Dear Journal,
It’s Steve again. This time I’m writing to you from the side of a mountain, separated from my horse. Allow me to explain how this happened.
I spent a few hours updating my journal sitting at a table in the inn known as The Dead Man’s Drink, a seemingly friendlier establishment than The Sleeping Giant, and not just because the barmaid immediately said “Shore’s Bones! A handsome man in Falkreath,” the moment I walked in. Though it helped a little. I wanted to start reading the Dunmer’s journal right away, but it was three in the morning, and I was tired, so I decided to rent a room.
The innkeeper, whose name was Valga, took some of my last remaining coins and said, “I’ll show you to your room. This way.” It was one of only three rooms, so she could have easily just said “It’s the room on the left,” but I appreciated the personal touch. She walked up to the side of the bed and said, “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
I nodded my thanks, and waited for her to leave. But she just stood there, arms folded. It didn’t take long for that to get awkward. Was she waiting for a tip? While I debated what to do, the “Shore’s Bones!” woman from earlier walked in and said, “At some point we should hire Tekla on here, if she could just spend less time serving Dengeir…” talking to Valga as if I weren’t in the room.
Um, excuse me, did I not just pay for this room? Didn’t that make it mine for the night? As in privately? I did not say any of this, as I did not wish to be rude.
Valga replied, “I wish I could afford to pay you both, Narri. I really do.” That’s thoughtful of you, but could you please take this conversation outside?” Perhaps if I lied down in bed, they would get the hint? I did so, and slept like a log for about for hours. When I awoke, they were STILL both standing in my room. I would have shut the door, had there been one to close. I didn’t feel that I was getting my ten septims’ worth.
Shortly after I got up, they left. I looked at the chair next to the bed. It looked like a good place to read the journal. On the bedstand next to it was a book titled, “Nords Arise!” Well of course they do, who doesn’t?
As soon as I sat down, I heard the innkeeper say, “Look alive, will ya?” Cut me some slack, I just woke up. But then I heard Narri say, “Yes, mum.” Oh. So they didn’t mean me. Suddenly Narri came running into my room hurriedly, much to my surprise and mild alarm. “You want a drink?”
I looked around at my private room, that I paid for, with my money, and then back at her. With a resigned sigh, I asked, “What’s on the menu?”
She said, “Depends. Are you thirsty, hungry, both?”
I didn’t see why it would depend on that. I looked to see what she had to offer, and took a Honey Nut Treat, though since I was low on coin, I’d paid for in mountain flowers, salt, and apples. I came out of the deal with twice as much coin in my pockets, so that was nice.
I took a bite out of the Honey Nut Treat and opened up Arvel’s journal and started to read. He had amazing penmanship, the uniformity was uncanny, especially for someone who wrote that his fingers were trembling. He talked about the power of ancient Nordic heroes, and what a fool Lucan was for not knowing that the claw was the key to Bleak Falls Barrow. He went on to say that he just needed to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door and pass a test, and that “When you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands.”
And that was it. That was the entirety of his journal. Can you imagine? You are much more impressive Journal by far. I can’t believe I waited this long to read it. I could have read that on horseback. Why would he have even written that down? What benefit was it to him? I would never know, as he was dead.
I left my room, swiping a few coins off a nearby table as I did so, which meant that I’d made a profit staying the night here. Not too shabby. I headed for the door, passing Narri who was sweeping the floor. I went outside, blacked out for just a second (a phenomenon that’s been happening ever since I woke up from my bout of amnesia), and suddenly there was Narri on the front porch. I couldn’t tell if she was following me, or if it was a coincidence.
I walked up to her to ask her, and she said, “I have half a mind to ask you to take me on one of your adventures, but I can’t just leave valga on her own.”
Huh. So she was almost certainly stalking me, then. Good to know. I wasn’t sure what adventures she thought I had, but for all I knew she said that to all of the ruggedly handsome inviduals who stayed here.
As much as I was curious about what Falkreath might have to offer, my main goal was now to take this stupid claw to the Hall of Stories, unlock whatever door it leads to, which will hopefully break whatever curse the ancient Nords have placed upon it, so that I’m free to go. At least, that was the plan.
