[D&D Skyrim] Road to Redemption - Rona's Story

[Guest]

Hello, ladies and gentlemen and persons of indeterminate gender, and welcome to Dungeons & Dovah. Assuming you weren’t linked here by the parent thread, I suggest you go check it out now.

 

For the impatient and/or forgetful among us, the short of it is this: This is, essentially, a combination between a “Let’s Play” and a “Choose Your Own Adventure”-type story. I’ll be playing a (heavily modded) game of Skyrim as Rona, an ex-bandit trying to find purpose and – hopefully – redemption.

 

You, dear readers, will be guiding her decisions. Every chapter will end with a few suggestions, but you’re not limited to the ones I present. After a decent period of time, I’ll choose either the most popular suggestion – if a general consensus can be reached – or the first suggestion. The next chapter will then be spent playing it out, followed by more choices, and so on. With good planning and a little luck, we’ll kill some dragons, solve and/or create some problems, and change Skyrim forever. Let’s get started!

 

I may (read: probably will) make occasional (read: frequent) notes on modded aspects of Skyrim, or just anything particularly interesting happening behind the scenes. These will be hidden behind spoiler tags to preserve the flow of the story, but I’d encourage you to read them whenever you’re done with a chapter, as they may (read: probably will not) provide some insight into the goings-on of the playthrough.

 

Table of Contents:

 

 

Chapter 1 – Of Lone Wolves and Bad Weather

Chapter 2 – G-G-G-Ghosts!

Chapter 2.5 - (Wo)Man About Town

 

 

[Guest]

Chapter 1 - Of Lone Wolves and Bad Weather

 

 

Wherein we leave behind a life of banditry for colder, wetter pastures.

 

Character Stats:

 

 

Rona, Level 1

HP - 120

SP - 150

MP - 100

 

Marksmanship - 35

Heavy Weaponry - 30

Wayfarer - 25

Block - 25

Smithing - 25

Heavy Armor - 20

 

 

 

Chapter 1:

 

 

A flash of lightning strikes across the sky, briefly illuminating the raging river below, the darkened sky above. A peal of thunder rips forth from the heavens, shaking warm droplets from the ceiling and sending ripples along the water already pooled on the stone floor. Outside, the rain pours down in sheets, less a storm and more an implacable force of nature. Beneath the torrent, sounds are barely detectable, visibility worse still. Only a madman would step foot outside in this weather.

 

Perfect.

 

 

 

 

Supreme Storms is a mod that delivers exactly what it advertises – and combined with the poor weather debuffs from Wet and Cold and Frostfall, storms can be a real hazard.

 

 

 

I’ve been desperate to leave behind this death sentence of a camp for weeks, and now I have the chance. We’ve been camped here going on half a year now, bold as can be, barely a stone’s throw from Whiterun. Gotten away with it because half the guards have run off to join the Stormcloaks or the Legion, and the rest are stretched thin as is. This war won’t last forever, though, and once it ends you can be damn sure the Jarl is going to turn his eye our way. But the chief refuses to pack up and leave.

 

I might think differently if the money was good, I suppose, but we’ve become infamous around these parts. These days most folk’d rather take the detour through Helgen than risk their lives coming past Valtheim. This means small shares and foul tempers all around. I think we’d have gone our separate ways by now, but the chief killed Hern when he tried to leave last month. No words, just knocked his head clean off with that ugly-ass mace he always carries around.

 

That put an end to any talk of jumping ship, of course. The chief is convinced business will start picking up again soon. Some idiot noble we were roughing up started talking about Helgen and rumors of war activity and how he’d come this way because it was supposed to be safer. Now everyone’s got it in their heads that we’ll be rolling in cash again. I don’t buy it, though. Even if it’s true, how long? Can’t live on one damn meal a day for much longer, and honestly I don’t know that I’d care to stay anyway. Things have gotten… darker. This was supposed to be a simple extortion racket. Charge the merchants for “protection”, maybe raid a passing caravan. Last week, they killed a group of pilgrims, women and children, for a few rusty septims and the clothes off their backs. Divines above, CHILDREN!

