A Question of Fate Options

[SubRosa]

Acadian: Thankfully in Skyrim Elves Ear is a plant, not a pointy protuberance from a merish head.

Some canny behaviour on Val's part, in watching the man pull the lever and reveal the trap. Some (especially the followers in this game), would have just charged in and attacked him.

“Brains before brawn, my good man,”
Indeed.

That is some perfume!

The scroll from the Mages Guild offered us a two-for one deal in storytelling. On one hand you used it to reveal the fate of the new MG. On the other you also showed us one more glimpse of Val's aversion to magic.

Ewww, spiders. That is one thing I loath about this game.

And good old Arvel the Swift. Oblivion had Valen Dreth, Skyrim has him. And there he goes! Perhaps in the end he will prove as helpful as the first bandit was in the room with the poison darts?

[mALX]

I am loving the way Val's lifelong nightmares are just now beginning to tie into what is happening in Skyrim - that takes everything full circle, I love that!

I remember that first puzzle, lol.

Very much like that Val is looking through the chests ever expecting to find the claw - that makes it real. That is like the first time going into the world when we don't know what to expect - the most exciting play you will ever have is that first game when you never know what will happen next, and your story brings us there in such a way that it feels like we are going through it with Val - very Awesome Write !!!

And with that, Arvel turned and gave a superb example of why he had his nickname.

Supurb line! You are very talented with subtle lines like that, I LOVED that! Awesome Write !!!

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

First things first...I apologize for not getting to the stories I have been following this week. RL prevented such, but I will get some more in on Sunday. Also, in this installment, I have...borrowed?...stolen?...used an idea of other authors and included a screenshot in the story

@ Darkness Eternal - A lesson many Nord men need to learn . . . -- Must be Val's Bosmer half.

@ Acadian - As SubRosa pointed out, In Skyrim, Elves Ear is indeed a plant. If Buffy is still alive in 4E201, she neededn't fret about Val coming for her ears! You can read about it here.

@ SubRosa - Some canny behaviour on Val's part, in watching the man pull the lever and reveal the trap. -- While playing this character in the game for this story, this was the first time I actually saw the fellow alive. He is usually dead by the time I get to that room. Thus the inspiration for that scene.

@ mALX - Very much like that Val is looking through the chests ever expecting to find the claw - that makes it real. -- This harkens back to a rant that J. Cloudy had in a comment about an earlier chapter. In "reality", Val would have no way of knowing where the claw was. I'm glad you liked that touch.

*****
@ Everyone - As always, thanks to all of you for your comments and kind words. On to the story...
*****

Previously - In Bleak Falls Barrow, Valrimor had managed to solve a puzzling lock to a closed gate, and then discovered Arvel the Swift stuck in a spider’s web and set him free, a little too successfully…

Chapter 15 – Successes

21st Last Seed, 4E201 – Continued

As Arvel turned and ran, I threw the dagger at him. He was much too quick and the knife merely bounced off the wall of the passageway. I stood there for a moment, my rage boiling over. Balls of flame burst to life in my hands. I raised my arms and yelled a curse at the top of my lungs, blasting fire down the tunnel until my inner source of power was exhausted. When I had finished, my anger had been replaced by uneasiness and concern.

What is going on with me? Why am I suddenly prone to these fits of rage? Worse yet, where is my self control?

Disgusted with myself, I started out after Arvel, picking up my dagger along the way. The air reeked with the odor of burnt dust and cobwebs, accentuating my self-loathing. The passage twisted into a room that had a raised dais to one side and several of the urns I had been seeing throughout the barrow. I did not take time to search the room, as I knew Arvel possessed what I had come for. Besides, I wanted to track the little fetcher down and have my way with him. A loud noise and a short scream echoed from the opening at the far end of the room. I continued my pursuit, following those sounds through another twisting passage that had started sloping downward into yet another chamber. Up ahead, something was moving, so I stopped and ducked into the shadows. It appeared to be humanoid, but it was definitely not Arvel. I could hear a low, guttural sound, akin to a growl. Whatever it was, it was also armed. I could see the shape of its axe silhouetted against the light of a brazier.

I eased back further into the shadows to plan a strategy. The room appeared to be a mausoleum, with open sided shelves for interring the deceased. Some of the shelves were empty and others were occupied. The hairs on my arms and neck suddenly stood at attention when one of the occupants began to move! I quickly nocked an arrow and shot at the creature that was now standing, hitting it in the center of its chest. It kept coming, growling and glaring at me with glowing blue eyes. I sent a second arrow through the creature’s sternum and it dropped to the floor, presumably dead again. One of its roommates must have been alerted by the noise, as it too rose from the dead. Two arrows later, it was also down, but now the original creature I had seen was charging at me with its axe raised and growling fiercely. It swung just as I dodged to the side and the axe blade missed me by mere inches. I back pedaled as I nocked an arrow and shot, missing the charging corpse completely. It was on me again in an instant, with a persistence that would rival the living. I used my bow like a shield while drawing my sword. With one good parry, I was able to knock it off balance. Now that I had the advantage, I pressed the attack, beating the undead creature backward until I was able to find an opening for a final thrust. It soon joined its comrades in what I hoped would be eternal rest.

Taking a moment to catch my breath, I surveyed the crypt for more attacking dead things. None were about, so I sheathed my sword and continued my chase. The pursuit was short and was completed when I reached the other end of the chamber. Arvel the Swift, who had once been Arvel the Stuck, was now Arvel the Deceased. The Dunmer was pinned to a large spiked gate. Points of iron protruded from his body, most notably the one between his eyes. Those eyes were still open, rolled upward and exposing nothing but the reds. His mouth hung open, having released its final scream minutes earlier. The thief must have snagged a trip wire or hit a pressure plate during his sprint and released this trap, which in turn must have roused the first creature I had seen.

