Greetings, trusty Journal. Steve the Khajiit here once again. When last I’d written, I was about to escape from the dank and smelly dungeon underneath Dragonsreach in Whiterun, after foolishly submitting to imprisonment over what I discovered after the fact was a measly 25 septims. And while it seemed unlikely that they would actually make me rot in prison as threatened, the dead bandit in the cell with me did not reassure me terribly. So I had set about the task of freeing myself. I hoped this would not multiply my existing bounty, which I was guessing would not necessarily be erased if I were to escape; but it was better than letting my skills atrophy down here.
First, I took the dead smelly Nord bandit corpse and threw him onto the cot, in the off chance that this might confuse the guards into thinking I was still in here, and suddenly a human somehow. I will admit this was the weakest part of my plan.
Next, I decided which lock I was going to pick. I only had the one smelly lockpick, and I needed to make it count. The cell door’s lock was a fairly sturdy lock, and led not only to my belongings, but also a handful of prison guards who might not be so forgiving of an escaping convict. The other lock was to a grate in the floor leading to a stinky sewer, but it was unlikely to be patrolled.
I held my breath, waited until there were no sounds coming from out by the guards, and carefully picked the grate lock. Voila! Which is a word I made up from a fictitious language. It opened. Quickly I jumped down and closed the grate above me. My first thought was, “This is an extremely well-lit sewer.” There were torches every ten to fifteen feet or so. Lit torches, no less, so clearly someone came down here on occasion. Perhaps rat-catchers, or sewer cleaners, if there is such a thing. I do not know.
As I quietly made my way along the curvy stone sewer tunnels, I noticed that once in a while there was another grate, leading to various areas in the dungeon. I had to be extra quiet in case there were guards walking past the grate, but otherwise I seemed to be in the clear.
I was disappointed that I’d not had the opportunity to use the Khajiit ability known as “Night Eye,” which permits us to see in extra dark locations, as this was, as I said, well-lit. It seemed somewhat dangerous to me having all of these open flames in a tunnel meant for various unsavory liquids and gasses, but presumably they knew what they were doing.
Shortly I came into a large room within the sewers, in which a stairway led up to a walkway. Visible through a barred window in the wall next to the walkway was a chest that I just knew had to contain my belongings. Unfortunately it also appeared to a room that contained guards, and I really didn’t want to get their attention.
Sadly, the chest’s lock was more secure than I felt I could manage with just one lockpick, and who knew if I’d encounter any more locked doors down here. So I didn’t risk it, hoping I could find the room later once I wasn’t a wanted Khajiit. However, to make me feel slightly better about this, I stole some nearby hanging moss. (I know, how does one “steal” moss? But trust me, these guards were so uptight, I’m pretty sure they’d accuse me of stealing it, had they seen.)
On my way out via the walkway, I also stole every torch I could, just out of principle. I then carefully climbed up a rickety ladder and through a trapdoor that led me… right into the guard barracks.
I don’t know how it is for other races in Tamriel, but we Khajiit have a sort of “seventh sense” when it comes to trouble, and mine was telling me that I had just earned myself additional trouble, having escaped from my cell and into the barracks. My gut also told me that the next bounty was likely to be more than four times what it was previously. I did not want to fight my way out of here, but neither did I think I could slip out unnoticed. The guard barracks were very well-lit, even moreso than the sewers.
I didn’t see anyone around, so I carefully opened a door to my left and slipped inside. I looked around, and saw several beds with sleeping guards in them. Holy Sheogorath, this was not good. I slipped back out and ducked behind a barrel just as another guard was on his way to bed. I flattened myself against the wall, held my breath, and willed myself to not be seen. Whether he didn’t see me or was just too tired to care, I’m not sure. Either way, it was too close.
I scampered gently down the hall, looting things as I went, on the basis that not only did I hope to never pass this way again, but I would need to pawn some things to make up for everything that was confiscated, assuming I couldn’t safely make my way to the chest with my personal belongings.
The next room I foolishly entered was some sort of dining area, where a guard was facing away from me, admiring a pair of moose antlers and occasionally taking a sip from a tankard. I was so intent on hugging the wall, that I didn’t see the kettle until it was too late. My clumsy tail knocked over the kettle, which just happened to have a large iron mace resting inside it. This resulted in the loudest, clangiest cacophony you’d ever want to hear while trying to be stealthy.
Amazingly enough, the guards didn’t seem to care. I don’t know if they didn’t know who I was, or if they were off-duty so I wasn’t their problem, or what the deal was. I just know that there was no way they couldn’t know I was there at this point. I decided to be brave and stop being stealthy. I stood up straight, bold as brass. They said nothing. I nonchalantly strode into the other room where the guards were sleeping. Nothing. I even crouched down and swiped some of their money pouches. Nobody noticed. It was a bit unsettling. Here were guards who had been all too keen to let me rot in prison for trying to give a man back his long-lost dragon claw, but if I rob them blind, they don’t so much as say “Where’s your uniform?” to me.
