Dawn finds me leaving Whiterun, Lydia at my side. I follow the road back to the bridges, and take the left turn instead. Heading north, we pass a couple of farms, the second proclaiming itself to be the Battle-Born farm in large letters on a sign next to the road. A little further down the road, we encounter a ragged pair, their clothing scorched.
"There are dragons about, traveller. Be warned!" Says the male as we approach.
"I know – I was at Helgen." I reassure him.
"Then you've seen them too! We lost our home, our livestock…we barely have enough gold to get by." His wife attempts to dust some soot off of her dress as he speaks, to no avail.
"Here you go." I offer them a small handful of coins, which the farmer takes gratefully.
"Thank-you, traveller! Be safe, and don't forget to keep an eye on the sky!" The two smile as they continue towards the city.
A little further on, a cart stands, one wheel lying in the middle of the road, and a colourfully-dressed man standing nearby. What is a jester doing out here, and why does he have a massive crate on the cart?
"Argh! Bother and befuddle!" He says in a sing-song manner when he sees us. "Stuck here – stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving! At rest, but too still." There's something not quite right about this fellow, but I should at least try to help him.
"Problem?" I ask, even though the cause of his angst is plain. But then again, many people have an obvious problem, yet need help for something else. Suddenly, a similar situation springs to mind. Back in Morrowind, a man had slipped; twisting his foot into an angle no appendage should sit in, and was in imminent danger of being crushed by the fleeing townsfolk. A couple of Dunmer had stopped to try and lift him up to prop him up on their shoulders, but he refused them, instead insisting they help his guar escape, even though the creatures were nowhere to be seen.
"Poor Cicero is stuck – can't you see?" The man cries, bringing me back to the present. "I was transporting my poor, sweet mother. Well, not her – her corpse; she's quite dead! I'm taking Mother to a new home, a new crypt, but…aah! Wagon wheel, damnedest wagon wheel! It broke, don't you see?" Not like the Dunmer guar-guard then.
"Is there some way I can help?" No sooner has the offer left my mouth, than the little merry-man starts dancing!
"Yes, oh yes! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the Loreius Farm – just over there off the road." He gestures up the slope the road twists around, atop which I can see a windmill. "Talk to Loreius – he has tools, he can help me. But he won't – he refuses! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel. Do that and poor Cicero will reward you – with coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!" This little man is definitely a few notes short of a ballad.
I turn away from Cicero and his broken cart, his horse snorting after me, and head up the track toward the farm. There, a man and his wife are tilling a field. I lean on the fence and call out to the man, who I assume to be Loreius.
"Oh, for the love of Mara, what now?" He says, exasperated, then straightens from his hoeing and approaches.
"The, um…" How to describe Cicero? "Little man really needs your help. With his wagon?"
"That Cicero fella? Huh! Tell me something I don't know. Crazy fool's already asked me about five times. Seems he's not satisfied with my answer. Why can't he just leave us alone?" What a grumpy old man! Well, I call him old … I'm not exactly young myself, though I haven't yet reached my prime. Great, now I do feel old. Dammit.
"So what's the problem? I'm sure he'll pay you…"
"Pay me?" Spluttered the farmer. "You think this is about money? Have you seen the man? He's completely out of his head! A jester, here is Skyrim? Aint been a merry man in these parts for a hundred years! And he's transporting some giant box. Says it's a coffin, and he's going to bury his mother. Mother my eye – he could have anything in there! War contraband, weapons, skooma! Aint no way I'm getting involved in any of that!"
"He's a stranger who needs assistance." I try to persuade him. "Please, do the right thing."
"What? And who in Mara's name are you, anyway, hm?" The one who could Shout you over the hill if you don't give over. "Come here, telling me my business. And for what? To help a…a…a fool?"
One last try. "You know you should help him."
"Look, I…I…You're right, you're right. Fella might be nutters, might not, but fact is he needs my help. I turn him away, what kind of a man am I? Sorry for my un-neighbourly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure to tell him I'll be down to help soon." With that, he drops is hoe and heads towards the farmhouse.
I return to the road and the broken cart.
"Poor Mother…her new home seems so very far…" bemoans the strange little man.
"I talked to Loreius. He's agreed to fix your wagon wheel." I inform him, and he twitches.
