls. She sat there, with no elegance but a frame of stillness, not a scrap of happiness on her. He recognized her as the woman from the interview room. It dawned on him that the erasing of her last name made a lot more sense. He stood from behind the glass window as he held a depressed Wheatley in his arms.
Wheatley made comments about the girl. Doug stared at her. The air around her seemed to shift at her outlier personality. She refused to speak to any of the other girls nor did she bother acknowledging their presence. The time came when she was next in line, when...
Wheatley popped out Doug out of his intensive daydreaming. He could work and day dream at the same time but it was apparent his mind was out of it. Wheatley looked solemn, his optic low.
"What's the problem now?" Doug complained, not aware of the aggressiveness he was showing.
Wheatley was taken a back briefly. "Look...I sort of have a confession to make...that breaking sound up there? That...that was a statue. Crude...yes I know... I wanted to be an artist like you. I'll-I'll stop it there..."
The admission perked Doug up slightly out of his irritant phase. He felt guilty for that brief treatment and gave Wheatley a chance to work it out.
"What were you...trying to make a statue out of?" He asked. He picked Wheatley up and inserted him into the replica ATLAS frame. He detected Wheatley's hesitance to talk about it. Which was strange, considering Wheatley pretty much talked about everything.
"Uh...nothing really. Just a bit...just a bit of this and that. Nothing of the greatest importance...now...so...when can I start walking around in this thing? I-I wanna try it!"
Doug withheld his statements for later as he made the final adjustments. "Now...go on."
Wheatley lowered his top shutter, clearly not understanding what he meant. "Uhh...um it's not...AGHHHH!"
Doug stood back as the left arm on the walker frame started swing around, smacking the tables and throwing tools and pieces of metal everywhere. It shook with Wheatley's fear as he looked at Doug with a frightened eye.
"Ah! Douggy! Euch...is that-is that supposed to happen?" Wheatley pleaded with worry.
Doug squinted and tried to examine in thoroughly. "It's attached to your completely. I've implanted the wires into the back interior of your shell. I think, if I did my research correctly, there was a plan to let cores have their own bodies."
It was a lie of course, but Doug needed to gave that reassurance within the conversation.
"Obviously THAT didn't get sorted did it? It would have been entirely useful in the past." He mentioned sarcastically, lowering his top shutter.
Doug rolled his eyes and grabbed hold of the spinning arm. "Don't think...feel."
Wheatley became baffled at it, wracking at his circuits to figure it out. Doug let go of his arm and walked backwards more, to give Wheatley more space. He could tell the core was working so hard at trying to walk at least a few steps. The knee in the right leg started shaking, Doug's face lighting up a smidget. Wheatley noticed and looked down.
"I'm doing it...I can't believe it! It's..."
He flung the leg up to high and fell backwards on his back, emitting a groan of pain. Doug face-palmed. He walked over to give him a hand, when Wheatley shook his head.
"No...no...I've got this...I have got this...just gimme...gimme a chance will ya?" He asked. Doug raised his hands passively and went back to watch. It was going to ideal for the core to finally get around on his own. He lifted his hand, his thin, plastic-metal looking hand and slammed it too hard into the ground, making Doug a bit jumpy. He was a bit shaky at first, but Wheatley soon got the handle of it. A few flops here and there...it was then the core admitted defeat.
"Augh...oh God...Douggy...Douggy can-can you help me out here? Please?"
Doug withheld a sigh and walked over and picked the core up and helped him sit down on the chair. It was obvious Wheatley needed time to work out the kinks of the walker as well as his own programming for it. He rubbed his nose then looked at the floor, seeing a piece of paper. He walked over and picked it up, seeing a dragon symbol on top of it. Upon his trail of thoughts, he figured that this same symbol was on one of the books he'd read at Winterhold. He swore on it. He examined it closely, then figured it had come from Wheatley during his fall. He fixed up the table, then flattened the folded letter on top of it.
"Is this yours?" Doug asked, leaning over the core.
Wheatley glimpsed at, his optic widened. "Oh...oh yes..." He exclaimed. He suddenly moved his hand to grab at a overly fast pace, nearly breaking the table in two.
"Woops...sorry bout that. Bit of muscle there...too much muscle...apparently."
