I know that I’ve reacted a little hysterically to the obvious failings of the various places I’ve visited--the rampant crime in Riften, the rampant racism and serial murders in Windhelm--but I can’t help saying it: Markarth scares the shit out of me. To begin with, there was that murder that occurred just as I entered the city gates, and the note that some stranger slipped into my hand in the aftermath. I have only just read it (I was so tired last night that I didn’t even remove my armor before falling heavily onto my hard, stone bed) and it says “Meet me in the temple of Talos.” It isn’t even signed. Kleppr, the proprietor of the Silver-Blood Inn, spends most of his time exchanging venomous insults with his wife, Frabbi, but he provides me with the local news when he can spare a moment, and it’s none too reassuring. The Hall of the Dead has been closed for mysterious reasons. A Vigilant of Stendarr is in town, convinced that some sort of daedra worship is going on. A fellow named Degaine got kicked out of the temple of Dibella. I’d love to hear more about that last item, as it sounds like just the thing to take my mind off the first two (and last night’s events), but Kleppr either doesn’t know or is unwilling to divulge any juicy tidbits. The bodies outside have been cleaned up (and put where, I wonder, if the Hall of the Dead is closed? Or is its closure somehow related to last night’s killings?) and the marketplace is open. I meet the Vigilant of Stendarr, who questions me about the house he’s investigating. I’m relieved to be able to say with complete honesty that I haven’t seen anyone enter or leave and I don’t know anything about it. Hastening away before he can ask anything else, I run into Clario Moorsley, a pioneer in the fields of culinary alchemy and magic-enhanced cookery. I’m fascinated by his work, especially the former kind--Nona would love to learn to make potions that are delicious as well as effective--but Moorsley is maddeningly reluctant to dispense any useful details, and in fact his discoveries sound less appealing the more I hear about them: apparently his potions are rather weak, and frequently have undesirable side effects (the price of adding extra ingredients to enhance the flavor). But the idea has promise nonetheless: a master alchemist should be quite capable of eliminating the side effects of extra ingredients--that is, removing harmful effects from medicinal concoctions and beneficial effects from poisons. Clearly Moorsley, for all his self-assurance, has not actually reached this level of skill. In the cavernous Understone Keep, which is so dark that I have to carry a lantern, I hear a heated exchange between Verulus, the priest of Arkay, and Thongvor, a member of the Silver-Blood family that seems to run things around here. Thongvor is expressing his very strong objections to the closure of the Hall of the Dead. Verulus assures him, and then me, that everything is being taken care of and that it will reopen soon. Well, that’s enough for me; the authorities clearly have the problem in hand, and what more need be said? But Thongvor is less than satisfied. I don’t linger for long enough get into it with him, though, for two reasons: first, he seems like an asshole, and second, I happen to notice some Thalmor out of the corner of my eye and suddenly feel as though I’m about to be caught doing something wrong. I almost have to reassure myself that I’m not doing anything wrong; I’m just carrying a note from someone who wants to meet me in the temple of Talos. Of course, going to the temple could easily be mistaken for worshiping at the temple, and carrying a note that mentions a meeting at the temple could be interpreted as.... It doesn’t matter what, frankly, because Ondolemar, the leader of the Thalmor in Markarth (and Jerulith’s former superior) seems little disposed to make fine distinctions. In fact he speaks to me in a tone of such staggering contempt that I pretty much depart the palace immediately. I wasn’t planning on going to the temple of Talos in any case, but now I’m a little afraid of having the note in my possession. But I can’t burn or eat it, and I don’t want to leave it somewhere where it could incriminate someone else. Less than an hour after I’ve left Understone, I’m asked to return--Bothela, the sardonic old woman who owns Markarth’s alchemy shop, wants me to deliver some medicine of a highly personal nature to Raerek, the Jarl’s steward, so I do that and get out of there again quickly as possible. Raerek thanks me and pays me for my help and “discretion.” (Who better to keep a secret than a silent protagonist?) My experiments at Bothela’s shop don’t yield any new breakthroughs, although mixing and selling my regular standbys gets me to level 9. I add another Alchemy perk to my repertoire. With well over five thousand septims jingling in my purse (or whatever container it is in which I contrive to stow thousands of septims conveniently on my person), I decide to practice my smithing, and I have ample time, as I work on this skill, to listen to an Orsimer smith named Ghorza gra-Bagol complain about her apprentice, Tacitus. Despite her harshness, I like Ghorza, partly because she really seems to care about her work, and partly because of her winningly un-orclike conviction that the best way to help Tacitus learn would be to provide him with instructional books. Now, I know that actively searching for the book that she wants will send me into a monster-infested cavern or dungeon or something of the sort, but Ghorza phrases her request so gently--“if you find a book called The Last Scabbard of Akrash, could you bring it to me?”