"You…you did? He has?! Oh stranger!" He begins to caper across the road and back as he speaks. "You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more – even more! My mother thanks you!" He stops and pulls out a coin-purse. "Here, here – for your troubles. Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed. And thank-you, thank-you again!"
As I walk away, I open the little bag, and pause, surprised. This is a lot of money! There is definitely something more to that little gleeman. I tuck the purse away and follow the road.
A few miles north, it is so cold the snow still lies in shallow banks against the occasional stone wall. No sooner have our feet begun to crunch through the fallen ice, than the sky goes grey and it begins to snow. Through the flakes, I can see where a western road joins the one Lydia and I currently travel, and an Orc wandering around the corpses of two sabre cats. Wonder what he's doing here, in the cold?
"If you're not here to grant me a good death, then you can leave." He rumbles when I catch his attention.
"A good death?" I ask, puzzled.
"Yes – were I to simply lay down and die, it would not please Malacath." Ah – a religious thing. I don't want to go against someone's wishes, especially when the god concerned a Daedric Lord.
"Perhaps I could give you the death you seek?" I say, not really enjoying the prospect of assisted suicide, but willing to do so. The wrath of a god can be devastating.
"Perhaps… Are you sure about this?"
"Yes, I am sure. I will give you a good death." Considering the bodies at his feet, this means a fight.
"Hm." Considers the hulking man. "We shall see…" With this, he drew his mace and prepared to swing.
I manage to block his first blow with my sword, and the next, but his third lands with a sickening thud on my shoulder. If it wasn't for my armour, my arm would be useless. As he reels from the rebound, I manage to slip in a couple of swipes at the un-protected flesh between the bands in his hide armour. His iron weapon descends towards my head, but I dodge and land another blow to his back, causing him to throw himself upright, his arms flailing. The speed of the battle has my heart pumping, and bloodlust overtakes me.
Three more of his attacks are swiftly blocked, and another swing causes one of the spikes on his mace to catch on my blade. I push the mace up over his head, detaching our weapons, and before he can react, I slash his legs out from under him, then swipe at the soft skin of his neck, half beheading him. If that wasn't a good death, I don't know what is. The need to kill fades, and I sheath my weapon, after using a snow-bank to wash off the blood. The blade now sports a long scratch where the iron spike tore a groove. I'll have to see to that when I find the materials. After skinning the two cats, planning to sell the pelts as payment for my deed, I check my map. I'm way too far east of my target, so, checking the signpost at the crossroads, I follow the western road towards Dawnstar.
After dodging past a couple of spiders – gods, I hate those things – Lydia and I reach a fort, through which the road passes, and occupied by several, hide-armoured figures. Damn – bandits never wear better than iron. Drawing my bow, I sneak through the wooden palisade, the gate across the road wide open. The patrolling bandits haven't seen us yet, so carefully aiming, I shoot one in the back. No-one seems to notice him fall, so I wait for one of the others to reappear.
Nothing happens, so I sneak up the wooden steps and onto the stone walls of the dilapidated buildings. I can see the body of the one I shot, and another is walking away from us past a door into the keep. Slowly, I draw another shaft to my cheek, just as she stops, and turns – a spots us.
Blast! I quickly loose the arrow, sending it driving deep into her shoulder. She hardly flinches, until another arrow from Lydia quickly throws her back about a foot, sending her sprawling on her back, never to get up again. This, however, has caught the attention of their archer, and he sends an arrow whistling over my head. As I turn and aim towards him, his next shot clatters to a halt at my feet. Thanking the gods for a poor shooter, I send my regards straight into his heart.
All opposition outside dealt with and looted, I head towards the small house opposite the fort. I may as well clear out the interiors – don't want these bandits taking their anger at their comrades' death out on innocent travellers.
Inside, the room is set out like a bar, a warm fire burning in the hearth and above it, the stuffed head of a sabre cat, tilted so that the wine bottle wedged between its teeth doesn't fall out. There are a couple of lockpicks on the counter top, which I take along with the gold and ingredients lying around. I can hear shuffling down in the cellar, but whoever it is hasn't noticed us – Lydia coughs.
Great. The shuffling has become two pairs of feet hurrying up the stairs. I hope you feel guilty now, Lydia, as great a companion as you are.
