I've decided to post a sort of playthrough journal that I started writing a few years ago, then stopped writing due to a profound lack of interest. Hopefully someone will get a kick out of it besides me.
It's divided up into "chapters," some of which are longer, some are much shorter than others. The short ones generally go for about 600 words or so, the long ones upwards of five times that many. EDIT: Nope, I cut them into bite-sized chunks.
No sexlab content is included, because there are a lot of other people writing here that do a great job with that. This is pure vanilla Skyrim (well, not vanilla, it's heavily modded, but readers probably won't notice the mods I'm using).
I've currently got 9 chapters written, and I think I'm going to include one chapter per week. It won't end after 9 weeks, because I just started writing again, but I have no idea when it'll be finished...
The story is from the perspective of a guy newly arrived in Skyrim, and his reactions to the events that happen.
Note that in the playthrough, I'm doing a lot of stuff I'm not recording, because there would be no point to record everything. There also may be a few little gaps in time, that make for a better story... for example, in chapter 1, I'm attacked by the crazy dunmer with boethia's proving book at level 1, which cannot happen. That's the most egregious of my errors, the rest of my deliberate alterations are pretty minor and shouldn't make anyone intimately familiar with the game do more than raise the occasional eyebrow.

Anyway, here is chapter 1, which happens to be the longest chapter to date, I think.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1: You're reading it now. Just scroll down a bit after the TOC.
Chapter 2: Of Jesters And Snow
Chapter 3: College Guys Gone Wild
Chapter 4: How Did They Move That Big Blue Ball?
Chapter 5: Winner Of The Smartest Mage In The World Contest
Chapter 6: Dropout
Chapter 7: Yes, I Am A Dragonslayer
Chapter 8: Mace Raiden, Statue Fondler
Chapter 9: I Am A Dragonborn
Chapter 10: A Strange Dress Code
Chapter 11: Oath Of Celibacy... I Mean Fealty
Chapter 12: I'm Feeling Horny
Chapter 13: Plot Armor
Chapter 14: Possibly Some Ice Hockey Reference
Chapter 15: Imperials In The Stormcloak Capitol
Chapter 16: Lovely Party, Pity I Wasn't Invited
Chapter 17: The Daedric Princes
Chapter 18: It Was An Accident!
Chapter 19: Back To Winterhold
Chapter 20: Forth From Winterhold
Chapter 21: There's A Dragon, Everybody Follow!
Chapter 22: The Non-Thieves Guild
Chapter 23: No Shit!
Chapter 24: The Case of the Empty Vault
Chapter 25: Pretty Spry for an Old Guy
Chapter 26: This Place Has Really Gone To The Dogs
Chapter 27: I'll Take Option D
Chapter 28: Heard They're Reforming The Dawnguard
Chapter 29: Once You Go Black...
Chapter 30: A Prophetable Venture
Chapter 31: Vampires and Death Hounds and Gargoyles, Oh My!
Chapter 32: Chasing Reflected Soundwaves
Chapter 33: Lost and Found
Chapter 34: The Seventh Sign, and the Implied Tentacle Rape
Chapter 35: Some Old Parchment
Chapter 36: Dimfall or Darkhollow or Something Like That
Chapter 37: Something Interesting on the Other Side
Chapter 38: Assault on Vampire Central
Chapter 39: Tentacle Monsters Ahoy!
Chapter 40: Mushrooms... Again?
Chapter 41: X Marks The Spot
Chapter 42: The Fate Of The Skaal
Chapter 43: Nchardak is Dwemeris for "Sneeze"
Chapter 44: I'm seeing little blue men WITHOUT the benefit of drugs!
Chapter 45: Whatever You Say
Chapter 46: Sky Haven Temple
Chapter 47: Control Weather is a 7th Level Spell
Chapter 48: This is no yoking matter.

Intermission 1
Intermission 2
Intermission 3 and poll
Intermission 4 and poll
Intermission 5
Intermission 6 re Fallout 4
Intermission 7 (yaiap)

My Precious
CSI: Skyrim

A short 4-part side venture into Fallout 3:
Diary of a Water Purifier, EP1
Diary of a Water Purifier, EP2
Diary of a Water Purifier, EP3
Diary of a Water Purifier, EP4

A similar blog to this one, starring Fallout 4 instead of Skyrim (link to table of contents)

And the start of the story:

CHAPTER 1: TO HELGEN AND BEYOND
In which our hero begins his journey.

