Oddly enough, the farther I get from the roads in Skyrim, the less there is to hunt. At least, that’s the impression I get as I continue to explore the area around Riverwood: Jade and I spend the next morning climbing steadily up a ridge quite a way off the beaten path, finding neither reagents nor elk. (We do see another interesting-looking ruin, which we of course do not approach.) Our explorations yield only a cottage sitting in the middle of nowhere--a small, dilapidated building, but nevertheless significant enough to spur my mysterious naming instinct to inform me that it is Anise’s Cabin. Anise turns out to be an old recluse in a dark hooded robe who claims to be just a poor old woman and nobody worth bothering about. Now, if I were an adventurer, I should be very disappointed indeed after trekking all the way up here and finding nothing but a harmless old woman who doesn’t even have a quest for me. But I am only modest Nona, and my disappointment is likewise modest: when I encounter a harmless old woman (which is definitely the sort of old woman I prefer to encounter), I hope only for some chit-chat, maybe a little gossip. But this one doesn’t even provide that; she has almost nothing to say about herself, let alone anyone else. Passing M’aiq the Liar on the way back down--hello, M’aiq, fancy meeting you here--we cross the river again, only to discover the front entrance to Embershard Mine. It appears deserted, like the back way in--but, a little too late, we spot a Khajiit bandit hanging around outside. He becomes aware of us at almost the same instant, and immediately attacks Jade, who fends him off with a dagger--I’m not sure where she picked it up; she didn’t have it when we set out from Riften--while I shoot him. After he’s dead, we poke around outside the entrance. “I’ve passed a number of caves in my lifetime, but I’ve never had the urge to go in. Now I know why,” remarks Jade. (Amen, sister!) We find nothing of interest save a woodpile and a discarded axe. I chop some wood--I have a project in mind--and although I leave my fallen attacker’s personal belongings alone, as usual, I do decide to take the axe. It looks like nobody wanted it anyway, and I can never find an axe when I want one. This fight levels me up again, and I’m able to take a new Alchemy perk, Benefactor, which will strengthen my beneficial concoctions. (It probably won’t affect my conjuring-enhancing magic-suppressant, since that’s of absolutely no help to anyone, but it’s about time I developed some new product lines anyway.) A little further along the main road, Jade and I find a trio of stone monuments, each carved with a different figure in a threatening pose--a warrior, a thief, and a magician. I contemplate these curious objects for a few moments--I have no idea what they’re for, but the imagery suggests that they are not for me, so I prudently avoid touching them. Below us, near the river, there’s a fisher’s camp with an overturned boat. I can see someone in the camp, but she appears to be alone and not heavily armed, so I risk scrambling down the slope to investigate. The occupant turns out to be friendly enough--“It’s not like my poaching is hurting anyone,” she says cheerfully. (As a person who’s been shooting just about every deer and grabbing just about every fish in her path, I’m glad to hear this; I’m already ridiculously nice and law-abiding by gaming standards--I don’t want to have to worry about hunting rights.) She has a very nice fishing spot near her camp--at least, it’s very nice until I’ve swum noisily about in it grabbing all the fish. I ride back to Whiterun the next day. I’d like to continue hunting and exploring the Riverwood area, but there’s a problem--I can’t find any place to boil water and cook my food, and the daily search is getting a little annoying. I’m starting to want some independence from these towns and their cookpots--in short, I have conceived a desire to try camping out. One of my mods allows for this; I can, given the right materials, build a tent, a camping bed, a campfire, and a pot. Sadly, the plans for these objects seem to have been conceived with adventurers in mind: the tent requires only leather and wood, but the bed requires cow hide (a rare commodity for a woman who isn’t willing to simply slaughter someone’s cows, and I need two of them). And then there’s the most outrageous requirement of all--in order to build a tinderbox I’m going to need either troll fat or dwarven oil! I’m not about to venture into any Dwemer ruins, and troll fat--well. But hope, as they say, springs eternal; there’s always