Fine, if they weren’t going to take me seriously, I would return the favor. I casually went through all of the sleeping guards’ pockets, hoping to find a key to the lockup chest so I could get out of there. Sadly, they had nothing on them that I wanted enough to risk being caught, so I left them alone and slipped out the door.
I found myself outside the barracks just behind one of Whiterun’s inns, The Bannered Mare. My Khajiit senses told me that I needed to break IN to the dungeon to get my things. Great. I suspected that the dungeon guards were much more on edge than the ones in the barracks, whose things were still lining my ample pockets. It also just occurred to me that I know of no fences in Skyrim who would take these off my hands. I made a mental note to somehow find out where the local Thieve’s Guild might be.
I skulked through the night, working my way back to the stairway leading to Dragonsreach, hoping nobody anywhere nearby would notice me or draw attention to my immediate vicinity, when suddenly I heard a man shouting, “Talos the Mighty! Talos the Unerring! Talos the Unassailable! To you we give praise!” I nervously eyed the nearby guards, who so far seemed to be ignoring the shouting man, who continued. “We are but maggots! Writhing in the filth of our own corruption!” Um, speak for yourself, sir.
He kept going on like this, and some of it sounded vaguely interesting, I’ll admit, but now was not the time to hear a Nord myth or whatever it was. I really needed to get my stuff back. Never mind that before two days ago none of this was my stuff, but the Imperials had taken my stuff, so this was a second version of my stuff, and I had no desire to create a third version, if I could help it. Plus I really wanted that claw.
My stomach growled, and that reminded me that I had thoroughly looted the barracks, so I paused to rummage through my stuff for an apple, and that’s when I saw it: The Golden Claw. I still HAD The Golden Claw! Somehow. What were the odds?! Why would they have let me keep it? Perhaps they had tried to confiscate it and whatever curse had prevented me from giving it to Lucan had also prevented them from taking it? Clearly there was a horrible evil attached to the thing, and the sooner I could rid myself of it, the better. Preferably for money, but I’m nothing if not flexible.
Setting those troubling thoughts aside for the moment, I crept silently up the stairway, until I was almost face-to-face with the original guard who had thrown me in prison in the first place. I was pretty sure that if he saw me, I was screwed, to use an old Dwemer expression. So I slipped around behind him into the shadows before he could identify me, and crept along a path to the side of the building. On the horizon, I could see the glow indicating sunrise would be soon, so I needed to get in there before there were no shadows in which to hide.
I dashed across the front of the building, where I was briefly spotted but not enough for anyone to want to pursue me (yet), ran around the corner, up a little path, and soon was within reach of what I ironically hoped was the main door to the dungeon. I took a deep breath, steeled what little courage I had, opened the door, and stepped inside.
I almost nonchalantly peed myself when I saw one of the guards sitting less than ten feet away from the door, facing me. I froze in place, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the chest probably containing my belongings. I sensed that it was locked, and there was no chance in Oblivion that they were going to let me stand there and pick the lock in front of them.
However, they all seemed incredibly stupid, as evidenced by their inability to realize that I was the prisoner they’d been guarding mere moments ago. Perhaps all Khajiit looked alike to them, and they didn’t wish to assume anything. If so, fine by me.
Anyway, this stupidity might work in my favor, were I able to purloin one of the dungeon keys from one of them. None of the guards in the barracks had them, but maybe these would. It would just be matter of getting behind one of them when they weren’t looking. It was risky, but then so was everything else I’d been doing since my suddenly averted execution. I figured every moment of life from here on out was a bonus round.
I decided to “act like I owned the place,” and strode through the doorway and into the cell area, where one guard turned and looked at me, started to say, “Wait, I know you…” but I kept walking, not giving him the opportunity to finish his thought. Apparently this false bravado was enough to convince him not to pursue it, and he left the room. To celebrate my victory, I stole his sweetroll.
I found the shadiest corner of the room and hid myself there, hoping it would be sufficient for when the guard returned, which he eventually did. I could have sworn that he looked right at me, but beyond that, he gave no indication that he could see me. Once he’d sat back down, I relied on every ounce of luck I could muster and… “hid”… behind the thin cell door bars. Don’t ask me how I managed this, but I did.
This was just enough to pick the guard’s pocket and take his key. It took all of my restraint to not fist-pump and yell “HAH!” Instead, I quickly made my exit and headed back to the occupied room with the locked chest, hoping against hope that there’d be no flickers of recognition in the meantime.
The apathetic guards said nothing to me (or each other) as I traipsed over to the locked chest, used one of their own keys to unlock it, grabbed all my stuff, and went out the door. Success! If still being a wanted fugitive qualified as success. At least now I could sell some things and pay the bounty if need be. I still wondered how they all could recognize me. Someone must have had a really good sketch artist.
Now. With all that out of the way, I went back to the main door of Dragonsreach, because I wanted to get at least one thing done that I’d set out to do, even if it was pointless by now. Hopefully the Jarl wouldn’t start out by saying “Wait, I know you.”
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