2122	28951	84	265
Forum Posts	Wiki Points	Following	Followers

A Month In Skyrim - Day Twenty-Two

By dankempster January 26, 2012 2 Comments

Day Twenty-Two - A Grey-Mane Saved and a Mage Made

I parted ways with the residents of Dragon Bridge the next morning and continued my journey to Northwatch Keep on the province's north-western coast. I tried to be diplomatic with the Thalmor guards keeping watch over the old fort, but my pleas fell on deaf ears, as did my attempts to persuade them. A sword through the neck, I soon found out, proved more than enough to earn their attention. The Thalmor are incredibly skilled warriors and magicians, and even now I cannot explain how I was able to hold my own against a whole contingent - I can only put it down to the skills I've amassed through practising my Thu'um, and reliance on old spells that I'd all but forgotten over the years. When all the guards outside had been silenced, I made my way into the keep itself.

Inside the keep were yet more guards, as well as a handful of dedicated mages and conjurers. One of these conjurers summoned an enormous Storm Atronach, and I was incredibly lucky to stay alive, knocking back a Resist Shock potion just before being hit with a near-paralysing jolt of lightning that would have otherwise done me in. Again, I'm not sure how I survived the onslaught, but the fact I write this now only serves to prove how probable the illogical can be in this mixed-up province. I found Thorald in the keep's torture chamber, chained to the wall and rather worse for wear. I freed him from his irons and told him I'd been sent by his family. He thanked me, and together we re-traced my steps to the keep's entrance.

Once we were back out in the bitter cold Skyrim air, Thorald offered me proper thanks and asked me to relay a message to his mother and brother back in Whiterun. I told him I would gladly do so, and we parted ways - he to WIndhelm, to seek protection within the ranks of the Stormcloaks, and I back to Whiterun to pass on the good news of his release. Given that evening was already well underway by the time we emerged from Northwatch Keep, I elected to spend the night at the Four Shields in Dragon Bridge once again, and move on to Whiterun in the morning.

An early night meant an early start the next morning, and I opted to take a slightly more scenic route back to Whiterun via the Reach, just to take in some more of the sights, sounds and smells of my homeland - the homeland I have had little time to appreciate since returning to it all those weeks ago. Even with all these distractions, I was back in Whiterun at midday, and made straight for the marketplace to tell Fralia the good news. She seemed suspicious at first, but as soon as I relayed the specifics of Thorald's message to her, she seemed satisfied. As a reward, she presented me with a stamina-draining greatsword forged by Eorlund himself. After passing on the message, I made straight for the forge at Warmaiden's and used it to smith myself a fine suit of armour in the Orsimer style. Unfortunately I still lack the materials needed to refine and complete the set - hopefully I will soon come by more Orichalcum on my travels.

The conflict at Northwatch Keep has served to remind me that I've been neglecting my arcane abilities of late, and so to put this right, I've elected to spend some time at the College of Winterhold in the coming days. Before leaving Whiterun, I returned to Dragonsreach for one last meeting with Farengar, who was kind enough to sell me some more advanced spell tomes from the Destruction school at very reasonable prices. With these stronger spells in my armoury, I left Whiterun and spent the remainder of the evening trekking to Winterhold, arriving there just before nightfall. I have booked a room at the Frozen Hearth, and intend to enrol formally at the College tomorrow. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

2 Comments

A Month In Skyrim - Day Twenty-One

By dankempster January 25, 2012 2 Comments

Day Twenty-One - Whiterun Errands and a Missing Gray-Mane

After waking next morning, I headed straight back to the Hall of the Dead to search for Andurs's missing amulet of Arkay. It proved fairly simple to find, mislaid on a table at the back of the catacombs. I put the few disturbed skeletons back to rest and returned the amulet to Andurs, who repaid me with a small purse of coins. From there I set off straight for Swindler's Den to the west, in search of Amren's family sword. It had been almost a fortnight since I last trawled through the den, which had once again been re-populated by another group of bandits. I carved my way through them, making my way back to the room where I had spoken with Kematu of the Alik'r nearly two weeks previously. The sword I'd come for was sitting in a chest in this room - I slipped it into my pack and left the cavern the way I'd come in.

On my way back to Whiterun I passed a contingent of the city guard. One of them told me that he'd recently witnessed a dragon fly over the city and head for the peak of Shearpoint, to the northeast. I made a note of the spot on my map, and continued back to Whiterun. I met with Amren in the marketplace and handed him back the sword. As a reward, he taught me a secret combat technique passed down the family line - one I am sure to make great use of in my future travels, no doubt. With the sword safely back in the right hands, I took my leave of Whiterun once again in the early afternoon and decided to head for Shearpoint.