I quickly searched Arvel’s body, being careful of where I stepped. He did indeed have the claw, as well as a journal and some coin that he wouldn’t be spending any time soon. I took all of this and placed it in my pack. I checked again for more undead antagonists, especially down the passage that I had not ventured into yet. Part of me was curious about something Arvel had said while he was still Arvel the Stuck.

“Yes, yes, the claw…I know how it works…The claw, the markings, the door to The Hall of Stories…I know how it all fits together,” he had said. He had also said something about great power that the ancient Nords had left behind. It must be something truly valuable for him to throw caution to the wind and run deeper into the barrow the way he had. I pondered all of this for a few minutes, seriously debating if I should finish what Arvel had started.

Forget it. You succeeded in getting the claw. Get out of this Gods forsaken hole and return it to Lucan.

I pulled a torch from my pack, lit it, and headed back for the main entrance to the barrow. During the walk back, I took the time to examine my surroundings more closely. The first thing I looked at was one of my dead again attackers. The creature appeared to have been human once. Where it had gotten the strength to heft its axe the way it had was beyond me. Its body was shriveled and desiccated, almost mummified. There was no blood at all where it had been wounded, even where I had delivered the killing thrust. I shuddered with a sudden chill and moved on.

Most of the walls and columns were etched deeply with swirling patterns that made no sense to me. They reminded me of the whorls that one has upon their fingertips. The room that had the dais must have been some type of burial preparation room. Odd shaped tools and bundles of old linen were lying about. Ancient stains on a table top gave the impression of dried blood. By the time I reached the bandit camp near the entrance of the barrow, I was tired and hungry. I decided to rest here before returning to Riverwood. I pulled some bread and cheese from my pack and had a small meal, then washed it down with some water.

Gods, I would dearly love some ale right now…

With that unanswered prayer, I bedded down and tried to sleep. The thought of what happened after I threw the dagger at Arvel crept into my thoughts. I had promised myself a long time ago that such an incident would never happen again, and now it had happened twice within a day. I rolled over and forced those thoughts away into a fitful sleep.

* * *

22nd Last Seed, 4E201

After a quick breakfast of apples, cheese, and bread, I headed out for Riverwood. The snowstorm had passed, and I had to squint against the sun glare off of the fresh snow. It was still windy and bitterly cold. I would definitely need to invest in gloves and a scarf when I returned to Lucan’s shop. The trip back was uneventful, but wading through thigh deep snow was arduous. It wasn’t until I neared the snow line on the mountainside that the walk became easier. The rest of the downhill walk might as well have been a leisurely stroll in the woods. When I entered the settlement, I saw Hod walking toward the mill. I waved and smiled, but he just nodded back and went about his business.

Shrugging off Hod’s cold shoulder, I went straight for the inn. Lucan could wait a bit because I wanted a drink. Orgnar was at his customary station behind the bar. He smiled – if you could call that grimace of his a smile – and motioned for me to come over, saying, “I have something for you to try.”

I pulled up a stool as Orgnar filled a tankard from a cask in a rack behind the bar. He placed it on the bar and said, “Enjoy! First draught from a new cask is always free.”

Ahhh…finally succeeded in getting some ale!

I raised the mug and took a sip. It was delicious! The ale had a smooth flavor punctuated with a tangy aftertaste. I asked him what it was.

Screenshot

“That, kind sir, is Sleeping Giant Ale,” beamed Orgnar. “When I got ready to toss the bad ale, I discovered that I still had this one cask left that hadn’t turned. After our discussion the other day, I figured you to be an ale enthusiast. So, what do you think?”

“It’s great. What gives it the tanginess?” I asked.

“It’s Snowberries. I dry them and mix them in with the hops. Not too much, mind you, but enough to give it that little pop at the end.”

I finished that one and had two more, along with a bowl of soup. Feeling much better, I gave Orgnar enough money for the ales, the food, and a room for the night. I wanted to clean the foulness of the barrow off before going to see Lucan. When I went to my room and unloaded my gear, I came across Arvel’s journal. I took a seat in the chair and read it. It didn’t shed much more light on the subject of what he was looking for. It did have one line in quotations that caught my eye, “If you have the Golden Claw, the Key is in the Palm of your Hand.” It was cryptic, to say the least. I took out the claw and examined it closely for the first time. There were three long talons, all curving to near perpendicular with what would be the palm or sole of a hand or foot. The detailed workmanship was exquisite. I flipped it over and discovered three symbols on the underside. There was an owl, a bear, and a butterfly. Arvel had mentioned markings. Could this have been what the quote referred to?

Bah! Let Lucan figure it out. He can go spelunking amongst the walking dead if he wants. Maybe he’ll pay extra for the journal.

I put the claw back in my pack and cleaned myself up at the basin. Feeling very refreshed after food, ale, and soap, I left the inn for Lucan’s shop. When I entered the Riverwood Trader, Lucan smiled and said he was glad to see I had made it back. I started to reply, but he cut me off with an inquiry about the claw. I pulled it from my pack with a grin and proclaimed, “Feast your eyes on the sweet sight of success!”

[Acadian]

Whew! Thanks to you and SubRosa for putting Buffy at ease that her big ears are not on someone's alchemy list.

A tense fight with some undead surprises!

Arvel the Deceased with open lids showing only the reds of his eyes! I loved that Dunmerism. Yup, traps and ‘the Swift’ don’t mix well in dungeons.

