Outgrowing Skyrim

 "Can't a man drink in peace?”

 “Maven sent me.”

 A sallow Imperial with long greasy hair looks around briefly before talking again. We’re in a side room of the Bannered Mare attached to the kitchen but still open to customers who want a quieter atmosphere laced with the smells of bubbling food. It's perfect for secret conversations in public. When it's apparent no one’s listening he continues.

"I'm going to keep this short 'cause we've got a lot to do.” he starts. “Honningbrew's owner, Sabjorn, is about to hold a tasting for Whiterun's Captain of the Guard and we're going to poison the mead.”

“Go on.”

“The meadery has quite a pest problem and the whole city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don't mix well, you know what I mean?"

 I nod.

 "You're going to happen by and lend poor old Sabjorn a helping hand. He's going to give you the poison to use on the pests, but you're also going to dump it into the brewing vat.”

 “Won't that kill the captain?”

“No, no, that's the beauty of the whole plan. The poison Sabjorn ‘acquired’ is so foul that only a tiny amount can taint a whole vat just by taste alone. Famously used for pest problems and our dear captain will know the instant it touches his lips. Use only a nugget and he’ll get a stomach ache at most. Maven and I spent weeks planning this. All we need is someone like you to get in there and get it done.”

 “Anything else I should know?”

 "Both the meadery and the brewery are connected by tunnels made by the pests. There's an entrance to it in the basement storeroom of the meadery that used to be boarded over. I've already removed the boards so the meadery would get infested. That's where you should start. You should have enough poison for both the pests and the vat. Maven wants the place clean when she takes over, so don’t neglect that. Now get going before Sabjorn grows a brain and hires someone else to do the dirty work.”

 “Aye.”

 Crawling out of this secluded corner of the Bannered Mare I walk past the rest of the relatively empty inn. Midday is usually when the inns are the quietest so there's little chance someone could listen in without notice. Leaving the inn I'm blinded by the sunlight when a voice cries out.

 “Papa!”

 “Lucia!” I say, surprised.

 The little girl in a clean green dress and fresh hair rushes to meet me. I find my arms open wide to receive her before I realize it. Apparently ‘Papa’ is reserved for the dominant head of the family, not strictly relating to gender. As far as I understand it in Skyrim at least. My daughter can call me whatever she likes. My old world may as well be dead at this point and I’m not keeping a single thing from it that would keep me from my little girl. Squeezing her as tight as I can I hear her say a muffled “I missed you”, as she buries her head in my chest. 

 “We've only been apart for an hour at most.”

 “I know… but it feels like forever!” she pouts.

 Try as she might, even her sad face can hardly dampen my spirits. She looks cute as a button, framed by this gorgeous weather. I've come to realize that this is the most beautiful city in Skyrim bar none. Yellow faded shingles protect the white oak and cream plaster houses. Every home is decorated with something, be it carved, sculpted or planted. Lavender spring up as weeds in great bushes along the city adding splashes of purple and wafts of fragrance. Grey comes from the walls and roads or from the carved path the city stream runs through. On brilliant days the stream glitters through the city like a sequined scarf. Dragonsreach overlooks it all being the tallest and most decorated structure here, visible from everywhere in the city, looming with authority and grace. Even the bone white skeleton of the Gildergleam adds to the charm, more so since I know it will soon be restored. Against all of this there is hardly a face my daughter could make that would dampen my spirits, especially when the remedy is to spend more time with her. Only this stupid job from the Thieves guild can trouble my spirit now but I intend to make short work of it today and be free tomorrow. Or as free as a prophecy bound demi god can be.

 “We were just finishing up the details for the furnishings.” Camilla says, walking up. “Lucia's been very helpful so I think you should praise her a bit more.” 

 “Mh.” Lucia nods, still pouting.

 “Is that so? Well then,” I say, picking up my new daughter, “perhaps she can help us find a few sweet rolls. Or maybe a new dolly so my daughter won't be as lonely. She's such a good girl that maybe we'll have to do both.”

 “Yeah!”

 “No sweets before dinner. I'm not going to let you spoil her appetite. Again.” Camilla says to me, pointing accusingly.

 “Yes ma'am.” I say. As we walk back I wait for the right moment and whisper to Lucia, “It won't spoil your appetite if we share just one… right?”

 “Right.” my daughter whispers back, eyes gleaming mischievously with mine.