Doug gave Wheatley intensive looks. Wheatley kicked and unresistingly gave way.
"Alright...alright...I got it from...um...look, can we do a pinky promise that you will absolutely, positively, will-will not say this to anyone...even me!" He asked honestly.
Doug watched as Wheatley dragged his hand back to his side, but not before Doug hooked his finger around the folded paper.
"It's from Chell..." He said with sadness, then his expression opened up.
"Would you believe it? She's here! She's really here! She-she couldn't stay long of course...and you know what? She looks weird outside of that...smelly jumpsuit of hers. Some kind of brown, leather material that was sending off signals...which I then silenced because they were...they were kind of annoying." Wheatley said excitedly.
Doug's eyes widened. Wheatley was a real bad liar yes, but the way he spoke about it was more genuine that he could explain himself. Chell...the one Doug had chosen. Was here. In Skyrim. His own head couldn't wrap itself around the very concept.
Wheatley nodded frantically. "But...Yes yes yes! She's here! I saw her with my own eye! Ohh...if I could show you my recordings...I would have full...blown...proof she is still around...here's me thinking...why would she be philandering around in a death trap such as this? Then I thought...what if this was what it was really like on the surface? I-I...uh...had no idea.."
Doug rested his hand on the core. A million issues were parading their way at the moment. Doug might have enjoyed making things for people and getting decent money for it, his concern for the Dragonborn always came back. But for Chell to reappear...he couldn't...he just couldn't...He dug his fingers into his scalp and rubbed it. One at a time would be nice. He mentally sorted out his priorities quickly before taking his hand off Wheatley.
"Okay...just...let me read the letter first. We'll deal with the Chell matter later." He stated.
Wheatley agreed. "Yes. Okay. So...you gonna deliver the letter? Cause I think it's directed to the Dragon Lady...not you." He asked.
Doug sighed. "She won't find out about it." He assured him.
Wheatley became paranoid. "Are-are you sure? I don't know if it all works that way...I-I mean, she could find out in the unlikely scenario. Maybe it's best for us to be...you know, prepared for it."
Doug gave it several impending thoughts. Wheatley was worried about something as petty as this, then the former scientist didn't know what to do. The letter was to the Dragonborn after all. Lydia mentioned that the Dragonborn had the uncanny ability to sniff things out as they were. Wheatley kept looking back and forth from the letter, as did Doug. Ultimately, both were curious to what was on the letter itself. They ignored it for the moment, as Doug went to work making a few adjustments to the walker.
His eyes kept drawing back to the note, sometimes meeting Wheatley's eye in the moments that passed. More moments, more staring at the letter. They had their little thirty second intervals at their glancing over. Doug's wooden clock kept ticking. And it strangely got louder and louder, thumping in his ears. He stopped working and tapped table with his finger as time drifted by. He bit his lip as Wheatley sung to himself quietly, his optic occasionally flinging over. Their eyes eventually met and they froze.
They both fumbled and grumbled over the letter, with Wheatley's still-adjusting hands fighting with Doug's to open it. Doug's competence won in the end. The core failed to care much, he was just hustling and very giddy to know what was written.
"Come on, what does it say?" Wheatley said eagerly.
Doug licked his dry lips. He was going to murdered for this, he was sure of it. But his hunch was giving the slight confidence, much to the mans surprise. The hand writing was simple, if not very modern. It didn't have the ancient italic or fancy design but rather a present day look to it. He'd spent far too much time here as he'd gotten used to the way the people wrote that he could barely remember what his own original text.
"It says...Recent Silver-Hand Shipment indicates they're ready to strike at the Companions. Be cautious."
They exchanged strange looks, Wheatley more so. Another hunch built up again. And it certainly wasn't saying anything good.
"Um...uh...what does that mean? Silver-Hand? What Silver-Hand? Sounds like somebodies got a bloody big great metal hand that's gonna swat the living daylights out of the Companions."
Doug groaned and face-palmed. "It's a group, from what I've read. Vicious and brutal...hate Werewolves. Pretty much justified without the proper justifications. Doesn't surprise me that there are supernatural hunters here."
"Ahhhh...now-now that...make's a better story than something as obnoxious and stupid as a giant hand...terrible story that...just terrible." Wheatley complained.
