I've completely forgotten most of what I did here but thankfully I took lots of pictures. This entry will be a rough reconstruction of my patchy, hangover-scarred memories.
Join me, won't you?
Having been shat on as per the previous blog, I decided to avoid that whole situation altogether and that went much better. Turns out, the douche wasn't even that interested in me after all. I climbed a few more steps and there is was, Mt. McCastleBeard.
I have NO idea what that place was called. Had some bearded fellas in it. One of them magicked some grafitti onto to floor and I sucked it into my head because that is how we learn things in Skyrim. That's why there aren't any woodwork teachers. There'd be sawblades flying all over the place.
I don't know what that says. Probably "blessed be those who follow the noble teachings of El'dural, chief whitehat of the bear clan" or something.
Then I went back to town. Towns are good, they contain things to steal and quests and stuff. They are also good places to realise that you are impervious to flame.
So yeah, we can do that now.
I was sent on a quest to find the horn of Sven Beardforger, so I went to look for it. It went super well! I got a little sidetracked in a maze somewhere, but it seemed like it might be fun to run through it and it was basically stuffed with valuable wizard crap, so everybody wins! Except the guy who owns all the stuff I looted. And except for this guy.
He wasn't having a good time at all.
I finished the maze and got transported to like the elemental plane of lens flares or something. Some guy tried to stab me, so I killed him and took his hat. I then wandered on a little more and practiced my craft.
Yep. Still satisfying.
Just outside the tomb of Sven Beardforger, I decided to try out some new gear. Dragonbjorn looks so fancy in his new finery!
It's a shame that he has a face like a freshly smacked arse, but I think that might be because he's brooding. He's very thoughtful. Never says a damned thing.
I travelled into the tomb and pondered on why draugr have beards. I mean, they're dried up zombies, right? But their beards are immaculate. I fear that when I die and I'm buried, all that will be left is my bones and a beard. It'll look ridiculous.
I got to the end of the tomb, found the location of the horn but was instead given a note. Now I'm sorry, I worked hard for this. I killed many, many people who had up until then lived full and interesting lives. I defiled many burial grounds. I have done dark and unspeakable things. To be presented with "Sorry Dragonbjorn, but your princess is in another castle!" is an insult. Not only to me, mind you, though that's bad enough, but to the spirits of those that I have wronged in my constant quest for justice.
Then I went back to the starting town and a bunch of guys attacked me for some reason. I think somebody noticed that I've been stealing everyone's stuff or whatever, but they had a lot of magical things on them so I welcome their attention in the future! Except they can't attack me in the future because they are dead.
I went to speak to the lady who took my horn, she took me to a secret room and started talking and talking and talking. Thankfully there was a handy enchantment table to help me ignore her because she was also kind of a cow. We set off after I'd alchemied all my garlic and broken all my magical crap. She liked to lecture Dragonbjorn a lot about how we weren't looking for trouble. She then went charging off after a giant.
We saw a lot of interesting things on the way. I mostly ignored her and picked flowers. It was a better use of my time. We found a cow which had been grafitti-tagged or tattooed or something which was basically pretty hilarious.
And then we climbed a mountain. All well and good so far, but then people started crying and screaming and I hadn't even stolen anything yet, though that did mean their houses were conveniently empty...
Oh well. That's one problem dealt with, then. Quite an anticlimax, really.
I think we all know what happens now, boys and girls! THE QUICKENING
To end our busy day, me and Dragonbjorn returned to the inn for some nice relaxing crafting and cooking. And while I'm being racist and assuming that all Nords are called Sven and Ulrika, I might as well assume that Swedes are Nords too, because then I get to say "bork bork bork" every time I alchemy. And that's never not been funny.
We did make some pretty peachy keen stuff!
Thought for the day
I need to find another crafting area because I swear to God, if I hear the tale of "Ragnar the Red" ONE MORE GODDAMNED TIME, I'M GOING TO PICKPOCKET THAT MINSTRELS LUTE AND CRAM IT UP BETWIXT HIS CHEEKS SIDEWAYS