 Sometimes I hate my job. Or jobs. Well one job specifically. It's the one that makes me crawl through skeever infested tunnels on a regular basis. And of course now there are spiders. The Companions don't make me do this shit. At least not yet. 

 A wall of web blocks the narrow tunnel the skeevers expanded. It must be an open chamber of some kind where the frostbite spiders nest, they love open chambers of death. This is the perfect time to try out some new spells I bought for just such horrible occasions. I open a door to Oblivion with a burning clang. I can hear the spiders on the other side of the web membrane skitter with alarm as a being of pure fire and femininity floats from the portal. Her mere presence instantly burns away the nest wall, exposing the half a dozen orange spiders inside, crawling around like angry crabs on the rocks. I will her to move into the nest and watch as they burn trying to bite my new flamewalker from Oblivion. Many of the spiders started to curl in on themselves before they could even reach her.

 I step into the large space behind her once it's safe. The nest by and large is still coated in web everywhere she hasn't touched. Once I'm satisfied the spiders are toast I take a moment to examine my Flame Atronach more closely. Her core is pure flames wreathed in elaborate iron grate material giving off the impression of a living fireplace. Her head is crowned with it as the flaming hair spills out. Her eyes are glowing orange like hot metal but seem to have more details my human eyeballs just can't make out past the glow. The lower part of her face at the cheekbone has a kind of ashy skin of some sort with black lips that look very human. Her hands, feet, buttocks and entire torso also have this skin layer that blocks her internal flames. This also includes her boobs which confuses me. Why does a flame elemental have bigger and better tits than me? Her exposed nipples are the same color as her lips and just as I get curious about down there the Flame Atronach shoots me a warning through our temporary link.

 Anything you summon from Oblivion has the potential to attack the summoner if your will is too weak. Many summoned beings won't since summoning is a temporary contract but it's best not to give them a reason to contest your will. Mages with particularly weak wills can be attacked since many dremora abhor the weak or outright detest the summoners will. Regardless even if she had the appropriate equipment it's almost certainly a bad idea to copulate with a being of pure flame. Probably. Definitely.

 She accepts my commands to move through the nest without issue and she burns a path for me to the other side. I take the lead now, sneaking along. I've long since forgotten the particulars of this dungeon and want to avoid any trap's. Eventually we come to another open-ish chamber with the biggest, most mutated skeevers I've ever seen. Patchy fur, if any, with squashed faces, shorter tails and longer limbs. They look like large demented naked pugs that got stretched to waist height. A dozen or so normal looking skeevers surround them. They all appear to be resting in various states of laze. I suspect they do most of their business at night, especially since they are under the command of a crazed wizard who's hiding his rat army down here.

 I retreat into the narrow passage to plant a Fire Rune and pull out my bow. It's an orcish bow we found in Shroud Hearth but I haven't had much use for range since the dragon at the Western Watchtower. I crawl into position and will the Flame Atronach forward. She's only got a few minutes left before she returns to Oblivion so I may as well have her work for her mana. She goes only as far as necessary to line up a shot and then hurls a softball sized wad of fire at the hoard. The giant rats are taken back for a moment, probably having never seen anything like my fire girl, but are on her a moment later. I only get a few shots off before I realize I have to retreat. Despite their fur and skin burning on contact the skeevers overwhelm my Flame Atronach. I can feel her fear as she dies from a tidal wave of rat. Huffing it back up the cave and I hear the boom a second later. Flame Atronachs explode into flame upon death. 

 Bow strung and breath heavy I wait to see if there are any survivors. To my horror five of the big ugly ones turn the corner. I get off one last arrow before pulling out my shield. The Fire Rune explodes but only kills one of them. The rest plow through and continue after me. Lucky they aren't as tough as they seemed, my Bound Sword cuts through them easily enough. My new Dwarven shield prevents them from overwhelming me in this narrow tunnel as I hack at the remaining few. The wall of bronze looking metal is impervious to there gnawing. Skeevers seem to lack any sort of self preservation which makes killing them all simple. I don't know if it was the fire or if these ugly mutants are just weak but they don't last more than a minute. Everything is quiet once I dispatch the last rat, just my heavy breathing as I come down from my battle high. 