Doug ignored him. But the letter...it concerned him. Upon further reading, the corner of the paper held an unfamiliar marking that didn't help even when he squinted at it's shape. It wasn't complicated, but it was a scribbled diamond with a circle inside of it. On his travels throughout Whiterun he'd seen similar symbols. But not this one. His stomach churned at the thought of it, fingers clenched against his chest. The hunch spoke to him like his Cube used to, except without total confidence this time.
"I think we should take this to the Dragonborn. Now."
It had started to rain as the sun disappeared over the mountains. Doug rugged up and headed towards Jorrvaskr. This was definitely urgent. He berated Wheatley for withholding this from him, when the Dragonborn could been in grave danger. But he had read up the Silver-Hand. And from the previous looks on the Dragonborns face she held them in deep hatred and disgust. A single mention managed to get her ticked off and rant into a blind rampage. He'd never seen anyone so angry before, well besides her... the Woman from Down Below. Doug figured, if he could take on the Dragonborns anger, then he would able to take on a lot more. Like Wheatley's supposed encounter with Chell. Had she made to Skyrim on her travels? He then remembered Wheatley's story of friendship, betrayal and deep regret. He thought he'd killed her by accident. It brought nothing but sorrow to the core when ever he spoke about it. He made note to himself to have a meaningful conversation once this business was all sorted.
He made it to Jorrvaskr and knocked on the door, eager to see her, but didn't know how she would react to his presence in her workplace. Although, he and Wheatley had been curious what dwelled in such a strange looking building, a warriors palace, that Doug came to think of it as. Every time he'd gone past, or he'd wander over the back to have a quick squizz there was always someone training. Sometimes he'd see the Dragonborn standing with her fellow Companions watching a new recruit train against the targeted dummies by the back wall. A secret society that wasn't really secret. A lot of it reminded him of Aperture, but he didn't understand why.
He knocked again when nobody answered, only to find someone standing before him.
"Vilkas..." Doug muttered. The man looked as gruff as they came, but held an air of superiority in his fancy looking armor with wolf decal. The tall, dark solid man gave him beady stares and crossed arms. Very imposing.
"Yeah what is it?"
Doug swallowed, clearly unnerved by the man. "Um...uh...is your Harbinger there?"
He held a similar position of his eyes like that of the Dragonborn, holding himself in high authority.
"No. She's not...and even if she was, what business do you have with her?" He asked. He had a feeling that Vilkas attitude was pretty much the same, just different accents.
Doug held the letter close. "I just wanted to talk to her as all. I need to give her something."
Vilkas grumbled. You'd think after spending months here that Doug would man up. Unfortunately, that had yet to occur since his failed outburst.
"Something that you want to share with me? I can relay the problem to her once she returns."
Doug looked down at the paper. It concerned the Companions all around. He lifted his head to look at Vilkas, who pinpointed his eyes into Doug with great scrutiny.
"It's a message that needs to be given to her, but...it's a matter of the Companions as well." He confided.
Vilkas crossed his arms. "Well spit it out, I don't have all night."
Doug nodded. "The Silver-Hand. We got a message that they're ready to, strike, at the Companions. When and where we don't know."
He felt shorter once Vilkas body language became more intimidating, making Doug feel like he was shrinking in his sheer presence.
"Where did you get this information?" He asked.
Doug's hands shook as he held the letter up in quick haste. "Here..uhh it had a symbol on it. Have no idea what that symbol is though."
Vilkas grabbed the letter from Doug's hand and whacked the kinks out of it with the back of his hand before screening it. He looked at Doug, before checking out the letter again.
"...We have our sources...not sure if this one can be trusted." Said Vilkas. He handed the letter back to Doug.
"But we've had no such problems dealing with the Silver-Hand lately."
That didn't comfort Doug's stomach at all. There was a slight hardness to his voice that made Doug suspect he was lying. But Doug had to persist.
"Please just...warn the Harbinger then? A little heads up perhaps?" Doug iterated, his voice nearly croaking.
Vilkas hardly moved. He was like a rock hard statue. But there was a slip in his composure. "I'll put the message through."
Doug nodded and smiled. "Ah thanks...that's great."
