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.
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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.
I’m up and out of Windhelm just before dawn, leaving several things undone: I haven’t refilled my waterskin or tanned my wolf pelts, and although I’m getting a little short of food, I’m not waiting until the shops are open to replenish my store. I still have some meat and cold soup from yesterday; that should last me until I arrive ... somewhere else. My first thought is to head north to Dawnstar so that I can deliver a message from Aeri to the Jarl. (She asked me to do this yesterday, and I refused.) I therefore make my way to Anga’s Mill, where, because of my early start, I have to wait for more than an hour for Aeri to come out of her house. But when she does emerge, she seems to have forgotten about the letter (or perhaps she somehow found someone else to deliver it during the night). By this time it is snowing so thickly that, with no message to carry, the idea of heading even further north loses the last of its limited appeal and I decide to take the south road instead. Before long, the weather clears, and I dismount to gather ingredients. The plant varieties are similar to what I found on the other side of the valley as I was approaching Windhelm--creep clusters and jazbay spread out over the stones and dragon’s tongue flowers distinctively at the roadside. The road climbs steadily, and at the top of a series of falls I find a beautiful, clear pool that is simply teeming with fish. I wade in eagerly after them, only to find that the water is deeper and the current much stronger than I was expecting--I’m soon swimming rather than wading, and my utmost efforts to regain the shore serve only to keep me from moving anywhere at all. And it suddenly dawns on me that I’ve completely forgotten to let go of my horse. (I can’t actually lead her by hand; what I’ve been doing is putting her in the auto-follow mode allowed by Convenient Horses and pretending that I’m leading her.) My odd position is very confusing to poor Snowberry: she runs distractedly up and down the road until I realize the fruitlessness of swimming against the current and start to drift; then her uncertainty abruptly resolves itself and she charges straight into the water towards me, so that we both end up being tossed over the falls. They aren’t very steep, and I’m not worried about myself--but I go into a momentary panic over Snowberry. (Horses seem to be especially bug-prone in Skyrim, not only having an alarming tendency to fall randomly out of the sky on my head, but to die very suddenly from small amounts of damage.) Fortunately, she survives the tumble without complaint, and we both clamber out of the water looking very foolish. Needless to say, I haven’t caught a single fish. Further along the road I find Mixwater Mill, run by a woman named Gilfre and suffering the usual shortage of workers. Gilfre, like other mill owners I’ve met, would love to have me lend a hand, but I’ve been dawdling today--all that waiting and flower-picking and unintended horse-bathing--and so haven’t come as far as I would like; I decide not to take the time to find out whether a few strokes of the axe here will land me yet another marriage proposal. The road turns around to the west, passing by a number of ruins that I am happy to not to inspect closely. But soon there is one in front of me that is not so easily avoidable: Valtheim Towers, a stone bridge that straddles the river with its namesake structures on either side. I can’t help but feel a little apprehensive as I contemplate this crumbling fortification: the southern tower sits on the road, and the terrain to the south climbs steeply, preventing me from simply circling around. Even from some distance away, I can see people walking back and forth on the bridge preparing to kill me. (Well, I can see red dots on my compass, which is as good as looking inside their hearts and seeing their essential murderous nature.) I don’t have much time to plan, though: a single bandit comes charging out from the base of the southern tower and attacks me without even asking for money. This turns out to be a remarkably foolish maneuver on her part--not only do I cut her down with astonishing ease, having earlier poisoned my sword, but her rush takes her well away from the bridge, beyond bowshot and so out of her allies’ reach. As easy as it was to dispose of a single bandit, I’m in no mood to tangle with the entire group, and so decide to mount Snowberry and simply ride past Valtheim Towers with all possible speed. This seems likely to get us shot at a few times, but with any luck the accuracy will be limited and the damage minimal. As it turns out, not a single arrow strikes either me or my horse--in fact I don’t even hear any being fired; perhaps the bandits are confused. Or maybe they’re shooting at Jade. In any case, we all manage to put the dreadful Valtheim Towers safely behind us. There’s little else to interrupt our journey to Whiterun. I get attacked by three wolves, which is nothing