Hi, everyone. My name is Mace Raiden. I'm a Nord by birth, but was raised Redguard. See, my parents were originally from Skyrim, and they moved to Hammerfell, to a little town called Elinhir. They were hunters by trade. One day, they went out to hunt, and died. Just like that, of natural causes. See, a band of shady-looking ruffians brought in their stripped corpses, and said that they took off their clothes and all their valuables and decided to go swimming, only to trip and fall onto several dozen arrows apiece. Naturally, this ended in death, so there was no reason for any inquiry. Accidents will happen.
When I became old enough to venture on my own, I decided to head back to my ancestral homeland of Skyrim. I'd follow in my parent's footsteps and become a professional hunter and furrier.
I picked up some sturdy leather all-weather gear, packed my bags with lots of food, said my goodbyes to my adoptive family, and headed southeast, into Cyrodiil. I was going to skirt the mountains to get to Bruma, then north through a narrow pass into Skyrim. I'd heard there was some sort of minor rebellion going on in the eastern part of the province, but I'd also heard that Whiterun was the jewel of Skyrim, a nice place to live, so I wanted to arrive close to Whiterun but farther away from any potential conflicts.

So here's me, an innocent hunter, just crossing the border, and the next thing I know I'm waking up in the back of a moving cart and my head REALLY FUCKING HURTS. I must have been knocked on the noggin. Apparently, I got swept up in a military-police border patrol, and they think I'm some sort of bandit or thief or something. Because I was trying to cross the border. I must be an evil SOB for doing something as nasty as that. Welcome to Skyrim, where trespassers will be shot, ground up, and fed to the dogs.

I'm in the back of the cart with this Stormcloak guy and a thief in dirty rags. Oh, and another Stormcloak guy, apparently the leader of the rebellion himself. Ulfric Stormcloak. I decide to call him Ulfric the Mute, because he doesn't say much. Can't, really, what with that rag on his face. We quickly become fast friends, lifelong buddies. I can say this with complete conviction because I tend to think that his life isn't going to be all that long. The leader of the rebellion? Here? Why? And how in the HELL did I get picked up with him? I'm not a Stormcloak, but I don't think the soldiers even care.

We're in Helgen. The carts are coming to a stop, and my cart buddies can only talk about how they're about to die and how miserable everything is. Don't they see that the sun is shining, birds are singing, flowers blooming and OH MY GOD MY LIFE IS OVER AND I JUST GOT HERE! No, suck it up. Executions happen every day. I'll just explain to the nice people that I'm not a Stormcloak rebel traitor bastard, and they'll let me go. It's just a misunderstanding. Everything will be nice and hunky-dory and... Lokir? What are you doing? Are you trying to run away? Past the armed guards and through the middle of town? Ooh, two arrows to the back, that's gotta hurt.

The guard captain asks: anyone else feel like running? Yep, me. I could have made a break for it while all you guys were staring at Lokir. Dumbass, run through the middle of town to escape? There's a door in the city wall just behind me here. Unfortunately, I wasn't quick enough, and the guy with the book calls me over. He was riding a horse RIGHT BEHIND the cart the whole way in. Presumably he was also there when they captured me, my memory's kind of foggy on that one. And he doesn't know who I am.

Listen, shitheel. I'm a peaceful traveler, visiting the homeland of my biological parents, maybe looking for work. I'm not a Stormcloak. Am I dressed like one? No, I am not. I'm dressed like a poor beggar. By the way, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY CLOTHES? My good leather all-weather gear? You people suck.

So here we are, all lined up for the guy with the big axe. There's a headsman's block on the ground, looks like it gets its fair share of use. And a basket to catch the heads. Or head, really. It's a tiny basket. I guess it's ceremonial - they fill it up one at a time, empty the basket, and replace it for the next head. Welcome home.

So the priestess starts her funereal blessing, and this Stormcloak guy gets all pissy about something she says. He interrupted right after she said "blessings of the eight divines" so that must have been the trigger, somehow. Sounds legit to me, though. Ruptga, Zeht, Morwha, Tava, HoonDing, Leki, Onsi, Diagna. That Stormcloak seemed pissed about it, though. Probably didn't like including HoonDing. I guess that's understandable, really. HoonDing's always been a bit of a bastard to outsiders.