the chance that one of these ingredients will show up in an alchemist’s shop. I’ve already finished the tent, and I’ve also managed to buy a cookpot and one cow’s hide. (But I can’t make use of the cookpot without a campfire, and that will require me to complete the tinderbox.) After depositing Snowberry in the stable once more, Jade and I go hunting west of Whiterun, this time giving the giants a wider berth. We’ve climbed down a steep slope and are cheerfully going after the mudcrabs in the stream at the bottom, when I notice a distant, dark figure crouching near a bridge. It seems unlikely that he will take an interest in us, but he does, creeping purposefully past the bridge and down into the ravine, where he launches a sudden, savage attack on Jade. She tries to fight him off at first, but soon cowers and pleads for mercy. I shoot him a couple of times as he advances on me, but it’s not enough to put him down, so I draw my sword. He attacks with great determination but, happily for me, an indifferent degree of skill; the worst moment in the fight happens as he falls and I realize that the final blow was struck by Jade, who has recovered and come up close behind him. I was still swinging wildly and could easily have hit her. Our dead assailant is an Argonian wearing an ostentatiously sinister outfit--a tight black leather suit with a hood and subtle red trim. I go through his belongings--interested (as usual) not in profiting from them but in finding some explanation for this entirely unprovoked assault. And, for once, I find one. I read through this mysterious note several times in mingled horror and pride at seeing my name in print. “By any means necessary”--“the Black Sacrament”--“this poor fool”--how have I, humble Nona, deserved to be the subject of such a missive as this? And who is Astrid? I ponder the note for several minutes, wondering whom I could have provoked into seeking my death by such means--has the popularity and profitability of my conjuring-enhancing magic-suppressant angered a rival alchemist? Is Torbjorn Shatter-Shield furious over my efforts on behalf of his workers? Could Stands-In-Shallows have performed the Black Sacrament as revenge for my unwillingness to steal skooma for him? Does Vulwulf Snow-Shod have a drunken plan to hire one assassin for each and every Imperial in Skyrim? My mind careens back and forth between the various people I’ve encountered, evaluating one after another as a possible source of this contract, each unlikely scenario succeeded by one even less plausible. Someone is trying to have me killed--someone who, admittedly, was willing to send a highly ineffectual killer. But it would be foolish to bank on the next one’s making such a very conspicuous approach, and gloomy thoughts of being attacked by a stealthy assassin weigh on me heavily as I return to Whiterun. Even finding a silver garnet ring in the possession of a wolf that attacks me on the way fails to lift my mood. (All right, I lied for dramatic purposes. Finding jewelry on animals always cheers me up.) In the Bannered Mare, Carlotta complains loudly about Mikael--who, as she goes on and on about what a jerk he is, is standing no more than two feet behind her. I decide to participate in this bit of comic theater, and tell her just as loudly that I’ll talk to him for her. So I harangue Mikael for a bit, and he offers the appropriate amount of resistance before declaring dramatically that he’ll back off. I wonder how often a scene like this takes place in the Mare; it’s much more entertaining than a typical bard’s recital, but the audience doesn’t seem quite ready for it--they really should be yelling instructions (“He’s behind you!”), but they just watch politely. In any case, by the time we reach the end and are ready to take our bows, Carlotta has gone home. Still, my brilliant acting performance kicks me up to level 7. The following morning, I find an interesting camp to the north of Whiterun, with a horse, a wagon, and an occupant who appears to be busy unloading something. It’s an odd place for a merchant’s stall or a traveler’s rest, but it doesn’t look like a bandit camp. Nevertheless the sole visible inhabitant unsheathes his weapon as soon as he spies me and Jade, even before we’ve gotten close enough to get a decent look at him. We hastily retreat back to town. I’m in the mood for some alchemy and smithing practice anyway. Carlotta gives me 250 septims for talking to Mikael. Perhaps last night’s performance drew a lot of audience tips after all. The shops have restocked their wares, and everything is going well; I’m