On the way from Falkreath, I spotted a fellow Khajiit on the side of the road, one that did not wear a hooded cloak, which was good as I’d had enough of that one. But I still took every opportunity to greet one of my own, so I dismounted and said hello to him. “This one has something sweet for the fellow traveller, if it entices.”
I don’t know why he was using that “this one” speech on me, as we usually only did that to foreigners who didn’t know any better, but I would play along. I asked what he had, and he said, “The finest Skooma, the sweetest moon sugar, at a fair price, of course.”
Skooma! It had been so long since I’d had some good Skooma. Though I’d been meaning to stop, as it often interferes with my ability to properly do my job. In fact, now that I think of it, it might have been Skooma that led to my arrest and subsequent amnesia. I cannot be sure. So I took that path of most resistance and said, “No thanks.”
He shrugged and said, “Each has their own way.”
I nodded, then caved and said, “What have you got for sale?”
He smiled and said, “Take a look.”
He had moon sugar for… 155 septims?! That was highway robbery. And 62 septims for a small dose of Skooma. That was also highway robbery. Speaking of robbery, a nagging question related to Skyrim laws bubbled up from my subconscious, and before I could stop myself, I found myself saying, “This doesn’t seem legal.”
He glared and said, “Ah, a snitch, eh? Can’t have you running to any guards, now, can I?”
Wait, no! I was about to explain that I was not a snitch, but he immediately began to fight me. I tried to defend myself, but I was caught off guard, and I died.
At least, I thought I’d died. I had definitely lost the fight, and everything had gone black. But before I could see any sort of white light, or endless sands, or whatever we Khajiit are supposed to see in the afterlife, I found myself standing outside the Dead Man’s Drink in Falkreath again, Narri standing next to me nonchalantly. I was about to ask her about deja vu, and she said, “I have half a mind to ask you to take me on one of your adventures, but I can’t just leave valga on her own.”
That had definitely happened before. This was unnerving. Perhaps what I had seen before was a vision of what was to come, and now I was living it for real? Was this part of the claw’s curse? Or its power? I wasn’t sure. Whatever this magic was, I made a mental note to ask a magic-user at the first opportunity. I wouldn’t seek one out, as that seemed foolish and suicidal, but if one were in the area, it might behoove me to seek their counsel.
Trying to shake off the unsettling feeling, I mounted my horse, tried to ignore the same people I remembered milling about the first time I left, and headed back on the all-too familiar road, trying not to think about it.
I did a fairly good job until I saw the Khajiit at the side of the road. My hairs stood on end and I prepared to go full gallop, but then I thought, what were the odds? I couldn’t let a weird premonition spook me into being rude to a fellow outcast. So, against the judgment of the voices in my head telling me not to, I dismounted and greeted the Khajiit as I’d remembered doing before.
“This one has something sweet for the fellow traveller, if it entices.” Just as he’d said before.
I reluctantly replied, “What have you got for sale.”
“The finest skooma, the sweetest moon sugar, at a fair price, of course.”
Argh! I said “No thanks,” mounted my horse, and took off. I did not know what to make of this, but I supposed I should be grateful for the magical warnings that told me not to engage with him any further. I calmed my nerves as best I could as my horse continued along the road as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
Once I reached the part of the road with the Guardian Stones, I slowed down and dismount my horse and examined them for what was a third time. I heard the “Pssst! Pssst!” sound from the day before, and looked at the horse. It was then I realized it was the sound his tail makes when he swishes it back and forth. So, that was one less mystery.
I turned back to the stones. “This one will throw caution to the wind,” I said in my thickest accent, and I touched the Warrior Stone. The vision of being mercilessly bested by one of my own was something of a wake-up call. I may have been a great thief where I came from, but that might only get me so far here. If these magical stones could help me hold my own in battle, so be it. The thievery will take care of itself, as it always had done.
“There you go, Hadvar,” I thought to myself, “I changed my fate. Maybe. We’ll see.”
The way to Bleak Falls Barrow was a lot easier on horseback, and I almost felt bad that I had to leave the horse outside, but it refused to come in with me out of the storm, so I wished it luck as I entered. Everything was just as I’d left it, which is to say a total disarray.
I was worried perhaps some of the egg sacs might have hatched in my absence, but luckily there were no new multi-legged denizens to be dispatched. (Come to think of it, all denizens were multi-legged. Unless there’s a one-legged variety I don’t know about.)