unusual, except that each one of these bears the designation “pit wolf.” If they were bred for fighting, it doesn’t show; they aren’t any tougher than ordinary wolves, and I’m not entirely sure what pit they are supposed to have come out of. One of them turns out to be carrying three septims, which leads me to wonder whether they might have been betting on pit fights rather than participating in them. Sadly, I’m not likely to find out the truth of the matter. We’re almost at the outskirts of the city when I hear signs of battle coming from one of the nearby farms, and a few arrows go whistling over my head. By the time I get close, though, the action has died down, and a small group of people seems to be standing around a dead giant. They all look rather dangerous, so it seems best not to bother them. The guard at the gate stops me; it seems that nobody is allowed in, because of the recent dragon attacks. Fortunately, I manage to persuade him to change his mind. (This is something of a relief--getting into Whiterun the first time is normally part of the main quest in Skyrim, and one of the mods I’m using interferes with that quest; not having used it before, I wasn’t entirely certain that I’d be able to get in at all.) I immediately run into an Imperial guard trying to pressure a smith into filling a huge order of weapons for the army. Except that he’s not an Imperial guard, just a fellow wearing Imperial armor. After I meet the smith, Adrianne Avenicci, and get a few crafting pointers from her, I head to an inn, the Bannered Mare, where I learn a little more about what this is all about--a feud between two prominent local families, one of which supports the Stormcloaks and the other the Imperials. The fellow who explains this to me is Jon Battle-Born, a man from the Imperial-supporting clan who earnestly wishes that the families would work out their differences. I’m sympathetic; Whiterun is easily the most pleasant place I’ve been to so far, an open, airy city with what appears to be a much lower concentration of jerks than Riften, and it’s a shame for it to be marred by this divide. The other fellow I speak to is named Larkspur, and he utterly fails to impress: he rhapsodizes fulsomely on the subject of Nona’s beauty while boasting about his sketchy past, and is entirely unconvincing on both counts, owing to his flat, unengaged tone of voice--a manner that seems more suited for putting a lady to sleep than seducing her. (Which I suppose would count as a form of seduction for a certain type of person, and I’m not sure that Larkspur deserves to be excluded from that class. He’s easily the most disappointing of the characters added by Interesting NPCs that I’ve met so far; clearly meant to be a dashing rogue, but unfortunately just obnoxious and dull.) After I finish this conversation, which happens long before I’ve bothered to find out most of what Larkspur has to say, I feel as though I need a bath. I’m certainly not inclined for further chitchat this evening, so Jade and I simply enjoy a little music before bed. More precisely, we enjoy dancing to some music, even if the music itself is pretty disappointing.
There’s little to do in Windhelm the next day--the White Phial hasn’t gotten any new stock in, for some reason--and staying cooped up behind those gray stone walls isn’t helping me decide whether or not to marry Scouts-Many-Marshes. I put on my armor, therefore, and set out on horseback to explore more of the surrounding region. After riding out a little way I dismount and start leading Snowberry so that I can stop to gather, er, snowberries. It seems that I’ve already begun to miss being on the road: walking slowly along with Jade and my horse, gathering reagents, taking potshots at the local wildlife, being mauled by psychotic wolves--it’s somehow very soothing. My wanderings take me west, then over the bridge to the north. Not far beyond this crossing I find another mill--Anga’s Mill, so my mysterious naming instinct informs me. This one is in somewhat better shape than the others: it is equipped with one spare axe and two surly workmen. The latter have little more to say than the former, telling me only that I should speak to Aeri, the owner, if I want a job. I’m only too happy to grab the axe and chop for a while. Ah, it was a good life I had in Riften, wasn’t it? That long, leisurely walk to Heartwood, that lovably ill-tempered Elgrim fellow, the cramped, depressing attic I slept in, the obnoxious regulars at the Bee and Barb, the boring--all right, it was actually pretty unpleasant. I bring a load of wood to Aeri, accept my pay, and she promptly proposes to me. Two proposals in two days?! I’d like to know what Jade thinks of that. Cursed, pshaw! I’d say she’s bringing me good luck. Although, when I look around for her, I can’t find her. She seems to have gotten lost somewhere. Perhaps she ran away from some wolves and hasn’t found her way back yet. It’s an odd feeling, being desired like this, and not one that Nona would ever have predicted being troubled with. I was planning to move on after receiving my pay, but instead I stand there bemused