So the Stormcloak gets his extreme makeover, and I'm next. Because the guard captain likes to fuck with people. Whelp, that's it for me. Goodbye, cruel world. Best of luck to you. I'd sing a sad song or say some last words but I'm not given a choice. I kneel down on the block and could you PLEASE take the other guy's head away? That's just gross. There's no need to be mean about this, you know. I'm going to die, the least you could do is give me a LITTLE dignity. Sharing a tiny box with someone else's head is not how I pictured my afterlife.

As the headsman winds up for the coup, I see a big fucking black dragon land on the tower roof. Wow. Nice timing. I am the LUCKIEST man who's ever lived. EVER. The dragon is accompanied by a rain of fiery rocks, and he belches the biggest burp ever recorded, pushing back the headsman and knocking me to the ground. I get to my feet and there's one of my cart-buddies there, telling me to get inside a tower. Good idea! Wish I'd thought of heading for cover!

Inside is my other cart buddy, Ulfric the Voiceless, who seems to have found his voice. "Legends don't burn down villages." No, dipshit, fire does. And dragons breathe fire. Your point is? Anyway, Ralof tells me to head up the stairs. I do so, and the dragon busts his way in the wall. Why? I don't know. I can think of no reason whatsoever for the dragon to want to punch a hole in the tower wall. Could he, like, sense that people were behind it? Why not downstairs, where MORE people are? And while we're at it, why did Ralof tell me to head up the stairs? What's up there? A trap door to the roof, and back into the dragon's sphere of influence? Maybe the dragon cast a spell of stupidity over the town, and accidentally hit himself with it. "Duh, let's go outside!" (for the humans) and "Duh, I'm gonna fly straight into this tower with my head!" (for the dragon).

Anyway, the dragon (surprise!) breathes fire at us, but I'm too smart for him. The instant I saw his face, I took cover... behind Ralof. I'm not proud of it, but I'm still alive. Anyway, Ralof tells me to jump through the hole and he'll be along shortly. Wait, what? Really? Go outside, where the maneating firebreathing beast can see me, jump through midair, into a burning building, and you're right behind me? Yeah, I believe you. Be honest, jackass. You wanna see if I get eaten or cooked before you chance it, right? I'm no dummy. Or maybe I am, because sure enough I jump through the hole into the burning building. Singed but not badly injured, my hands still tied together, I race through the building and out the other side, where my savior awaits. The book-holding Imperial guard guy.

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." Really, dude? Statistically speaking, 100% of the time I've been close to you I've been close to death. Besides, you couldn't be bothered correcting your paperwork so you sent me to have my head cut off! I'm just lucky that dragon attacked right there! Screw you and the horse you rode in on, and the horse that pulled the wagon for good measure.

But I stick with the guy with the sword. It's my new rule in my life. Never argue with edged weapons. The people who hold the weapon are incidental - the main thing is the edged weapon itself. Don't argue, just say yes. So I follow the jerkwad through MORE burning buildings, and see General Tullius, the guy who just couldn't be bothered to save an innocent man's life. Fucking Imperials. They can all go suck it.

Racing through the remains of the once idyllic little town, who do I see but Ralof, who apparently took the safer route that did NOT include a long jump into a burning building. He and Hadvar face off for a few seconds, and then head for two different doors. They both exhort me to follow them, and it's down to what's behind door number 1 and door number 2. On the one hand, here's a rebel who's trying to overthrow the peace-loving empire, and on the other hand is a representative of an uncaring bureaucracy that tried to have me killed. A guy who used me as his catspaw, and a guy who couldn't be arsed to cut through red tape to save my life. I'd flip a coin, but I don't have a coin anymore, because the Imperials stole all my stuff and that decides it, Stormcloaks here I come.

Inside, Ralof and I see the corpse of a dead Stormcloak soldier. I have no idea how he got here. Maybe he was another of Ralof's catspaws. Ralof cuts my bonds and instructs me to strip the dead guy and get into his clothes. I'm starting to think that maybe Ralof is a little unscrewed upstairs. Maybe he just misses his friend SO MUCH that he wants to pretend that I'm him. Maybe he's just randy and wants to see me naked for a bit while I dress up in Stormcloak gear. I get it, some people are attracted to men in uniform. That doesn't mean I'm going to just do it, though. I'm about to refuse, but he says something about borrowing his friend's axe, or something like that, which I take as a threat, so here goes the wardrobe change!