able to buy a second cow’s hide at Belethor’s to finish my camping bed, and after I’ve sold most of the day’s concoctions, my purse bulges with new wealth. Even after paying for smithing materials I have over 4000 septims. The only thing I need to complete my camping set is the troll fat or dwarven oil for making the tinderbox, but I’d best not hold my breath for either of those. As I eat my dinner I find, as usual, that I’ve forgotten to refill my waterskin, so a nighttime stroll is in order. Outside the city gates a group of Khajiit have set up camp, and I chat with their leader, Ri’saad, about his home before selling him a few potions and buying a third set of clothes. Now there’s something to cheer my evening. Let Astrid send her killers! They can swarm all over Whiterun in their flamboyantly sneaky poses--tomorrow, I’m fleeing the hold.
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The next morning I head to Belethor’s and persuade him to buy a case of my brand-new all-natural hand-made certified-effective true-blue micro-nutritive conjuring-enhancing magic-suppressant*. After making the sale, I find that I now have over 2000 septims--even with the food prices being what they are, that’s potentially enough for me to live on for weeks! Perhaps I should work on my smithing. I’ve been neglecting this skill, because it’s expensive to train--unlike with alchemy, the cost of the materials is considerably higher than the returns you get from selling finished equipment, at least at the beginning. And I’m certainly not looking for a second career; real non-player characters don’t have multiple professions. But a certain amount of smithing would be very useful--because a proper alchemist shouldn’t just buy preserved ingredients from apothecaries, I feel; she should travel through the different regions of Skyrim, learning where the various plants grow and how they look in their natural state, and gather them by hand in the wilderness. And wilderness travel means hunting opportunities, and hunting is fun, and if I’m going to be any good at hunting I’ll eventually need better equipment. This seems as good an excuse as any to pour my hard-earned money into a bottomless hole, so I wile away the morning at Warmaiden’s, making daggers out of iron ingots purchased from Adrianne. She watches me work for a while, and eventually asks me to deliver a sword that she made as a gift for the Jarl to her father, Proventus. Ever willing to take on a task that is unlikely to provide me with any undue excitement (even if Adrianne is probably using it as an excuse to get me away from her forge) I make the climb up to Dragonsreach. In the palace I find that little--perhaps even as little as nothing--has changed since yesterday. Which might seem unsurprising if it weren’t for the fact that the Jarl and his advisors are still engaged in their private discussion--in fact, they don’t appear to have moved. This is surely a false impression on my part, I eventually conclude; they can’t possibly have been there all night. I manage to take Proventus aside for a moment so as to hand over the sword. He tips me 20 septims--not much, but it’s not as though I’m hurting for cash at the moment. I stroll back down through the city with Jade, chatting a little here and there. It soon becomes clear that none of the people I’ve done little favors for have fallen madly in love with me; I’ll have to widen my circle of acquaintance once again. I’m also eager to get out of the city for a while: the weather is still fine, and I must have spoken to just about everyone in Whiterun by now (there are, no doubt, a few Battle-Borns and Gray-Manes that I have yet to interact with, but I can’t always tell one from another). I put on my armor, therefore, and head out to the stables to collect Snowberry, who seems to have been looked after well enough. The weather gets grey and thundery as we start along the road to the east and south. The journey is peaceful enough--we run into some Imperial soldiers escorting a prisoner with bound hands, and then some of the usual psychotic wolves, but nothing to give us any trouble. I am frequently distracted from my mushroom-collecting by deer and elk that go running into the river as if to drown themselves rather than be subjected to another mildly painful shot from my bow, which is very frustrating; they often don’t come up again. It doesn’t take us long to reach Riverwood, a small but well-appointed town to the south of Whiterun. (There’s a blacksmith and a general store.) It’s still early, and the woods are lovely, and I’m not about to waste