for the rest of the day, watching Aeri work. And she's really something--the way this slip of a woman loads those enormous logs onto the conveyor all by herself is--not something anyone should be doing if they want to retain the use of their limbs and/or spine, frankly. But she does it hour after hour while her big strong male employees go about their tasks with their cute little axes and grindstones. It’s an offer that deserves serious consideration: Aeri owns her mill and seems pretty successful, although she does complain about the Jarl of Dawnstar’s demands. She’s strong, hardworking, capable. She has her own house--a house I could live in, with her, in a very picturesque location that is both convenient to and not actually in Windhelm (a huge plus). On the down side, she seems a bit old for me, and a little too focused on work. And, well, there’s one other problem-- I like Scouts-Many-Marshes a hell of a lot more than I like her. Now, lets be clear: Nona is no romantic. She can’t afford to be. She wants to live in a house, and in Skyrim houses are for player characters--or for people who marry an NPC who somehow already owns one. You cannot get your own house without being willing to wander around in dungeons killing people; it’s just not possible. But presented with these two choices, side by side, it’s hard to imagine Nona’s being happy with Aeri when there’s a guy she likes much better, a guy who wants her, living really close by. It certainly wouldn’t be fair to Aeri. And if Scouts-Many-Marshes is preferable to anyone Nona might choose for more materialistic reasons--anyone she could meet in the Windhelm area and choose for materialistic reasons, at least--then he needs to be evaluated on his own merits, which are considerable: • He seems genuinely nice. Even when he was being paid almost nothing, his hostility was directed at the specific source of the ill-treatment, and not at Nords or humans in general, which puts him ahead of most of the other Argonian dockworkers. • He really seems to like me. And the favor I did for him was actually meaningful, something that feels like a good basis for affection--not something dumb like giving someone a septim or a mammoth tusk. • If I married him I could start calling myself Mrs. Many-Marshes, which would be awesome. • He’s got ties to his community and cares about his people and blah blah. • I’ll say it again: Mrs. Many-Marshes. AWESOME! But as admirable a fellow as he may be, Scouts-Many-Marshes is not without his flaws: • He is an Argonian. He’s got horns and spines and no lips. I don’t want to be crude, so lets just say that there are certain acts of physical affection that might be problematic owing to his anatomical characteristics. Also, Nona would like to have children someday, and I have no idea whether that would even be possible with an Argonian. • If I married him, we’d be living in the Argonian Assemblage, which is a big dormitory. We’d have no privacy as a couple. • Some of the other dockworkers hate me. Stands-In-Shallows hates me because I wouldn’t steal skooma for him. Neetrenaza hates me because I’m human. And I would have to live with these people. • The Argonian Assemblage is in Windhelm. That’s bad enough on its own, but there’s also the problem that, as a human, I would have privileges in Windhelm than my husband lacked, and I think that that would be unpleasant for us both. All in all, I’m inclined to think that we would both be better off with someone else. I have nothing to say against him personally--but it’s entirely possible for two nice people who like each other to be absolutely miserable together, and I feel it’s the probable outcome here. And yet I can’t quite let it go: for how likely is it that I will ever again find anyone so agreeable who actually wants to marry me? It’s getting dark as I return to Windhelm. Jade appears at my side somewhere near the gates, which is a great relief--I should otherwise have been obliged go searching for her in the dark, and hardly have been able to forgive myself if something had befallen her. Activity in the marketplace is starting to die down, but I head vaguely in that direction anyway--I have wolf pelts to tan, so it would be good to get some leatherwork done now that the smiths have gone home. I pass through the graveyard, and there, near the Hall of the Dead, a guard and three other people stand crowded around a pale corpse. Approaching with my lantern, I get a good look at the body, stripped and savagely mutilated--it’s Susanna, a young woman whom I saw only yesterday in Candlehearth. The guard tells me that she isn’t the first--something I already knew, of course, from Viola Giordano. But seeing a murdered woman lying right front of me is another thing altogether. And now that I have seen her, there’s nothing anyone could say that would induce me to stay here a moment longer than I must. Goodbye, Scouts-and-Mrs.-Many-Marshes. Goodbye, Windhelm. I’d run back to the stables and gallop away immediately if that weren’t completely insane--but I do need sleep, and the killer has, I hope--I hope!--killed enough for one evening.