 

No. Enough’s enough. I’m getting out while I can. Nobody’s going to even see me go in this weather, let alone try and run me down. I pack up my gear and get ready to head out, then change my mind. If I’m going to leave anyway, I might as well take a bit of the loot we haven’t been able to fence yet…

 

 

It’s no difficult affair, either – the roof over this section is long since rotted out, and nobody wants to be sleeping up here when there’s dry shelter just a floor below. I get a few curious glances toward the hammer slung across my back, but nobody’s interested enough to even make a comment.

 

I make my way across the bridge – fortunately, the wind has calmed down a bit – and down to the bottom floor of the outside tower. The moment of truth…

 

 

But as expected, the lookout has long since gone inside. A clean escape. Well, almost – the rain is starting to die down, and I want to be an hour away before anyone thinks to wonder where I am. It’s time to leave.

 

There are two paths to take, but only one real choice – I have a 500 gold bounty on my head in Whiterun hold, and nowhere near enough to pay it, so I’m forced to head south towards Ivarstead and into the Rift.

 

I’m not long out of Valtheim when I hear the first signs of trouble – and see them shortly after, in the form of a wolf. He crouches low, slinking towards me. I risk a glance over my shoulder, searching for his pack, but I see nothing. Apparently he’s alone.

 

 

He tenses, jumping for my throat.

I’m faster.

 

Had he been with his pack, he might’ve had a chance. But a lone wolf doesn’t survive for long out here. The symbolism in this isn’t lost on me. I’m not particularly religious, but I can’t help wondering if this is a sign. Well, it’s come too late, regardless. I press on.

 

***

 

I’m about halfway to Ivarstead when I stop to eat. I’m making good time, I think. It’s hard to tell – it’s still raining, with no end in sight – but at a guess, it’s likely not far past noon. Funnily enough, this is the biggest meal I’ve had in weeks. No more rationing, and no one to share it with. I end up scarfing down an entire load of bread and a bottle of mead before I move on.

 

 

 

Realistic Needs and Diseases adds a bit of realism to the world of Skyrim by forcing you to keep your hunger and thirst sated, sleep regularly, and quickly cure diseases before they progress to devastating levels.

It’s a bit of a pain in the ass, but it adds quite a bit of depth to the game (as well as small buffs when you’re not thirsty/hungry).

 

 

 

Not long after, I’m walking past the hideout of maybe the dumbest group of bandits in all of Tamriel.

 

 

Forget the wolves and bears that’ll attract for a minute – why not just put up a sign that says “Here be ne’er-do-wells”? I mean, yeah, that’s clearly the intention, but I’d like to understand what the thought process was here.

 

“Hey boss, whaddaya wanna do with these here leftover skulls?”

“Oh, them? Just stick ‘em on poles outside to scare away travelers.”

“You mean the travelers that we steal from, and who are essentially our only source of income?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds good.”

 

Honestly. Small wonder we’re a dying breed.

 

It seems the skulls have attracted more than just wild animals, though. Apparently some people aren’t too happy about the way their brethren are being treated.

 

 

It’s a tougher fight than I expect from a bunch of reanimated remains, but still no great challenge.

 

 

 

Actually, I died a few times here. SkyRe doesn’t mess around, and I’m beginning to question my choice of the Lord Stone as a birthsign. These things HURT.

 

 

 

I stay on alert, but there’s no sign of a nearby necromancer. There is, however, evidence of previous victims – a woman clothed in the garb of a Vigilant, as well as a pair of dead wolves. The Vigil is actually one of the few organizations in Skyrim that I appreciate, if only for the fact that they kill the things that try to kill me, and don’t really care about my crimes as long as they don’t include Daedric influence. We could use more people like that. Well, not like this one – dead to a few lousy skeletons? How embarrassing.