Finally, home safely and a great screenshot of Val enjoying a celebratory mug.

And we’re left with a couple mysteries. First, will Val sort out his temper and what has recently caused it to resurface after apparently being rather controllable for quite some time. Secondly, I wonder if he’ll simply hand the claw to Lucan and be done with it, or if he’ll become involved in its alluring puzzle.

[SubRosa]

Val is still losing his temper. In a spectacular fashion too. Though at least this time there were no bad consequences.

Val's first encounter with draugr went pretty well.

I see Val decided that discretion is the better part of valor. Or as the saying goes: There are old adventurers, and bold adventurers, but no old bold adventurers.

Gods, I would dearly love some ale right now…
I get the feeling that is coming up soon...

I loved your description of Orgnar's smile as being a grimace. It adds some flavor to him.

And there is the ale!

I get the sneaking suspicion that Val is not through with Bleak Falls Barrow just yet. But we shall see...

[mALX]

Loved the screenshot, is that a pose mod to catch him drinking ale like that? Very nice!

Looks like Hod is still carrying a grudge over a grasped arm, lol. Don't tick off a Nord, lol.

Speaking of not ticking off Nords, it is really interesting that Val is just as concerned and curious as the reader over his temper bouts, hope he didn't inherit some bad gene from his father's side!

Snowberries in the beer, Val needs to carry that keg with him and sip it while fighting Draugr!

I'm with SubRosa on the "grimace" for a smile - really nice descriptive choice!

Awesome Write!

[Darkness Eternal]

So the guilt of rage begins to seep in the mind of our dear Val. That fire blast was impressive, and it does show how devasting Val can be with magicka. I don't suppose he'll control a pack of wolves or a herd of mammoths with his racial power to rampage through cities? Certainly might seem capable if his anger boils over to that point.

The fight between him and the Draugr was good, and creepy when put into perspective. I felt the hairs of my arms raise too just picturing undead Nordic mummies running to me with axes.

Arvel the Swift, who had once been Arvel the Stuck, was now Arvel the Deceased.

I got a kick out of this line! Pretty soon he'll be Arvel the Forgotten as that place was made his tomb. After he got the claw, I cheered when he was reunited with some of that ale and some good breakfest to fill his belly. Nothing better. All he needs is a woman at his side . . . no? Too soon?

Good read!

[jack cloudy]

Spent some time reading today and got all caught up. First a random thing that has always bothered me. Namely, the bandit at the trapped gate. Arvel the careless has gone through already, suggesting that the puzzle had been solved. But when Val (or any player) gets there, the gate is closed and the mechanism is set to kill, not open. Did it automatically reset and the bandit didn't check, or did the bandit close it behind Arvel and then mess around with it so he could kill himself later.

Thinking about it now, I'm going with the automatic reset. It makes the bandit seem less stupid.


Val's inherited temper is worrying for sure, but I do like to see that after his outburst he doesn't fall apart. He worries of course, but he still keeps his attention at the more pressing matters of the moment. I also liked how Val didn't trust the thief for a second, but freed him anyway cause he's not a coldblooded murderer.


And yeah, the first time I entered a barrow and the corpses got up, I freaked out. I'd never seen anything like it happen in Oblivion or Morrowind. Rest assured that I very soon picked up the habit of making sure any corpses were actual corpses.

[Grits]

OK, catching up!

I loved how Val looked forward to his afternoon walk in the woods.

Wow, the whole icy bridge scene was fun to read!

Whoa, Val’s anger management could become a big issue. His current method of dealing with it (apply alcohol, pretend it’s not a problem) doesn’t sound like a long-term plan. I am of course thoroughly rooting for Val in all situations, so you’re making me feel some real concern for him!

Oh, that dream. “Come as I know you must.” *shiver* I’m seeing hints that Val will have some business with dragons.

So…don’t pull the lever….yet…

Caution? That’s the Bosmer blood talking.

I’m enjoying the potion names!

Those eyes were still open, rolled upward and exposing nothing but the reds.

Gross, very clever, and also LOL.

When I entered the settlement, I saw Hod walking toward the mill. I waved and smiled, but he just nodded back and went about his business.

Just one of many delightful moments between your characters that come across as so clear and true.

Love the screenshot! Every time Val thinks about the puzzle and that claw I wonder which of his arguing sides will win.

(Regarding the gate lever trap, I always thought that Arvel closed it behind himself since he was trying to pull a fast one on his fellow thieves.)

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

First things first...

@ Acadian - And we’re left with a couple mysteries. -- Not for long...

@ SubRosa - I loved your description of Orgnar's smile as being a grimace. -- The guy comes off as such a cold fish, doesn't he?

@ mALX - Loved the screenshot, is that a pose mod to catch him drinking ale like that? -- That is part of a mod, but not a pose mod. It is part of this mod. Glad you liked it.

@ Darkness Eternal - Pretty soon he'll be Arvel the Forgotten as that place was made his tomb. -- Not soon enough for Val I'm afraid...

@ jack cloudy - Regarding the gate...Thinking about it now, I'm going with the automatic reset. It makes the bandit seem less stupid. -- In game, on the other side, there is a pull chain that resets the trap. Like Grits said after your post, I always assumed Arvel reset it before he became Arvel the Stuck.

@ Grits - Welcome back from "self-imposed exile"! Great to have you back and I do hope it was enjoyable (as if the beach could not be). His current method of dealing with it (apply alcohol, pretend it’s not a problem) -- This is definitely one of Val's biggest problems in life, drinking his troubles away.