The first thing I do in the morning is to deliver Hillevi’s nightshade to Wuunferth. For bringing his package an easy distance across town and handing it to him a day late, he pays me a whopping 250 septims. I’m a little stunned. What would he pay for real work? Fortunately he doesn’t seem to have any; it would probably involve testing dangerous new spells or retrieving artifacts from vampire-infested ruins. Next, I march right over to the docks and tell Scouts-Many-Marshes that I’ll talk to Torbjorn about his unfair wages. It’s completely ridiculous that the Argonians are paid only one-tenth of what Nord workers earn for the same labor; I can’t stay in Windhelm knowing that I didn’t even try to address this. It’s certainly not the sort of thing I see myself doing on a regular basis, sticking my neck out for people, but in this case the worst I can do is fail. Torbjorn’s not going to have me arrested or anything. Is he? I find Torbjorn in the marketplace with his wife. I feel kind of bad about bothering him when he’s in mourning, but I do it anyway. I get right to the point and tell him that he should pay the dockworkers fairly. His reply startles me: while I had no reason to doubt that Scouts-Many-Marshes has genuine grievances, I was nevertheless expecting Torbjorn to have a better response than to simply hurl crude insults at the Argonians. Despite his bluster, I manage to persuade him to increase their wages. I did it! I did something that might actually improve people’s lives in a significant way! It’s intoxicating. What else could I do to help others? Maybe I’m in the wrong profession, gathering ingredients and learning their combinations. Potions are useful, but how many of the effects are truly beneficial to ordinary, everyday people? Do they really need their Light Armor skill boosted or their fire resistance improved or their magicka damaged? Think of how much more I could benefit society if I could learn to aid the weak and oppressed, perhaps by taking up arms and-- No! I must put all such thoughts out of my head, right now. This is the way it starts! I’ll be dead in a dungeon before long unless I am lucky enough to have my adventuring career non-fatally cut short by being shot in the knee. I pull myself together and go tell Scouts-Many-Marshes the good news. He’s delighted. In fact, he’s more than delighted. There’s an interesting new warmth in his manner when he sees me now. The next time I talk to him, he comments on my Amulet of Mara. Then, he comes right out and proposes to me: “I’d be honored to walk by your side until the trees themselves fade away, if you’d have me,” he says. I’m not entirely sure I know what that means, but it sounds terribly romantic. I could be married! I could be the wife of a--of a lizard. I’m far too flustered to make any response, and spend some time walking hither and thither about the docks trying to clear my head. It doesn’t help, and Jade, for once, has nothing to say. A lizard. Could I ever marry a lizard? I return to the marketplace, passing a woman named Viola Giordano on the way. She talks about all of murders that have happened recently. Wait--murders? I had thought there was only one murder, but Viola rails bitterly against the guards for doing nothing even as women are murdered “time and again.” She has nothing to say about who they were or how they were killed, only telling me as she leaves to beware of “the Butcher.” Thank the Divines I brought Jade with me; if I were traveling alone, I’d be terrified. Not that Jade offers much in the way of physical protection, but her constant presence is surely of some use in dissuading attackers. In dissuading a single murderous sicko who hopes to escape notice, at least. I hope. Could I ever marry a lizard? My aimless wanderings take me back to Sadri’s, where even browsing my favorite shop fails to jog me out of my trance; to the White Phial, where I make a half-hearted attempt to work on my alchemy; then out the city gates, where I mount Snowberry, ride out to the nearby farms, and chat with some of the workers. The weather is getting worse by the hour, and by the time I return to Windhelm I’m riding through a blizzard. It occurs to me that the word blizzard rhymes with lizard. Could I ever marry a lizard? At suppertime I decide that I’m so sick of venison and goat that I’m going to eat something else even if I have to purchase it pre-cooked. I buy some leek-and-potato soup from Hillevi (I have never yet seen raw leeks for sale, anywhere, so I’m actually starting to wonder whether one needs to be a member of some secret, exclusive club in order to get them), and fall into conversation with a strange, nervous Dunmer woman named Rinori Imaryn. She speaks rather disconnectedly about the loss of her family and about the undead, focusing with morbid intensity on the question of whether a vampire is still in any way the person he was before he was ... taken. The very last of the daylight fades away as she talks, leaving us shrouded in darkness and whirling snow; trapped in conversation, I cannot light my lantern, and hearing her soft, hesitant voice floating out of the emptiness while I stand rooted in place is almost surreal. She tells me how Brunwulf saved her--but only her--from the attack, and becomes so emotional that she cannot continue. When I finally manage to get my lantern lit, she is gone. Could I have been speaking all this time to a vampire? And, more importantly, could I ever marry a lizard? Candlehearth is busy when I return. Adonato Leotelli tells me briefly about writing drama and wants to know whether I can deliver a copy of his latest book to the Bards’ College in Solitude. Pelgurt seeks desperately to hire someone to recover his family sword. I daresay I would have difficulty attending to their troubles even if they were the slightest bit interesting. Then I meet someone who shocks me back to awareness: Rongeir Ice-Eye is an elderly Nord man having trouble finding acceptance in Windhelm. His name reminds me of someone--I’ve occasionally bumped into an Orsimer woman, Shelur Ice-Eye, wandering around town. She’s a woman of few words; I’ve spoken to her in passing and hardly gotten more than a monosyllable in response. She’s also Rongeir’s wife. When I attempt to commiserate with him for the prejudice he and his wife must be suffering, he tells me that I have it wrong: the locals don’t shun him because he married an orc, but because the orc he married is his daughter. His theory, you see, is that because Nord-Orc pairings result in children that take after the mother, his daughter is not in fact related to him; she is, in effect, an exact copy of his dead wife, and therefore there should be no objection to his marrying her. I’ve heard this general idea of inheritance in interracial pairings bandied about before (the Elder Scrolls games have, to my vague recollection, been somewhat inconsistent as to whether orcs can interbreed with other races and what the results are, though of course that inconsistency has generally manifested in the in-game books, which are in no way required to represent the “truth”), but I’ve never heard it taken to its logical extreme and used to justify marrying one’s own child. I can’t help but suggest that in spite of appearances his daughter must have inherited at least some quality of his, and he responds savagely, impugning both my ancestry and appearance in a torrent of abuse that lacks even the merit of being halfway clever. Too angry to say anything further on the subject, I turn and head down to bed. So here I am, unable to get my head around marrying a lizard--whom I really should start referring to properly in my thoughts as an Argonian if I’m going to continue to contemplate marrying him, because “lizard” is rather insulting--and this horrible man is walking around married to his daughter and daring anyone to say anything against him. It really puts things in perspective.