all of that earliness and loveliness by heading inside just yet, so I park Snowberry outside the inn and continue exploring, following the bank of the river. Spotting another large elk, I crouch and shoot; as usual, it runs into the water--but it actually comes up again on the other side, and, amazingly, it hasn’t spotted me. I fire another arrow, and it dies. Two shots! I feel almost competent! But that glow of efficiency doesn’t last long, because getting across the river to claim my quarry proves to be a problem. It’s fast-flowing and deeper than it looks, and whenever I go in I get swept downstream so quickly that I’m afraid of going over the falls before I can reach the opposite bank. (At least Snowberry isn’t with me.) I make it only after several attempts that take an embarrassingly long time. But still--meat and hide, from an animal I killed, by stealth, using only two arrows. I turn around to Jade, internally beaming with pride (Nona’s actual face stays fixed in its permanently stunned expression, of course). She’s not there: perhaps she tried to follow me across the river and got swept away. It takes me a little while to find her. She’s still on the other side, engaged in a peculiar stand-off with a wolf on my side. They’re staring intently at each other from opposite banks, each looking ready to pounce at a moment’s notice if only there weren’t this torrent of water inconveniently in the way. It’s such an amusing sight that I shoot the wolf only with the greatest reluctance. After I’ve rejoined Jade on her side of the river, our wanderings bring us to a cave. My mysterious naming instinct is unusually silent on the subject of this cave, which probably indicates that it’s a back entrance to something. It doesn’t look especially threatening--there are no body parts on spikes or conspicuous magical apparatus outside--so I venture in to see whether there are any mushrooms near the entrance. At this point I’m informed that its name is Embershard Mine, but it doesn’t look as though it’s in use--as a mine, at least. There are little arrangements of bones dangling from the ceiling on strings, like crib mobiles intended to amuse baby necromancers. And there are no mushrooms. Jade and I decide to take the prudent course and get out of there immediately. The sun is going down as we return to Riverwood. An old woman insists that she saw a dragon. Fearing that she might be correct, I don’t ask her about it. I stop by the general store, where the proprietor is arguing with his sister over what sounds suspiciously like an opportunity for adventure--a valuable object was stolen from his shop--so I ignore their conversation and sell him several bottles of my soon-to-be-patented-when-patent-laws-are-invented potion*, and I buy one thing from him: another outfit. Finally, a new dress! Well, new-ish. Why does everything come pre-stained? Is it something to do with why clothes are so much cheaper than food? In the Sleeping Giant Inn, I meet an impressive Redguard warrior named Gorr, who informs me in a deep, ruminative voice that he’s killed more men than there are minutes in a day. When I find out that these kills took place in an Imperial arena, and not, as I might have feared, on the streets of an Imperial city, I’m somewhat reassured. It turns out that his primary interest is in trying new foods, which might have been something we could bond over were it not for the fact that he’s developed a hankering to sample some dragon steak. Mistaking me (as people do) for a person of similar sensibility, he expresses a willingness to join me, but I feel that such a partnership could only end up disappointing him. (And, needless to say, I probably wouldn’t like him when he’s disappointed.) Also in the Sleeping Giant is a young fellow named Hjoromir who offers to buff my shoes, wash my tunic, carry my belongings, deliver my letters, and whatever else I might want done that requires no professional skill. He tells me that he’s held a variety of jobs--as a farmhand, kitchenhand, blacksmith’s assistant, laborer--but his bosses have always been disappointed with his performance. Which is of little concern to him, because his mind is always on the subject of adventuring. He has gone on so many adventures and fought so many battles in his mind that his confidence in his ability to do the real thing is quite unshakeable. I’m impressed despite myself; this young, bright-eyed incompetent might make an even better companion for me than Jade! But I can’t have two companions at once, and it wouldn’t be right to abandon Jade so far from her home--nor would it be entirely appropriate for Nona to travel with a young man. But I do wish I had someone to wash the stains out of my clothes. If only it were possible. *Made with equipment that is also used to process fish, shellfish, eggs, wheat, human remains, and maybe tree nuts if I ever find any.
