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Diary of a Dragonborn Chapter 6: Dropout


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CHAPTER 6: DROPOUT
Wherein our hero decides that college just isn't for him.
Previous: Chapter 5, Winner of the Smartest Mage in the World Contest

 

Okay, Ancano the Thalmor is being a generic badguy. I never would have expected a high elf to be evil. Who would have thought? Everyone else in the college is a two-dimensional caricature of a real person. You've got the "overworked administrator," the "leader with a heart of gold but a dark past," the "evil traitor who will OBVIOUSLY inevitably betray everyone but when it happens everyone still finds it a surprise," the "absent-minded scholar," the "bumbling researcher," the "subservient middle management toady," the "guy with connections to the underworld," the list goes on and on. None of these people have anything interesting to say, except to say that things are interesting. I mean that quite literally. The big glowing blue ball that hovers? "It's very interesting" and "It's fascinating" and the like. Interesting, fascinating things happen ALL THE FUCKING TIME around here if you go by the way they talk to each other. I've the feeling they're all suffering from mass concussion. The only actually interesting person here is an old orc who stays in the library all day. I believe I could have gotten through my entire college career so far without firing off a single Destruction spell (my hammer solves all my problems for me), not to mention the fact that I can't really see much point in any of the other schools of magic beyond Restoration.

 

And the story so far? Has not been completely enthralling, if you catch my drift. A vague maguffin that is responsible for something vague or is a harbinger of some vague catastrophe appears, and a vague secret order with vague goals wants to protect it from a vague villain with vague goals who wants to do something vague with it. A vague prophecy says that I will stop this villain somehow, and I'm vaguely fed up.

 

This is quickly becoming a chore. The whole Community College scene is getting on my nerves. The only person who isn't a stereotype here is an old Orc librarian, and he's the guy who apparently wants to burn down his own library. So...

 

I quit.

 

That's right. I'm dropping out. Mom, Dad, I've decided to drop out of school. Sorry about that wasted tuition, but I'm just not cut out for college life. I'm going to work in the private sector for a while instead. Get some life experience before coming back here. I'm sure that Ancano and everyone else will be in the same damn position they are now, no matter how long I take. I've learned a total of four spells, and none of them are as good as my heavy iron armor and hammer. Speaking of hammer, my current score is Hammer 8, Magic 7, and that's where it's STAYING.

 

So... what to do? I've tried being a hunter and furrier, a miner, lumberjack, student mage, and archaeologist-slash-tomb raider. None of them was a good fit. You know, that whole Sarthaal thing was pretty easy. Maybe I'll head back to Riverwood and head on up to that barrow on the hill to get the magic stone for the court wizard. My new profession: Mace Raiden, Courier. One teleporting fast-travel later, and...

 

Here I am, back in Riverwood. It's the most aptly named town in history: it has a river, it has wood, what more do we want? Way back when the town was first established, the original settlers asked themselves what they should name it. "Dirttrees" was hard to say, "Bunnyrock" was taken, and "Cantthinkofanameville" was way too ironic for individuals of limited intellect.

 

Anyway, I decide to discharge some of the other items in my to-do list. I've got a letter here for someone named Camilla from Faendal. On my way there, this nord guy named Sven stops me in the street. Sven is apparently in competition with Faendal for Camilla's affections. He takes Faendal's letter that was written from Sven, and writes Camilla one of his own, from Faendal... see, Faendal gave me a letter full of absolute shit and signed it Sven, and now Sven is doing the same to Faendal. So I'm supposed to go to Camilla and hand her this letter.

 

Camilla takes one look at the letter, disregards the possibility that it was written by anyone other than Sven, and vows to never speak to Faendal again. I'd be a little bowled over by her stupidity, but really she's nothing special here. She tells me to go tell Sven the good news. Sven thanks me and offers to travel with me from now on. So... I fix up his love life, setting up his happy future from now until the end of his days, and the best way he can thank me is by becoming my personal servant, carrying my burdens and fighting my battles for me until he ends up dead at the claws of some troll. Really, Camilla, I'm doing you a favor by taking this nutbar off your hands. Off we will go, adventuring together into the deepest darkest recesses of Skyrim, doing quests together, living with one another, getting to know each other intimately, and oh god it just occurred to me that Sven is actually a closet homosexual and he's coming on to me. Look, dude, I'm flattered. The only other person who's come onto me so far is a necrophiliac pervert, though, so your affections just aren't saying much. Go settle down. It's apparent that you and Faendal have some issues to work out and you should probably stop lying to one another and yourselves. Just sit down and talk to each other about your feelings, and I'm sure you'll be happier without that Camilla getting between you.

 

The other thing on my to-do list here is recovering an ornament for the local shopkeeper. This one I feel obligated to do. I've just sold him several sets of worthless fur armor, some ruined, unreadable books, a kitchen's worth of tin pots and wooden bowls, and there's NO WAY he'll be able to find anyone to pawn this junk off on. I feel bad. I've taken advantage of his trusting nature. And the kicker is, the thieves are hiding out in... BLEAK FALLS BARROW. The place I'm heading up to anyway! What are the odds!

 

The trip up the mountain was pleasant enough. A wolf, a troll, three idiots in fur... and I do mean idiots. The bandits at Fort Kastav were in the right place. A well-defended fortress on a major road, able to ambush travelers and demand spare change. The fact that they attack on sight in no way diminishes their apparent intelligence at setting up where they did. These guys, though, set up in a rickety tower that looks like it's about to fall apart, and the only people they can prey on are... well, honestly, nobody. Who's going to walk up here? Nobody's that stupid... oh. Yeah. I'm here, aren't I? Then again, considering that they all went down with no more than two or three hits tells me that this may be something more like a territorial thing where one group of predators pushes another, weaker group aside... the bandits were pushed into this inhospitable place by other bandits who are better equipped.