 

 

 

*whistles nonchalantly*

 

 

 

The rest of the trip is uneventful, up until the final stretch. The village of Ivarstead is, as it turns out, sort of on the other side of this raging river.

 

 

The nearest bridge is hours downstream, and nightfall isn’t far off. It’s been warm enough so far, but at nighttime, I’ll freeze to death as I am, particularly given the ceaseless rain and the fact that my torch has just sputtered out.

 

 

 

Frostfall is a mod which attaches realistic penalties to overexposure to cold weather, up to and including death if you spend too long out in the cold. My fear of having to travel at nighttime wasn’t overstated (though my fear of rivers may have been played up a bit).

 

 

 

I opt to risk the crossing.

 

 

 

Remember kids, if you need to cross an overflowing river, just jump across on slippery rocks – the sharper, the better!

 

 

 

I make it across uneventfully and start north again. There’s a troll cave just off the road here, but a cautious inspection reveals no troll. Huh. I wonder where-

 

 

Oh.

Adrenalin courses through my body. He’s fast, faster than I expect, and I take an unblocked hit to the stomach. Even through plate armor, it’s like getting hit by a… well, a troll, I suppose. In going straight for the offense, though, he’s left his own midsection exposed, a fact which I carefully and tactfully exploit by hitting him as hard as I can with my hammer.

 

 

 

 

Two-handed weapons always felt a bit lackluster to me in vanilla Skyrim. Much riskier than a one-handed weapon plus a shield with only marginally higher DPS – not to mention the slow swing speed and high stamina costs.

 

SkyRe compensates for that by giving two-handed weapons a much higher stagger chance, plus a chance to send the victim flying on an unblocked power attack – with occasionally comical results.

 

 

 

The troll slams into the tree headfirst and slumps to the ground. I whack it a few more times, just to be sure, then move on.

 

***

 

Phew. Finally, we arrive in Ivarstead. I’ve changed into plainclothes so as to avoid any undue attention by the guards. In theory, every hold tracks their crime separately, but you can’t be too careful. There are always bounty hunters to worry about, anyway.

 

Ivarstead is a pretty sad excuse for a town. No blacksmith – hell, no merchants of any kind – and the mill owner complains that her logging business is being ruined by… bears. She offers to pay me if I bring her ten bear pelts from anywhere in Skyrim, and I tentatively agree. Because paying me to kill bears which have absolutely no bearing on your business, halfway across the continent, while your mill is already failing, is definitely a good idea. I’m thinking bears aren’t your main problem here, lady.

 

Of course, I don’t say any of this. I’m more than happy to part a fool from her coin.

 

While I’m here, I decide put my wolf pelts to good use and craft myself a new backpack (to replace the one I may or may not have lost to skeletons earlier in the day).

 

 

With that taken care of, I head to the inn – there’s at least an inn in this town, right? – to get a night of sleep. I’m confident that I’m out of the reach of my former comrades, and I feel like I can rest easily tonight. Until these assholes start talking about the haunted tomb about ten feet outside of town.

 

 

Apparently there’s a barrow just north of town with spirits that patrol at nighttime. I ask the innkeeper how one might be compensated if they were to investigate these rumors. He responds that he doesn’t have any coin, and I’m already losing interest when he adds, “Of course, there’s a fair bit of treasure down there that the villagers are too superstitious to reclaim…”

 

I begrudgingly say I’ll think about it.

 

For now, though, I should sleep. If I do decide to investigate the potentially-haunted barrow, I’m certainly not going to do it at nighttime.

 

As I drift off, I consider my options for tomorrow. Originally, my plan had been to head straight through to Riften and look for work there. For some reason, I recall the stories of war breaking out around Helgen. Helgen… that’s not too far away. I could look into that, I suppose – might be a few bodies to loot, or at the very least a proper town where I can pawn some of this junk. Or I might just check out the barrow – I am a fan of treasure. I’ll think on it. But for now… sleep.

 

 

[Guest xthejester]

My vote is to hit the barrow. Rona's going to need to liquidate her assets once she gets to Riften anyway. Might as well have as much to sell off as possible.