Farewell, Last Seed! It’s Morndas, the first day of Heartfire, and despite the beautiful clear weather I decide to stay within Whiterun’s walls--I’m still a little shaken after yesterday’s narrow escape. Jade and I walk around the city, therefore, looking for new people to pester. A Redguard couple argues about a lost heirloom that the husband wants to retrieve and the wife would rather he gave up on; a little girl bullies a little boy. The sunlight casts an aura of warm benevolence over everything, and these squabbles seem as slight as the chirping of birds in the background. I find myself noticing instead how many little memorials for fallen warriors there are around Whiterun: each stone attended by candles, with its former owner’s shield leaning upon it. The things you notice when you never move above walking speed. I run into Danica Pure-Spring, priestess of Kynareth, and talk to her about the Gildegreen, a magical tree in the center of Whiterun that apparently used to be rather splendid. It is dry and dying now, and she tells me that restoring it would require securing a drop of sap from the parent tree by piercing its otherwise impenetrable bark with a vile dagger that is guarded by hagravens. Danica says she would have attempted to do this herself, were she not terrified of such monsters. They terrify me no less, I’m sure. (In fact I start laughing--I actually burst into laughter as I try to picture timid, ineffectual Nona attempting this elaborate task.) Unfortunately, a quest update has already wormed its way into my journal, forever to remind me of my inadequacy. And I realize that, limited as Nona’s ambitions are, and no matter how successful she eventually may become in her own small way, there is one small accomplishment that she craves but never will achieve--to be treated by other NPCs as one of their own. No matter how modest, how humble, how ordinary she may be, they will always see her as Other. In the Hall of the Dead--it’s not the obvious place to go to for lively conversation, but the memorials have piqued my curiosity, and talking to Danica has left me feeling sober and pensive--I meet Iria, who speaks in a dispassionate monotone about her extensive researches into the arts of healing and the causes of death. Fortunately she enlivens this dreary disquisition with the occasional joke (delivered with no more affect than her lectures on morbidity). She describes how efforts to study healing led her at one point to experiment on animals, but the distress she was causing them (and especially the noises they made) eventually induced her to give up the practice. (“It’s as if they don’t understand the concept of research,” she tells me impassively. “Another jest.”) She now experiments exclusively on herself, she informs me. But medical research does not consume her attention entirely: she has also developed a lively admiration for Jon Battle-Born, although she refuses to go into detail about her feelings. (And what a shame! I should very much have enjoyed hearing her express her girlish hopes and doubts in that same dull monotone.) I also talk to Andurs, the priest of Arkay, who has left his amulet somewhere in the catacombs and wants me to retrieve it. I tell him with some alarm that I won’t do this, and he declares with an air of stern disappointment that Arkay may forgive me ... eventually. That my refusal should excite the god’s displeasure strikes me as grossly unfair; after all, Andurs is the one who was careless enough to lose his holy amulet, not I. Nevertheless I am made uneasy by the words of this priest, and I make sure to offer a prayer to the god before leaving. Nothing seems amiss, though; Arkay grants me his blessing. My wanderings next bring me to Jorrvaskr, where Jade and I and several of the Companions participate in the traditional Nord pastime of watching two people engage in a vicious fistfight, complete with shouted insults and death threats. After it’s over, I try to talk to the participants and to those who have gathered around to watch, but nobody is especially friendly. (Perhaps I have seriously violated local custom by turning up to an important fistfight without being invited or bringing a gift.) Returning to the marketplace, I find Jon Battle-Born leaning on a post. I’m reminded of Iria, and it occurs to me