Kothet's Story, A dremora in Skyrim, and his housecarl. Options

[ghastley]

Kothet was a (dead) character in the Gweden Brothel mod. He was the Dremora Valkynaz who owned Prizna, before she killed him and escaped. I resurrected him to be the test character for the Dremora Hearthfires mod for Skyrim, and he hung around a bit longer than expected.

Since a Dremora in Skyrim normally only wears a special version of Daedric armour (with reduced stats) he can't use most regular armour, so his story reflects that limitation, and the gear he does use is the same as the houscarl can use in my mod, which was of course added to the game as wearable by a Dremora.

The housecarl's combat style and equipment are set by the mod to complement the abilities of the player character, so a mage, defined as a player who has higher magicka than health or stamina, wil get an archer housecarl. An archer ( a non-mage with Marksman skill above one- or two-handed) gets a melee housecarl, and others get a mage. Kothet's preference is two-handed, although he starts off using a one-handed weapon with a spell in the other. The spell-book offers three choices of housecarl - male, regular female, and sexy female. The last of those wears skimpier outfits, and has the sultry voice rather than the commander voice.

Kothet's story is already well under way, and I'll start to post more episodes here once I finish posting Clark's. There's a link at the top for those who've forgotten about Prizna's interview with Clark. I linked to the copy here, not the one on my site with the nude picture of her.

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1 - Helgen

I can understand the Stormcloaks deciding to hide in my cave. The entrance is well-concealed, which is why I chose it. And it stays that way, if I'm careful how I enter, and don't leave obvious footprints outside.

I can understand how the pursuing Imperials found them, too. What I can't understand is why the Imperials think I'm one of them. Seriously, how many Stormcloaks have horns?

I'm not talking about helmets here. My horns are on my head, just like any of the Kyn. But we are few in Tamriel, so maybe they've never seen a Dremora before.

Whatever they were thinking, we all ended up on the same cart headed for Helgen. I presume I was vocal about the Imperials' incompetence in including me, because I don't remember much about the journey, just waking with a sore head as we approached the town. By that time, I'd given up trying to make our captors actually think. They were military, which would generally mean that thinking was for officers only.

---

I know this because once, I was an officer. In Mehrunes Dagon's forces, I led the attack that took Ganonah, the city the locals call Kvatch. Which is why I got the blame when it was taken back, even though I wasn't there at the time. I was the officer, so I should have forseen the possibility, and not left the place under the command of a subordinate . Even though Dagon himself had sent me elsewhere, on an assignment beneath my station.

To make matters worse, the woman I'd been given as a reward for my success at Ganonah had turned on me. Admittedly, I'd probably been unfair in the way I treated her. Anger at Dagon can't be directed towards him, and she probably got the worst of my frustration. I was on guard duty - me, a Valkynaz, on guard duty! - inside the gate we'd opened near Bravil. That's where she killed me. A mere woman struck me down, with shock spells to weaken me, and a final blow from a mace! I was so proud of the way she did it, but of course, unable to tell her until I was restored.

And then, equally, I was in no position to do so, because I was somewhere else in Tamriel. I have no idea how long I was in the heatless flames of Oblivion waiting for restoration, but I expected to be restored in the Deadlands, in familiar territory. Clearly I'd lost even more of Dagon's regard by being slain by my own woman, and he'd sent me to guard another gate, this time from the outside.

I'd only been there a few hours, when the fire in the gate suddenly ceased, meaning the gate was closed, and I was stuck in the mortal world until Dagon decided to recall me. Given his recent actions, I did not imagine that happening soon.

---

Two centuries later, I'm still here. Each time I die, I'm restored to Tamriel, not the Deadlands. So stripping off my armour and wrestling a bear wasn't as much use as I thought it would be. It just lost me some useful equipment, and I had to replace it with lesser things that mortals had made. Since then, I've learned to make my own.

When these Imperial clowns have finished with me, I'll need to make some more, as they took everything when they put us on the carts. Since I'd just crawled out of my bedroll when the Stormcloaks arrived, I wasn't even wearing my armour, and they gave me some crude sack-cloth things to cover myself.

I can see Helgen gates now, so it looks like we'll be there in a few minutes. Hopefully there will be a competent officer in charge, and I'll be released.

---

The horse-thief the soldiers had rounded up with us didn't have any confidence in officers, and tried to run as soon as we got off the carts. He died in a volley of arrows.

There was a legionary calling the roll of prisoners, and lining us up for the General. I'd heard of this Tullius, and he seemed like a man who could think. I was confident that their mistake would soon be rectified.

Obviously, my name wasn't on their list. They didn't even know it yet, because I hadn't told them. The unthinking grunts hadn't asked; it wasn't their job. The legionary asked his commander, a woman, what he should do. This was as it should be, pass the decision-making up the chain, and do not take responsibility on yourself. I expected her in turn to ask Tullius, but she decided that she didn't need to bother him with this level of decision, and arbitrarily condemned me to join the others in line for the block.