 If the crazy mage who made these things heard anything then he's probably hiding somewhere if he's not coming now. If this wasn't a job for Maven Painintheass herself I would just ignore him but I know if I leave him I'll be back here in a month with some version of ‘You should be thanking me since I'm so merciful blah blah blah’. I put my shield away and cast Muffled, the spell I used in conjunction with invisibility potions to survive Goldenglow. The spell does exactly what it says on the tome, any noise I make is muffled. The spell itself is noisy to cast, making a sound akin to a struck match, but I'm far enough back it shouldn't matter. I begin to crawl slowly out of the tunnel while eyeing every corner and blind spot, looking for that mad mage. I come across some nesting mounds made of moldy hay and start to parse the poison out as I go. 

 Eventually I do find the crazy rat mage farther in the dungeon. He’s positioned just like he was in the game, back turned and working on what is now an elaborate alchemy station. I resummon my daedric sword with nary a whisper from the portal thanks to Muffle. I'm not sure he could have heard me anyway. His lab alone makes quite a lot of noise, although I can still hear him grinding reagents in a mortar and pestle. He never notices me even when I'm right behind him. He may have seen me after I struck him with a blow to the neck but it was only briefly. He falls over paralyzed from the simple poison I poured over the blade. To be honest I wasn't sure it would work given the blade is translucent but it seems to work just fine. I finish him off with a stab to the heart, though his muscles seem to be in a kind of rigor mortis of sorts from the paralysis and he just lays there like a statue even as he dies.

 There's shockingly very little here of note as far as I can tell. If he had any valuable ingredients they must be in the lab bubbling away. You can craft many fantastic and valuable potions and poisons at the standard alchemy station but to create experimental brews you either have to play with new ingredients or new instruments. The rat mage clearly has done the latter at the very least. I’m not nearly studied enough to know what he's done to the lab but I can tell that most of it is… homemade. I can't make heads or tails of what he's working on now either and his journal isn't very helpful. Crazy rat obsessed mage outcast and vows revenge on anything he can. Apparently he's got an apprentice somewhere but I don't see them and I don't remember where they'd be from the game. I turn off the heat sources to the lab and hope it's enough to keep the alchemy still from exploding. I do find a new book, Three Thieves, that I'll probably read to Lucia at bed time. After I review it to make sure it's appropriate of course.

 These tunnels connect to the brewing building at this end which is conveniently where I need to be. These brewing vats seem to be the most modern piece of technology I've seen in Skyrim, easily as big as small houses. I find the marked one and plop my last nugget of poison inside. Then I crawl back through the tunnels to the main house to complete the ruse. As I make my way back I notice large paw prints that lead in and out of the tunnels and stop at a random wall in the brew house. There's a loose board here perfectly placed to squeeze a full grown man out. These are problems for someone else. I'll tell the Imperial about the hole after we've finished the main job. I retrace my steps through the tunnels and emerge out the other side in the meadery to avoid suspicion.

 “Finally done?” Sabjorn says with a scowl. An overweight Nord with his hands on his hips, his true nature is further revealed by a pathetic greasy comb over his very bald head. There are no ‘Good guys’ is this story but I’m not sorry about what's about to happen in the slightest. 

 “Yup.”

 “Good. The captain is due within the hour. Your payment can wait until after it's done.” he says in a huff.

 “K.”

 He sprints out of the meadery for the brew house in a display of athleticism I didn’t think possible from him. The sallow Imperial is here too and we both share a knowing nod. Sabjorn returns a few moments later sweaty and carrying a small barrel.

 “Wait over there, both of you. I just saw the captain. He'll be here any moment.” Sabjorn says frantically getting the counter ready.

 The Imperial and I sit at the corner table like obedient toddlers. A few moments later the man who can only be the captain walks in. He wears a yellow cape but otherwise has the same outfit as any other hold guard. He wears no helmet and like Sabjorn he’s almost completely bald but unlike Sabjorn maintains a stately crown with what hair he does have. The captain's face is plain but stern with lines. Those lines are being put to work here as he doesn't look entirely thrilled to be here.

 "Well, Sabjorn. Now that you've taken care of your little pest problem, how about I finally get a taste of some of your mead?" he says impatiently.

 “Help yourself, milord.” Sabjorn mewls. “It's my finest brew yet, I call it Honningbrew Reserve. I think you'll find it quite pleasing to your palate."

 "Oh come now, this is mead! Not some wine to be sipped and savored." the captain replies dismissively. He takes the offered tankard and fills it from the small barrel that now rests on the counter. He takes a big gulp and immediately spits it back up with projectile force. "Shor's Bones! What... what's in this?"