The sky was already darkening by the time I arrived near Shearpoint, although whether that was due to nightfall or an impending blizzard, I could not say. Rather than taking on the dragon on the steep slopes of the mountains around Shearpoint and risk falling to my death, I was able to lure it away from the peak and do battle with it at the mountain's base instead. I managed to keep much of its frosty breath at bay with my shield, only moving in to attack the dragon's exposed underbelly when I spotted an opening. It took many minutes, but eventually the beast fell. I thought from there examining the Word Wall at Shearpoint would be simple, but as I approached it, an undead Dragon Priest emerged from a sarcophagus and began bombarding me with fireballs. Taking down this priest proved even more difficult than felling the dragon, but a combination of Shouts and magic-resisting tonics saw me prevail in the end. The Word Wall bequeathed a new Shout unto me - the ability to Throw Voice, and distract any would-be attackers. I haven't yet slain enough dragons to grant me access to all three words of the Shout, and so I've chosen to only learn the first for now.

I returned to Whiterun under cover of the night, carrying several bones and scales carved from the dragon, and the mask I'd torn from the priest's body. I stocked all of these newly-obtained items at Breezehome and slept for the rest of the night, waking rather late the next day. I decided to pass what was left of the morning at the forge, further rekindling my smithing skills. I feel as though I've finally returned to the level of prowess I possessed back in Cyrodiil, and I think that in a few days' time I will put that feeling to the test by attempting to smith some armour in the traditional style of the Orsimer. I also spent some time with Farengar, the court wizard at Dragonsreach, who taught me some of the basics of item enchantment. It is a field I'd never thought to enter before back in Cyrodiil, but the benefits appear to be worthwhile. I retrieved a large number of enchanted weapons from Breezehome, and set about divining their enchantments in the way that Farengar showed me.

It was early afternoon by the time I parted company with Farengar, and on my way back into Whiterun I ended up in conversation with Fralia Gray-Mane at her stall in the marketplace. She expressed some concern about her missing son, but would not tell me anything more out in the open, insisting we speak in private at her home. I followed her to House Gray-Mane, where she and her son Avulstein explained the situation. Her other son, Thorald, a strong supporter of Ulfric and the Stormcloaks, had gone missing recently. Supposedly, the Imperial-allied Clan Battle-Born were claiming that he'd been killed in action, but Fralia and Avulstein had reason to believe he'd been abducted, and might still be alive. They asked if I might feign allegiance to the Battle-Borns and attempt to find some evidence confirming Thorald was still alive. Eager to help this family as both a Stormcloak and a friend, I agreed to their plea.

House Battle-Born is not far from House Gray-Mane, and I encountered one of the Battle-Borns on my way there - a man named Idolaf. We spoke briefly and he invited me into the clan's abode, where I made out as best I could that I considered myself allied with the Empire and by extension, the Battle-Borns. While he turned his back and fetched some mead for the pair of us, I was able to slip an Imperial Missive into my pack unnoticed. I stayed and shared a drink with Idolaf, who made his distaste towards the Gray-Manes and the Stormcloaks very clear once the mead had loosened his tongue a little. Starting to feel uncomfortable, I made my excuses and took my leave.

I headed straight back across the road to House Gray-Mane and presented the missive to Avulstein. It indicated that just as Fralia suspected, Thorald was still alive and being help captive by Thalmor agents in Northwatch Keep, not far from Solitude in the northwest of the province. Avulstein seemed eager to lay siege to the keep, but I was able to talk him out of the idea - I was worried that in his emotional state, his rash actions might have endangered both Thorald's life and his own, leaving poor Fralia with no sons to speak of. I offered to go in his stead, and both Avulstein and Fralia seemed happy with this. I took my leave and decided to use the remainder of the afternoon to travel as far towards the keep as I could before night set in. I took the standard route, west from Whiterun and north through Rorikstead, and pulled into the village of Dragon Bridge just as Nirn's twin moons revealed themselves in the night sky. I booked a room at the Four Shields Tavern and turned in for the night. Tomorrow, I plan to continue on to Northwatch Keep and negotiate Thorald's release. Whether I achieve that through my voice or my sword remains to be seen. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

2 Comments

A Month In Skyrim - Day Twenty

By dankempster January 24, 2012 2 Comments

Day Twenty - Search for the White Phial

After waking and leaving Candlehearth Hall, I decided to return to the White Phial, where I had purchased some potions the day before. I'd witnessed an argument between the proprietor, an Altmer by the name of Nurelion, and his assistant, the Imperial Quintus Navale, and was curious to know what it was about. Nurelion explained that he was in the final stages of a debilitating illness, but had found a potential way to cure himself. He had reason to believe that in a nearby cave, there was an enchanted alchemist's phial - the White Phial he had named his shop for. Unfortunately, his failing health made it impossible for him to search the cave. I offered to help him, and he kindly pointed me to the correct location on my map - a cavern to the west named the Forsaken Cave, that I had passed many times on my trips to and from Winterhold.

Like many of the other caves and dungeons I've searched through in my time back in Skyrim, the Forsaken Cave was full of Draugrs determined to impede my progress towards the Phial. Thankfully none of them posed any significant threat, and I found myself using my new Slow Time Shout several times as I moved through the subterranean crypts. At the dungeon's deepest point I did battle with an extremely powerful Draugr, and during the fight I was unfortunate enough to lose the Skyforge steel sword that has served me so well ever since I received it from Eorlund Grey-Mane all those days ago. My reward for making it through was the learning of another new Shout - 'Marked for Death' - and access to the chamber containing the White Phial. Unfortunately, its years in that hole seemed to have damaged it somewhat, rendering it unusable.