So we're trapped in this little room. Not safe from the dragon, if his previous behavior of slamming into walls and busting through is any indicator. I can still hear roars. Down one corridor, I hear voices, and Ralof says that Imperials are coming. Shit, just what I need. Hadvar and Ralof facing off again. It must be Hadvar, of course, since he was the only other person who went in the other door. And here I am, now wearing Stormcloak gear. If he wasn't pissed before, he will be now. Wait... who is it? My old friend, the guard captain! This will be a pleasure. I grab the dead guy's axe. The Imperials open the gate, and Ralof and I tear right through them. Nice armor, dude. I'd wear it - it's better than the blue rags I'm wearing now - but it's all imperialized, you know? And heavy. I'm going to leave it here. Anyway, got a key to the next door, because, obviously, with only one way forward and locked, there HAS to be a key readily available. Otherwise the world makes no sense anymore.

So we head through the fort's dungeons, killing Imperials. One of them shot lightning from his hands. His. Hands. Lightning. Yeah, I stayed away from him. We're joined by two more Stormcloaks who are also escaping. Ralof tells me to unlock a cage door and strip another guy of his outfit. Maybe Ralof is just a necrophiliac and doesn't want to admit it to himself. He likes watching other people undress dead people. I resolve to stay behind him from now on.

Marching through the tunnels, we eventually run into a group of Imperial soldiers, and take them out easily. Ralof and I continue on, while the two Stormcloaks stay behind to wait for Ulfric the Gagged. Just as we cross a little wooden bridge, a rock falls from the ceiling and knocks the bridge out. Nice timing. That seems to happen a lot around me. Almost like the entire world is following a script or something. Ha! What a dumb notion. Just luck, that's all.

Anyway, we keep going. Ralof kills some spiders, and then tells me to take the lead again. I figure that something more dangerous than spiders is up ahead, and sure enough, here's a cave bear. Of COURSE I'll take the lead, Ralof old buddy old pal! Who wouldn't JUMP at the chance to be your point man again? We sneakily skirt the bear, and head out of the damn dungeon. As we exit, the dragon flies off overhead. More nice timing.

Ralof tells me that we should split up, and then tells me that we should continue on together. He must have taken a knock to the head. We run down the road... or should I say, I run and he gently jogs. Slowest goddamn runner ever. No wonder he couldn't escape an Imperial ambush. They probably just sent their crack Sauntering division after him. Anyway, Ralof stops several times too. Once to point out an ancient ruin on a mountain, and once to point out three phallic symbols on the path. Calls them the "guardian stones." He tells me to touch them. He's not a necrophiliac, he's just a pervert. Or a perverted necrophiliac. If he starts sniffing my hair I'm gonna belt him one. I look at the stones, and suddenly, magically, I know that if I touch one of them I'll learn magic, fighting, or thieving skills better.

I touch the thief stone, and Ralof smarms at me. Never too late to take charge of my own fate? You're right. You move too slow, you treat me like some disposable trap detector, and you're a sexual deviant, so I'm going to take charge of my own fate and go to Riverwood on my own.

The path to Riverwood is pretty, and peaceful, broken only by a pair of wolves. Wolves that think a big, tough-looking human wielding an axe is food. Must be starving, or insane... maybe rabid. Lucky for me they both went down with one hit each, and I didn't even get nipped. I should probably avoid touching the corpses for fear of disease and who am I kidding? I rip the skins off BOTH of them. Teach them to try to chew on me.

So here I am, in Riverwood. Nice little burg. Pretty place. Old women rambling about mythical dragons, as if such things actually exist OH WAIT. This will make a nice home here in Skyrim. I need a job to keep myself fed - I'm tired of hunting. Not that I ever got to do any, really - a couple of wolves on the road to Riverwood don't count. Maybe I'll take up mining.
Somehow, magically, I can sense a mine some distance away... just up the road a bit.
Passed Ralof on the way, threw a jaunty wave his direction.

So I get to the mine, and I spot the door guard. I'll go ask him if they're in need of any assistance here. I have no skills in mining, but I'm willing to learn. Just as I was about to enter the mine, I was attacked by a crazy dunmer dude, shouting that he had at last found a worthy opponent. The mine's door guard got in on the action and tried to defend me. One hit from the Dunmer's axe, and he goes down.