[Guest]

Chapter 2 – G-G-G-Ghosts!

 

 

Wherein we delve too greedily and too deep.

 

Character Stats:

 

 

Rona, Level 2

HP – 135

SP – 150

MP – 100

 

Marksmanship – 36

Heavy Weaponry – 33

Wayfarer – 26

Block – 25

Smithing – 26

Heavy Armor – 22

 

 

 

Chapter 2:

 

 

Grave robbing. That’s what I’ve come to. I had always pictured my first solo adventure being something like giant-slaying or maiden-rescuing. Of course I knew it probably wouldn’t be anything so glamorous. But why did it have to be a tomb?

 

 

Not that I’m uncomfortable around the dead. It just feels… unnatural, all these bodies sealed away in stone, decaying in slow motion over the course of centuries. I’m acutely aware of the earth pressing in on all sides, the musky scent of rot, the heaviness of the air all around me. I shake it off and press on, cursing myself silently for being so uncomfortable. If I can’t even handle this, I’ve no business being an adventurer.

 

I hold my torch high, casting flickering shadows on the walls around me and burning away the cobwebs that cling to my skin.

 

 

 

Climates of Tamriel is a lighting overhaul for Skyrim which makes dungeons and nighttime far, far more hazardous. A torch is a necessity. Even better is a belt lantern from the Wearable Lanterns mod, one of which I’ll hopefully acquire soon.

 

 

 

Skeletons line the walls of my descent, some still holding bags of coin, as if money can provide respite from even death itself. But of course you can’t take it with you. So I take it with me.

 

So far, nothing but a bunch of dust and bones. The innkeeper seemed convinced there were ghosts, though. Could be nothing but superstition, but I keep a hand at my weapon just in case. And just when I’m convinced there’s nothing here…

 

 

Well, seems there’s something more than superstition at work here after all. I find the lever to raise the portcullis and move forward, more cautiously now. I’m not sold on the idea of spirits yet, but there’s definitely something down here.

 

Behind a locked side door, I find some of the promised treasures – a couple gems and a handful of gold in a chest. A chest which happens to be booby-trapped. I’m quick enough to dodge the poison darts that shoot out of the wall in front of me, only to almost impale myself on the spears which extend from the walls behind me. I curse myself for my carelessness and vow to be more attentive in the future. Never again will I OH SHI-

 

 

I very nearly walk headlong into another spear trap about two seconds after I promise myself never to be caught off-guard again. What is it with Nords and traps, huh? If they care so much about their valuables, why even make the tomb accessible in the first place? I bet half the corpses here were tomb builders that accidentally triggered their own traps when trying to get back out. But I digress. There are more important things at hand. Like, for instance… that.

 

 

I see an otherworldly light glowing ahead, and all of a sudden there’s a ghost charging towards me, hands blazing with ethereal fire. I grab my hammer in a panic, swinging in wild arcs ahead of me as I backpedal, wondering if I can actually do anything against a ghost or if I’m totally screwed oh wait it’s dead.

 

 

It’s also apparently less of an “it” and more of a “he”. Well, I’m not sure how well my hammer works against real ghosts, but it’s clearly pretty effective against fake ones. The “ghost” – an adventurer by the name of Wyndelius – has left behind a journal detailing his devious plan to pretend to be a ghost and then sit around in the dark until he went crazy (paraphrasing a bit, but you get the idea). He’s left behind a couple of his ghost draughts as well, which if nothing else might be good for a laugh someday, so I take them.

 

Other than that, this trip has pretty much been a bust. There’s another passage, but it’s blocked off with some kind of puzzle lock, and I wouldn’t know where to start. Instead, I head back to the surface. Wilhelm had said he didn’t have any gold to spare, but he probably wasn’t expecting me to actually go down into the barrow. He might have something tucked away, and I intend to find out.