that Jon could do far worse--she may be a little severe, and somewhat lacking in vocal expression, but she’s not unattractive in her gaunt-faced way, and she seems like a conscientious person. I’m trying to decide how best to drop a few gentle hints when Jon suddenly opines that the problem with Skyrim these days is that everyone is obsessed with death. Poor Iria! This doesn’t bode at all well for her prospects with him. Carlotta Valentia complains that Mikael the bard’s attentions are getting obnoxious, and that men in general won’t leave her alone. For some reason, I don’t envy her, perhaps because I haven’t yet met any man in Whiterun whose attentions would please me (except for Jon Battle-Born, but he doesn’t seem interested in anyone). There is perhaps the possibility of Carlotta herself: I could offer to talk to Mikael for her, not that she really seems to need the help--because you never know when a little favor might be rewarded with a marriage proposal. (This is Skyrim, after all.) Carlotta insists that no man is going to come between her and her daughter. I wonder how she might feel about a woman coming between--well, never mind; let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I don’t feel like going into the Bannered Mare to talk--or listen--to Mikael right now. It’s too nice outside. Continuing generally upward, I explore to Dragonsreach, where I find the Jarl in conference with his advisors; his Dunmer housecarl tells me that he isn’t receiving visitors, and I’m more than happy to go unreceived. I enter a side-chamber to speak with Farengar, the court wizard, who does not seem to be a part of the deliberations. I buy a Healing Hands spellbook from him--now I’ll be able to heal Jade, should I ever have the presence of mind to do so when she really needs it. Farengar asks me to take some frost salts to Arcadia for him, and I cheerfully head down to her shop. Arcadia, upon receiving the salts, says something about a love brew, perhaps to be tested on Farengar; I pretend to be too absorbed in my own potionmaking to hear this. Speaking of which, my Alchemy skill has climbed to 30--it’s really coming along. I emerge from Arcadia’s to find that time has really slipped by--I could have sworn it was not so late in the day, but it sure got dark all of a sudden. There’s so much more to do in and around Whiterun, but it’s time to head back to the Bannered Mare. I see no new faces, but the regulars are all there when I arrive, including Carlotta and Mikael. I stay in the common room for a while, acting on a prurient desire to see some sort of juicy altercation happen between them, but none occurs. Something is in the air in Whiterun: Carlotta and Mikael, Iria and Jon, Arcadia and Farengar, Larkspur and anything female with a pulse--there’s unhealthy or doomed romance everywhere you look. But for me, there is only dinner, bad music, and bed.
1. Be grateful for little things. The next morning I discover something so extraordinary, so thrilling, so wonderful, that I must seriously consider the possibility that my non-adventuring days have come to an early close, because Jade and I have arrived in Sovngarde: the selection of produce at the Bannered Mare is better than that of every shop in Riften and Windhelm combined. (If you were expecting a revelation that was genuinely extraordinary and thrilling and wonderful, then it’s about time you realized that you are reading the wrong blog. Sorry. Tell your friends.) Hulda, the Mare’s proprietor, has everything, even the rare and elusive leeks that I have heard tell of but never yet been able to purchase. I buy cabbage and potatoes. I buy green and red apples. I buy garlic and herbs. I scroll lovingly up and down Hulda’s inventory for several minutes before deciding that would be silly to spend hundreds of septims on food when I can only eat so much. I content myself by making a roast leg of goat and cabbage-apple stew and then head outside into a thunderstorm. (My first thought, oddly enough, is that the weather is sort of nice. Even in the driving rain, Whiterun has a cheerier look than Riften or Windhelm.) I browse Belethor’s shop, hoping to buy some new clothes (I still have only one outfit apart from my armor and the rags I was wearing when I arrived in Ivarstead), but the only thing I can find is a black robe that reminds me of the two wizards who inexplicably attacked me near Riften, and I don’t want to dress like that. I suppose I’ll be wearing the same old thing for a while yet. Admittedly, a stained brownish dress is perhaps the ideal costume for my chosen profession. 