 "I… I don't know. What's wrong?" Sabjorn says, breaking out into a cold sweat.

 "You assured me this place was clean! I'll see to it that you remain in irons for the rest of your days!"

 "No, please! I don't understand!"

 "Silence, idiot! I should have known better… than to trust this place after it's been riddled with filth!"

 "I beg you please! This is not what it seems!"

 This back and forth goes on for a few more minutes before Sabjorn breaks down crying. The captain apparently sprayed the last of his sympathy on the floor and threatens Sabjorn's life to force him to leave. Finally Sabjorn picks himself off the floor and heads for the door with the angry captain at his back. He doesn’t even stop to consider us as he’s hauled off, he just keeps sobbing and blathering excuses as he leaves. It gets quiet immediately after they leave. The sallow Imperial checks the window to watch them leave and when he’s satisfied turns to me.

 "I don't think that could have gone any better.” he says. “If there's anything else you need before you head back to Riften I suggest you take it now. The place isn’t technically ours yet and the guards might come back looking for evidence. Can’t guarantee they won’t touch anything until Maven officially owns the place."

 “I need to check for paperwork before I leave.” I say.

 "So Maven wants to hunt down Sabjorn's private partner, huh? You're welcome to take a look around Sabjorn's office. He keeps most of his papers stashed in his desk. Here, this should help.” he says handing me the key. 

 Upstairs I find exactly what I expect to find. All kinds of valuable trinkets, clothes, food and drink. A familiar red decanter, decadent in decoration, waits for me to collect it. It'll look nice on a shelf. ‘A Game at Dinner’ is another possible book for Lucia, pending review. Gold coins, silver ingots and a mysterious letter are poorly hidden the back. The letter has the same mark as the one from Goldenglow, woooo how spooky.

 In all seriousness I need to think about how to deal with my back stabbing guild master sooner rather than later. Just following the natural quest progression is a lot of work and might accidentally get me killed anyway. Even if it goes normally I’d still almost die. I'd rather not test my luck. For now I'm too weak to confront him directly so it might be time to visit the College to round out my abilities further before it's too late. I'm honestly more scared of fighting him than the dragons right now. I can hide from dragons.

 A Game at Dinner would make poor reading for a child as it is a touch too dry in its current form. It's a letter from a ‘spy’ who spends too much time blathering through an otherwise interesting story. Likewise Three Thieves is also unsuitable, too bloody even for a child of Skyrim. As a matter of fact most books I've found don't make for good bedtime reading. Instead I decided to improvise with the Three Little Pigs tonight.

 “Little pig, little pig, let me in!” I say doing my best impression of a wolfman.

 “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!” Lucia replies defiantly.

 “Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down!” I growl, blowing a raspberry. “And he did huff and he did puff but the wolf couldn't blow the stone house down and he eventually got tired and left. And they lived happily ever after.”

 “Yay!” she cheers. As I settle her into bed she gets thoughtful and asks a question. “Papa, why don't we live in a stone house then? To protect us from the wolves?”

 “That's what the walls are for. Stone houses are hard to build. If the wolf had gone to the pig building the stone house first the house would have only been halfway finished.” I explain.

 “Oh…okay!” Lucia says looking sleepy. “Promise me you'll tell me another story?”

 “I promise.”

“Yay…” 

 And with that she soon falls asleep, head on my arm. I wait a few more minutes until I think it's safe enough to slide her noggin onto a pillow. With a final kiss on her forehead I move upstairs to my glorious bed filled with two eager fiancée's.

 

The next day we travel to Riverwood so we can drop Camilla and Lucia off with Lucan while Lydia and I go off to check the Eldergleam for Hrongar and visit the Greybeards. It's a good chance to introduce Lucan to his new niece and give everyone time to prepare. The horn of Jurgen Windcaller is also in town so it's a no-brainer move. Lucia doesn't like being away from home but she's excited by the wedding so she's putting on a brave face. To be honest I'm a little worried too. In the game I would have probably fought several dragons by now via the random encounter generator but so far there's been nothing. My game nerves are on edge the whole trip with my family exposed like this. I calm down a little once we safely reach Riverwood but the paranoia lingers, irrational though it may be.

 “You're getting married?! To who?!” 