--that I can’t help agreeing to keep an eye out. Why not? I found that Conjuring book lying on a stone table in the wilderness--I might well find this volume somewhere equally unlikely. As much as I enjoy my time at Ghorza’s forge, it doesn’t say much for the social environment of this city that its brightest spark is a hard-voiced, apprentice-bullying smith. The Silver-Bloods are everywhere, and everyone who isn’t actually a part of the clan seems to be either working for them, terrified of them, or both working for and terrified of them. I flee the city the next day, desperate for a few hours in the open, tension-free air. But my outing is an almost unmitigated disaster: I keep jumping into streams to fish and finding the water so swift-flowing that I spend all of my time struggling against it rather than catching anything. In a particularly unfortunate incident, Jade wades in with me and becomes obsessed with killing a slaughterfish that I have somehow antagonized. The strength of the current prevents her from actually making contact with it, but she refuses to abandon the attempt, and I’m unable to help as I can’t see the offending creature at all. (I only know it’s a slaughterfish because its name keeps drifting onto my display, indicating that it is somewhere in the area and it is hostile.) Leaving Jade to her swim-off with the invisible fish, I clamber out of the water and--as if I haven’t already shown enough incompetence for one day--immediately start shouting in my most commanding voice at nobody at all. (I do this because I was actually trying to check how hungry and thirsty I was, but I had accidentally left my Voice of the Emperor power selected as my special ability, rather than the usual Check Needs.) Less than five minutes later, I am attacked by a party of Forsworn, the crazed Breton tribespeople who live in the wilds of the Reach, and, owing to my having used up the only ability I have that would allow me to get safely away from them, am beaten to within an inch of my life during the ensuing fight. Bleeding, bloated with all the healing potions I’ve drunk, I flee back to the relative safety of Markarth’s walls before I can embarrass myself further. Banning, at the stables, asks me to deliver some meat for the dogs in the keep, and I take a moment to catch up with Wander-Lust, the Argonian wanderer I first met in Riften. Jade rejoins me and we spend a dismal afternoon and evening listening to Kleppr and Frabbi snipe at each other while their children pretend not to hear. I eventually join a fellow named Lundvar in toasting his brother, who was slain while defending against a Forsworn attack. Lundvar describes his brother in glowing terms--and if he was even half as brave and diligent as Lundvar believes, he must have been an excellent fellow indeed--but the more I hear about the events surrounding his death, as Lundvar says he heard them from someone named Wuuthmar, the more it appears that he must have been betrayed by one of his fellow guardsmen. The particulars of the story--oddities in the behavior of the Forsworn, a malfunctioning Dwemer arbalest, timing details--are all highly suspect. But Lundvar waves away the merest suggestion that there could have been foul play. I’m starting to feel as though I can’t trust anyone here--not even myself. Murders, daedra worship, Thalmor, Silver-Bloods, corrupt guards, Forsworn, and will these innkeepers never stop fighting? I need to get out of this city, and I’m not entirely sure I’ll survive the departure. A big fellow named Vorstag offers to protect me for the price of 500 septims. It’s highly tempting, and not just because he’s easy on the eyes--but I can’t have more than one companion at once, and stranding Jade here while I run off with this beefcake-for-hire would be an impossibly low thing to do. We’ll just have to chance it without him; I’ll check my potion supplies, and tomorrow we’ll ride. And I might actually ride: I hate to leave an area without making a thorough examination of the ingredients that grow there, but the Reach is just too dangerous.
5 Comments
David
7/19/2013 11:14:17 am
Just caught wind of this blog via a friend on facebook. It's brilliant writing, and I am thoroughly enjoying it. Thank-you!
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Mewness
7/20/2013 01:39:17 am
I'm glad you like it, and thanks for reading!
Reply
Hunts-Deeper-Waters
5/11/2014 02:41:09 pm
Hello, Nona. (And Mewness!) I've just discovered your letters to your family (I was visiting when your cousin read one), and I became instantly enchanted. You have inspired me to seek my own fortune as a smith in Skyrim. I may even...do some exploring. But nothing too dangerous, I assure you. Not without someone who's much, much better at protecting me than I am by my side.
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Mewness
6/8/2014 02:41:17 pm
Hi there, Hunts-Deeper-Waters! Thanks for the kind words (which I mustn't let go too much to my head; I seriously loved the Elder Strolls). Although my posting has slowed down enormously, I haven't given up on this yet--I just have another project that's taking up a lot of time.
Reply
LoneWolf
6/8/2014 08:49:54 am
You actually can have two companions with 3dnpc, as long as one of them is 3dnpc, and the other one is Vanilla.
Reply
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201 And All That
Nona Plaia may well be the most boring person in Skyrim. Below are links to her "adventures" in chronological order.
A Life More Ordinary Mods An NPC is Born The Lady in the Lake Adrift in the Rift Opportunity Chops Studying Abroad Witches, Wolves Footwear is Not Enough A Modest Proposal Scales of Love Dances with Beers Five Rules to Live By Plain and Pusillanimous Watery Woes How Not to Stage a Murder Hot Heads and Cold Graves Run Nona Run Interlude A Fool Suffers Gladly The Markarth Discomfiture In Search of the Unknown It's Raining Bandits Down and Out No Holds Barred Beyond the Pale The Slippery Slope Mission Implausible The Nord in the Next Room The Only Living Girl Victory is a Gateway Drug Continuity Break Wherever You Go Archives
August 2014
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