*****
@ All Of You - A heartfelt thanks once again for your support and comments. As always, they mean a great deal to me.
****

Previously - Valrimor had fought thieves and Draugr to find the Golden Claw and has returned to The Riverwood Trader with Lucan’s stolen artifact…

Chapter 16 – Business then Northward

22nd Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

Lucan’s eyes went as wide as his smile. He came out from behind the counter, took the claw from me, and shook my hand while thanking me for a job well done. Then he returned to his counter and placed the claw on a small stand that appeared to be designed for it, setting both on a display shelf behind him. I stood there a moment, and then made a theatrical throat-clearing sound.

“Oh yes, your payment,” he said as he reached under the counter, “Here you are.” He tossed me a leather pouch full of coins. I didn’t bother counting it in front of him. I knew where to find him if it was short.

“Listen,” I said, “the thief that had the claw also wrote a journal about how he knew what it was for. Would that be worth anything to you?”

“Not really. I don’t care what it’s for. I just like the thing. And who knows? Maybe some collector of rare artifacts will purchase it for twice what I paid you to retrieve it,” Lucan postulated with a greedy grin.

“Then that would make the journal valuable as well, if you sold them as a set,” I suggested, raising a brow to emphasize the idea.

Lucan pondered the idea for a moment and then offered store credit for the journal because he couldn’t spare any more Septims. I agreed and handed over the journal. He shook my hand again to seal the deal. I used some of that credit immediately to stock up on food, purchasing enough for two days on the road. Lucan began making a list, writing furiously as I started snatching items from his shelves. Bread, cheese, jerked venison, some apples, and bottled water were all going into my pack as fast as I could grab them. I also found a pair of gloves and a scarf, adding them to my pack as Lucan continued to scribble away. I didn’t know how far Whiterun was, and I wasn’t going anywhere again without some cold weather gear. Thanking Lucan, who was still dutifully listing items on my tab, I left The Riverwood Trader. I planned on spending the rest of the day here in Riverwood. I had become solvent enough to restock my quiver and get some decent food and rest before going to see the Jarl in Whiterun. So my next stop was Alvor’s shop to fill my quiver with new arrows. After that, I spent the afternoon in the woods harvesting alchemical agents and trying to relax. I returned to the inn at dusk.

Delphine was using the alchemy lab when I entered, so I went over to the bar to order some supper and a goblet of wine. This evening’s special was venison steaks with baked potatoes and grilled leeks. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the food was placed before me. In what seemed like mere moments, I was washing the last bite down with my second goblet of wine. Sated and seeing that Delphine was finished with her elixirs, I rose and carried a recently refilled wine goblet over to the alchemy table.

Thistle and purple mountain flower were plentiful near the settlement. I had collected enough to concoct several vials of potion for resisting the effects of cold. My mother used to call it “Fuzzy Blanket”, and would add some to our food on particularly cold nights in Bruma. That sudden memory stung me deeply. I slugged down the rest of my goblet to push the thought away and refocused on the task at hand. I had also found plenty of blue mountain flowers and captured several butterflies, so I stocked up on fresh healing potions. I cleaned up the station when I finished, paid Orgnar his fee, and had one more wine before I went to bed for the night.

* * *

23rd Last Seed, 4E201

The thought of food turned my stomach. The previous night’s libations had effectively killed any appetite for breakfast. After some hot herbal tea to ease the effects, I headed out into a morning that was grey and damp. I frowned at the sky and at the moisture hitting my upturned face. It was not the perfect traveling weather to be sure, but at least the rain was not much heavier than a steady mist. I headed north from Riverwood, crossing the bridge and turning right to continue following the river along the west bank. My mood was as bleak as the day. I had slept fitfully, even with a head full of wine, plagued by dreams that were not the least bit pleasant. The recurring dragon dream in particular still hung in my thoughts like the threatening clouds above me. There was a new twist to the nightmare this time. The dragon that was speaking was the very same dragon that had attacked Helgen. I will never forget that view I had from the headsman’s block, those red eyes peering into my very soul. It was definitely the same beast.

“Come as you must and as I have foreseen, but in the end, you will grovel before me,” the dragon had said.

I have never been one to put much stock in dreams. Except for the fact that I had actually encountered this particular beast, none of my dreams have ever come true, so why bother? Still, the vision haunted me, along with thoughts of my outbursts at the barrow. All of this kept my spirits low as I continued my journey northward.

My distracted and depressed state was almost my undoing. Instead of being alert, I was just shuffling along, looking down at the road, oblivious to my surroundings. Suddenly there was growl and I was knocked off my feet by a leaping wolf. Fortunately, the snapping jaws had not been able to make a purchase on my armor. The wolf’s momentum carried it off of me and sent it tumbling into the grass. A second wolf charged from the brush just as I had readied my sword to face the first, and knocked the blade from my grip. It clattered down the rocky roadway out of my reach. There was no time to unsling my bow and nock an arrow as both wolves quickly regained their footing and turned to charge again. With nothing else to do, I turned and ran. The wolves began pursuit immediately. I knew there was no way I could outrun the beasts. I caught a glimpse of a low hanging branch ahead of me and I made an all or nothing gambit to leap for the bough. It paid off as I swung upward onto the branch inches above the snarling fangs of my attackers. The branch creaked and groaned under my weight, but held as the wolves circled and growled below me. The palms of my hands burned with scrapes from the tree bark.

You got deer pellets for brains, Val! You know better than to shamble along like wolves don’t even exist!