Part of me admired her confidence in her own decisions, but most of me just wanted to kill her. I stared at the Captain, learning her features so I would know her if we met again. No, when we met again. Even if I had to return from the dead to kill her, and of course I would do so.

I was the second to the block. It had me thinking that I might even be returned before all the executions were complete, and how beautiful would be the justice if I could place her head on this very block in my next life. But then the dragon came, and everything was confusion.

---

I found myself running into a tower with one of the Stormcloaks. My hands were still bound, and he had nothing to cut the ropes. How he'd got his own free, I wasn't sure. We went looking for weapons, and eventually found some. With my hands loose, and an axe in one of them, I could determine my own fate.

And fate led my nemesis to me. The same Captain led a small group of Imperials into the chamber, and my Stormcloak allies helped me deliver justice. I took her armour, adjusted the straps to suit my very different shape, and put it on. Her ample chest meant that she wore a size large enough to protect a male, but it wasn't quite the right shape. I discarded the top half, even though it was plate that might have melted down. There was no smelter or forge here.

Ralof laughed when I tried it on. "We'll no doubt find you some more as we go further in," he predicted. "Probably not plate, but the regular Imperial armour isn't too bad. Of course, I can understand you not wanting to be mistaken for one of them. Especially not for a woman!"

I felt the thought he hadn't expressed. The hope that I wouldn't get the chance to take any Stormcloak amour. He didn't want to find any fallen comrades on our way out.

---

Some did fall, but they were crushed by the collapse of part of the buildings just after we passed, and out of our reach. I managed to add a basic long bow and some iron arrows, from an Imperial archer, but didn't bother to trade any armour. His covered more, but was thinner. We both picked up some potions, lockpicks and minor items as we passed through the cave beyond the dungeons. Some of those arrows went into fighting spiders and a bear.

Ralof and I parted company at the exit to the cave. He was going to head for another small town called Riverwood, where his sister lived. I was more inclined to try and head back towards my cave. I'd survived well enough in Tamriel by keeping away from the people, so going into town wasn't my first choice.

But I wasn't familiar with this part of Skyrim, so I ended up finding myself in the same town I was trying to avoid. It seemed that all the trails on this side of Helgen lead to the same place.

---

I went into the general store, hoping to trade some of the Imperial military junk I'd picked up for something a bit less tied to one side of the Civil War. I walked into the middle of an argument betwen the shopkeeper and his sister about something that had been stolen. Since he didn't seem to want to discuss trade until that subject was dealt with, I found myself agreeing to look for the missing item. I really had no intention of going to look for it, but his description intrigued me. It seemed to resemble a Clannfear Claw, something I hadn't seen for decades. I wondered if it actually was one that had been gilded as a trophy.

I got a decent trade for my goods, so apparently my agreement had put him in a good mood. His sister pointed out Bleak Falls Barrow on the hills at the other side of the valley as the likely place it had been taken. The map I'd bought put it on one of the trails that crossed the hills towards Whiterun, and I had to pass near that city to get back to the Rift and my cave. It was a bit longer that way, but why not take a look?

I suppose I was also looking forward to the prospect of some combat. There would be bandits this way, the ones that had stolen the claw at least, and the other route was a well-used road that would be relatively boring. I headed for the hills.

This post has been edited by ghastley: Jul 18 2016, 06:07 PM

[ghastley]

Acadian: We solved the mystery of the "no talking to Kothet" part, anyway. There's more to work out.

Renee: If he doesn't know Dagon better than mortals do by now ...

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Previously - The housecarl speaks, Kothet is speechless. Fade to black.

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20 - High Hrothgar

"Wait a moment," I said. "You mentioned talking to someone called 'Prizna', and it sounded like you were talking about a woman who used to belong to me. Does she have her own name now? I've got used to the mortals naming their women, but she was Dremora."

"Yes, didn't you know? Oh, no, I suppose you haven't been back to the Deadlands since all of that happened, have you? Of course it was a mortal that gave it to her, and she needed it because she was going to be living in Tamriel, where all the women have names."

"You'll be living in Tamriel, too, if I'm still stuck here. Did Dagon say if my exile is over?"

She shook her head. "No, he didn't tell me anything about that. I think he wants you to work that out for yourself. Maybe you have the choice of staying here or going back."

"And of course, I don't know Dagon's terms for my return, so I have no way of knowing if I want to do so. If it meant losing you, I wouldn't want it." I thought for a while. "And if I'm staying here, you'll need a name, won't you? Do you already have one?"

"No, and Dagon didn't say anything about one. Does that mean he doesn't expect me to stay here?"

"No, just that he wasn't telling you something that we have to work out for ourselves. I think you need a name, so we should choose one."

"I'm glad you said we should do it together. You've been here among the Nords long enough that you'd give me one of theirs. You know the kind I mean. Like Uthgerd the Unbroken, except that I'd probably end up as Jane the Jiggly, or something rude like that."