Doug knew he should feel at ease. But he couldn't. He sat on edge as he rested on the chair in the lounge as Wheatley was busy practicing his movements. He hadn't even seen the Dragonborn in a while, let alone heard her word in the streets. He knew something was up at Jorrvaskr and they failed to tell him anything. It stirred up a storm in his stomach as he leaned over on his nice red couch he'd made himself. Not as comfy as one would like but he had to make do with what he had.
He'd ignored the banging Wheatley was making and poured all his mental power and attention at the position he was in. He looked at the bumbling bot once and thought of Chell. A question ran rings around him. Why was Chell helping them out? How did she know this information? And why wasn't she here with him and Wheatley sorting this all out like you would normally. It rattled, threatening more headaches. Doug could construct things, no doubt about that. But when figuring out the motives of several individuals was a process he left to his hunches. Then again, he decided that Chell was never really a normal person to begin with and finished with that theory.
He resumed to his original pasture and gave numerous attempts to lay back and relax. It was deathly quiet around this time of night. Everyone had gone to bed, save for the patrolling guards. He'd get another knock on the door for certain, given Wheatley's ruckus. He watched from afar, as arms and legs were bending and slapping all over the place. He'd have to give a thorough tune up in the morning. Now he was just dead tired.
Ten minutes later he removed Wheatley from the walker frame, as they had agreed to keep going ahead with the testing as soon as Doug was feeling more awake. He attached the Sphere to his management rail and let him ride off into his room. Doug meanwhile stored the frame and locked in a cupboard, and finally retired upstairs.
He was sleepy, but ironically, couldn't sleep. His hand rested on his chest, puffy eyes watching it's rhythm. He then looked at the ceiling. This often happened when his brain was too busy with quick and easy bursts of unfiltered chants. He imagined the roof to be more flat, the walls rusty and catwalks everywhere he went. A comfy bed was all that grounded him to the true reality, but otherwise he was back at the facility, running away from the Woman from Down Below.
He looked at his worn hands. Days of work kept him in a well state of mind but as soon as he stopped everything would just fall back into place. He stressed far more when he was alone and idle, like he was the last man on Earth. He ran his spare hand over the rough texture of the dull blue bedsheets, extending his fingers and hearing bones crack underneath. His eyes became wide open despite the heaviness of his eyelids. He worried about finding the perfect method of transportation for Wheatley more than he valued the health of his own body. It was just complicated like that.
He turned to his side, growing anxious and placed his hand beside his head, scrunching his body up and bring his knees closer to his chest. Nope. Didn't work at all. He cursed this abnormal and out of whack sleeping pattern. His body was tired, but his eyes never agreed with it. Then again, his own eyes played their tricks, a symbol of his condition. He heaved a big sigh, desperate sigh. Luckily, his eyes started to ache as he closed his lids, finally drifting off into an awkward sleep as he listened to the rain hitting the roof.
The next day he made headed over to the Inn to have a chat with Lydia. They discussed more recent kidnappings that were popping up in all holds, including Whiterun. The housecarl told Doug of her temporal fears that her Thane was one of them, but held a fake brave face and was fooling herself to believe that her Thane was a very, very busy woman. When asked of his opinion, Doug had no choice to agree. He kept convincing himself that the Dragonborn should be the least of his worries.
They shared breakfast together and joined in with some of the early morning workers. Doug pinpointed and wrote down several more commissions. There were even those that had traveled from the other cities asking for various tools, such as drills and instruments used for new methods of welding and melting down metals. He was given the coins, displayed a happy smile and declared he had more to do, heading off back home afterwards.
The day drifted by unknowingly. Wheatley was getting...slightly better when walking in the ATLAS frame. Doug tinkered non-stop, avoiding lunch as he carved the drills out. He stopped around two o'clock, near exhausted, working from nine am that morning. He sat on his couch and continued to scribble drawings, his original true passion.