I picked up the damaged Phial, made my way up and out of the Forsaken Cave and back towards Windhelm. When I arrived back at the alchemist's store and presented the Phial to Nurelion, he was broken-hearted to learn of its broken condition. He thrust five solitary septims into my hand and asked me to leave. I could not hold a grudge against the man for giving me such a small reward - believing life finally to be back in one's grasp, only to have it snatched away again, must be a painful experience. As I pushed open the door, his assistant Quintus called me back in. He thanked me more formally, and gave me five hundred additional gold coins for my trouble. I left him with my thanks, and asked him to send for me if there was anything I could do for Nurelion to ease his final days.

Once again, I spent the night at Candlehearth Hall and rose early the next day. Eager to take a break from the pressures of adventuring after the heavy-hearted conclusion of my latest quest, I decided to quit Windhelm for Whiterun. I took a slow walk back to the city, stopping a few times to do something I had not done since first arriving back in Skyrim - take in the scenic beauty of my homeland. By midday I was back within the walls of Whiterun, and eager to make the most of my afternoon of leisure. I spent much of my time smithing at Arianne's forge, smithing the ore and ingots I'd amassed on my travels into jewellery and weapons, which I then sold on to Arianne herself and Belethor at the general store. It was wonderful to finally sink some time back into the old art of smithing, and although my materials were limited and my skills rusty, I was happy with most of what I forged this afternoon. If nothing else, it has earned me a healthy sum of septims for my trouble.

After smithing all of my collected materials, I chose to spend the evening wandering about Whiterun and actually getting to know some of my neighbours. For the first time, I became aware of an on-going feud between the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes, and learned that the Redguard Amren was searching for his father's long-lost sword, supposedly holed up in Swindler's Den. Finally, just before retiring home, I paid the local Hall of the Dead a visit and spoke with a priest named Andurs. He'd recently lost his amulet of Arkay within Whiterun's catacombs, and asked me if I might retrieve it for him. I agreed, on the condition that I might first go home and rest for the night, returning to handle the matter in the morning. He bade me farewell, and I made my way back to Breezehome. Between retrieving Andurs' amulet and searching for Amren's father's sword, tomorrow is likely to prove an interesting day. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

2 Comments

A Month In Skyrim - Day Nineteen

By dankempster January 23, 2012 1 Comments

Day Nineteen - Siding With the Stormcloaks

The next morning saw me rise with a fresh feeling of resolve in my heart. I left Solitude's city walls behind, beginning my arduous trek through the province's northern snowfields and back towards the wreckage of the Pride of Tel Vos that I had searched a few days previously. Serpentstone Isle lay a little further to the northeast, and although the clear skies made it easy to locate, the freezing waters made it difficult to get to. When I eventually made it onto the island, I was confronted by the Ice Wraith that Galmar had ordered me to slay to prove my loyalty. My Fire Breath Shout proved almost strong enough to melt it on the spot, and a combination of fire magic and sword strikes soon reduced the wraith to nothing but a pile of ice.

I arrived back in Windhelm late that afternoon, and made straight for the Palace of the Kings. On entering I approached Galmar and dropped the still-cold teeth of the Ice Wraith into his hand. I could see a look of impressed surprise spread across his face, and he warmly congratulated me on a job well done. Inviting me back into the main chamber and into the presence of Jarl Ulfric, Galmar Stone-Fist formally inducted me into the Stormcloaks. I have now sworn an oath of allegiance to both Skyrim and Ulfric, making it impossible for me to backpedal on this decision - the Imperials would surely slaughter me if they knew when I approached them, and if they didn't then the Stormcloaks certainly would.

My first task as an officially enlisted Stormcloak was revealed to me by Galmar at this point. He had been doing some digging around, and found information suggesting that the legendary Jagged Crown might be buried in an old ruin nearby. The Jagged Crown, as all Nords surely know, is a legendary crown supposedly once worn by all the great High Kings of Skyrim, many centuries ago. It had long been missing, to the point where its very existence was considered a fable, until Galmar managed to trace it back to the nearby ruin at Korvanjund. With such an iconic piece of Skyrim's native history in his hands, Ulfric's claim to the High King's throne would certainly be considered even stronger. Galmar wished me to join a band of Stormcloaks who were heading out to the ruin in the morning. I agreed and took my leave from the palace, by which time night was beginning to settle in. I took a room at Candlehearth Hall and slept well through the night.

The next morning I stocked up on healing potions at the White Phial and made the short trip to Korvanjund, due west of Windhelm. Galmar and the other Stormcloaks were already there when I arrived, accompanied by a familiar face - Ralof, my friend who'd helped me out of Helgen and back into my homeland. I greeted him and we shared stories of our separate travels as Galmar briefed the other Stormcloaks on the situation. Apparently Imperial spies had betrayed our position to the Legion, who were now waiting for us within Korvanjund. Together, our band of warriors led a charge on the ruin's entrance, decimating the few Imperial soldiers on duty and forcing our way into the ancient barrow.