The first bandit to appear gets an arrow through the throat before he even turns around the bannister. The female, however, just steps over his body and charges towards me, battleaxe raised above her head at the beginning of a deadly swing. Then she topples backwards over her late fellow, first Lydia's then my arrows thudding into her torso one by one. Swiping their money and other light, sellable items, I slowly head down the sloped ladder to the cellar, straightening and swinging my bow onto my back when it is clear that the only other person in the building is already dead.
The poor man must have been the original proprietor of this little tavern. This doesn't stop me from checking all the containers in the room, taking the gold on the table nearby and picking the lock on the chest next to the bed to take the contents, though. Hey, a girl has to make money somehow, even if it is from stealing from the dead! Though, I suppose it isn't stealing when the original owner is dead, and his murderers dead too… Oh well.
Leaving the little building, I head through a stone archway and through a large pair of reinforced wooden doors, into the main keep itself.
The bandits here are, at first, distracted by the skeever fighting league they've set up in the main room, but they hear the squeak of the door's hinges as we enter, and decide that killing us and taking our stuff is much more interesting. I raise my bow, Lydia draws her sword, and we 'set to work', as it were.
Two bandits down, and Lydia falls into a crouch, obviously very injured. I stand, drawing my own steel blade, and slash and hack at the fool who felled her. He doesn't even have time to block before I manage a lucky hit, slashing his neck wide open. I seem to be good at this 'going for the throat' business. Gods help me when I meet a foe in better armour in real battle.
The skeevers ignore me – the effects of the emblems hasn't worn off yet – so I nick the cheese off of the nearby shelves to sell later. They may not get me much, but every little helps. I wonder if this need for wealth is my Dragon Blood influencing my nature?
Across a short hallway is a kitchen, which is soon emptied of supplies, along with the room up the stairs. There isn't much in the way of loot, but there is a locked chest that has a couple of potions in it that should fetch a pretty penny or twelve.
Returning outside via a trapdoor in the ceiling, we duck inside another door, leading to a small outer chamber, lined with shelves. These turn out to hold quite the library, along with a couple of potions and some alchemical ingredients, so I take the lot. Opening the other door reveals a smallish bedroom – and a bandit. Luckily this door is better hung than the other, so the hinges don't complain. This gives me time to aim an arrow at the woman's back before she sees us, and the arrow flies true – straight through her skull. OK, that wasn't really what I was aiming for, but a good result nonetheless.
After clearing the room and the corpse of all easily-carry-able, valuable items, I lead Lydia out and towards yet another door in the thick stone walls. This one turns out to lead to the mezzanine of two sets of stairs – and a pair of bandits, angry at our disturbing their quiet wandering. They charge towards us, blades hefted. The ruckus of our fight attracts another fellow, but this one is wearing solid steel plate and has a golden battleaxe. Crap – this must be the boss.
"Fus Ro!" I shout at him, throwing him halfway up the stairwell and giving Lydia and I time to deal with his subordinates before trying to match weaponry with him. This also scatters several wooden plates around the area that were originally on a shelf nearby. Okay, no Shouting indoors. In friendly environments, at least, but I wouldn't do that anyway.
The bandit chief struggles to his feet – remind me to never get knocked over wearing full plate – and storms towards us, unheeding of the bodies of his former underlings. His axe raised, it takes both Lydia and I to block – this guy's strong! Tag teaming soon fells the fetcher, though, and now his belongings are mine. We've done quite a bit of damage to that armour though – I think I'll keep what I have for now; it's in better condition.
Wow – it didn't take me long to get over my aversion to wearing the clothes of the dead, did it? Oh well.
I take a moment to choose a direction, and during my internal discussion, I notice a coin-purse sat on the ledge above the downwards staircase. Down it is! I just have to see if I can get that money, first.
I edge carefully along the narrow ledge, slipping past the support pillar. As I near the little sack, however, I feel my grip on the stonework loosening, but I manage to grab the purse as my fingers finally give in, and I fall onto the stairs below. Luckily, I'm pretty sure-footed, so I don't completely lose my balance and tumble the rest of the way down the stone steps.