I’m trying to like Windhelm--at least, I’m trying to like it better than Riften, which ought to be easy enough--but whenever a pulse of warm feeling threatens to find its way into my heart, the city shoves some new obstacle in its way. Windhelm’s gray stone walls and cobbles present a bleak appearance even on a sunny day such as this, and the people seem to talk of nothing but war and grief. And then there’s the racism. Sure, Riften has casual street crime and sarcastic beggars and the Thieves’ Guild supposedly running everything somehow, but at least in that city certain disadvantaged groups aren’t required to live in particular neighborhoods so as to facilitate the Thieves’ Guild’s ability to find and oppress them efficiently. There’s a good deal of unhappiness to go round in Riften, but go round it does; in Windhelm, it seems to blow directly into the Gray Quarter and onto the docks, and settle there. I spend almost the entire day in the city after rising a little late, around 10 am. There’s almost no raw food available in the marketplace for some reason--I had the same problem yesterday in Riften--so I eat cooked and seasoned meat once again. (Nona’s going to get very tired of roast goat and venison chops before long.) I tan all the hides from yesterday’s travels, make more leather items, and sell them. I visit the White Phial, the local alchemist’s shop, where I buy all of the cheaper ingredients, mix potions, and sell them. Once again, I make a tidy profit doing this, and I gain yet another level. I’ve progressed enough with alchemy to learn the Physician perk, which will make my healing potions more effective. I’ve now finished work for the day. In fact, if I don’t go hunting or gathering or find a mill that needs wood chopped, then I’ve already finished work for two days, because that’s how long it will take for the White Phial to restock. For a moment, I picture my future existence--living in a city with a loving spouse and only having to work every two days. Assuming that I can find an acceptable city and be an acceptable spouse, which will require me to shape up a little: I’m going to have to stop hating every city I visit, and I’m going to have to start doing some favors for people--you generally have to do a little something for someone in Skyrim before they’ll deign to notice that you’re wearing an Amulet of Mara. I practice doing favors by telling Hillevi Cruel-Sea that I’ll deliver something to the court wizard for her. (I’m pretty sure she’s already married, but it’s a simple delivery. Also, Jade sometimes wonders aloud whether we’re doing enough in the service of Mara, which I take both as a gentle indictment of my selfishness and a hint that I should be flirting more.) Then I walk around and socialize: I meet a fellow named Calixto with a large and largely uninteresting collection of junk that he seems very sentimentally attached to, as it reminds him of his sister. I meet Tova and Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, a couple in mourning for their daughter. I wander over to the Gray Quarter again to browse through a shop, Sadri’s Used Wares, that was closed when I came by last night, and what I find there gives me more pleasure than anything I have yet seen in Windhelm: a pair of shoes! (I’ve been looking high and low for ordinary shoes since arriving in Riften; Nona loves her clumpy leather boots, but they have an annoying tendency to clip through the back of her skirt when she walks. Now if only she could solve her embarrassing helmet problem.) I visit the docks next, where I meet many discontented Argonian workers and a couple of indifferent guards. Stands-In-Shallows asks me to steal some skooma from Candlehearth Hall. I refuse, and he gets very rude. Scouts-Many-Marshes complains about the treatment that the workers receive at the hands of their bosses, the Shatter-Shields. I have the opportunity to volunteer to talk to Torbjorn for him, but I don’t, and I immediately feel terrible. Most of the Argonians here seem like decent, hard-working folk whose lives are desperately hard. Talking to Torbjorn Shatter-Shield for them wouldn’t be so difficult, would it? It’s just talking. But it’s facing-one’s-betters and standing-up-for-the-weak talking, heroic talking, and that makes me uncomfortable. I spend so much time wandering around feeling vaguely dissatisfied that I suddenly realize it’s getting late and I completely forgot about Hillevi’s delivery. I’ll have to do it tomorrow. (Hopefully Wuunferth doesn’t urgently need his eye of newt or whatever it is I’m supposed to give him.) I return to Candlehearth and talk to some of the patrons, including a likeably dense Nord woman named Valla whose tales of getting into fistfights with various people keep me tolerably entertained until bedtime.