"Well, if I called you something as common as Jane, they'd have to explain which Jane they meant, and they'd add on whatever's memorable about you. But you need a proper Dremora name, which will avoid that problem."

"But there aren't any Dremora names for women," she reasonably pointed out.

"There are words in the ancient tongues that might be suitable," I countered. "What about 'Zahra', which means flower, or beautiful like a flower? Then you've got a name, and it already describes you."

She seemed to like that one, and I perhaps shouldn't have spoiled the mood by musing further. "Soft pink petals, overflowing with nectar ... why are you hitting me like that?"

---

This was the last thing I'd been waiting for: now I had my Daedric Armour, and she had a name, I could go and introduce us to the Greybeards. Of course, she wanted to know what she should wear. She didn't have any Daedric Armour, and we didn't have the materials to make her any.

"You're a mage, so wear mage clothes. Do you have something a bit more formal than your usual outfit?"

"You think that might be a bit too much for a bunch of old men?"

"Too little, maybe?"

She cast a small spell, and a black silk robe, trimmed in red, appeared around her. It covered her completely, but clung close to her curves.

"Is that warm enough for the top of a snow-covered mountain?"

"Of course. It's enchanted with frost resistance. They'll see that it's thin, and be able to work that out for themselves."

---

"And so, a Dragonborn appears at this moment in the turning of the age. I am Master Arngeir; I speak for the Greybeards."

"You call me Dragonborn, but how can a Kynaz, who was never born, be one?"

"Because that word is but a poor translation of 'Dovahkiin'. The Nords aquire their kinship through birth, which is why they use that term. Kin, Kyn, kiin - it is all the same word. You have a familial connection to the dragons, the same as you do to other Dremora."

"But what does that mean?"

"One aspect is that you learn the dragon language more easily than others. You have already learned 'Fus' and probably more. Let us taste of your voice."

I assumed that the old man knew what he was doing. I shouted "Fus" in his direction, and he staggered backward.

"It is true, then. You do have the power of the Voice. But it needs to be trained, if you would reach your full potential, and fulfill your destiny."

"What is my destiny?" I asked.

"That is for you to discover. We can show you the way, but not the destination. Master Einhart will teach you the next word of Unrelenting Force."

Another Greybeard stepped forward and spoke a single word "Ro". It didn't knock anyone around, perhaps because it was spoken alone, without the preceding "Fus". It did, however, cause a glowing word to appear on the floor, so I could read, as well as hear it.

Arngeir explained that it took them years of meditation to fully understand a word of power, but the Dovahkiin could learn one in moments, absorbing that knowledge from a dying dragon, as I had with Murmulnir.

I didn't have to kill any dragons to learn "Ro", as Einhart let me tap into his own knowledge of the word. It was much the same experience, and the understanding was just as complete.

They tested me further, creating phantom targets on which to use the greater two-word shout. When Arngeir deemed my progress enough, we went outside for the next stage. He wanted to see if I could learn a completely new shout.

Master Borri taught me the first word of Whirlwind Sprint, "Wuld", in much the same way as Einhart taught me "Ro". Then I had to demonstrate that shout, too. Finally, Arngeir sent me to collect the Horn of Jurgen WIndcaller from his tomb. I suspected that this would require me to use these shouts, in a practical trial of my ability.

---

"So, Zahra, what did you think of the Greybeards," I asked her.

"I prefer them to spiders, but they're still a bit creepy," she responded. "They way they look at you, but don't say anything, apart from that Arngeir."

"That reminds me of someone else," I pointed out. "And it's because their voices are too powerful, now. They don't want to blow us off the mountain."

"Where do we have to go to get this horn? I didn't recognise the name of the place."

"It's just a bit north of Morthal, and the vampires' lair we cleared out."

"The place where the guard said there were spiders out in the swamp?"

"Yes, but they wouldn't be any bigger then the ones you killed at Shor's Stone. It's too cold up there for the larger ones. What is your problem with spiders, anyway? You aren't afraid of anything else, even when you should be."

"It goes back a long way. I've always found the spider daedra a bit disgusting. When somebody told me about them sucking the insides out of their victims, and then putting on the skin if it was prettier than the one they had, it freaked me out completely. Especially as he implied I'd be a prime target for them."

"Well he was right about you being prettier than any of the spider daedra, but they don't actually feed like that. Or change their skin," I explained. "Real spiders, the ones here on Nirn, do feed that way, because they don't have any alternative. They don't have any way to bite, or chew. All they can do is stab with their fangs."

"Spider daedra just look like them, but they're not the same thing at all. They're not women, either," I continued. "And being ... cautious ... of spider daedra is just sensible. They're a mean and unpredictable lot at the best of times."

"You're making Nirn spiders sound worse than the daedra ones," she pointed out.

"They're less intelligent, can't do magic, and they don't like fire. What have you got to be afraid of?"

"Well, put like that, nothing but my own imagination. And I can get past it if I make myself angry enough. I just don't like them, and never will."