 Lucian is understandably surprised by our announcement. Almost as surprised to see that he has a niece already. Both he and Lucia don't seem to like each other very much but I guess that's to be expected. She mostly hides from him and he mostly ignores her, save for the occasional side eye. Later I decide to introduce Lucia and the rest to Alvors family and more importantly to their daughter Dorthe, whom I'm hoping will become Lucia's friend. It's decided that we'll all have a big dinner tonight to celebrate. During all that mingling and planning I manage to excuse myself away to take care of my business at the inn. 

“I'd like to rent the attic room.”

 “Attic room, eh?” Delphine says with a raised eyebrow. “Well we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home.”

 It's a standard one person room. A bit smaller than what I'm used to thanks to traveling with friends but it's quite to my liking. Honestly all the attention I've been getting is a bit much for me and I'd rather sleep here tonight. Delphine comes into the room a short time later. The dirty blonde Breton of middle age wears simple light blue tavern clothes, functional but pretty enough for service work. Her hips flare out far enough it's almost like a bell dress. I stare a little too long and get a dusty relic shoved in my face.

 "So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you're looking for this. We need to talk. Follow me."

 Almost as quickly as she came she leaves, sauntering over to the other side of the inn where I know her room is. Although given the size of her hips it might be her version of a normal walk. I put away the horn to glance down at my own hips and am relieved to find them to be of normal size. For now at least. The mods that did this to the world were installed for perversion, not practicality. I can’t help but wonder if I haven’t doomed myself as Delphine walks away. It's inevitable that I’ll reach all these ridiculous sizes one day. If I’m to save the world and nothing else I’ll also need to surpass them. I can only pray that this world's logic, whether real or simulated, takes that into account and has a workaround before I become immobilized by my own prowess. 

 Delphines room is rather large for one person but as I’ve seen the in-game version of it a thousand times I hardly pay any attention. I automatically close the door behind me and lock it. Delphine nods in approval and quickly opens her wardrobe to reveal her secret basement room. She walks behind a relatively large table in this somewhat small basement room. On the table are a few books but most of the space has been ceded to the Dragonstone map I brought in for Farengar, traced and copied. On it are markings of the dragon burial sites that have been revived so far. 

 "The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right.”

 I don't answer immediately. The map brings a thought to mind that I need to chew on. Auldin can revive fallen dragons (who have not fallen to other dragons) simply by shouting at their bones and reviving their souls. But his progress is pitifully slow, even in the game. I know he can fly anywhere he wants in minutes so what's the limiting factor? It should take no time or energy for a being like Alduin. So either he’s really busy with something else or the shout he uses to wake his fallen minions is insanely taxing and he’s retreating to rest every time he does it. I only know two shouts so far so I’m not entirely certain but I do know that I need to rest before I can safely shout. I tried to rapid fire Fus once and it felt like the worst burp hiccup imaginable before I even finished the words. I pull myself out of my head to answer Delphine.

 “I’m a Dragonborn.” I finally reply, eyeing the weapons and supplies on the walls. She could supply a small militia with the stuff she has down here.

 "I hope so. But you'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Greybeards say so. I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?"

 “That depends, did you stick it up your ass first?” I jest.

“You can joke around all you like but that doesn't change the situation. Dragons are coming back and a lot of people are going to die if you don't get your act together.” Delphine chastises.

 “I don't care. I've got a lot of shit to do and making you happy isn't one of um. Thank you for the horn, goodbye.”

 Delphine looks at me with arms crossed, clearly upset. But after a moment she sighs and lets go.

 "I shouldn't let you walk out of here, knowing what you know. But I guess even my paranoia has its limits. You know where to find me when you change your mind. Because you will. You have to.”

 I nod and leave. Once up on the main floor of the inn I look to see if there’s anyone I recognize before I walk into the ‘attic room’ I rented earlier. Something else has been bothering me ever since I remet Delphine. I lock the door behind me and strip down. My realization about my growing proportions scares me and I use this rare chance to really look at myself without anyone around and see how far I've come. 

 I’m certainly not skinny anymore, muscles are displayed prominently on nearly every part of my body save for my midsection. I knew I’d only have a few days to work up a layer of fat before another trip and my hard work has shown up there as chub. I honestly look like a strongman competitor, except for my height. My ass and breasts have only grown modestly. By Skyrim standards at least. I have no idea what cup size I would be on earth but the girls are hand filling now and my ass definitely exists. Having seen other mages and been right at heart of the Thieves Guild I know this is only the beginning. I understand how mages can deal with the extra size, but thieves? How can you possibly be stealthy with hips that don’t fit through normal doors? I was debating ignoring the Blades but walking behind Delphine made me realize I could lose to Alduin before I even fought him, encumbered by my own success. Unsatisfied, I redress and leave the inn.