In the morning I awake to find Jade in my room: at some point during last night’s revels I must have asked her to come along with me on my journey, and here she is, ready and eager. Upon reflection I decide that this partnership will be good for us both--I get to have some company, and she gets to overcome her self-doubt by helping me find someone to marry. Assuming that her problems are owing to self-doubt, and not the result of the curse that she believes herself to be afflicted with. Well, it’s a bit late to tell her to go home now. It would hurt her feelings. I avoid making eye contact with people on my out of the Bee and Barb, as I dimly recall climbing onto Vulwulf’s table at some point during my little celebration. Fortunately he drinks so much himself that he probably doesn’t remember it, either. There are still a few things to do before we depart: First, there are provisions to buy. After checking the market, it turns out that there really aren’t, so I eat a leftover venison chop for breakfast. Second, I have to work on my whistling. (I need to be able to call my horse if I should happen to lose her, which can easily happen, as she will run away from fights, unlike a typical Skyrim horse.) I walk all over Riften merrily blowing in people’s faces until they start to react somewhat less poorly. Third, I visit the Temple of Mara for a little pre-travel blessing-with-possible-curse-removal (just to be safe). Perhaps Jade’s presence leads me to maintain contact with the altar for a little longer than I otherwise would. Finally it’s time to leave. I head to the stables for my horse--I’ve decided to name her Snowberry--and after changing into my leather armor I climb into the saddle and canter happily away from Riften. After a little while, I stop and dismount, as I’m leaving poor Jade quite a distance behind and there are plants to gather. Ahead, a couple of slender, black-robed figures appear to be having a flashy altercation with some other party. I freeze, hoping a little foolishly that I will not be seen, or if seen, ignored, but they are already advancing towards me in a distinctly unneighborly manner, the previous objects of their ire having been disposed of. I look around desperately for a good source of cover--even a seasoned warrior can be dispatched quite efficiently by hostile mages, and I hardly qualify as a warrior of any sort--but the only nearby hiding place is the nasty cave that leads under Fort Greenwall. I retreat to its mouth but dare not go in any further, and so my attempt at defensive maneuvering leaves me no less vulnerable than before. Jade rushes to my defense and gamely starts punching at one of them (she carries no weapons) while I, startled to find myself mostly intact and unhindered after their opening barrage of ice magic, cut the other apart with surprising ease. The one that is engaged with Jade soon falls to my sword as well, and I am left somewhat bemused by my own prowess. Gingerly, I check the bodies, but find no sign of who these women were or what reason they might have had for attacking two strangers that they found innocently picking flowers in the wilderness. The names that float into view (“Apprentice Necromancer”) are in no way enlightening. I leave the bodies and their belongings as they lie and we hasten away. Just before noon, it starts to rain. We’re now past Shor’s Stone and entering unfamiliar lands. I see a pair of elk ahead and shoot the larger one, which runs off. The smaller one seems rooted to the spot, perhaps stuck on some interfering piece of terrain, and doesn’t move an inch as I shoot it to death. We continue down the rocky slope around a switchback and into the valley. By the time we’re on level ground once again, I’ve collected all manner of meat and hides, some from animals I’ve killed myself, others from victims of the local psychotic wolves. Despite my indifferent success as an archer, I can’t resist shooting at the wildlife whenever I get a clear line of sight, and Jade has an odd habit of disappearing into the forest in hot pursuit of anything that’s still alive after I shoot it (which includes just about everything). Afterward, I can never find whatever it was that she chased down and presumably pummeled to death, so this does me no good at all, but she seems to be enjoying herself. A heavy mist hangs about the lowlands, blurring our view of the clear pools and geysers that make this area so distinctive. I’m finding several interesting new reagents as we continue north--dragon’s tongue, jazbay grapes, creep clusters--and my frequent stops slow us down considerably. Pausing near a sign that points the way to Windhelm, I notice that someone has left a note pinned to the signpost with a knife. It says that some giants have been given permission to camp nearby and should not be interfered with. Through the mist, I can see one of the huge bonfires that generally mark their camps; closer to me, a horse lies dead near an overturned cart. I’m curious to inspect it more closely, but as I approach, my mysterious naming instinct informs me that this area is called “Steamcrag Camp,” and I take this as an indication that I have come close enough. Not far from Windhelm, we run into a couple of travelers escorted by an Imperial Legion soldier. They’re on their way to a wedding in Solitude, and are understandably grumpy about being obligated to travel so far. The sun is setting as we reach the city