That blasted dark elf was a really tough goddamn fight. I had to chug all the potions I got from Helgen just to stay alive. Looted the corpse, and found a book about Beothiah. Some crazy cult thing. Should be good for a few coins. I head into the mine to tell the people inside their door guard had died, and to inform them that in the future they should assign the position of door guard to someone NOT made of glass. Everyone starts attacking me! Sneaking about, dropping these insane miners one after another, each with a single arrow from the shadows (and an average of 3-5 sword thrusts), I come to pity them. They don't even have flush toilets here. Just buckets! No wonder they're insane.

I sweep through the place, and find a nice set of Iron armor, and shuck the nasty blue Stormcloak rags. I've gotten a nice haul of gold and gems out of this mess, and a couple of iron weapons. Found a nice warhammer - better than the axe. I've decided that I don't want to be a miner. It looks like hard work, getting slaughtered by wandering Dunmer and savagely attacking anyone who enters the mine. I've no idea who they sell the ore to - they probably kill every merchant who gets close, then sit around all day scratching their heads and asking themselves "Why no-one ever come here? Derp derp derp."

I'm going to go back to Riverwood and see if Ralof's sister is hiring at the lumber mill.
O...K... after an interminable conversation with Ralof, Gerder, and Hod, about dragons and Stormcloaks, I've got two distinct goals set before me.
1) Go to Windhelm and join the Stormcloaks, and take back the land for the loyal Sons of Skyrim!
2) Go to Whiterun and inform the Jarl about the dragon menace!
So, to reiterate my two options, I have:
1) Travel all the way across this dangerous landscape, dodging bandits, wolves, bears, and possibly dragons on the way, to a frozen city half the world away, to join a bunch of sexist (SONS of Skyrim?), racist blowhards who claim my gods are false (I may be a Nord, but I was raised as a Redguard, dammit), and help them disrupt a peaceful, principally agrarian country with a civil war in the hopes that they can kill enough innocent soldiers that they can make their regime change stick and put in their chosen leader who, by all accounts, is a murderer.
2) Take a quick jaunt down a friendly road to a nearby city in beautiful, warm Whiterun Hold, and make sure a reasonable, level-headed guy gets pertinent information about a menace that threatens the entirety of existence.

After a heavy internal debate that lasted approximately 0.003 seconds, I take off running to Whiterun, singing a jaunty tune. Actually, no, wait... I've got a backpack full of crap that I need to sell. I'll just stop in at the local merchant, listen to a conversation in medias res, sell some crap, and THEN on to Whiter... erm, the local tavern for a quick drink and a meal, talk to the barkeep about some rumors, and THEN on to Whit... the tavern's troubadour named Sven interrupts me telling me to stay away from some guy named Faendal, and gives me a letter to give to some lady named Camilla, and THEN on to Wh... on my way out of town, bump into an elf named Faendal who tells me to stay away from Sven, and THEN on to Whiterun! I swear, if I never come back to this craphole it'll be too soon.

Over the river and through the woods, to Jarl Balgruuf's house we go! I'm tempted to call him Jarl Billy-Goats-Gruff but I manfully resist. Gleefully skipping down the road, I pass some pretty flowers, a nice peaceful stream, a pleasant farm, some butterflies, a meadery, a hostile giant attacking the city and being peppered with arrows from three warriors, all of the stuff you'd expect to see in a peaceful, pastoral paradise. I prudently stand off from the fight, and a good thing, too. The three of them take down the giant with no real effort. I've heard that giants are tough fights, but this is apparently NOT the case! When they're done with their exercise, I run up to congratulate them, and get berated by the leader for... drinking milk. Or something. I wasn't really paying attention, I was staring at her face. I get the impression that these people don't know how to put on makeup here. Eye shadow is supposed to be subtle, lady, not swabbed across the face with a trowel. I don't say anything though, because she's got a sword, and I've made it a policy not to insult edged weapons.

So I head on up to the main gate, passing by some rich bastard's carriage and driver. The poor guy has to sit out here, day in and out, rain or shine, waiting for his master to come along. I briefly entertain the notion of starting up a discussion about inalienable rights, but I remember the bit about the dragon and decide to head on up to the castle. This whole town has seen better days, for sure. Half of the walls are crumbling and the defensive towers are made of wood. And they say that Whiterun is the jewel of Skyrim. It's paste, people.