 The next morning I wake up and realize I’ve grown a full potbelly to term thanks to last night's feast. It felt like quite a joyous occasion for being spur of the moment. Dorthe and Lucia became fast friends much to my relief and I was once again made to entertain the table with my stories new and old. I was talking almost the whole time but once we got to more recent events Lydia could step in to help me tell some parts while I ate. I still got to eat my fill afterwards and the result is this squishy tummy that Lucia's sleeping on now. Lucan gave up his bed and slept downstairs so Camilla, Lydia, Lucia and I could all sleep in the same room before we had to leave. Naturally Lucia wanted to sleep with me before I left. Seeing her on my fat gives me mixed feelings. On the one hand she’s adorable and I’d gladly stay at this size just so she can sleep. On the other hand I feel like a fatass. I’m sure I’ll get over it at some point, it's just a necessary part of survival, but I guess some things are hard to shake from the old world.

 Eventually I have to kiss Lucia and Camilla goodbye and leave the village with Lydia. We’re actually walking back to Whiterun to hitch a ride to Windhelm, oldest city in Skyrim and capital of the Stormcloak rebellion. From there we can look for Eldergleam sanctuary tomorrow. The journey back is a piece of cake but I get a paranoid feeling again. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck and I torch a nearby bush with Flames only for a rat to scurry out and into another bush. Not quite satisfied, I rub my neck and push on.

 We find a kart just outside Whiterun that's leaving fairly soon. We won't be traveling alone either, a trio of Nord's join us. A young woman with reddish brown hair, a man about the same age with the same hair only shorter and what looks like their blonde older brother.

 “Wanted to join ever since the war started but they were too young for it. They didn't give me much of a choice.” the beefy blonde Nord says.

 “Modnar acts like a cool older brother but he's pretty helpless without us.” the girl says.

 “He'd be dead by now if we let him go by himself. Hopefully Ulfric's fine with us staying together or our dear older brother will be dead in a week.” the younger man says.

 “They're exaggerating. I can take care of myself just fine. Signar and Magnar just don't want to admit they'd be heartbroken without me.” Modnar says, scratching his blonde beard.

 I really haven’t put much thought into the civil war, not since Helgen anyway. The world ending dragon kind of puts it all to shame but I forgot that for most of Skyrim the war is still the biggest thing on people's minds. I guess in a world of werewolves and vampires and dremora people really have to compartmentalize and worry about the most immediate threat first. Besides, the Elder Scrolls universe usually writes itself to have these sort of apocalyptic threats solved by some random person, even when it's not a player character from a video game. Even though these people tend to get wildly powerful after their adventures they always have a habit of just evaporating afterwards, solving the immediate problem and not much else. 

 Just outside of sight from the capital we run into a familiar sight, for me at least. Two ancient towers straddle the great river as it leaves Whiterun connected by a thin stone bridge. In the game it was home to bandits who collected toll from passers by. Obviously in-game you'd just beat the shit out of them but I'm a little hesitant to do that now. Aside from the chance that they might be stronger than me in some way, my new friends might be in danger too. They wear simple farm clothes and only the eldest has an ax. For now I'll let things play out and see what happens. Sure enough as we approach one of the bandits halts us. The kart tenses up, unsure of what's about to happen. The driver doesn't seem to mind at all and strike's up a brief conversation with the barbarian before handing over some gold. The bandit counts the coin, eyes the kart, and nods. The kart starts moving again as the driver waves. Once we're away everyone relaxes again. Except for Signar.

 “I can't believe we let bandits collect taxes in our own land like that! It's shameful!” the young woman cries.

 “Aye it ‘tis and we'll drive them out just as soon as we're done with the Empire, you can count on that!” Modnar replies.

 “Let's not say that too loudly. We've no way to defend ourselves in a fight. It'll be different when we're Stormcloak but until then let's try to make it in one piece.” Magnar cautions.

 “Aye.”