 

 

Payment? Gifts? Sure, whatever you want to call it, just hand it over! Wait, what’s this? Is this a… claw? What the hell? I deal with the asshole that’s been scaring your patrons half to death for over a year and you give me some lousy trinket you had over your fireplace? Before I can articulate my concerns, the old man notices the look on my face and explains – apparently it’s a key to the deeper sections of the barrow. Deeper, and presumably more treasure-filled. Well, you could’ve just said so in the first place.

 

I’m reluctant to go back into that musty tomb, but the allure of treasure is too great. At least nothing’s going to bother me down there now.

 

***

 

The puzzle lock isn’t too hard to solve now. I mean, the pictures are right on the claw itself… why even bother to have a puzzle if the solution is literally written on the key that you need to get inside anyway? A quick turn of the claw and the door slides open.

 

 

Say what you want about the Nords, but they build their tombs to last.

 

I come across my first piece of treasure – a spell tome atop a pedestal in the center of a room. I’m justifiably suspicious – I haven’t forgotten the abundance of traps I was forcibly acquainted with earlier – but so far as I can tell, there’s no pressure plate atop the pedestal. Just in case, I snatch the book and back away, but nothing happens. Hmm. Seems I was worried about nothing. I move towards the exit, when –

 

 

 

The door slams shut and I hear a cracking sound behind me. Undead are rising up from their coffins. I’m almost too stunned to act, but instinct kicks in. I bash in the skull of the rising corpse closest to me, block an incoming strike from another to my side before crushing it beneath my hammer. More coffins break open, and again and again I strike their occupants down. Finally, just when I think I can take no more, the final one falls to its knees at my feet, and I bring it down.

 

 

Silence. My arms ache, my head is pounding, my stomach churns at the stench of death in the air. But I’m alive.

 

 

 

But just barely – the end of that fight found me with no stamina and sub-5% health remaining.

 

 

 

***

 

The rest of my journey is distant, as though I was watching a stranger. For some reason I decided to move on. Greed is a powerful motivator, I suppose. Some part of me knew I was playing a dangerous game, and begged my body to turn back. But not a big enough part to compete with my desire for riches. My mind was numb, and I crushed legions of undead beneath my hammer without feeling, always remembering to check the bodies for valuables, but dully, like a ritual without meaning.

 

 

Finally, I came back to myself. I had a sense of lost time, maybe hours, maybe even a day. My muscles screamed protest at the slightest movement, and I had scratches across my arms, a throbbing in my left foot that suggested something greater than fatigue. Deceptively light injuries, but with a meaning all too deep – it was only by the grace of the Gods that I lived through this nightmare. And it wasn’t over yet.

 

 

I found myself standing at the entrance to the largest cavern so far. I could only pray that it was the last. I downed a bottle of mead to steel my nerves, a healing potion to steady my arms. Then I stepped inside.

 

I didn’t need to turn around to know the gate had closed behind me. The all-too-familiar thump of breaking casket lids sounded around me. Methodically, I crushed the risen corpses before they could pull themselves out of their coffins, putting them back to rest for good. An arrow flew by my face, another clanking off my chest armor. Not for the first time, I was glad of the heavy plate. I ran down the archers and felled them each with a single blow. The armor on my back, the weapon in my hands – these were the only gods I had down here, and I offered silent thanks before pushing forward.

 

A seemingly endless wave of undead rose and then fell again, but finally, there was but one remaining.

 

 

He was different than the others, speaking words of power in a strange tongue, and his voice pushed me to my knees. My hammer met his axe above my head, and I retaliated with a strike to his side. It staggered him for only a moment, but it was all I needed – again and again my blows rained down upon him, preventing his recovery. And finally, he collapsed, laid to rest forever.

 

I knew that was the last of them, but I couldn’t help but be wary as I moved into the now-opened treasure room. So intently was I searching for further signs of trouble that I nearly missed the trap trigger attached to the chest I was opening. Again, instinct saved me – at the pneumatic hiss of the dart traps, I threw myself to the ground, narrowly avoiding the deluge of what would surely be fatally poisonous needles.