He poured out his thoughts as they continue to translate into lines on paper that eventually took shape. Another picture of the Dragonborn in a noble pose, before he realized he had filled an entire book filled with the Dragonborns heroism. This...never made sense to him. She was absolutely mental, brash and very manipulative, that Wheatley had to point out several times. But she was also very unpredictable, which made Doug's curious notion of her quite notable. He closed the book and shoved it underneath the coffee table. God knows what Wheatley would do if he found out about it. He'd head to the general store to purchase another blank page book and scurry back to Gildekin to continue. This time he'd reminisced Aperture and decided that if he inserted his memories inside the book they could last a lot longer than he would exist. Throughout the times he'd drawn on the test chamber walls he prayed that they would at least tell a story to someone who could hardly understand the drastics of the situation they were in.
Later that night he had his dinner and stared at his plate. Wheatley was pretending to eat with a fork and spoon, as Doug had suggested he try and get his dexterity operating properly. Chicken breasts with potato, peas, carrots and corn, all cooked up nicely. Doug laughed under his breath as Wheatley bemoaned the fact that he didn't have a sense of taste. It was entertainment, for another dull evening.
A knock on his door raised his head and had wondered who would visit them at this time of night.
He asked Wheatley to go answer it, just to get used to moving his legs. The core walked over to the front entrance and opened the door. No one was there. He poked his head out, looked left and right. He even squinted. Nope. A prank from one of the local boys. There were a funny lot, but sometimes it would get annoying. Wheatley shrugged his shoulder pads and popped back inside and closed the door. He turned around to go back to the dining room, only to bump into someone wearing brown clothing and within that instant glance in their eyes, a quick retrieval of that image reappeared in his mind.
"Ahh! It's...oh I almost forgot...we have to be silent...Douggy's here though and he's very excited to see you...I told em you were here and-"
The woman lowered her hood as she stared at Wheatley. She looked around the front entrance area and at the stares behind her. Then glimpsed into the dining room where Doug had been eating. She put her finger to her lips again, telling Wheatley to be quiet, as to not arouse suspicion from Doug. Wheatley failed to envision the seriousness on her face.
He nodded compliantly anyway as she grabbed his hand and took him to the lounge room. She obviously wanted to get him away from Doug, who was still eating his dinner and was now reading a book. Chell closed the door to the lounge room and ushered the dumbfounded core to sit down. He did so with a stern nod as Chell sat on the couch opposite his, by the fire.
She sat down and leaned over. Wheatley waited for her to say something, even though she wouldn't. Instead, she pulled out a piece of paper.
"What's this?" He asked.
Chell tapped the paper. Wheatley squinted his shutters at it, trying to read.
"Sightings of missing persons have been noted at Fort Mistwatch." He read. He looked Chell who motioned him with a nod to keep going.
"Silver-Hand have captured at least three Nord males, two Breton males, one Dumner female and one Nord female. All have been compared to the missing persons."
Wheatley was unconsciously getting the proper hold on the robot body frame, like he had been in it all his life. He didn't realize this of course and acted as he did. "Doug mentioned these recent kidnappings...and we read the letter...I-I know...I know we shouldn't have done it...we were just so darn curious and would you have it that I completely forgot about the letter...bloody mind was off with the fairies..."
Chell pursed her lips and looked down. This wasn't good.
"What? Oh love please don't look like that. I-I don't want you to look like that, really. If it's something I've-I've done...I'm sorry. Again...for everything...I cannot...I cannot seem to apologize any further. You haven't forgiven me. Okay...THAT...I understand...could we just pass through that, and, get on with the program."
She stood up from the couch, overlooking the sphere in his babbling state. He looked so needy as she stared into his optic. It was obvious that he didn't want her to go. He tried so hard as she grabbed hold of her pants that she froze as she attempted to walk away. She quickly snapped out of it and pointed to the letter and then pointing in the direction of the dining room. It baffled Wheatley on what was signaling. He looked at the letter, then back up. Again...she was gone.
Wheatley bolted into the dining room in such short haste, accidentally flipping the table. Doug was gone too, scaring the hell out of the core.
"Douggy! Douggy!" He cried in such desperation.
Doug popped out from another door. From the sound of gushing, he'd only been in the kitchen washing the dishes.
"Who was at the door?" Doug asked. Washing the dishes often calmed Doug, for some unexplained reason, so he appeared quite relaxed. Wheatley was distressed however, so he'd hoped it was nothing too serious.