Our passage through Korvanjund itself was far from smooth, punctuated by fraught battles with more Imperial soldiers and Draugrs awakened from their eternal slumber. We lost some brave men, but pressed on in spite of them and our opposition. Deep within the dungeon we stumbled upon an ebony claw, not dissimilar to the one I had retrieved from Bleak Falls Barrow for the Valerius siblings almost three weeks ago. Already familiar with the mechanisms, I was able to do what neither the Imperials nor the Stormcloaks had managed, and unlock the door leading into the burial chamber where the Crown resided. The Jagged Crown itself was resting on the head of a Draugr Deathlord, who did not take kindly to being disturbed. Thankfully our combined manpower was enough to bring it and its brethren down.

As I tore the Crown from the Draugr's rotten head, Galmar congratulated me on a job well done and ordered me back to Windhelm to present Ulfric with the crown. On my way towards the exit, I passed another of the Walls of Power the Greybeards had told me of, and was imbued with the power of a new Shout - the ability to slow down time. I raced back to Windhelm as fast as the brewing blizzard wished to carry me, and placed the Jagged Crown in the hands of Jarl Ulfric back at the Palace of the Kings. He thanked me for my service, and tasked me with another errand to run on behalf of the Stormcloaks. This time, I was to take his axe to Whiterun, and present it to Jarl Balgruuf. As a fellow Nord, I knew what this gesture meant. Ulfric was sending a clear message to Balgruuf - join me in my fight for Skyrim's independence, or prepare for war. Whether Balgruuf accepted or declined Ulfric's offering would determined what fate the future held in store for the city of Whiterun.

By the time I had finished speaking with Ulfric, the sun was already well below the ramparts of the city walls. Tired from the day's fighting at Korvanjund, I decided to book another night's rest at Candlehearth Hall. I will decide whether or not to immediately follow through on Ulfric's wish in the morning. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

1 Comments

Two Hundred Blogs - A Promotional Special

By dankempster January 23, 2012 6 Comments

Ladies and gentlemen of Giant Bomb, this is my two hundredth blog post.

I've been trying to come up with a way to mark the occasion in a way befitting such a milestone. For my fiftieth blog, I wrote up a retrospective looking back at some of my personal favourite entries. For my hundredth, I related what I hoped were some thought-provoking ideas shared by me and my ex-girlfriend about the role of failure in games. For my most recent milestone, the hundred-and-fiftieth, I wrote a pretty controversial piece on why Pokémon isn't for us anymore. With milestones of that calibre, this one had a lot to live up to. There is one blog I've been wanting to write for some time, to do with the way the backs of video game boxes are designed. I even went as far as starting to write something, but couldn't seem to articulate my points well enough and so I've slipped that one back into the filing cabinet for another day. The other idea that I kept coming back to was to use this space to promote some other blogs, ones that I read regularly and are definitely more worthy of your time than this little bit of the internet that I've carved out for myself. That is what I've ultimately decided to do with this two hundredth blog.

A Month In Skyrim - Day Eighteen

By dankempster January 22, 2012 2 Comments

Day Eighteen - Two Sides of the Same Septim

I awoke this morning with the issue of the Civil War still at the front of my mind, and my own allegiance still unplaced. As a son of Skyrim, and not to mention after the incident at Helgen some weeks ago, I feel duty bound to support Jarl Ulfric and the Stormcloaks. I dislike the idea of Imperial rule as much as the next Nord, and given Ulfric challenged the previous High King in the traditional Nord custom, I see no reason to dispute his claim to the throne. On the other side of the argument, though, there is the issue of non-Nord natives. While I believe that Skyrim does indeed belong to the Nords, I strongly disagree with the idea of driving the other races out of our province. They have something to contribute as well - in particular, my mind is cast back to dear old Ainethach, the long-time overseer of my hometown of Karthwasten. It is this sole worry that is keeping me from siding with the Stormcloaks outright.

In order that I might better understand the positions and opinions of both sides, I decided to visit both Ulfric at his palace in Windhelm, and the Imperial General in Solitude, and speak to them personally on the matter. First I chose to visit Jarl Ulfric, and made my way from Whiterun to Windhelm, arriving at around 10:00am. On entering the city, I met two guards harassing an elf, and was instantly reminded of my only worry in backing these men. Putting the thought to one side, I continued further into the city and entered the Palace of the Kings. There, Ulfric seemed to be engaged in the discussion of war strategies with his appointed general, Galmar Stone-Fist.

Ulfric recalled our first meeting, back at Helgen when the dragon had reduced the town to ashes and rubble. When I told him that Ralof would vouch for me, he seemed interested in accepting me into the Stormcloaks, and told me to speak to Galmar for more information. Galmar in turn provided me with a test of initiation - in order to prove my allegiance and usefulness to the Stormcloaks, I was asked to travel to Serpentstone Isle in the Sea of Ghosts and battle the Ice Wraith residing there. The isle itself is not far from the wreckage of the Pride of Tel Vos that I visited yesterday. I told Galmar that I would consider his proposal, and took my leave.