Now that I was out of their reach, it was a simple matter. I reached inward for my animal command and instantly had the wolves at each other instead being interested in eating me. I sent a few arrows down from my perch and in moments both wolves were dead and yielding their pelts. I tossed their carcasses into the brush and retrieved my sword. Now I was angry instead of depressed, but definitely more alert as I continued along my route. The road began a series of sharp switchbacks as the grade became very steep. The river was roaring down a series of falls to my right, and I stopped for a moment to watch the salmon struggling to make their way upstream. I could relate to their exercise, as much of my life had seemed to be an upstream battle. I looked further north to discover that the forest was giving way to tundra covered plains. If the weather had been better, the view would have been breathtaking. I could just make out the dim silhouette of a city in the distance, shrouded in grey mist. Presumably that would be Whiterun. It was at that moment that it hit me…

I used Magicka…without even thinking twice about it. I just did it…like it was natural. Damnit Val! You swore an oath over thirty years ago. And now look at you…using your temper like a blast furnace and willing animals as though it was an everyday thing! What in Oblivion is wrong with you?

I shuddered and forced myself to walk, grumbling curses under my breath. To keep my mind from wandering back to nightmares, Magicka, and upstream battles, I focused on my surroundings and collected alchemical ingredients as I walked. Mountain flowers of every type were readily available, as well as mora tampinella fungus, thistle, lavender, and then tundra cotton. I also managed to snag a few butterflies. At the bottom of the hill, my way had reached a crossroads. A sign posted at the corner advised a left turn to get to Whiterun. I dutifully obeyed, walking away from the river. There was a building just ahead on the left. When I was close enough to read the placard that swayed in the breeze, my mouth began watering. “Honningbrew Meadery” it proclaimed, with a stylized beehive beneath the script.

Maybe they have tours with free samples…

Free samples or not, nothing brings me out a funk better than some good mead. I decided that the Jarl could wait a bit while I quenched my thirst and shed this dismal mood. Inside, the main room looked like that of a typical tavern. There was an array of tables and chairs, and a bar along the back wall. A balding man, slight of build, stood behind the bar.

“Good afternoon,” the man said with a Cyrodillic accent, “I am Sabjorn, owner and proprietor of Honningbrew Meadery.”

“And a good day to you as well,” I replied, “I’ve recently tried some of your mead for the first time. I must say that it was some of the best mead I have ever tasted.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” Sabjorn beamed, “We use only the finest natural honey, not that sludge you will find at Goldenglow Farms.”

“It appears you serve food here as well. I’d like to order some supper and a bottle of your product.”

“Certainly,” said Sabjorn. He handed me a menu and said he would take my order when he returned with my mead. While I waited, I could hear a steady dull droning sound. Looking around, I was unable to discern the source. I asked Sabjorn about it when he returned.

“It’s the bees,” he replied, giving me an odd little glance, as if I should have known that. He placed the bottle of mead and an empty grail on the bar in front of me and then went on to explain, “Their hives are right outside the back door. This time of day, they are returning from their pollen gathering, so the buzzing is more noticeable.”

“I see…well…I am ready to order. I’ll have a bowl of the fish soup please.”

“That is an excellent choice, sir. I shall return shortly,” he said, giving a slight nod and another odd look before going back to the kitchen. I filled the grail with mead and took a healthy swig. It was just as tasty as the other night, but still just a touch sweeter than I was used to. Sabjorn returned with my soup and asked if I would care for anything else.

“Actually, there is something. I would love a tour of your facility-”

“I knew it! You’re no customer in off the road. You’re a spy, sent by those envious mongrels at Goldenglow or Black-Briar! Get out!” he yelled, snatching away the bowl of soup and bottle of mead.

With that, the little bald mead-maker stormed off into the kitchen. I stood there, jaw agape and befuddled. Apparently, the mead business was very competitive around here. Shrugging, I quaffed the rest of what was in my grail and walked out.

EDIT: Nit picked...

This post has been edited by ThatSkyrimGuy: Jul 16 2013, 11:14 PM

[mALX]

*

That mod sounds great!

First off, I love the way you are dating this, almost like Val is keeping a diary of his daily actions - really nice idea!

The wolf attacks - I couldn't believe how many of those wolves there were, I couldn't get five feet without hearing a growl till I leveled up a bit, lol. (then it was saber cats, but not half as many of them).

I love Val's idea of climbing the tree - at first I thought he'd be stuck up there for days, lol. It is always so interesting when he has fights, he so rarely has an easy victory, something always happens - that makes it interesting, Love that about this story! Grits's story is the same way, something different always happens that sends the fight into a whole different and fascinating direction, you two both have a knack for keeping the reader's interest in battle!

ROFL !!! Spies! I loved this! I don't know how I missed it, but I never saw this brewery! Loved this update, keep up the great work! Awesome Write!


*

[Acadian]

So Val earns enough septims and credit to fill both belly and quiver. And get some proper cold weather gear as well. The only thing missing is. . . oh, there it is: Wine! Uh oh. . . now Val’s cooking potions while drinking.

Not a very good night, between wine sloshing in his belly and dragons filling his head. But it’s on the road again the next morning – notably distracted. I remember the last time he was walking along distracted and got surprised. . .

. . . Wolves!

‘You got deer pellets for brains, Val! You know better than to shamble along like wolves don’t even exist!’ - -

Commanding the wolves seemed as natural as breathing to me as well, but I can see why Val, with his dislike of magic, is troubled by it.

Hmm, let’s try mead tonight and see if it causes less trouble than the wine of the previous evening. Drat! Doesn’t that mead maker recognize and appreciate a mead connoisseur when he meets one?!?


Nit - - ‘You sore an oath over thirty years ago.’ - - I’m thinking you meant ‘swore’ an oath?