"Chell! It was her again! She came into the house...and I tried to stop her! I wanted her to stay where she as cause-cause I told her you wanted to see her! She did! But...she didn't. Again...she left in quite a hurry. I kept forgetting she was a real good ninja."
Doug sat Wheatley back down on the chair as the arms wailed out of control. He popped out of the frame and hooked him to the management rail. Wheatley went on rambling as Doug failed to get him back on track. In the end he flicked his side, forcing the sphere to sit straight. The human had to get a few things straightened first.
"Okay...first things first. Next time you see Chell, call me." He started in his rare time rationalism.
"Secondly, what did she say this time?"
Wheatley cleared his hand. "Uh yes...of course. Um...in that little letter then, should be in the frames hand."
Another letter from Chell so soon. It was possible this could become a occurrence, Doug thought. He picked the letter out and read it thoroughly. Kidnappings. Like Lydia had mentioned. Further down it said it was at Mistwatch, a large Fort to the east. Doug got up and checked out the entire map of Skyrim. It wasn't written on there. He plucked his brain for ideas as he thought hard.
"So...what are we going to do?" Wheatley asked. "Do you think that letter means something?"
Of course it did. But the odd thing about it was Chell had given it to them, instead of anyone in the Companions or one of the higher ups. It was possible that Chell still, somehow, trusted Wheatley, given Wheatley's previous adventure, and needed someone to get her voiceless point across. The corner of the letter had the same mark as the first one did. He recalled Vilkas saying that the source wasn't as reliable as the ones they usually have. Doug became wary and suspicious of the man. In fact, his general bias against the Companions was beginning to change. They had been acting odd in the last times Doug had came across any of them and they becoming more and more secretive. Why, though, was anyone's guess. Doug wasn't satisfied with being left hanging, hungry for answers.
He went to Breezehome, seeing if Lydia was home. The Housecarl was reading a book in her room, as usual, looking like she had nary a care in the world. This time, Doug had serious intention. The entire ordeal was getting ridiculous as his gut was telling him the Dragonborns behaviour was somehow linked.
He'd asked her if she ever kept a diary or anything. She did, but it was no longer kept inside Breezehome. She gave the suggestion about visiting Jorrvaskr. And with that, he did.
It was late and Doug felt he was out of his mind doing this. His obsession with the Dragonborn was an unusual case that he never really sorted out within himself. Genuine concern was one, but he knew something else clouded his better judgement over it. If anything, he blamed his hunch for making him so god damned worried. Normally, he would know better but this. Totally out of his mind.
In all of Doug's experience, he was completely aware of what his mind was capable of. It either helped or hindered, but throughout the years he was able to determine what voice to listen to and what voice to ignore. Mentally, he still had a lot to deal with. So much emotional baggage that hadn't been picked up and messages still left unchecked. He'd shoved them into the back and went on over time forgetting about them. Skyrim had opened up a lot more than needed, but begged him to answer misplaced questions. Especially about himself.
In all honesty, he didn't want to do it. Not at all. But it wouldn't have been the first time he had to do something he didn't like. If anything, he was the most well-informed despite the lack of information on his part. As a Scientist, a well motivated mind was a ticket to be invited into the unknown. Check this, check that. Test those, test these. It was all about the hypothesis first, then the application and then results and evaluation. It could be applied to every single thing he'd ever done. Or at least, the other scientists. Doug was more of a less on the safety and precaution side of self-requirements. Taking one last hypothesis, he decided to take action on the application stage.
He was lucky it was night as he snuck around to the back of Jorrvaskr. He whirled his head around, extremely cautious of any Companion who was still around. He bit his lip as he stayed in the darkness, keeping his head low. The Companions were strong, competent individuals who would have slain many an intruder before. His heartbeat quickened, before he remembered a spell that the Dragonborn had taught him.
Raising his hands into the air, with a quick flick of his fingers, Doug successfully cast the Muffle spell. He wasn't entirely convinced that he could do this himself. It was one of those times he could really, use the Cube's advice, despite the fact that the cube was an extension of his subconscious. But at least he could work things out properly, make plans and so forth. It'd worked in the past. Briefly...if not, being too successful...