2. In marketing, novelty trumps utility. My next stop is Arcadia’s Cauldron, where I can practice said profession. Arcadia turns out to be an Imperial, like me, who develops a little edge in her voice when I ask her whether she’s ever considered returning to Cyrodiil. She tells me defiantly that she’s lived here for over twenty years, and it seems best to let the subject drop. Her ingredient selection is inferior to the White Phial’s, but she’s happy for me to use her lab, and I’ve gathered so much lately that I have no shortage of combinations to try out. I mix a few staples--healing and resistance potions--and then start to experiment. I happily mash butterfly wings and tundra cotton and flowers of various sorts and what must by now be some pretty nasty-smelling fish in the hopes of discovering new alchemical properties. (Despite having played Skyrim with a bunch of different characters, I’ve never paid much attention to alchemy, because (a) I find crafting in general to be rather boring and (b) alchemy in combination with smithing and enchanting can be really overpowered. Nona is therefore the first character I’ve made that makes serious use of this skill, and I’m rather enjoying the whole process--since I’m not looking up alchemical combinations in advance, new discoveries are a genuine pleasure.) My most satisfying innovation is a mixture of blue butterfly wings and blue mountain flowers, which I decided to combine for the highly scientific reason that they are blue. Also, I have a lot of both. The result is a potion, or rather a poison, that both stunts magicka recovery and improves the duration of one’s conjuration spells! Now, you might think that this is easily the most useless concoction ever to be shaken out of a grimy mortar and slapped with a big, flowery “all-natural” label, but Arcadia’s willing to pay me over a hundred septims per dose. Huzzah! 3. Be calm of mind and steady of hand. Despite the rain, I decide to leave the city and go exploring; I’ve made a new hide helmet (it’s actually worse than my previous helmet, but it doesn’t have a nasal protector, so Nona’s a bit more comfortable in it) and a hide shield, and if nothing else, I need to refill my waterskin. (The mod that allows me to carry water doesn’t seem to recognize the waterways inside Whiterun properly.) After walking down to the river, I explore the region to the west, leaving Snowberry behind in the stable. The terrain is relatively open and the weather soon clears, enabling me to see a number of temptingly large elk in the distance. (I don’t know why larger elk are so tempting; you don’t get more meat or bigger hides from them.) I stealthily approach one and take a shot, and of course it bounds away barely harmed. Jade and I run gleefully but unproductively after it until I am suddenly distracted by a nearby pool with insects buzzing near the surface. Ingredients! I pause to catch some dragonflies and fish, but then spot another elk, and take a shot at that one. It, too, runs away, and once again we give chase, still unable to either land a punch or get a second shot off. And I get distracted by another pool. This one is strikingly different: there’s a skeletal arm sticking straight up from the center of it, grasping a sword in its bony fingers. That this sword should be poking up out of a nice little fishing hole like this, and have remained so, undisturbed, for perhaps a very long time, and so near to Whiterun, seems highly unlikely. Could this mean that the blade was placed here by some unknown agency, and intended specially ... for me? That seems even more unlikely. But I can’t help wading in to get a closer look, and perhaps even reaching a little toward--but then all of a sudden something shakes the skeletal limb, or perhaps I bump into it clumsily, I’m not sure, and it collapses into a small heap of bones, and then I can’t find the sword anywhere. The pool is small and crystal clear, and yet the weapon seems to have vanished utterly. For a moment I wonder whether Jade snatched it up quickly (NPCs do sometimes pick weapons up off the ground), but when I check her inventory, she doesn’t have it. Well, I hope there wasn’t some Fated Child of Prophecy who was supposed to wander over this way and take this special sword. It’s just like Nona to ruin a crucial world-changing event by tripping over a skeletal arm while trying to catch fish. 4. It's rude to stare. Turning away from the weird pool, Jade and I continue “hunting” in our own inimitable style (ineffective as it is, we’re enjoying ourselves), until I get distracted by yet another pool and my