My next destination was the city of Solitude, my plotted journey taking me across the north of the province, past Dawnstar and Morthal and once again through the village of Dragon Bridge. It was almost evening by the time I arrived within Solitude's grand city walls, and if the first thing to greet me in Windhelm shocked me, then the sight that met my eyes now made me feel physically sick. A local Nord named Roggvir was charged with allowing Ulfric to breach the walls of Solitude, and beheaded before a baying crowd. Disgusted with the behaviour of the Imperials now governing the city, I pressed on to the castle and met with the leader of the Skyrim branch of the Imperial Legion, General Tullius.

Like Ulfric before him, Tullius recognised me from the incident at Helgen, and seemed keen on enlisting me to help the Legion in their fight against the Stormcloaks. He referred me to one of his legates, a Nord woman named Rikke, who much like Galmar presented me with an initiation test to see if I was cut from the right cloth to assist the Legion. Nearby there's an old fort, Fort Hraggstad, that has long been abandoned and overrun with bandits. Rikke wants me to clear the fort of its unwanted occupants, that the Legion might station some troops there. As with Galmar before her, I told Rikke that I would need time to think the proposal over, and left the castle to wander the streets of Solitude a while.

Speaking to the citizens of Skyrim's capital, one thing became very clear - these people swear allegiance not to the Empire or the Emperor, but to the Jarl herself. This blind allegiance means the people have no open desire to be governed by the Imperials, and that if the Jarl's loyalties were to lie differently, they would follow suit. In that respect, they are not so different from Ulfric and the Stormcloaks. Many of the locals asked me for help with their problems - a Bosmer named Dervenin, who I'm convinced might not be sound in his head, asked me to visit the Blue Palace and search for his Master. An Altmer called Taarie requested that if I meet with the Jarl, I don some fine clothes from her store, Radiant Raiments, as an endorsement. Finally, I met a wine merchant named Evette San, who asked if I'd be willing to run down to the docks for her and try to get a shipment of spices released by the East Empire Company. Having nothing else to do today, I decided to spend the rest of my evening helping her.

Down at the docks, I spoke with Vittoria Vici of the East Empire company regarding Evette's spice shipment. Vittoria claimed she would be more than happy to release them, provided the release tariff of two thousand septims was paid. Spotting the gleam in her eye as she spoke these words, I outed her claim as a falsehood. She conceded, apologised, and promised to release the spices and have them sent up to Evette as soon as possible. I returned to Evette with the good news, and she thanked me with a few bottles of her famous San Spiced Wine. With no other immediately pressing issues weighing on my conscience, and the dark of night slowly drawing in, I made for the Winking Skeever and rented a room for the night. Tomorrow, I intend to return to Windhelm and bind my services to the Stormcloaks - an independent Skyrim would serve itself much better than as another province manipulated by the Emperor. I only hope that Ulfric can look past his racial prejudices and recognise that we cannot afford to isolate ourselves from the rest of Tamriel. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

2 Comments

A Month In Skyrim - Day Seventeen

By dankempster January 21, 2012 0 Comments

Day Seventeen - Tracing the Telvanni Line

The events that unfolded the day before ensured I slept well into the next morning, but woke up feeling well-rested. As I made my way down the stairs and towards the Bee and Barb's entrance, I was stopped by a fellow Nord. He introduced himself as Brynjolf, and began enquiring as to how I'd amassed such a healthy purse of septims. I tried dismissing his questions and avoiding his gaze, but he persisted, eventually going as far as to ask me if I would facilitate a crime for him. I stood my ground, refusing to help and reminding him that as a Nord he should value honour above all else. Noticeably annoyed, he shrugged my words off and returned to his seat.

Now that I was in better health and the darkness of night had relinquished its grip on the sky, Riften seemed much more welcoming than it had done on my arrival. Merchants busying themselves about the marketplace, citizens sharing news from outside the city walls, and the greater presence of guards on the streets almost made me feel like I was back in Whiterun. Wandering the streets and chatting to the townsfolk, I learned of many of their problems - a Redguard named Shadr was having trouble with a money-lender; the local blacksmith Balimund was running out of the fire salts needed to keep his forge in working order; an Argonian jeweller named Madesi wanted me to gather some crafting materials for him.

The man whose story intrigued me the most, though, was that of a Dunmer merchant named Brand-Shei. When he introduced himself I couldn't help but ask why a Dunmer would bear an Argonian name, but he gave me the reason straight-away. He had been rescued from a shipwreck as a baby by an Argonian family, who had raised him as their own. It was an incredible story to hear, given how much animosity there has been between the Dunmer and the Argonians over the centuries. Captivated by his tale, I asked Brand-Shei if there was anything I could do to help him find out more about his heritage. He gave me two pieces of information - that he was found wrapped in a blanket bearing the emblem of House Telvanni, and that the last recorded ship to leave Morrowind had been called the Pride of Tel Vos, heading for Skyrim.

With Brand-Shei's limited information in mind, I decided to head for the northern coast-line - it seemed logical that any large ships coming into Skyrim would have needed to dock there. From Riften I followed the province's eastern border, through Eastmarch and past Windhelm, until I reached the frozen shores. From there, it did not take me long to locate the wreckage of the Pride of Tel Vos, encased in ice to the northeast of Winterhold. As I began exploring the shell of the ship, I ran into a band of thieves who'd been using it as their base of operations. The number of bandits I've faced since I arrived back in Skyrim has really driven home just how lawless these times have become, and that the longer this Civil War drags out, the longer it harms the people who really matter - Skyrim's citizens.