He shuffled that out quickly as he carefully and agonizingly opened the door a tiny smidget and slid himself in. He had no time to examine the room once he got inside, instead, looking for somewhere to hide for the moment. There was a nearby table that he slide under, with a chair that shielded him decently from view, allowing him to analyze interior properly. In the middle of the lowered floor was a horseshoe shape made of tables, with clean silverware and candles. He could see that the walls were covered in obnoxious, self-absorbed achievements, with weapon-racks of shields and various weaponry. Four pillars held the place up as the tables were set near an open fire. There weren't many people about. A single old lady was left sweeping the floorboards. Over in the distance he could see a wooden rail and a banister. He checked that the old lady wasn't looking as he hustled himself over, surprising that he didn't tumble under his own feet. Once there, he saw a set of stairs leading down to a set of doors.
Once down there, he snuck into a long hallway that had sat underneath the mead hall. It looked like a Knights living quarters, only with more of aggressive feel. His eyes, aching as they kept their vigilance, darting from side to side as he passed other hallways and more doors. Doug wasn't entirely sure where this diary was or why he was even looking for it. His hallucinations started to flare up, seeing a ghostly looking wolf standing in front of him. It's eyes were dull and lifeless, as it turned around and ran to the other side of the the hallway, disappearing into another set of doors. Doug gulped as he continued walked on his tippy toes, desperate not to be seen as a sweat drop rolled down his forehead. His heart began to beat faster as he heard a door creak open. There was a another hall way crossing up ahead as he could see a Companion walk out from it. He dashed into the first hallway and silenced his breath, risking agony over getting caught. He briefly caught a glimpse of an Orc walking passed. The doors to the stairs made noise, convincing Doug he'd left out of sight. Sighing with relief, Doug crept to the very back room.
He squinted his eyes shut and again, bit his lip as he pushed the door and escaped inside. Another room. Judging from the numerous desks, shelves and boxes, it looked like a study. It was a mess. A Dragonborns mess. Papers and books were left open and lying everywhere, purple flower petals were scattered for some reason as Doug knelt down and picked one of the papers up.
It looked like a map of sorts, with a scribbled title, Fort Greymoor on top. It looked a crudely made drawing of the place, rooms and lines. Upon closer inspection, it was a plan to invade the place. He dropped the paper as his eyes were drawn to yet another set of doors. Standing up, he could detect the ghostly wolf inside.
He had no fear of being cautious whilst opening this particular doors. He brushed against them as they flung. Another messy room with a great big bed, with more drawers and shelves. Candles were lit, making Doug wonder why would you bother with lighting the candles if no one was here. He pushed the thought away and scoured the room for any clue.
He rummaged through many drawers, finding nothing in particular. Judging by the status of the mess, anything that was in the drawers was on the floor. No real surprise there. He kept digging, until he found a red leather book with a gold outline. He turned to the first page, where there was a scribbled drawing of the dragon symbol in front of it, followed by a Wolf surrounding it. He could see the ghostly wolf in the corner of the room, sitting down and staring at Doug. It's intent was clear. He wanted Doug to search through the book.
Flipping through it's pages, he deduced that from the dates that this was definitely her diary. The first few pages described her first ventures as Harbinger and, much to Doug's immediate suspicion, her attraction to Farkas. Many of the entries had described her struggle to deal with the attraction whilst dealing with Companion and Circle matters. First she worried about what Vilkas would do, but then seemed to prevent herself from taking the issue further, accepting the fact she had no idea how to deal with it. It explained why she was walking around with a man, and when they parted ways, she either smiled and walked off, or grumbled to herself. Doug had witnessed that many times.
He read the date that he and her met. Claimed he was an odd, weak coward man that she found interesting. Looking further indicated she actually enjoyed his company and hated to admit it that she felt like he had become more than just some ally she'd found on top of a tower that day. It made Doug smile. The Dragonborn never really called anyone her friend. Hated to admit that too.
Down the track, more entries mentioned her lack of sleep. Another discovery. She hadn't dreamed in forever and, judging from her descriptions, actually missed it. Another admission applied one dream out of all the dreamless sleeps about Draugr protecting something. More reading indicated that this dream was in fact about finding Wheatley, much to her shock. Like with Doug himself, she found the Core entertaining. At least, better than that irritating meteor that kept talking about Space.