mysterious naming instinct kicks in, informing me that it is called Bleakwind Basin. There’s a reason that this area has its own name, as I soon realize when I spot the enormous bonfire: I’m next to a giant camp. One giant stands not far away, on the other side of the pool, his mammoth wandering nearby. Jade and I pause to take in this idyllic scene: the giant leads the mammoth with slow deliberation toward the pool. Dragonflies hover at the surface of the water. Fish swim fearlessly near my feet. I’m dimly, regretfully aware that we will have to turn and leave soon, so as not to allow the giant to come too close; their moods are unpredictable. But this one seems unconcerned by our presence, and I stay just where I’m standing, musing over the scene. And then it all goes wrong. I register only vaguely that Jade has moved from my side and is behaving oddly, running to and fro. I’m still gawking as the giant lowers his club, lowers it very suddenly, and then I can’t see Jade anywhere and my vision is clouded with blood. I turn sluggishly--it seems to take altogether too long for such a small movement, because part of me is clinging to the thought that I might do something to help my friend, even as panic sets in. I’m slightly injured. Only slightly? And then I’m running away in desperate fear for my life. I’m too terrified to look back, even for an instant, and my conscience chews on me all the way back to the Whiterun guard towers, where the general unconcern of the guards finally convinces me that there can’t possibly be someone following directly behind swinging a gigantic club. I turn to the west. There’s nothing. Nobody out there. Finally, she appears. She’s alive! 5. Even the people who love you may turn out to be assholes. As soon as we get back into the city I head over to Arcadia’s Cauldron once again. (Mixing potions relaxes me.) And I gain another level. That puts me at level 5, as I also leveled up yesterday from fighting the bandit. I put one perk point into Speech, to improve vendor prices, and the other into Archery. (Now maybe I’ll be able to kill a fox with one shot!) I leave at closing time and return to the Bannered Mare. As I walk in the door, a man tells me not to get mushy or sentimental on him, but he wants to give me something as a token of his esteem, and he insists I take it. “It” turns out to be three bottles of mead, and the man is Olfrid Battle-Born, the fellow I saw yesterday trying to convince Adrianne Avenicci to supply weapons to the Imperials. I’m quite astonished, first because I’ve never yet spoken to Olfrid Battle-Born and have no idea why he should have become so fond of me, and second because three bottles of mead is actually a rather nice gift--I like mead, and it’s an ingredient in some of my favorite cooking recipes. I use it all the time. I ponder the question for a little while--what have I done that Olfrid should like me so much? Are his pro-Imperial feelings so strong that he feels compelled to give me gifts simply because I’m from Cyrodiil? I decide to get to know him a little. He cheerfully tells me a bit about himself and about the quarrel with the Gray-Manes: the feud, according to him, is really all about money--the Battle-Borns have it and the Gray-Manes don’t, and this difference in fortunes has fueled their resentment beyond all bounds. He explains all this with such bluff, good-humored indifference to both the poverty of the rival family and the suffering of those on both sides that wish for an end to the feud that I almost feel complicit in his callousness. He actually seems to find the whole situation sort of funny. Somewhat dispirited by the fact that I seem to have become the favorite of such a tool, I look around for someone else to talk to. The woman I settle on is a mage named Eldawyn. She’s mostly interested in wine, though. And sex, apparently--not with me, although the fact that she admits to having slept with Larkspur suggests that she isn’t too picky. (“He does bathe,” she says indifferently when I express my distaste.) She goes briefly into the subject of the proper way to appreciate fine wine, and then tells me that she’s much more inclined to just drink it. I heartily agree with this, and she seems to take notice of me for the first time. “I like how you agree with the things I say,” she says. “Why aren’t there more of you?” It’s nice, for once, to be appreciated for being just what I am: a complete nonentity.
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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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