Once I'd dealt with the bandits in the accepted fashion, I continued exploring the wreckage and happened upon an old journal. It had been sitting in a waterlogged chest for many years now, but most of the writing was still surprisingly legible. This diary identified Brand-Shei as Brandyl, son of Lymdrenn Telvanni and the sole surviving heir of House Telvanni. I wanted to return to Riften immediately and give Brand-Shei (or rather, Brandyl) the journal, but with night drawing in and a blizzard beginning to start, I decided it would be best to wait until morning to begin my return journey. With great difficulty I managed to scale the rock-face and reach Winterhold, where I paid for a room at the Frozen Hearth and spent the night.

The next morning I wasted no time in leaving Winterhold and retracing my steps back to Riften. I arrived back in the city early in the afternoon, and handed the journal over to Brand-Shei, who was tending his stall in the marketplace. He thanked me for my help in finding the truth about his past, and gave me a key to his strongbox, that I might help myself to whatever would serve me best in my adventures. I took a couple of his potions, thanked him, and bade him farewell. I decided to pass the rest of the day by returning to Whiterun, and arrived back at Breezehome just as the last sliver of the sun was disappearing below the horizon. I unloaded my pack of everything that had been weighing me down, and passed the rest of the evening sitting beside the fire and reading up on the situation between the Imperial Legion and the Stormcloaks that has driven my homeland into so much turmoil. I will sleep on what I have read, and in the morning I may finally commit myself to one side of the fight, if only for Skyrim's sake. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

Start the Conversation

A Month In Skyrim - Day Sixteen

By dankempster January 20, 2012 1 Comments

Day Sixteen - Finding Lost Books and Lost Words

I rose this morning with my next course of action already in mind - to head for Halldir's Cairn, just west of Falkreath, and retrieve Runil's missing journal. Although the Altmer had left a clear mark of its location on my map, I had not counted on the fact it would be nestled so deep in the Jerall Mountains, and the climb to the cave's mouth was much steeper than I'd expected. I entered the cave to find a grisly sight - three men, bandits judging by their garb, had met their end beside a cairn that was emanating some kind of energy into a room above. A nearby journal revealed the story behind their fates - the men, named Agrius, Raen and Vidgrod, had intended to use the cave as a base of operations, but had been manipulated by the spirit of Halldir into sacrificing themselves that he might live again. Beside the journal was a key which unlocked the door leading deeper into Halldir's crypt. Steeling myself, I pressed on.

The crypt, as I've come to expect from these locations, was full of Draugr, but also populated by enemies I hadn't encountered before - spectral ghosts. I was a little worried my Skyforge steel sword might pass right through them, but it did not. Perhaps Eorlund's forging techniques have imbued the metal with some special property beyond its strength.In the room directly above the entrance I came face to face with Halldir himself. Seemingly irritated by my unexpected visit, he split himself into three separate spirits and began his assault. He put up a good fight, and I was forced to fall back on my stock of potions more than once, but eventually he fell. I retrieved Runil's journal from a nearby treasure chest, and retraced my steps back to the cave's entrance. Whatever enchantment Halldir had placed on the cairn was now broken.

Runil seemed ecstatic to have his journal back when I returned it to him in the Dead Man's Drink. He thanked me with a payment of seven hundred and fifty gold coins. Before leaving town, I decided to stop by the local trader at Gray Pine Goods and fill my coffers even further by palming off some of the things I'd picked up at Halldir's Cairn. At some point while trading with the proprietor, an amiable Nord named Solaf, I made the decision to follow up my unknown correspondent's tip and visit Bonestrewn Crest. The route I plotted took me east from Falkreath and across the northern face of the Jerall Mountains, through Helgen and skirting past Riften as it passed through the Rift and into Eastmarch.

After the events at Mount Anthor just over a week ago, I went to Bonestrewn Crest expecting to find myself fighting a dragon. What I hadn't expected was to find myself facing two of them. As I passed into Eastmarch and began heading north from Mistwatch towards the Crest, a pair of the gigantic brutes met above me in flight, as if conspiring to cut out the sun. Both ice-breathers, their attacks sapped me of my strength and made the fight incredibly challenging. More than once, I wished that Barbas had still been at my side, supporting me in this seemingly impossible battle.

Even now, I could not tell you how I managed to overcome that pair of dragons at Bonestrewn Crest. I can only put it down to a mixture of perseverance and luck - either that, or the Gods themselves conspired to guide my sword and find their most vulnerable points. When the rush of adrenaline eventually subsided, I found myself standing between the overbearing skeletons of two dragons, their souls now nestled within my own, and myself feeling only a few breaths from Sovngarde. I gulped down several potions as I surged towards the top of the Crest, and sure enough, there was another Wall of Power. The now-familiar sensation came over me once more as I ran my hand over the runes, and I stepped away feeling the power of yet another Thu'um revealing itself to me - Frost Breath.