[SubRosa]

Then he returned to his counter and placed the claw on a small stand that appeared to be designed for it, setting both on a display shelf behind him.
This was a nice touch. It's no wonder it was stolen. The way he puts it right on the front counter in the game I have trouble not taking it! At least in your world, everybody who walks in the shop is not going to take it by accident too.

Love Val's hondling to sell Arvel's Journal. His logic is indeed airtight.

What a wonderful description of Fuzzy Blanket and its use, complete with the bad memory it dredged up.

So hungover, tired, and morose, Val is trudging north to Jarl Ballin's rocking fun house. No wonder he missed those wolves on the way. They did not miss him however!

Maybe they have tours with free samples…
This had me grinning. It is exactly the sort of thing I have come to expect from Val!

Val an industrial spy! Oh noes! At least he got to finish his mead before he was thrown out.

[Grits]

Aww, Fuzzy Blanket!

That was a disquieting walk down from Riverwood after an unsettling night, and then the mishap at the meadery! No refuge there for Val.

I really enjoyed this update. I hope Val will find some friendly faces in Whiterun, even though he carries some scary news.

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

First things first...

As always, I want to thank everyone that commented on the previous installment. You all spur me to keep writing with your kind comments. Thanks!

@ mALX - I actually started putting dates because of the Interludes, since they needed to be dated to give perspective. And since this is a journal of sorts, the fit was natural.

@ Acadian - Commanding the wolves seemed as natural as breathing to me as well, but I can see why Val, with his dislike of magic, is troubled by it. -- An Interlude is coming soon that is finally going to explain in detail why Val is so anti-Magicka...stay tuned.

@ SubRosa - So hungover, tired, and morose, Val is trudging north to Jarl Ballin's rocking fun house. -- When I saw the "Jarl Ballin" reference, I had to laugh at the memory of that video...too funny!

@ Grits - Aww, Fuzzy Blanket! -- I have been trying to give potions names, instead of their generic titles. Fuzzy Blanket seemed like something a mother would name a Resist Frost potion. Glad you liked it.

*****

Author's Note - Many of you have played Skyrim and are familiar with the NPC Aela the Huntress. For those of you that haven't played the game, please do not confuse her with Aela from SubRosa's current story. She is a completely diffferent character. Since Aela the Huntress plays such a small role in my story, I didn't bother changing her name.

*****

Previously -Valrimor had made his way to the outskirts of Whiterun, after a close call with wolves. He has just been kicked out of Honningbrew Meadery by the owner, who believed he was a competitor’s spy…

Chapter 17 – Whiterun

23rd Last Seed, 4E201 – Continued

I was still shaking my head after Sabjorn’s outburst, and I was still thirsty. I headed west on the road again, determined to get to Whiterun and more libations as soon as possible. The clouds had broken, and the lowering sun was sending golden shafts of light through the breaks in the western sky. The landscape was almost treeless. Grasses that had browned in the late summer sun stretched across the tundra for as far as the eye could see. A large creek flowed eastward into the river that I had followed north from Riverwood. Farms dotted the low rolling hills near the city. I was approaching one of these when I noticed activity in a field near the road. I could not believe my eyes as I drew closer to the farm. A giant, brandishing a monstrous club, was in a battle with three men. I had heard that there were giants in Skyrim, but I had dismissed the idea as legend.

Just like dragons are legends…

The battle had ended by the time I reached back for my bow. Leaving it slung, I broke into a trot toward the field. The giant lay slain and two of the warriors were tending to the third that appeared to have been wounded during the fight. As I arrived, one of them stood and faced me. She was a fit and attractive Nord, with dark war paint making three diagonal stripes across her face. She wore tight fitting armor that accentuated her figure. The open areas, while pleasing to the eye, left too many vulnerable points for what I considered to be adequate protection.

“Paint a picture, it will last longer, and wipe that drool from your chin while you’re at it,” she scoffed as I suddenly realized I was staring. I wiped what must have been some left over mead from my beard and started to apologize, but she cut me off, “And thanks for the help, by the way.”

“What happened here?” I asked, a little put off by her demeanor.

“You’re not very observant for a drooling gawker. A giant attacked the farm. What did you think happened?” she retorted.

“First of all, that was mead, not drool! Second, why are you brow beating me? You don’t even know me!” I barked back angrily.

“So you do have a spine,” she replied with a wry grin, “We could have used your help here. Now one of my Shield-Sisters is down while your weapons remain stowed.”

She looked back down at her fallen comrade, and my gaze followed. A male Nord in steel armor was tending to the wounded Shield-Sister. Just then, he looked up and said, “Ria’s going to be fine, Aela. Her shoulder was dislocated, but I have popped it back into place. We should get her back to Jorrvaskr so she can rest.”

Aela looked back at me, sizing me up with her eyes, and said, “You look like you could hold your own in a fight. You should consider joining the Companions, unless that blade on your hip is merely decoration.”

I bit my tongue and overlooked the provocation by asking, “And what are the Companions?”

“We are a group of honorable warriors that lend a hand when trouble shows its face. Well, when the coin is right, that is,” she replied.

The word “coin” got my complete attention. I had been a hired bow many times before, although not always as an “honorable warrior”. The Nord had helped Ria to her feet. Aela took position at her Shield-Sister’s other side. The two uninjured Companions aided the third to start walking down the road.

“Wait,” I said, “If I were interested in joining your group, who would I speak to, and where might they be found?”

“Kodlak Whitemane. You will find him in the halls of Jorrvaskr, in Whiterun. He will ultimately decide if you are worthy of being a Companion,” Aela replied over her shoulder as they walked away.