 

Anyway, what with the freezing cold temperatures and blinding, stinging crystals of ice blowing off the sharp rocks, why the fuck would anyone build anything up here? Did the ancient nords just go around and find the absolute most inhospitable place they could to build their cities? This wasn't just the actions of a few crazed guys with picks and shovels, either. The amount of manpower it would have taken to build this architectural wonder is staggering. This was the effort of perhaps hundreds of people working for years to achieve. And nobody in all that time thought it might be a better idea to head on down to the warm plain where there's abundant game and temperatures that occasionally rise into the positive numbers?

 

And they're still at it! Bandits are living here! Why? What possible reason could they have for setting up camp here? There are rats, and where there aren't rats there are giant spiders, and where the spiders don't fit there are zombies, and where the zombies fear to tread there are trolls. There's no food (unless you count the aforementioned zombies, rats, trolls, and spiders) and the ambient temperature sits somewhere between damn cold and permanent frostbite.

 

I take down the bandits outside, head on inside, and take down a few more. I come across my first real test here in Skyrim. This will be my hardest challenge yet, a test of my intellect rather than my muscles. Truly, the ancient nords who designed these barrows were masters of the mind, cunning and shrewd adversaries who built in only the most devious of traps and puzzles. There are three pillars that rotate, each showing three different animals. There are three pictures of animals on the wall. There's a lever. This is truly the ultimate test of my abilities.

 

Approximately 1.6 seconds later, I'm through the door and moving on. I find a bunch of spiderwebs. I'm sure there won't be any spiders here. After killing the spiderwebs, I free a spider's victim from yet more webs. Why the spider put the victim just there, in the doorway, beats me. Maybe the spider was using the dark elf as a draugr early warning device - if they wanted to attack him, they'd have to go through the elf first, and he'd be bound to make some noise. Clearly this spider was more intelligent than anyone else here, bandits, ancient nords, and the whole population of Skyrim included. As if to prove this hypothesis, once I cut the elf down he proceeds to run off through the dungeon, cackling to himself at how he put one over on me. This idiot wants to betray the guy who saved his life, fine, but I just killed a giant spider you couldn't even touch, dude. Pick a better guy to betray. And running through the corridors? You're bound to hit a trap or run into draugr. As it happens, he does both.

 

And here again I see yet more evidence of the ancient nord's ingenuity and trap-building skills. Just like in the last barrow I was in, there's a raised plate on the floor that looks nothing like the rest of the floor, is in fact PAINTED with a design so that it's easily avoidable. And just in case you didn't get the hint, there's a wall of sharp spikes over here. At least in Sarthaal, the trigger was obvious but the trap itself was not - little holes that shoot poisoned darts - but here it's like they aren't even trying any more. What's next, a lever with a sign on it saying "pull me" that is directly connected to an axe that swings down and beheads the puller? After that, a table with a sword on it, and a sign that says "please pick up this sword and stab yourself?" Is this an honor system trap?

 

Bypassing the so-called "trap," killing draugr, dodging some swinging blades and little round buckets full of fire that never goes out that drop onto slicks of oil that never dries up, etcetera etcetera. I come to a door with three rings on it that can be rotated, three pictures of animals on each ring, and a claw-shaped indention. I'm sure it has NOTHING to do with the golden claw in my pack. I'll just sit here, stumped, for a couple of hours before I speak "friend" and enter and oh wow do I need to stop talking about the stupidity of the ancient nords, or I'll never get ANYTHING done.

 

Through the door, past some bats, and here's ANOTHER of those chanting walls. I'm thinking I'm not going to mention this one to anybody. It didn't go so well the last time. And again, my mind is invaded by some scratches on the wall, and OUT pops a draugr from a chest on the floor. He's mean, this one - a real tough nut to crack, not like the other draugr here. More like he's been taking lessons from the local trolls. After about twenty minutes of alternately slamming my hammer at his head and rushing off to heal, he goes down, and I loot his treasure box. I find a big white stone in there, and it starts speaking to me. I'm starting to get a little irritated at all the inanimate objects that talk to me. Chanting walls, and now a big white gemstone-looking thing that wants me to cleanse its temple, because if you're a big white gemstone, of COURSE you have your own temple.

 

Out the back door, down the mountainside, around the bend, and off to Riverwood again. I drop the golden claw at the shopkeeper's feet and he gives me some gold that is probably worth a LOT less than the actual price of the claw. I should have kept it, melted it down, and then used the gold to buy his shop from him. But I don't want to be a shopkeeper, I'm sticking with my fairly successful profession of Courier for now. I've delivered some books to a librarian, a golden claw to the shopkeeper, a fake letter to an inbred imperial chick, and now I'm off to Whiterun to deliver a magic stone to a court mage.

 

Next: Chapter 7, Yes, I Am A Dragonslayer
Start at Chapter 1

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Thank you, and I enjoy writing it!

 

As of yesterday, I had 29 chapters written.

Today, I am somehow missing chapters 19, 20, and 25-29.

They're just... gone.

 

So I guess it's a good thing I enjoy writing it, or I'd be pretty angry at my computer right about now.

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Well um... if you have 29 chapters written... what is keeping you from posting more? I kinda need a daily dose of chuckles, y'know.

 

Entertain me, dammit!

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I was going to post one per week, to spread it out more... and I originally only had 9 parts written before I had quit, and I didn't know how long it was going to take me to write more.

So anyway, just for you, I'll go ahead and post up to 9.

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