I leisurely made my way through the winding tunnels until I reached the final resting place of Arvel, which was when I remembered why I had turned back in the first place. I kept an eye out for any wandering skeletal figures. sure enough, there was one stomping around in the well-lit, stealth-proof area to my right. Which I suspected was the way to the Storytime Hall or whatever it was called.
The creature looked like a mummified, decayed Nord. I looked around and saw that the alcoved walls were filled with similar such creatures, so I made a mental note to be extra stealthy, in case any of the others were only mostly dead.
This one, however, seemed to be on guard from Alver’s intrusion days ago. Which was a long time by normal measures, but probably nothing to a previously deceased.
I decided now was perhaps as good a time as any to try out my new magical bow. I wasn’t sure how one killed something already dead, but I would give it a shot, no pun intended. Okay, maybe a little bit intended.
Success! My arrows struck true, and by the second one, the creature was down. Which was when I heard two or three others getting up. Damn. I held my breath and thought stealthy thoughts while they marched angrily around the room. Hopefully they could not smell fear, as I’m sure I was ripe with it.
One went behind a pillar, giving me a chance to take a couple of pot-shots at the other, killing it, leaving me with just the one, which had renewed its interest in finding me, perhaps due to the sudden re-death of his friend Dave. (I don’t know that his name was Dave, but who’s to say it wasn’t? Or Davor. Most of their names seemed to end in ‘r’.)
Then the last one came around the pillar, and I shot it as well, and it was such a beautiful shot, I wish I had a word to describe it. If there were such a thing as moving pictures, and different angles at which one could view said moving pictures, this would have been a good moment in such a thing.
Now that I was alone again (naturally), I sidestepped an intricately marked stone in the ground, which I assume would trigger the massive hinged spikey gate. Not the most subtle of traps, really. But then subtle is not a word one would use to describe Nords.
As I went down the hall of dead bodies, I kept thinking, “Please don’t get up, please don’t get up…” I went down a flight of stairs, and could hear a loud, repetitive metallic scraping noise. I was less worried about what it was, and more worried about what it would wake up.
I approached the next hallway and saw what the metallic noise was. It was a set of slashing axe blades going back and forth through the hallway. What was the purpose of this? Who was it for? What was it preventing? How was it constantly moving? Who maintained it? I had so many questions, and no answers. Why did Alver’s book make no mention of this? Was this the test? I looked at the claw, but it gave no hint as to what to do here. I did the only thing I could do – I close my eyes and ran while trying not to scream like a small child.
As I got to the end, the last axe sliced the back of my shoulder, which hurt like you would not believe, but did not kill me outright. I took out one of the healing potions I’d borrowed from Alvor and drank it. As per the rules of magic, the wound healed up nicely. I’d been told one can get similar results from eating a bunch of food, but that seemed ridiculous to me.
I was now in a different part of the creepy tomb, where they were not all lying in alcoves in the wall. Rather, they were still in alcoves in the wall, but now they were standing. I can’t speak for the Nords, but I would hate to have to stand while dead. That just seems to add insult to fatal injury.
I maintained a painful slow, stealthy crouch just short of a crawl, willing to not be detected by the creatures who by all rights should have had their senses dulled by lack of bodily fluids. The whole endeavor would have been much less stressful if people hadn’t buried their loved ones with their weaponry.
I had adopted a methodology of hugging the far wall, away from the standing corpses. This worked well until I found myself about to hug a particularly gruesome-looking fellow. I used my remedial geometry skills to figure out the point midway between them and continued my journey.
This excruciating mundanity went on for a while until I entered a large chamber complete with a waterfall. This must be the Bleak Falls for which the barrow was named. There was also a large brazier full of coals and burning brightly. I wanted to know who supplied the coals, as I couldn’t imagine the dead people bothered. Perhaps it was the same person lighting all of the candles and torches earlier. I wondered how often the axe hall cut them.
As I pondered this, some sarcophagi burst open, and some more previously-dead people strode forth. Now there was NO way they could have heard me from inside those tombs, so I don’t know what prompted them to start milling about. I was full stealth, so I knew it wasn’t my fault. But I was pretty sure I didn’t want to get near them, consider how easily the knocked over what had to be some incredibly heavy lids. Perhaps this was what that “Nords Arise!” book was about. A warning about their tombs.