 

But finally, I had my treasure. The bone-deep fatigue I felt wasn’t enough to quell my excitement at the enchanted goods and gems held within, but even that exhilaration was dwarfed as I was making my way out. There, on the wall. At first I suspected another trap, but I found myself drawn closer and closer. Warning bells went off somewhere in my head – I might be under a spell! – but still, I couldn’t resist. The world went dark, and the markings grew brighter, and I felt an echo in my mind: Kyne.

 

 

Then everything was as before. But I knew that I had been changed by this knowledge, this indescribable moment, and I felt terrible purpose welling up inside me.

 

***

 

It was hours later, and I was resting on a carriage to Riften.

 

 

 

 

Touring Carriages is a pretty nifty mod which lets you actually experience the carriage rides that you take, complete with unimplemented quotes from the carriage driver about the places you pass. Each carriage also has its own travel schedule, and they move about throughout the holds, occasionally stopping in small towns – I was lucky that one happened to be in Ivarstead when I left the barrow.

 

 

 

Trying to rest, anyway. But a combination of the bumpy road and my own thoughts left no room for sleep, and I was more exhausted than before when we finally arrived. But at last, I had made it. I felt dead on my feet, ready to collapse at any moment. Fortunately, I was at the gate, soon to be inside –

 

 

Gods DAMMIT. I’m desperate enough to try and bribe him, but he won’t even be paid off. Great. A den of thieves, liars, and scoundrels, and I get the one guard that’s not dirty. Fuckin’ wonderful.

 

I trudge my way around through the marsh to the north gate. I’m nearly there when some random asshole runs by, shoving a magical axe into my hands and telling me not to snitch. Three seconds later, when someone comes by looking for said asshole, I immediately point him in the right direction. I’m just really not in the mood right now.

 

The guard who witnessed all this, standing two feet away without lifting a finger, has the gall to try and charge me to enter the city. I stare at him with a mixture of contempt and disbelief for about thirty seconds, dead-eyed and unblinking. He opens the gate.

 

Are we done? Can I make it the ten freaking feet to the inn without more shit being thrown at me? Someone stops me in the street and starts talking about how I better not be here to cause trouble. I’m already walking away – I don’t even hear the end of his sentence. It’s a shame, because what I heard sounded pretty well-rehearsed, and I’m sure he’s been waiting for someone to walk by so he can do his whole spiel, but I really just can’t muster up the energy to care.

 

And finally, the sweet release of a warm bed. I’m unconscious before my head hits the pillow.

 

fin

 

***

 

So, we’ve got a few options now. We can look into joining up with the Thieves Guild; explore town and do miscellaneous questing for a bit; start up the Falskaar quest chain (I’m pretty sure it starts up here, anyway); take a carriage somewhere more interesting (I should have enough money to pay my bounty off in Whiterun, if we want); or we can just go exploring. Up to you guys.

 

 

[VATROU]

I say, explore the town.

[Guest xthejester]

She's going to need to hit the market in the morning anyway. May as well explore the town and see what comes of it.

[Sarathis]

Explore the town. After being with a band of deadbeat bandits for a long while she's probably leery of joining up with more deadbeats. Besides, she's probably flying high on her last tomb solo experience, feeling pretty capable on her own. Maybe the Thieve's Guild will give her an offer she can't refuse later...

[Guest]

Chapter 2.5 – (Wo)Man About Town

 

 

Wherein we sell priceless treasures for twenty septims a pound and buy junk for fifty times that.

 

Character Stats:

 

 

Rona, Level 5

HP – 150

SP – 180

MP – 100

 

Marksmanship – 36

Heavy Weaponry – 41 (1 perk)

Wayfarer – 26

Block – 25

Smithing – 26 (2 perks)

Heavy Armor – 26 (2 perks)

 

 

 

Chapter 2.5:

 

 

Gods above, everything aches. Not so bad as last night, but enough that it takes a concerted effort to raise myself out of bed, and I consider laying back down immediately after. My back’s the worst – in retrospect, I probably should’ve unfastened my armor before going to sleep. Traditionally speaking, sunrise is a little early to start drinking – on the other hand, it seems like half the town didn’t stop drinking long enough to sleep last night, so I put away a few ales without much guilt.