The guard at the gate tells me that the city's closed because dragons are flying around. Whew! I don't have to tell the Jarl after all. They already know here. Although how closing the city helps, I don't know. Maybe they're hoping the dragon will see the closed door and not fly over the wall. Maybe that's just the guard's standing orders in case of emergency. Bandit attack? Close the city. Dragons on the loose? Close the city. Thunderstorms? Close the do I really need to go on, here? The guard, knowing about the dragons and under express orders NOT to open the doors for any reason, takes my news that there are dragons around in shock, and ushers me in. These guys are highly trained professionals. His friend tells me that he has a knee problem. I'm not sure if he's asking for help or coming on to me, so I avert my gaze and head on in.

Ah, Whiterun! As I wander the streets of the beautiful city, I point out to myself the various features of this wonderful place. There's an open sewage canal, and over here is an old dead tree. A zealous proselytizer sermonizes at me on my right and some asshole on my left argues with his wife about how he's taking their life savings to hire mercenaries rather than buy food. As I pass by another guard, he tells me that there's a cave nearby with nasty creatures in it and I should stay clear. Some rich guy in the marketplace (probably the owner/employer of the carriage driver out front) starts yammering on about how his food is better than anyone else's food, and a homeless beggar walks by asking for money. I give him a gold piece and he asks me to steal some booze for him from the local tavern. Way to reinforce the stereotype, dude.

But I'm not here to criticize. I'm here to warn the Jarl about the dragon attack. I know he's already aware of the problem, but I have to warn him anyway. I already made a note of it in my journal/date book. In ink. So I have no choice. Up the stairs, over the stagnant pond with a dead body floating in it, into the beautiful (wooden, flammable) Dragonsreach castle-hall-thing. Once inside, a dark elf draws her sword on me. I swear, these Dunmer are all totally batshit. I tell her that there's a dragon about and she sheathes her sword and points me toward the guy lounging indolently on the big chair. Maybe THIS bastard is the guy who employs/owns the carriage driver.

Anyway, I get to talk to the guy with the crown. He thanks me for telling him about a dragon he already knew about, and rewards me with a pair of iron boots. As a gift, I'm kind of torn about this. Iron boots are nice and all, and they go nicely with my new breastplate I... ahem... FOUND in a mine, but I can't help being a little affronted at the parsimony. I guess I shouldn't be; I just told him a fact he already knew. He imperiously tells me to follow him because he's assigning me a new job. I follow him, because, as I said, I prefer not to argue with edged weapons, and this guy's got a housecarl with an itchy sword hand. She threatened me with death for walking in the building. What would she do if I said "no" right to the guy's face?

The court wizard is an arrogant little dude whom I could break in half with one hand were it not for the fact that he can shoot lightning bolts out of his hands. I amend my "no arguing with edged weapons" rule to include finger-based electricity. Maybe he's supercilious because he's compensating for the fact that he can't masturbate without electrocuting himself. Whatever. Anyway, he tells me to go to some old ruin and recover a mystical magical rock, a Dragonstone. Bleak Falls Barrow. Ralof told me that he was scared of that place, and there's a guy who was facing his imminent execution with aplomb. Farengar tells me to head to Riverwood (shit) and ask around about how to get there. I cheerfully tell him yes, listen to Balgruuf expostulate about the necessity of my "quest" (which basically amounts to a suicidal treasure-hunting job), and get the hell out of the palace, and Whiterun entirely. If he, the other he, they, or anyone thinks I'm heading into an ancient, crumbling ruin on the top of a mountain to face a horde of undead so that I can get some wizard guy's rocks off, they can think again. (I may have mixed up the requirements of the quest in my fear and loathing, but the principle is the thing). Screw you guys, I'm gone. I don't want to be a hunter, miner, or woodcutter. That whole lightning bolt thing sounds pretty cool, after all - maybe I'll head to Whiterun... I mean Windhelm... I mean Winterhold. The college there. Yeah, I'm gonna be a wizard!

As I'm almost out of the city, the captain of the guard stops me in the street to tell me that he's the captain of the guard. How nice for him.

Next: Chapter 2, Of Jesters And Snow