One thing about these that perplexed Doug was that she vented out her more obscure feelings, even though she wrote about her lack of understanding in those topics. That's what, at least, Doug was getting from her. She had horrid grammar but he got the jist of it at least. Some seemed rushed as the handwriting became more erratic as the dates became more recent.
It was then he came across her final entry. Doug sat on the side of her ruffled bed and read it to himself in a low tone...imagining her fortified tone on top...
"We're getting closer now. Farkas and I raided Fort Greymoor together. It took us a while, but we finally managed to get some proper peace and quiet. You know what annoys me the most? It's that despite both of us getting closer, I'm beginning to feel another..stupid, pointless thing. You know what? It's not Farkas. Don't get me wrong Farkas is a great man. Strong and kind. I've said many times before that's the reason why I like the guy. But...every time I tell him, the wrong words pour out of my mouth, or what dialect that Doug dude seems to call it, orifice. Actually, that's a funny word. It has the word face in it. Gods damn it Doug stop corrupting me! It's getting irritating! To be honest, he's not a bad person. He's nice enough that it's a shame that I can't bring him with me. He's amusing at least and deserves all the praise...I mean, flushing toilets? This town has never felt cleaner! Jarl, or one of the great Gods, give this man a reward. People love it!
I was so damn close to tell Farkas...so so so close. But I failed. By the Gods I had failed. I was going to put on my Amulet of Mara and everything! You know why I failed? He vanished into thin air! So here we were, finished our raid of the bandits encampment and I had planned to tell Farkas after he'd opened the chest to find the Bandits loot, I turn to put on the Amulet and then surprise him with the proposal, like, you know, tradition in Skyrim n' all, and...he's gone. I looked everywhere. I didn't freak out. Gods no. Only Milk Drinkers freak out. So, like a big girl I went back to the chest and pulled out the loot.
It was a stinking book. A rotten book. What was so freaking important about a stupid thing? A waste of resources and my future husband. I swear of there was a damned Daedra in that fort I'm going to hunt them down and consume their entrail and I don't give two septims to the fact that that just sounded like something from the Dark Brotherhood.
I told Vilkas the bad news. He didn't take it too well. He shut himself off and refused to talk to me. How freakin' unprofessional. It wasn't my fault! But...he wouldn't have any of it. As Harbinger, it hurts to have no one listen to you. Then again, I was never in any position of power to begin with.
I'd almost forgotten about the book too. I had a quick read and learned that the Silver-Hand were hiring bandits to raid Dwemer ruins and look for numerous artifacts. They'd just about found something and had drawn down the object in the book itself. No one knew what it was. It was...like, a semi-circly shaped thingy, it was smooth and white with some kind of odd looking horn with a small ball at the end of it. It glowed too. It looked too different to be either Dwemer or even Daedric. But they were convinced it was Dwemer. Didn't make too much of a difference to me. The Silver-Hand were clearly up to no good. And what ever that thing did I feel it may tell me more about how Farkas went missing. If I find that artifact in there, might get Doug to look at it. Don't want to tread on a good citizen but I laid a claim on that coward a long time ago, so I should be first priority for him.
All of this important stuff lay at Fort Mistwatch. No one will bother listening to the Harbingers advice. Meh...don't need them anyway. I'm the Dragonborn. I do most quests myself anyway. So here I am, writing this down. Going to prepare myself for the Silver-Hand to get Farkas back at all costs. Then maybe I could get the respect I need as Harbinger...and maybe they will start heading my advice again."
There is that name again. Mistwatch. The Dragonborn had been avoiding Doug to find out this and was most likely sitting in that very room the entire time, planning her way to save Farkas. If he'd known he would have been a bit more sensitive. However, Doug grew accustomed to the fact that the Dragonborn was being deliberately evasive, but it did not stop him from his inherent circling around the campfire with her in mind. He looked up on the wall beside the bed side drawer and saw a map of Skyrim. It had been traced on and scribbled on with ink, with a small dot, south east of their location of Whiterun.
In tiny letters, it had. "Mistwatch."
Doug stood up tall, with now the location of the fort readily tucked in his memory. He tip toed again through the mess,recast muffle and stealthily left the premises to prepare a trip.