I turned back to the beast that lay dead before me. I had never seen a giant before, and I was interested in examining this second legend that had come to life out of stories. If it were standing, the giant would easily have been double my height. It appeared to be male, an assumption I made because it had a beard and no clothing above the waist. It was very well muscled with pale grey skin. The only clothing it wore was a fur loin cloth adorned with a troll skull. My attention went to his cudgel lying next to his body. The enormous weapon appeared to be the trunk of a small tree that had a large stone bound into its roots by leather straps. I tried to heft the club and could barely get my hands around it, let alone lift it off the ground, attesting to the brute strength of the creature. I would certainly be sure to steer clear of any of its kind if I came across them.

As farm workers headed toward me, presumably to remove the huge corpse, I turned and headed toward Whiterun. The three Companions had already moved on out of sight. The sun was setting now, and casting a brilliant orange glow to the underside of the retreating violet clouds. I passed another farm before reaching a sign that directed me up a side road toward the north. This took me past a stable and up to the gate of the city proper, where I was met by a torch bearing guard.

“Halt! The city is closed with dragons about. Official business only!” stated the guard in a stern tone. He wore an ochre colored tabard draped over his mail armor and a full face conical helmet that had a small spike at the top.

“The Jarl already knows of the dragon attack?” I asked.

“Of course he does. Who do you think ordered the city gates closed?” he replied.

“Well, I have been asked by the citizens of Riverwood to speak to the Jarl on their behalf, regarding the defense of their village,” I stated in my best official sounding voice.

“Riverwood is in danger too? You better go on in then. You will find the Jarl in Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill. This way,” the guard directed.

As we walked toward the gate, I asked the guard about a place to sleep for the night. He suggested The Bannered Mare, saying the food and drink were good and reasonably priced. After he opened the gate, the guard pointed down the main street.

"Just follow it to the end and you can't miss it," he said.

"Thanks," I replied, and then I entered the city of Whiterun.

Ah, an actual city! First order of business, a room and some ale at this Bannered Mare…the Jarl can wait ‘til morning…

Lit braziers were strategically placed along the street, providing light that was just now becoming beneficial in the dusk. The buildings reminded me of Bruma, which sent a momentary pang of sorrow through my heart. I shoved that pain aside, replacing it with my elation at being back in civilization. I have always liked cities. Many have asked me how this could be, being Bosmer and all. While it is true that the woodlands sing to my heart, there is also a part of me that can’t resist the lure of a smokey tavern, with ale and music that beckon to my inner Nord. Contests of skill and chance, like dice or darts, mixed with the camaraderie of like-minded folk sharing jokes, or tales of heroic deeds. I was looking forward to finding such at The Bannered Mare.

As I walked up the street, I could not help but overhear a portion of conversation between a man and woman in front of a blacksmith’s shop. Something about making weapons for the Imperials. That’s when I looked closer and noticed the man was wearing Imperial armor. I suddenly remembered that I should be wary of Imperial soldiers. I looked away quickly and sped up, lest I be recognized as an escaped prisoner from Helgen.

At the end of the main street was a small plaza. Several kiosks dotted the perimeter, obviously vendor’s shops that had closed for the evening. I could hear music, and a mixture of laughing and singing, coming from the building in front of me. It was fairly large, with multiple levels. A steep roof with large wooden shingles obviously designed to shed snow quickly in the winter added to the inn’s height. Each gable was crowned with a horse head of carved wood. The sign in front confirmed this to be my destination, The Bannered Mare. I entered and immediately smiled as I took in the aromas of food and pipe smoke. The patrons were all enjoying the music and the company of their fellows. A voice shouted from the bar.

“Come in and sit down. We just stoked the fire,” beckoned the female publican.

I saw no reason at all not to oblige her. In a similar style to The Sleeping Giant, this inn had a long fire pit that ran through the center of the main hall. Perhaps all inns in Skyrim had this feature. I found an open space to sit and was met with the welcoming smile of a beautiful Redguard serving girl.

“Can I get you food, or drink, or something else?” she asked.

I eyed her up and down, then smiled and said, “A mug of ale would be fine for now.”

She returned my smile and promised to return quickly. I looked around the room. Almost every seat was filled with people from all stations of society. There were well dressed wealthy folk and armored fighting types. At one table was an overly inebriated man in threadbare peasant’s garb that could barely hold his head up. At another sat a Nordic woman with a face as hard as her steel armor. The two serving girls were kept busy, both with orders for food and drink, and with keeping the hands of men clear of their backsides.

My server soon returned with my ale. I thanked her and asked who I should speak to about renting a room. She pointed me to the woman behind the bar and said, “Speak to Hulda. She is the owner.” Just then, a drunken man grabbed her and spun her around. He tried to get her to dance with him, but instead, he tripped and landed hard on his behind. This incited a round of raucous laughter from all that had witnessed it, including myself. I raised my stein and downed the entire contents without stopping, then got up to go talk to Hulda about a room.

This is my kind of place…

I squeezed in between two men that were seated at the bar and raised my mug to get Hulda’s attention. She spotted me straight away and came over.

“You need a refill?” she asked.

“Sure, and the serving girl said I would need to see you about renting a room,” I replied.

“That’s correct. I have one room left. Ten Septims for the night,” Hulda said as she took my stein toward a cask.
When she returned, I paid her for the ale and the room. Hulda placed the coins in a pocket of her apron and said, “Thank you. Come, I’ll show you to your room,” then hollered to one of the serving girls, “Saadia, watch the bar while I show this guest to his room.”

The Redguard serving girl that had tended to me earlier walked behind the bar as the publican led me to my room. Hulda was a Nord and attractive for her age, having kept her figure through the years. My eyes could not help but notice the sway below her apron strings as we made our way upstairs.