Ah well, he was dead once, the second time won’t be so bad, right? And with that, I fired my arrows til he died again. I walked up to the unlocked chest next to him, found a lovely amethyst, and also some lockpicks. Whoever put those lockpicks there must have been confused as to how they work.
The tunnels meandered a bit more, became regular caves for a while, and then back to the tomb motif, until I went through set of doors leading to the biggest brazier I’d ever seen. It’s amazing the place wasn’t full of deadly smoke. I didn’t see any nearby ventilation.
Then came another stupid hall of axes. Why did they need two of these? Did they think someone would go, “Okay, I can make it past one hall of axes. What, a second set? Curse you, you sadistic tomb architects with too much free time!” Actually, I was kinda thinking that. But it was more of an annoyance than a reliable form of security.
I could see a large room up ahead, so this one I carefully stepped through, timing it just right. As a result I got slashed twice, yelling out in pain both times. My cries sounded like a woman, for reasons I won’t pretend to understand.
I took out the dead people in that room as well, which was nice because they provided me with useful archery practice without the guilt of murder. Remember, kids: it’s not murder if no one knows they stopped being dead. Soon I’d reach a nice looking set of doors, which opened up into a long narrow corridor with intricate carvings along each side. They probably told a story of some sort. Looked like it might involve dragons, but it was hard to tell in the unusually poor lighting.
I came to a round thing in the far wall, with a circle in the middle with holes and a claw shape. So, I guessed I should put the claw there? I did so. Nothing happened. I looked at the symbols above it. It showed a butterfly, a ghost, and a bad toupee. I looked at the golden claw. It showed a toupee, a butterfly, and a ghost. So I spun the disks until they matched the claw, and then inserted the claw.
They spun around until it was three ghosts, and then the whole thing started to sink into the floor, very loudly. Once the dust cleared, I was immediately rewarded with… a set of stairs. Well done, guarding those stairs from the unworthy. Did the spinning lock remove the curse from the claw? I checked by trying to drop it. Nope. Still cursed. Since I’d come this far, I climbed the stairs.
I entered a much wetter, darker cave area, infested with bats but otherwise a nice change of pace from the dry and dusty tombs. In the distance was a decorative wall of sorts, in front of a waterfall that must have also been a Bleak Fall. I looked around for what the point of all of this might have been. I skirted the far wall and went behind the waterfall, where tucked away was a chest with gems and jewelry and gold, which was nice. I don’t know why everyone thinks it’s clever to stash their things behind a waterfall. It’s the first place people look.
As I walked up a large stone platform, some loud gibberish chanting was coming from the decorative wall, and some of the wall was glowing, so I gave it a wide berth. I saw another sarcophagus, but luckily for me it didn’t burst open, yet. I looted another large chest, and still the wall chanted at me. It was starting to give me a headache, so I ran up a flight of stairs to the left, and went through a secret door that couldn’t have been less secret if they’d written “Secret Door Here” in bright yellow. It led to a tunnel with another chest, and then an opening leading to… the side of a mountain, with no visible way down.
Thinking perhaps I missed something, I went back into the tunnel, only to discover that it wouldn’t let me go back the way I came, which meant that I was separated from my horse. Even if I could climb down from here, I wasn’t sure where ‘here’ was. I decided to consult the map once again. According to the map, I was somewhere called “Current Location.” Which I think was the same name as the archway by the border. A lot of places seemed to be named that.
I studied the map and said to no one in particular, “Okay, if my horse is here…” and I pointed to where the entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow was, touching it with my finger. And then some words appeared on the map, asking me, “Fast Travel to Bleak Falls Barrow?”
This caught me off guard, so I said, “…No?” And nothing else happened, and that’s where it ended. But as I’ve written down all of this crazy stuff, I think there may be more to this map than meets the eye, and while I don’t know if I trust it, I think I will try touching the map again, and if it asks me about “fast travel,” I will say yes and see what happens. If you don’t hear from me again, then something horrible must have happened and I died, in which case I apologize for the abrupt ending. Wish me luck. Preferably good luck.
As ever,
Steve
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