 I’m beginning to get suspicious of these carriage drivers. When I played the game, any road I traveled had forty two wolves, six bears, two cave bears, at least three frostbite spiders, one troll going mach two at my face and either a dragon or some random hobo of varying lethality and decency. Traveling by kart has so far been idyllic and serene every time. That toll stop run by bandits was the worst thing to happen so far on any of the rides. They must know some kind of magic I don’t. Windhelm is now in sigh.

 “Wow.”

 “This is Ysgramor's city. The City of Kings! A sight that moves the hearts of all true Nords! This is it!” the eldest proclaims.

 It's more of an ancient fortress than a city to my mind. Whereas Solitude was a city surrounded by a wall, Windhelm is more of a wall with a living space inside. It's the oldest city in Skyrim and it shows, but in a Skyrim kind of way. The same people who built High Hrothgar must have lived here, give or take a generation. Faded black stone and dark brown wood are the primary colors of the city, with an occasional fire. The walls are the most impressive I've seen so far; tall and thick with tight brickwork adorned with eagle beak motifs pointing threateningly between every pillar in the wall. The walls seem hardly necessary anymore, the river looks to have eroded much of the land that could have been used to siege the city. Between the river and the bay it's a natural, massive, moat. A mile or so long stone bridge connects the city to the rest of the hold made of the same black stone and laced with defensive ramps and tunnels that the guards pop in and out of, dotted with odd weeds here and there. The guards wear a blue sash like all Stormcloak soldiers. It's what they would have worn even if they weren't in open rebellion but now it's a symbol of rebellion. They flap in the near constant wind that must give the city its name, which I find to be rather chafing. Once inside we say our goodbyes to the new recruits and head for the first building we see, Candlehearth Hall.

 It's by far the coziest inn I've been in so far, with a rustic charm unlike any of the other frontier inns. It reminds me a lot of Jorrvaskr in its aesthetic although Jorrvaskr feels much grander. It's a bit claustrophobic and I much prefer an inn like the Bannered Mare which somehow has an airer feeling despite the rooms being roughly the same size. As soon as we're settled in Lydia makes it clear what I'm doing with the rest of the night with a kiss and a hair pull.

 We discovered, through extensive experiments, that so long as I only orgasm once a night I should be physically fine. That's mostly true. I'm a little wobbly at first the next morning but I'm fine after warming up. Lydia and I head across the bridge out of town and begin the march down to Darkwater Crossing. It's a mining town within spitting distance from the sanctuary. It would technically be faster to cross the river and trek through the wilderness but that just seems silly.

 We pass a Stormcloak fort, fight a bear but otherwise have a relatively peaceful time to Darkwater. The water there is very dark but mostly it's very deep. Unusually deep for a river it swallows almost all light and scares the bajesus out of me. There's definitely something down there but I'm not looking for it. To call Darkwater Crossing a town or even a village is generous, it's a mining camp at best. A very big mining camp but there are only three structures here and one of them looks like the outhouse. Stormcloaks patrol the camp in fairly decent numbers. I guess the war boom raised the value of mining and attracted all these people here. 

 We don't head into town, there's no real point. We've still got plenty of daylight left and there's no inn or really anything for travelers in town. Instead Lydia and I eat lunch on the edge of town on one of the many great stumps that come from the grove of the Eldergleam. This camp was probably the edge of it before the settlement needed wood. I have little desire to enter the camp anyway. I might have to question the settlers but Eldergleam Sanctuary should tell me everything I need to know. If it's been disturbed then I know Hrongar’s at least been here. Otherwise I'll have to figure something else out. 

 Finishing our meal we take a few more minutes to relax before heading deeper into the grove. At its deepest and most central point is a cave that heads down into the sanctuary. A constant breeze blows out from within and the smell of fresh rain delights my senses. Invigorated by the scent we head down into the cave. It's actually a fair ways down to my surprise. Those loading screens were doing me a favor as it turns out. When the path opens up we can only see a small fraction of the sanctuary. The path straddles a high earthen ridge. Walking around it we can see beautiful foliage everywhere, seemingly manicured as if an invisible gardener pruned and cared for it. Sunlight streams in through holes in the roof of this massive cavern so perhaps the lower light levels have something to do with the abundant but tame growth that surrounds us. The path cuts through a small stream with large rocks embedded in the water that work as stepping stones. Here at the stream a new smell enters my nose. Ever so faintly. The smell of death.

 “Hello my friends. Have you come to enjoy the beautiful sights and sounds of the sanctuary as I have?”

 There on the ledge overlooking the stream sits a smiling Hrongar.