The next few weeks were the best I had had since being taken from Earth. The markings from Dibella worked as advertised - I was accosted by bandits and wolves, Foresworn and a saber-toothed cat (dragons and mammoths and saber-toothed cats. It's like this world was created by twelve-year-old boys). And a dragon. I sliced through all of them. (Okay, I had some help with the dragon. And then an embarrassing moment after as the help got to watch what happens when I consume a dragon soul.)

It took me some time to remember what, exactly, I was supposed to be doing. The trip to the Greybeards felt like a lifetime ago (I know I say a lot of things felt like a lifetime ago. I went through a lot in a short amount of time, okay?) Finally, I remembered I was supposed to retrieve the Horn of Someone Or Other from a crypt near Morthal. I wasn’t 100% sure where that was, but I knew it was to the north and there was no way in hell I was going back into Markarth to get a map, so I just turned north and walked.

This the part where the killing of many Foresworn comes in, because the mountains around Markarth are just swarming with the bastards. I had thought the ones in the mine were mostly naked because…well, everyone in the mine was mostly naked. That fucker Silver Blood didn’t waste money on clothes for his prisoner slaves. Turns out, though, that the Foresworn in the wild wore just as little. No complaints here, I have to say – Dibella’s swords were sharp but even they take a bit to cut through metal. Enemies wearing no protection really helped.

I took my time. The priestesses had given me provisions and I forced myself to eat them despite the gnawing hunger for raw bloody meat. Other than that, it was a pleasant enough walk. It was high summer (I left fucking Markarth on 29 Sun’s Height, which equates to late July/early August on the ol’ Earth scale) but the mountains kept things cool. It was a wild and beautiful land with mind-blowing waterfalls and rock formations and unexpected vistas. If it wasn’t for the fucking Foresworn, it would be a great place to live.

It took about a week to make my way out of Foresworn territory. I came to Dragon Bridge (you will never guess how it got its name) and got directions to Morthal, which turned out to be directly to the east a solid five and a half days away. I had picked up enough loot (mostly in the way of Foresworn trinkets and the coins I found on them that they had presumably taken from previous victims) along the way to be able to afford to stay at the inn for the night and restock my supplies.

Things were a little more complicated in Morthal, mostly because I couldn’t remember the name of the stupid crypt, which made it difficult to explain what I wanted. Eventually someone figured out I probably meant Ustengrav and gave me directions through the swamp to get there.

Almost exactly two days after that, I found myself deep in the bowels of the place staring at a note in a suspiciously horn-shaped depression on an altar. I picked up the note with much trepidation and read:

“I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood and I’ll meet you.”

So some other person 1) knew about this stupid horn, 2) had absconded with the fucking thing, and 3) had made it to the horn’s resting place through a trial that was supposed to prove someone’s Dragonborn-ness.

Was there another Dragonborn floating around? That would be nice. Then maybe I could retire and go live somewhere far away from…well, everyone else, seeing as how they all seemed to want to kill, rape, and/or enslave me.

I shook my head and looked around the room. A set of doors were set into the wall to the left, so I went through them and, after winding through a narrow rough-hewn tunnel, come out next to a familiar flat-faced wall filled with obscure writing. I had barely registered its existence when the wind and chanting started up and, mere seconds later, I was on the floor clutching myself and moaning and writhing through the inevitable orgasm. Thank…well, not god, he had been no help. Nor had the fucking Divines, for that matter. Well, Dibella had, credit where it’s due. So, sure, thank Dibella there were no draugr around to take advantage of my helplessness again.

Once the throes of wall-induced passion were finished, I discovered I had picked up a new shout. More surprising to me was the fact that I somehow knew the word (Feim), what it meant (fade), and what it would do, which was to make me ethereal for a short time, during which I would be effectively immune to damage. Helpful!

There was a door in the next wall that turned out to lead to…a room I had passed soon after I entered the tomb earlier that day. There had been a shortcut (albeit a hidden one – the door looked like a regular cave wall from the other side) to the room that was supposed to hold the horn all along. I had just wasted hours of my life. It occurred to me sometime later that that was probably how the note-leaver had got there. How they knew about it was a mystery, though.

Riverwood is two-hundred miles away from Ustengrav as the dragon flies. I may be Dragonborn, but I can’t fly. Well, I couldn’t then, at any rate. It’s a two-week hike when you have to circle the mountains. I was only a few days into the trek when I came to the bandit trap and things became interesting.

Several bandits had taken over a small fort by the road and demanded a fee to go by. Much as with Valtheim, all that time ago, I would have been fine with paying it but, unfortunately for all involved, I had spent most of my coin on provisions and could not meet their stupid price. Unlike Valtheim, I was not particularly concerned when they began swarming me. I tried out my new word to give me protection as I stepped out of my clothes (it was pretty funny to watch their expressions as their weapons went right through me), then activated Dibella’s swords and got to carving.

I felt a peculiar hunger as I killed them, one that soon turned into an overwhelming lust. On a whim, I stopped swinging, extinguished the swords, and surrendered to those that were left. They laughed and lunged for me, knocking me to the ground. My lust redoubled, and they seemed caught up in it as much as I. They didn't wait; they stripped right there on the road and took turns shoving themselves into me, and for once I enjoyed every moment of being raped.

Or perhaps I was doing the raping; as each man orgasmed, I felt his essence leave his body and enter me. His physical body withered away, until he was nothing but a dry husk. The other men took no notice, wrapped up in lust as they were - the next one simply shoved the remains of his successor aside and took his place. This process repeated itself until thirty drained bodies lay scattered about the road while I, feeling more sated and complete than I ever had before, languished in the epicenter.

I should have felt...I don't know, something...but I did not, save perhaps a smugness as I finally stood and stepped over the desiccated remains to retrieve my robe.

Looting the fort and its former occupants turned out to be lucrative. It was the first time I had enough money to cease worrying about a place to sleep or if I'd have enough to eat. I was tempted to stay in the fort for a time, to be alone for a while, maybe take my turn accosting travelers for food and mon...

No. Where had that thought come from? I shook my head and left, pretending not to notice the small group of travelers who had come upon the carnage I had left on the road. I could feel their curious stares as I walked away.

Don't feed the bastards. They'll just want more.

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