itself, where a guard repeats the rumor I heard over a week earlier, about a child trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood. I’m not sure whether I should take this as an encouraging sign that he hasn’t succeeded yet, or a disquieting sign that he has succeeded and is trying again because there’s someone else he wants killed and it worked so well the first time. As soon as we enter the city gates we see a Dunmer woman named Suvaris being accosted by two Nord men who accuse her of being some sort of spy. She reacts in a tone of angry resignation, immediately turning to me as I approach and asking whether I, too, hate the dark elves. A simple denial is enough to earn her approbation; it must be genuinely rough for her people here. I’m curious to visit the Gray Quarter, and almost walk right past a ragged woman named Silda who asks me gently for money. Can less than a week in Riften have robbed me of all compassionate feeling? Ashamed of myself, I stop and give her a septim. In the Gray Quarter, Jade and I visit the New Gnisis Cornerclub, where the proprietor, Ambarys Rendar, mentions that a Nord woman was recently murdered in Windhelm. He seems little concerned with the incident and I am unable to get any further information from him. A woman named Morviah Hlaalu regales us with the story of her doomed love affair with a Nord man who left her to join the Stormcloaks. It’s after 1am by the time she finishes her mournful tale. As Jade and I are leaving, we run into one of the charmers that we saw harassing Suvaris at the city gates. He says something about the reek of “gray-skin filth” and continues past us, yelling more insults into the night. As Jade and I head to Candlehearth Hall to find accommodations, I can only hope that there are no Dunmer on the streets at this hour who might be assaulted by this foulmouthed imbecile.
Over the next few days I settle into a routine of sorts: I get up, go shopping, and cook food for the day. I then walk to Heartwood Mill, hunting game on the way, and chop wood for a couple of hours before returning to Riften. I have dinner, socialize a bit, and go to bed. Little by little, I buy the things--the non-food things--that I need. I get decent clothes; I no longer look like a homeless person who stole someone’s good leather boots. My walks to and from Heartwood go quietly enough, although I do have one scare--an encounter with an Argonian thief who attacks me when I refuse to hand over my hard-earned wages and knocks off more than half my health with a couple of blows. There’s nothing to do but puff out my chest and speak as commandingly as I can; he immediately calms down and I run away before the Voice of the Emperor effect wears off. That day I return to Riften by a different route. As soon as I’m back in the city, I buy a steel sword. My efforts at hunting have what might generously be described as mixed results: I sneak up on a deer and shoot it, my arrow causes only a slight injury, and the animal promptly runs off into the forest and I am unable to get another clear shot. Thinking that I need to hunt smaller game, I shoot a fox: I fail to take even this small creature down with a single arrow, and it runs away. I do manage to kill a rabbit with one shot, but getting that shot takes quite some time, and it turns out that a single dead rabbit does not provide even one substantial meal. After a couple of days I start to notice that whenever I shoot a deer, it’s injured already, which is rather puzzling, as I’ve seen no hunters in the area--even the psychotic wolves have been conspicuously absent lately. This leads to a growing conviction that I have been walking back and forth between Riften and Heartwood shooting the same exact deer every time I pass it, and it isn’t recovering from its injuries in between encounters with me. I do finally get my deer, but the dubious method I have employed seems only to argue against my pursuing hunting as a profession--it’s not just woefully inefficient; it’s cruel. And is it necessary? It occurs to me that Nona could go on like this indefinitely, sleeping in Riften and working at Heartwood Mill. It’s easy. It’s profitable. It’s dull. It’s everything she’s always wanted! Well, not quite. Nona’s not an ambitious woman, to be sure--but her modesty does not extend to a lifelong commitment to a career as an unskilled laborer. She wants a profession--a skilled profession. If chopping wood required a skill, an honest-to-goodness learning-by-doing Skyrim skill with actual perks (“Level 100: chop an entire tree down with one stroke”), then she might be interested. But it doesn’t. She isn’t. (And then there’s the fact that chopping wood is really, really boring. For me as a player, I mean. I know, I know, I’m playing Skyrim as a character who doesn’t do anything and walks everywhere; I must be immune to boredom, right? I laugh in the face of tedium! I monologue when set upon by monotony! Actually, no. See, even though playing Skyrim as Nona isn’t the most thrilling thing in the world, writing about it is actually a pretty interesting exercise. But I can’t write about exactly the same day over and over again. No doubt there are writers who might do that sort of thing and even find artistic possibilities in it, but I’m pretty sure I lack whatever natural gift, or natural lack of self-reflection, is required to pull that off.) So Nona trudges off to her unsatisfying job every