CHAPTER 39: TENTACLE MONSTERS AHOY
Wherein our hero begins exploring a new land.
Previous: CSI: Skyrim

Recent events have made me really wish for a real villain, a foe worthy of my caliber. Holmes had his Moriarty, Xavier had his Magneto, Toothpaste had Mr. Tooth Decay... and what do I have? A vampire who wants to kill himself off by blotting out the sun, an Elf who wants to conquer the world by playing with a big blue ball, and a master thief who goes about stealing stuff in the most ludicrous way possible. Not to say that the good guys are any great minds either, but really... where have all the bad men gone, and where are all the demons?

Not around here, I can tell you that. Take, for instance, these Cultists. They've been popping up every so often, under a contract to kill me. Because I am Dragonborn. See what I mean? They've targeted me for assassination because I'm as powerful as a mighty fire-breathing lizard. That's like refusing to walk out your front door unless you're forced to do a fifty-mile hike, or starting a drinking game where you have to down a pint of 181-proof rum every time someone says a word with a vowel in it. You're setting yourself up for failure, heartbreak, and possibly death by alcohol poisoning. Some idiot decided that his master would be pleased by my demise, and has been sending these three-man hit squads after me from time to time. This is what I'm talking about, with the stupidity of villains. I can just see the guy sending these hit squads saying to himself: "The last dozen attempts failed, but I'm sure that this time it'll work!" This mastermind is a dude who seriously needs to rethink his strategy, and his minions are no better, because they're saying "I know that the last thirty assassins died, but I'm going to win! Derpy derpy derp!"

Additionally, I'm sick of fighting people who work without any fleshed-out plan. These are folks who, when they take a step forward with their right foot, have no clear idea what the left foot is supposed to do next. Just... send assassins out after me? That's it? Why not try to make up an ambush, maybe? More than three assassins at a time, perhaps? Train them in some decent magic or arm them with good weapons and armor? And speaking of attire, these cultist assassins are topheavy. I mean that literally. Boots and robes of cloth, gloves of leather, and a heavy facemask apparently made of... bone? Resin? Unusually sturdy whitewashed dead squid? Your guess is as good as mine. They can't even coordinate their outfits. I'm not complaining because I want to wear this ugly crap - the "helmet" looks as though somebody strapped a bucket of plaster to his forehead and rammed his face into a wall - I'm just complaining because it's either that or go mad.

But, in the absence of a good villain, or even a mediocre one, I might as well take a shot at the third string, eh? Let's go. To Windhelm, apparently. Yippee skippy, I get to go to the frozen ass-end of nowhere again.

There's a ship captain here who initially refuses to take me to Solstheim, which if I'm not mistaken means "home of the sun." I point out the raging blizzard, snow-covered stone, and freezing water full of ice floes, and he has a change of heart. Off we go to someplace that, if you believe the nomenclature, must be warmer. Please, Gods, let it be so.

And apparently it is, if a bit dusty. Not since Point Lookout has there been a look-upon-ye-landmass-and-despair boatride cinematic of such quality. The initial overview doesn't make the place look attractive, I can tell you that. It looks like somebody took the Clochán na bhFomhórach and covered it in dirt, then dug a hole and plopped down a couple of rickety houses. Not, if you get my drift, particularly inviting. Warmer than Windhelm, though, so I guess I'll take what I can get.

Once we arrive at the dock, the ship captain and the dockmaster engage in some witty banter about how prices have gone up and supplies are missing or something. I honestly didn't catch much of it, because I was off the pier like a shot and exploring this new place. My inspection does not prove encouraging. This town, although it looks more like a desert tossed over a bucket of gravel, reminds me a lot of Riften. Poor, destitute people being bullied by rich bastards, Thieves Guild members masquerading as merchants, corrupt guards, venal priests... The only difference is in the racial demographic, which has been reversed - instead of mostly Nords and a few Dunmer, it's mostly Dunmer and a few Nords. With an Orc thrown in for good measure, just in case that stereotype had been running a little thin. I am tempted to beat a little sense into this asshole's head, but I don't particularly want to examine the local gulag from the inside, so I restrain myself. Later, Mr. Green-And-Toothy.

Let' see, what else is here? A temple of sorts, worshipping Daedra of all things. I get it, it's your religion and all, and we're not supposed to be disdainful of other people's beliefs, but... really? You worship the Daedra? A group of extraplanar entities who delight in tormenting those who worship them? Why not Sithrak, the God who Hates You Unconditionally? The head priest tells me that "dangers lurk beyond the light" and "They [the Daedra] will not abandon us again" which seems overly optimistic, if you ask me. His choirboy seems to be even worse, a real asshole who may be involved in a plot to do... something... with the tombs. I'm not sure what, to be honest, it's all very confusing. A quick quest to kill a bunch of ash ghouls later, and this house is clear.

Anyway, other services in town include an underground (literally) bar that sells some nifty new alcoholic drinks that, upon closer inspection, turn out to be identical to all other alcoholic drinks back in Skyrim, so you wonder why the hell they bother putting them in different jars and labeling them with different names. Just call them all "booze" and get on with your day, okay? The local blacksmith is a thief, the local food vendors sell food that is apparently grown in the ashes of the dead, and the local mine is all mined out, except for one old guy who wants me to steal someone's pickaxe. Yep, this is sure a better place to live than anywhere else. The Dunmer in the Gray Quarter of Windhelm at least have decently constructed houses to live in! Sheesh, sell your place and take the next boat to the mainland, invest in a farm, and pay some wandering schlubs to do your produce harvesting for you!

But it is not for me to tell these people how to get along. I mean, look at me, I came here to this crap heap voluntarily because I wanted to fight some people who got their fashion ideas out of "Cephalopod Monthly" magazine. In other words, I am not the go-to guy for advice on how to live your life.

After enriching the local economy substantially by buying up every bit of booze the local barkeep would sell, I decide to check out other nearby attractions. Like that phallic symbol over there with people all 'round it. Stenvar seems intimidated, but I reassure him that he's the only "Earth Stone" for me. The workers consist of local guardsmen and a couple of civilians. They are disinclined to engage in speech with me, content instead to mumble broken phrases periodically. I stand around for a bit, twiddling my thumbs, whistling a few tuneless bars of something or other, and then I toddle off, with a couple of backward glances. They seem like nice folk, I guess, if a bit single-minded.

That's about it for the town. What else is around here? Let's take a look at the map. Hmm... it appears that I can easily circumnavigate the entire island in, say, two days? Three, tops, if I take my time and explore carefully. Might as well get to it. I'm sure a quest or two will just drop into my lap. And by "quest" I don't mean stealing someone's pickaxe... I'm actually hoping I'll sort of trip over the main plotline if I wander about a bit. It's as good a guess as any. I think I'll start my search traveling counterclockwise.

NEXT: Chapter 40, Mushrooms... again?
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