With the night fast approaching and the dragon battle taking its toll on me, I decided to use what little energy I still had to drag myself to nearby Riften. I was aware of the city's less-than-stellar reputation, but in my current state that did not matter to me - I simply needed a bed to rest in, and an ill-bought bed would serve just as well as any other. The guard's at Riften's city gates tried to extract a 'gate tax' from me as I arrived, but I saw through their ruse and managed to persuade them to let me pass without charge. Shady-looking individuals tried to grab my attention as I moved through the city, but I paid them no heed. After what felt like an era, I finally reached the door of the Bee and Barb inn. I practically fell through the door, and was able to hold my eyes open just long enough to rent a room for the night and write this entry. Now I plan collapse into the bed my septims have bought me, and not open my eyes until late tomorrow morning. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

1 Comments

A Month In Skyrim - Day Fifteen

By dankempster January 19, 2012 0 Comments

Day Fifteen - The Axe and the Masque

After thanking Gerdur and Hod once again for their hospitality, Barbas and I continued on our way to Rimerock Burrow, in pursuit of the Rueful Axe for Clavicus Vile. The Burrow we were heading for is situated in the mountains west of Solitude, practically on the provincial border that separates Skyrim from High Rock. As a consequence, the journey was likely to be a long one, so I thought it best to begin by heading back to Whiterun. There I dropped off some things at Breezehome and stocked up on supplies ready for the trek. I chose to move out west from Whiterun, then north through Rorikstead and Dragon Bridge before heading to the western edge of the Haafingar Hold.

Our hike to Rimerock Burrow was one of my most eventful for some time. Not far from Whiterun, Barbas and I ran into three Vigilants of Stendarr. Renowned for hunting down Daedra worshippers, I was petrified they would instinctively sense Barbas's true identity and turn on us, but we were somehow able to slip past unnoticed. Just past Rorikstead we came to Robber's Gorge, a bandit camp situated on the road to Dragon Bridge. As a seasoned dispatcher of these lawless brigands by now, and with Barbas's help, the camp was cleared in a matter of minutes. I retrieved their spoils, and even found one of the bandit's journals, which led me to a secret stash hidden beside a nearby tree stump. From the Gorge, we pressed on through the village of Dragon Bridge, and into the Druadach Mountains.

We found ourselves outside Rimerock Burrow just as the sky was beginning to darken. The cavern, it soon became apparent, was home to a Breton mage named Sebastian Lort. Barbas explained to me that when his daughter became a werewolf, Lort had prayed to Clavicus Vile for a cure. Clavicus had presented him with the Rueful Axe in turn, expecting him to kill her. Lort did not take kindly to our trespassing on his property, and conjured a pair of Atronachs to his aid. Barbas kept Lort occupied while I turned my elemental magic on his summoned companions, reducing them to naught but piles of fire and frost salts. With those out of the way, I joined Barbas in attacking Sebastian, silencing him with a sword through the chest. The Rueful Axe was resting on a shrine nearby - I slipped it into my pack, and backed out of the cavern.

With the Rueful Axe in hand, our next task was to return to Haemar's Shame and present it to the Shrine of Clavicus Vile. I planned to take us back the way we'd come, but the rapidly encroaching night forced us to stop at Dragon Bridge and rest until sunrise. The next morning, as we emerged from the Four Shields Tavern, we met a courier who'd been looking for me. In his possession was another letter from my anonymous friend, this time directing me to Bonestrewn Crest in the Eastmarch Hold. Given the last letter from this nameless correspondent took me to a Wall of Power, I assumed this one would probably do the same, and made a mental note to prioritise my visit to the Crest.

It was mid-afternoon when Barabas and I arrived back at Haemar's Shame. I removed the Rueful Axe from my pack and presented it to Clavicus Vile. The Daedric prince thanked me for my service, then said something I did not expect - he told me I could keep the axe, if I used it to slaughter Barbas. Not even needing time to think about it, I tossed the Rueful Axe at Clavicus's statue's feet and shouted at the Daedric prince that I would do no such thing. Daedra or not, Barbas had proven a loyal and trustworthy companion these last few days, and I stood nothing to gain from harming him. Grudgingly, Clavicus welcomed Barbas back into his realm of Oblivion. In place of the Rueful Axe, there now rested a jet-black horned helmet - the Masque of Clavicus Vile. With the Daedra appeased for now, I left the cavern and made my way back to Falkreath.

As soon as I arrived back in town, I booked a room at the Dead Man's Drink. I have been locked in here for the last hour, inspecting the Masque. It is supposedly enchanted, granting its user a more persuasive tongue, but its Daedric bindings make me feel reluctant to wear it - not to mention the problems it could cause if I run into more Vigilants of Stendarr. I will sleep on the matter, and decide what to do with the helmet (and how to continue my adventure) tomorrow. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

Start the Conversation

A Month In Skyrim - Day Fourteen

By dankempster January 18, 2012 1 Comments

Day Fourteen - A Daedra and His Dog

When I awoke this morning, I was unsure as to where I might head next. I considered re-visiting the Companions and asking them for more work, but decided instead to make the journey to the southern town of Falkreath, and see what I might find there. As I left Whiterun, I was approached by three brutish-looking men who all drew their weapons and began sprinting towards me. Instinctively I submitted them to my Unrelenting Force Shout, which proved enough to knock them back long enough for me to begin assaulting them with ice magic. When all three had fallen I looted their corpses. One of them had been carrying an incriminating note demanding my execution, signed by someone named 'Thorgar'. To my knowledge, I have never even met anyone named Thorgar, let alone wronged them. If I ever find this person, they will rue the day they picked a fight with Lenah'd Retsmek.