 

I’m in no state to travel right now – fatigued, sore, and (more recently) a bit tipsy – so I decide to spend the day offloading my unneeded gear and chasing down any local gossip which might lead to a bit more gold.

 

Unfortunately, I’m not much good at haggling, and the appraisals I get for my valuables seem suspiciously low. After being forcibly vacated from the premises of the local pawn shop after I suggest that perhaps Bersi would be better able to appreciate the value of what I’m offering if he removed his head from his rear, I decide to forego further attempts at bartering and simply take what I’m offered.

 

 

***

 

 

My pack now considerably lighter, and my pockets weighed down with gold, I decide to visit the local blacksmith. My armor has quite a few nicks in it, including one place along my side where it’s been sliced clean through. After years of mending my own armor, I’m more than experienced enough to make the necessary repairs, but I decide it’s time for an upgrade instead. Iron is fine and well for intimidating traveling merchants, but if I’m going to be doing much more actual combat I want something a bit sturdier.

 

 

The blacksmith charges an arm and a leg for steel ingots, and as he doesn’t have a smelter I have no choice but to pay up. There go most of my profits. Fortunately, I’ve already got steel greaves and armguards from a dead Vigilant we passed on the way to Riften, so I only need enough for the mail and helm after I’ve refit the other pieces. Even so, it runs me nearly a thousand gold, so I don’t have enough to replace my warhammer or craft a crossbow (the only type of bow I’m remotely proficient with) like I’d planned.

 

 

 

SkyRe adds set bonuses for armor that you have the required Smithing perk for. In this case, steel armor grants me 10% bonus protection from bows, and 20% from crossbows. Crossbowmen are pretty dangerous to heavy armor users in SkyRe as well, so this is a pretty nice bonus.

 

 

 

My pockets now nearly as empty as my pack, but being in no fit state for travel, I resort to running errands around town for the lazy townsfolk, including fetching a sword for a spoiled rich kid, convincing some guy’s creditor to give him a break, and curing a dockworker of her chronic skooma addiction. All in a day’s work.

 

For every little errand I was able to complete, there were three more that would require days of travel to see realized, with the exception of two which were problematic in their own ways: stealing a horse from Maven Black-Briar, who I’ve been told is someone I’m better not to cross; and identifying the source of the skooma floating around Riften, which might lead to more trouble than I’m willing to take on right now. I was also approached by someone rumored to be a member of the Thieves Guild, asking for my help in certain illicit operations, but I declined – I’m already wanted in Whiterun, I don’t need the complications that a second bounty on my head would cause.

 

I pay for another night at the Bee and Barb and head to bed early – I’ve got a lot of travelling in my future.

 

 

 

 

An absolutely gorgeous map from the 3D Paper Map mod. I’ve downloaded the optional plugin to remove the player marker as well, so we’ll be relying a bit more on guesswork than usual whenever we get lost.

 

 

 

fin

 

***

 

From here, our options are about the same as before, plus a bunch of miscellaneous quests to accomplish. We might take a carriage north to Windhelm to follow up a bit more on the war rumors in Helgen, or we can go straight to Helgen itself, completing the miscellaneous quests along the way. We could just complete the quests one by one, maybe look for a smelter to make the steel for a crossbow and a new hammer. There are also two quests which I believe were added by Interesting NPCs, one north in Boulderfall Cave and one east in Greywater Grotto; assuming they follow the pattern of the other Interesting NPC quests, they’ll be pretty quick and I’ll be able to pick up a follower for my trouble. Or we could just do none of the above and go exploring for a while, see what happens. As always, Rona’s fate is in your hands.

 

 

[Guest xthejester]

I vote on exploration.