The weather is against me the next morning, as I leave the Sleeping Giant Inn after a much-needed rest and find that a blizzard has descended. But the Jarl must (finally, after much distraction and dilly-dallying) be warned of the dragon menace! Through the dense snowstorm, I spot four figures plodding on ahead of me: three Imperial soldiers escorting a captive Stormcloak rebel. The loyalist asks that I help him overpower his guards. Erm, no. Instead, I zap a mangy wolf who snuck up behind me and sprint off down the road.
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| "WOOF WOOF" *ZZZZZAP* "WHINE WHINE" |
After fertilising the field with fried Fleshlumpeater, the leader of my fellow do-gooders thanks me for my assistance, and introduces herself as Aela of the Companions. Their offer of guild membership is appreciated, but I don’t want to affiliate myself with every club in Skyrim from the beginning. I feel I should shop around first, and I still have my heart set on joining the College of Winterhold, as Lucan suggested.
DAMN. I forgot to give Lucan back his golden claw. This isn’t quite the glorious entrance to Whiterun I had in mind after all. It’ll be a long, cold trek back to Riverwood, and so I decide to invest in a sturdy steed. There’s one for sale at the stables just opposite the farmstead I helped rescue, and after handing over 1,000 hard-earned septims, I’m the proud owner of a 7-year old mare.
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| Allie finally posing reasonably for the camera. Sugarlump bribery was required. |
I decide against renaming her – horses are like boats, right? It’s unlucky to rename them? – and so Queen Alfsigr (Allie for short) and I ride off into the forest once more. Hi-yo, Sil...ALLIE, away! [NOTE: You can’t actually name mounts in Skyrim, so she stubbornly remains titled ‘Horse’. C’mon, Bethesda, get your shit in order!] I triumphantly enter Lucan’s shop and return his pilfered trophy. He restores it in its rightful place...back in plain sight, without any protection, on the front desk. No wonder the damn thing got stolen in the first place! smh
Upon my return, I push past the sentry at the gates of Whiterun, citing important dragon-related news. Of course once inside, I become distracted from my task again, and browse the new shopkeepers and their wares. I’m looking for some new clothes, but the town appears rather lacking in good tailors and haberdashers. However, in talking to the proprietors, I discover three things. One: Ysolda wants to be a merchant, but inexplicably needs an elephant tusk before she can begin trading; I suppose there’s a niche market for such things, and she’s unwilling to deviate from her business plan lest someone else gets in on the ground floor. I promise her I’ll keep an eye out in my travels. Two: Carlotta is being harassed by some bard at the local inn. Seriously what is it with these sex-pest musical types? Three: Lucan in Riverwood apparently has an identical twin in Whiterun, called Belethor, who sports a fantastic pair of muttonchops.
I decide to sort out Carlotta’s problem first, and storm into the Bannered Mare Inn. The pesky piper isn’t hard to spot, and I march up to him, launching into my interrogation before he’s even had a chance to put down his lute. The man-whore minstrel Mikael even dares to brag that he was kicked out of Solitude’s Bard College for having an affair with the principal.
Yup, grade-A piss-weasel this one. I warn him off with stern words, only just refraining from resorting to lightning-based education, and let Carlotta know that Mikael won’t be bothering her any longer. She reimburses me for my time, but I pass it on to the local panhandler. I’m happy taking care of that issue for free. I suspect my experiences with Mikael and Sven (even that bastard who could summon wolves with his music!) may colour my views of any musical folk I meet in the future. Never trust a Dunmer or a bard.
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| Preach, brother, preach! |
And that isn’t the only gripe I have with Whiterun. The town’s pleasant enough, but the two leading families – the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes – are at each other’s throats over the Stormcloak rebellion; they have very public arguments in the marketplace, and take to bitching about each other to anyone who’ll listen. The only sane member of either family appears to be Jon Battle-Born, who admits the feud is utterly ridiculous. Jon soars even higher in my estimations as, without any prompting from me, he calls Mikael the bard a jerk.
A pleasant courtyard with a giant tree at its centre lies just above the marketplace, and beside it I happen upon a temple to Kynareth. After talking with the priestess inside (who gives me a quest to heal the sacred shrub outside), I begin to consider picking a deity to align myself with. While there’s no such option in Skyrim, with a smidge of imagination Pyppi Långstøchin can become a cleric, deriving her powers from the divine sphere, rather than the purely arcane. And besides, as powerful a wizard as I am, I can see it would be useful to a favourable force on-side, behind the scenes.