At the bottom, a pool of oil awaits the unwary adventurer – obviously they would've ignited it as one was wandering along the corridor, but no-one remains to do so. A wicked impulse takes me, and using the simple flame spell I remember Mother teaching me when I was a child, I burn the viscous liquid. Lydia just looks at me, sighs, then continues her stoic surveillance. Whatever – I was cold!
When the flames have died down, I follow the corridor to the room at the end and clear it out. When I've finished, I lead the way back up the stairs, all the way to the top, were another room sits with a pool of oil for a rug.
I take all the objects of value I can find, then I use the alchemy lab to have a go at brewing up my own potions. Most of them turn into a horrible smelling liquid, which for some strange, possibly magical, reason evaporate into an equally nasal-assaulting gas. A few, however, meld into a not-so-evil-smelling concoction that looks like it might do something, so I pocket these few to sell later. Then, after making sure Lydia is out of the way, I burn off the oil in this room too – just so future tenants don't have any ready-made traps.
A ladder to another ceiling-trapdoor leads to the roof of the tower, a chest with some minor loot inside and a chair with some alcohol and a couple of potions at the foot. Taking these, I retreat down the ladder, Lydia following. Why she even followed me up there, I have no idea. Maybe for the view, shoddy as it was.
It's not long before we're out of the confines of the fort. As I wander past the palisade wall that makes up the opposing wall, I see a faded sign hanging from one chain on the stone wall, naming the place Fort Dunstad. Huh.
The road is, steadily but surely, turning north. Unwilling to go cross country until I absolutely have to, I fervently hope for another road heading westward. I'm in luck – one appears in the snowy mist ahead of me, as the road Lydia and I are currently on follows the slope towards the snowy roofs of what must be Dawnstar I can barely see ahead.
I'm checking the sun to guess at how much daylight is left when we come across the open ruin of what looks a little like a small barrow of some kind, but instead of coffins, I find when I explore inside, there's a little open space filled with snow-covered bushes, and a chest with practically nothing in it.
Further along, the road enters some pine woodland, the road occasionally lined with the ruins of what was once a wall. Ahead, there seems to be quite the ruckus, so I jog ahead to investigate to find a pair of bandits just finishing off a mage. They then turn on me, so I whip out my sword and swiftly deal with them, looting the corpses of not just the criminals, but their victims too. I also take the potions and ingredients they had in their cart, then I carry on along the road, Lydia trailing behind.
The road leads us past a mine, the sign outside proclaiming that we'd just passed Stonehills, and towards the bright daylight glittering beyond the treeline. A little further on, I check my map again and find we've come pretty close to our target, but it's starting to dull over, this time with twilight, so I take the branching road towards a little swamp town, marked on my map as Morthal.
Outside a large structure I assume to be the Jarl's residence, judging by the size alone, an argument is taking place between a couple of the townsfolk and a man standing on the steps in front of the door.
"What's the Jarl going to do about it?" Yells one of the figures crowded around the stairs.
"How are we supposed to feel safe in our own homes?" cries another. What's going on here? Is there a hagraven stalking the town or something?
"Please, enough already!" the poor fellow on the steps says. "I have told Idgrod of your concerns. She'll look after you all. Please, go back to your business." With that statement, he heads inside.
"We've no need for wizards in our midst!" So that's what this is all about? Inbreeds.
"Morthal has enough problems as it is!"
'What if the wizard is trying to solve those problems?' I feel like shouting back, but I don't want two angry Nords bearing down on me. I've had enough warfare for one day, and considering how the natives of this frozen place treat those who aren't Nords, I'd rather dodge the torment for now.
"Bah, it's no use." One of the arguers gives in, catching the other on the elbow as he turns. "Let's get back to it then." They wander through the muddy street and away from where Lydia and I stand. Shrugging my shoulders, I head towards the inn, ducking under the sign covered with the painted words 'The Moorside Inn'. I approach the Redguard at the counter.
"There aint much to offer, but if you want a place dry to spend the night, I'll rent you a room." She says by way of greeting.
I'm too tired by now to speak, so I just dump ten coins on the counter.
"Ah. Sure thing – it's yours for a day. I'm Jonna. I'll show you to your room – right this way." She leads us to a room with a table, a chair, a bedside cabinet – and a double bed. I'm too tired to feel awkward though, so I just strip off the more pointy bits of metal and flop onto the straw.