My journey to Falkreath was otherwise uneventful, and I arrived in town late that morning. No sooner had I stepped into town than I was approached by a guard, asking me if I'd encountered a dog on my travels. I said no, but promised to keep an eye out for one in future. The guard thanked me and suggested I talk to Lod, the local blacksmith, for more information. I spent most of my afternoon in Falkreath, talking with the locals and learning about their various problems and situations. Lod did indeed give me more information about the dog he was looking for, and presented me with some fresh meat to offer to it if I should find it.

A man named Thadgeir asked me if I would deliver the ashes of his friend Berit to the local priest, that he might bless them. I found the local priest, an Altmer named Runil, presiding over a burial in the town's graveyard. He thanked me when I presented him with Berit's ashes, and also asked if I might run an errand for him. He'd lost his journal in nearby Halldir's Cairn, and was willing to reward me for its safe return. The funeral, I learned, was being held for a young child who'd recently been slain in cold blood. The murderer, a man named Sinding, was being held at Falkreath Barracks.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the number of tasks suddenly resting on my shoulders, I decided to begin with what seemed like the simplest of them all - to find this dog for Lod. Taking the fresh meat, I stepped back out onto the road outside Falkreath. Almost instantly, the dog in question showed itself. After the last few weeks back here in Skyrim, I thought nothing could shock me any more, but this beast proved me wrong - I swear by the Gods, it began to talk to me! He introduced itself as Barbas, and explained that he had fallen out with his master. Somewhat moved by his plight, I offered to accompany him in his search. His master, he believed, could be found at a cavern known as Haemar's Shame, due east of Helgen. Why is nothing here as simple as it initially seems?

Our journey to Haemar's Shame took us east of Falkreath and back through Helgen, which had once again been repopulated by another gang of bandits. Barbas proved himself useful as a companion, putting down almost as many bandits with his jaws as I did with my blade. We reached Haemar's Shame in the early evening, discovering it to be a den filled with vampires. With Barbas supporting me, we moved deeper into the cavern. I had never fought vampires before, and the fear of being bitten and contracting vampirism turned every battle into an exceptionally tense affair. Thankfully Barbas and I made it to the end of the cave without a scratch.

As we approached the statue of Clavicus Vile, I finally put the pieces of this confusing puzzle together. Barbas was not really a dog, but Clavicus's minion having taken on dog form. Reluctant to deal with a Daedra of Clavicus's reputation, I spoke to the shrine and explained that I'd simply come to re-unite him with Barbas. The Daedric prince seemed less than eager to welcome his companion back to his side, but said that he would consider it, if I were to retrieve something for him - a Rueful Axe, hidden deep within Rimerock Burrow far to the northwest. Not seeing a way out of this until Clavicus's wish is fulfilled, I accepted the task and left Haemar's Shame with Barbas still in tow.

It was night-time when Barbas and I emerged from Haemar's Shame. From there, we retraced our steps to Helgen and then followed the path back to Riverwood. I felt awkward just turning up on Gerdur's doorstep, and doubly so for expecting her to house a dog for the night as well as myself, but she didn't seem to mind and invited both of us in. For his part, Barbas plays the dog well, keeping his ability to speak hidden behind a veil of barks. Tomorrow we will head for Rimerock Burrow, where hopefully I will be able to fulfil Clavicus Vile's wish and sever my ties with this Daedric prince. Until then,

Ever Honest,

Lenah'd Retsmek

---

Previous Episodes

1 Comments

dankempster

Portable Ops is finally done and dusted. Expect a blog either today or tomorrow. Now on to MGS4.

By dankempster January 26, 2012 2 Comments

Day Twenty-Two - A Grey-Mane Saved and a Mage Made

By dankempster January 25, 2012 2 Comments

Day Twenty-One - Whiterun Errands and a Missing Gray-Mane

By dankempster January 24, 2012 2 Comments

Day Twenty - Search for the White Phial

By dankempster January 23, 2012 1 Comments

Day Nineteen - Siding With the Stormcloaks

By dankempster January 23, 2012 6 Comments

Ladies and gentlemen of Giant Bomb, this is my two hundredth blog post.

Other Blogs You Should Read

By dankempster January 22, 2012 2 Comments

Day Eighteen - Two Sides of the Same Septim

By dankempster January 21, 2012 0 Comments

Day Seventeen - Tracing the Telvanni Line

By dankempster January 20, 2012 1 Comments

Day Sixteen - Finding Lost Books and Lost Words

By dankempster January 19, 2012 0 Comments

Day Fifteen - The Axe and the Masque

By dankempster January 18, 2012 1 Comments

Day Fourteen - A Daedra and His Dog