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| Tell it, sister, tell it! |
I do some research in the temple library (*ahem*SkyrimWiki*ahem*) and Kynareth, known as Kyne by the Nords, is in charge of a number of aspects of the world, primarily the sky, wind and air, and also nature. She’s usually invoked by sailors and travellers, and in prayers for good fortune. This is definitely promising, particularly the ‘patron of travellers’ part, but Pyppi is no sailor or hunter, nor do I like solely depending upon luck to get me through. Kynareth’s in the “maybe” pile; I feel choosing one’s deity should not be a decision made lightly. There are after all Nine Divines to choose from (I’m reluctant to consider the Daedric path, whose devotees I'm sure I'll meet soon enough).
Outside the temple, I am immediately presented with another option: Talos. A rather vocal member of his clergy is preaching to all of Whiterun’s inhabitants who aren’t deaf or dead (although I am sure certain members of these groups could still hear him) about his god, and the unjust outlawing of his worship. It seems the Empire in Cyrodil has been forced to renounce Talos’ divinity by a group (seemingly bad) called the Aldmeri Dominion, as part of a peace treaty between the two. I can’t quite make out the details, as I’m having to decipher the spit-fleckled ravings of this zealot. If this is what Talos’ followers are like all over Skyrim, and if his worship has been forbidden by Imperial edict, he might be a bit more trouble than he’s worth as a patron...
Putting aside my small crisis of religious indecision for now, I ascend the grand steps to Dragonsreach, the palace of the Jarl of Whiterun. The Jarl’s Dunmer bodyguard Irileth advances upon me with sword drawn as I approach the throne, and I’m ready for more elf-on-elf violence, until I tell her I’ve got news of a dragony nature. Jarl Balgruuf himself is appreciative of my service, as well he should be (although I was technically told to report to him three days ago...) and gives me some steel armour for my trouble. Clearly he’s never heard of Pyppi Långstøchin, as I have no use for such dead weight, besides its gold-value. But I politely pocket this less-than-useful token, as there’s no sense in insulting the Jarl as soon as I’ve met him. Balgruuf mentions his court wizard Farengar has been looking into draconic lore, and takes me over to meet him. I’m giddy over meeting my first fellow-mage, and Farengar does not disappoint, with his dark robes, enchanting table and the assorted magical whatnots and doohickies scattered on his desk. I take a not-so-sneaky selfie with him, and try to work out how best to get on his good side, so he’ll want to teach me all he knows.
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| Me n ma bezzie <3 |
Luck is apparently on my side (I silently thank Kynareth for her favour), as Farengar asks me to retrieve an ancient carved tablet called the ‘Dragonstone’ from deep within Bleak Falls Barrow. “Oh, you mean this stone?” I theatrically whip out the artefact from the folds of my sleeve and hand it to the stunned Farengar. Or I would, if there were a hotkey for such things. Regardless, Farengar is overjoyed, and I’m one step closer to being bezzies with him. Unfortunately, Balgruuf has grown bored and wandered off during our exchange; it would have been nice for him to see the efficiency and ingenuity of Pyppi Långstøchin first-hand.
Irileth chooses to interrupt at this precise moment, when I am just building up the confidence to ask Far (my nickname for my new best bud) about all sorts of magical mysteries. Dunmer must be biologically predispositioned towards ruining things. However her news does turn out to be fairly pressing, as a dragon has been sighted to the south west. Balgruuf calls an emergency meeting, and instructs me to help out. Fend off a dragon? Okay...
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| "One does not simply fight a dragon when only level five..." |
Very much aware that I ‘beat’ the first and only dragon I have encountered thus far by running away, I elect to do some enchanting first and catch up to the task force later. Disenchanting all the doodads leads me to *DING*. And with a dragon-fight coming up, I bolster my health, and my restoration spells by having them heal half as much health again. Just in case. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Gulp.
theris108
theris108
If you're interested in tales of blood, butchery and brutality, all in the name of "a good time", read up on Schmetty's latest atrocities here.
Next time on Pyppi's Adventures in Skyrim: big scaly winged fire-breathing fun, and a touch of Destiny.
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