"Here you are," she said as she opened the door to her last available room, "Let me know if I can get anything else for you, but I do hope you will be coming back down to the main hall before retiring.”

“Oh, you can count on it,” I replied with a smile.

*****

EDIT - Nits picked.

This post has been edited by ThatSkyrimGuy: Jul 24 2013, 04:57 AM

[mALX]

BWAAHAA! Love the confrontation between Aela and Val! He always seems to come across at a disadvantage in one-on-one’s, ROFL!

Many have asked me how this could be, being Bosmer and all. While it is true that the woodlands sing to my heart, there is also a part of me that can’t resist the lure of a smokey tavern, with ale and music that beckon to my inner Nord.

Really good showing of how the two heritages call to him, each in their own way. Loved that!

Whiterun is my favorite city in Skyrim; although I never got the Player house in it. Maxical lived out of the Bannered Mare, chopped wood there for her room and board, and made a deal with the Smithy on using their forge (etc) to earn income. (mining ore/hunting pelts/making items for them to sell out of their store there). Really loved Whiterun.

Now I worry he’ll drink too much and brawl, getting tossed out, ROFL!! Awesome Write!!

[Acadian]

It seems Aela is likely not an archer. I don’t expect she would have appreciated Val rushing to set up and risk the friendly fire of an inaccurate arrow into a frenzied melee of three allies and one foe – even if the foe was a large one. I’m glad to see him return a bit of her caustic attitude. The scene, however, along with the following one in the Bannered Mare does show that Val has an eye for the ladies and a taste for not only ale, but games of chance as well. I’m sure he was pleased to get a tankard in his hand (finally)!

So, mayhaps Whiterun might serve double duty as Val tries to discharge his promise to those in Riverwood, then possibly looks into these Companions.

[jack cloudy]

Oh Val, you naughty naughty man.


I wondered about Aela's outfit as well, then I realized that with her habits she naturally prefers something...self-dissassembling.


I do have to laugh at how Val goes straight to the Bannered Mare. The man with the brewery won't give any honey-liquor? Well then our Nordmer will just have to beeline to an alternative source of sweet sweet alcohol.

[haute ecole rider]

Well, I kept my promise. Finally caught up and am pleasantly surprised by this story. It is well-written, and more importantly to someone old-school like me, well-crafted. It doesn't matter how cool the character is, or how excellent the plot, if the writing doesn't - well, flow - then sorry, I'm not spending any time with it. I have to say that your writing flows very well - so well that I quite enjoyed reading this from Val's perspective. The fact that you so obviously take care with the technical aspects of your story really lets your creativity and storytelling abilities shine.

In my reading, I did spot a nit that was apparently missed, back in Chapter 14. Of course, I don't blame anyone for missing it - the chapter read so well that only my well-honed peeve on this particular error caused me to spot it.

I walked over to the giant arachnid and milked it’s fangs into the now empty vial of paralysis poison for future use.

In this context this should be its. The possessive form, which you are using here, runs counter to the rules and does not contain the apostrophe. The apostrophe is actually used for the contraction of it is.

Another nit, again a minor one, is here in Chapter 17:

Each gable was crowned with horse head of carved wood.

I think you are missing an a in front of the horse's head here. There, nits picked!

Again in Chapter 17 I spotted something that kind of rubs me in a stylistic sense. For the most part, you are consistent in using active verbs for your sentences. But here:

He was explaining that the inn was located at the far end of the main street while he opened the gate.

I see the changes in verb tense from passive to active voice. In my writing, I try to avoid using is, was, be, etc. with second verbs. It just kind of breaks the spell, so to speak, to see this happen. I can only think of one other instance in your story where I spotted this (was it the third chapter, or maybe the fifth?). I would prefer to see this sentence rewritten something like this: While he opened the gate, the soldier described the inn's location at the far end of the main street Sometimes it can be tough to figure out how to write sentences that are natural in cadence and syntax, yet avoid the common pitfalls of what I consider lazy writing (or editing). That said, let me assure you that I do not see laziness at work in your writing! It's rare enough here that I thought I would point this out to you. I do not know if you are conscious of this and work to edit it out (and thus missed this one instance), or if you rarely put your sentences down like this that you are not aware of it at all.

Enough of the editorial critique! On to the meat of this story!

As alcoholism runs in my family (well, yeah, we're a mix of German and Italian, so plenty of drinkin' genes here!), I recognized the signs right off. It doesn't make Val a bad character - not at all. It makes him a flawed character, and one I find myself caring very much about. With my medical background, I am wondering if his recent issues with control of his Magicka has to do with his drinking, which seems to progress as the story winds on (in a most pleasant way, let me hasten to add). So now I'm wondering if something not yet identified is triggering the drinking, or if we are only seeing more of it because now he is in Skyrim, the land of home-brewed mead. Would we have seen the same had he spend time in Skingrad, with its vineyards? Hmmm.

In spite of this, Val has some well-honed survival skills which are essential, I gather, in this new land. Well, new to me, at least.

And he is definitely of the heterosexual inclination, with a nice, well-developed libido. Which makes me wonder when is he going to get lucky? Or is he holding out for the "right one?"

Need I say that I'm looking forward to more?

[Grits]

…the Jarl can wait ‘til morning…

Well he already knows there are dragons about. Why not rest and rehydrate first?

I thoroughly enjoyed Val’s entrance into Whiterun. I have enough affection for him already that I’m worried his temper will interfere with the otherwise friendly brawling opportunities at the Mare.

Loved the thoughts about Val’s Bosmer/Nord draw toward both forests and lively company. As ever I’m looking forward to what the rest of the evening will bring.