day for one reason: in the evening after work, she can visit Elgrim’s and practice her alchemy. So far she’s been using just the ingredients she’s gathered, and there’s not a lot of variety. With her Heartwood income, though, she can afford buy ingredients from Elgrim and experiment. She discovers some new formulas, and even gains a level, putting her first perk point into alchemy. Progress! It’s all too easy to neglect your social life when you’re working to put yourself through school, so I try not to let that happen with Nona. The jerks in the Bee and Barb only get ruder the longer she stays there--I could swear that Vulwulf Snow-Shod times his anti-Imperial tirades solely for her benefit, and Maven Black-Briar and her son seem to approach every so often specifically to insult her--but she meets someone new every day. She finally gets around to visiting Honorhall Orphanage, where Grelod the Kind works tirelessly to ensure that no child leaves her care with even a trace amount of uncrushed spirit. I’m astonished that Hagravi could be at all charitable toward her: if I’d grown up in this orphanage, I’d probably hire someone to murder the old hag. But how would I ever find a person willing to do such a thing? I also run into Ingrun Black-Briar. She seems pleasant enough, and I hope that we might have a great deal in common, being students of Elgrim and all, so I ask her why she became interested in alchemy. She gleefully describes her fascination with watching the destructive effects of poisons on people. Um, yeah. I guess I’m not going to have a best friend in this horrible family after all. I wonder what the one who’s in prison for murder is like? There’s Wujeeta, an Argonian skooma addict who desperately wants a healing potion but doesn’t seem to find my homemade ones acceptable; Olette, a little girl who picks my pocket; Wander-Lust, a robustly cheerful Argonian woman who travels Skyrim seemingly as a way of channeling her dead son, who could never stay at home. (I actually have to cut our chat short; some of the Interesting NPCs have conversations that can last for hours and hours of game time--some day I’ll have to try this mod with a character who doesn’t have to eat.) There’s Bolli, an affable fisherman I meet in the Bee and Barb and wouldn’t mind having dinner with, but he always seems to be sitting with Haelga. And there’s Jade, a woman who left the Thieves’ Guild to become a disciple of Mara and speaks tremulously of her ineptitude as a matchmaker. (The competition between disciples to get people together is apparently rather fierce, and Jade doesn’t want to be stuck handing out Dinya’s insipid leaflets.) I like Jade. I find her whiny at first--her voice has a slightly hysterical quality--but her story is amusing (her parents used to lock her in a room, and she learned to pick the locks and break out; she ran away from home and joined the Thieves’ Guild because she had no other skills, but she couldn’t bear to actually steal anything). And, oddly enough, she likes me--she actually seems to want to accompany me on my travels! I’m going to have to give this some serious thought: Nona would love to have a companion, and in Skyrim you usually have to do a quest in order to get someone to join you, so this is a rare opportunity. If Jade were a tough adventuring type, it would perhaps be too much of an opportunity. But Jade seems highly reassured by Nona’s assertion that she keeps to the roads when traveling because there’s so much scary stuff in the wilderness. “Oh, then we’ll make great companions!” Jade exclaims. No need to decide immediately, of course--I’m not going to bore Jade to death by insisting that she trudge over to Heartwood to watch me chop wood every day. But talking with her gets me thinking about the future: Nona would like to get married, some day, and the quality she prizes above all others in a prospective spouse is that he or she not live in Riften. It would be best, then, to visit the Temple of Mara and obtain an amulet before leaving town: with money coming in, she can afford to do that. Greed battles daily with wanderlust in Nona’s head: every night she contemplates leaving this rotten city behind, and every morning discovers some new commodity she cannot live without and trudges off to work again. The very last thing she buys is a horse. Nona could buy a horse anywhere, but she finds the Riften horses especially pretty, so a Riften horse she must have. On Morndas, the 25th of Last Seed, Nona gets to the mill early, works hard and diligently; returns to the Temple of Mara to buy flowers from Yushari, a khajiit flower-seller who emphasizes romance in her sales pitch but is brazenly materialistic in her outlook; heads down to Elgrim’s to extract essences from the blooms. She is starting to turn a modest profit on potions and has everything she wants for the road; this, she resolves, will be her last night in Riften. She has a venison chop for dinner and visits Mistveil Keep, where she has never yet entered; chats with Dirassi, a hypochondriac maid; returns to the Bee and Barb. In a celebratory mood, she samples one of the local brews, a Cliff Racer, which goes down easy but has a tremendous kick. One foggy hour later, she stumbles into her dingy room for the last time.
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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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