Good morning, Journal. Steve here, I think. I had the strangest dream last night. In it I dreamed that I killed a dragon, that I could knock people over by shouting at them, and that some mysterious grey-bearded men were calling me “Donut King” from the top of 7,000 steps. Oh wait. That actually happened. I kid, of course. Though that is what I thought when I first woke up the next morning. (It is not currently morning as I write this.) Also, here’s a fun fact: If you rent a room for the night, it turns out they don’t like it if you try to sleep for more than 24 hours.
I woke up the next morning and came downstairs – well, I say morning, but it was in fact night. It was just morning for me. I was a bit dragon-lagged. On my way to the door I almost bumped into a little girl who said, “Mister, could you spare a coin?” While my goal was to accumulate plenty of coin, that didn’t mean I couldn’t spare some for the downtrodden. So I said, “Here, have a gold piece.” Don’t spend it all in one place, kid. She seemed thrilled, saying, “Oh, thank you! Divines, bless your kind heart.”
I felt a bit guilty about this, as it was just one coin. Once I’d sold some of my loot, I’d have much more. I asked her, “Why are you begging?”
She frowned. “It’s… it’s what Brenuin said I should do. He’s the only one who’s been nice to me since… since Mama…” Oh, no… “Since she died.” I quickly regretted asking about the begging. “My aunt and uncle took over our farm and threw me out.” What? That’s terrible. “Said I wasn’t good for anything.” My calloused heart was breaking for this poor child. “I wound up here, but… I… don’t know what to do. I miss her so much.”
I sniffled. I too, wound up here, and missed my mother. “I could adopt you if you want.” Wait, what? Me and my stupid mouth. I could do no such thing.
Her face lit up, and I felt like total crap at that moment. “Really? Do you… do you have a place where I could live?”
I lowered my head. “No, I don’t.” I felt like a heel. Why did my brain even offer such a thing? It should have known I couldn’t deliver.
“Oh well,” she sighed, “Thanks anyway, I suppose.” She looked thoroughly dejected, and it was all my fault. Well, also her aunt and uncle’s fault. I wished to know who her aunt and uncle were, so that I could give them a piece of my mind. Kicking their niece out like that? It was criminal, and not the good kind.
She had mentioned a “Brenuin.” Maybe this person would know more, but I wasn’t sure where or who this person was. Meanwhile the child had left, and I hadn’t even gotten her name. She looked like a Lucia, but that was a totally random notion that would make no sense for me to know. I should learn to ask people their names, but for whatever reason it never even occurs to me.
I walked around, and saw a drunk-looking, possibly homeless man. Was this perhaps Brenuin? He saw me staring at him, and said, “I ain’t done nothin’.”
In a rather hypocritical moment for me I asked, “Are you always drunk?”
“Only if I can help it,” he quipped. “But damn if I ain’t almost sober.” Then he said, “Hey, in the Bannered Mare…” I looked around us. “There’s this bottle of Argonian Ale. The good stuff. Get it for me. They won’t even know it’s gone. Come on…“
I furrowed my furry brow at him. I didn’t understand why he thought I would do this thing. I said sarcastically, “I’ll bring you that ale, old man.” But I think I said it wrong, because it came out not sounding sarcastic.
“Argonian ale,” he said happily, “I can almost taste it!” Just keep dreaming about it, then.
I headed for the front door, and ran into the Nord woman from the night before. I was feeling my oats a little bit from defeating the dragon – or “a” dragon, anyway – so I said to her, half-jokingly, “Think you can take me?”
“And why not?” she said with all seriousness. “I can beat anyone in this city, bare-handed. A hundred gold says I knock your hide to the ground.”
Wow. A hundred? That seemed like a decent bet. “You’re on,” I said. Brawls were legal, right? I hoped so.
“Just fists,” she said. “No weapons, no magic, no crying… let’s go!”
I felt guilty, seeing as my fists were weapons. And that was not bragging, just Khajiit physique. The fight was over almost as soon as it started. People had barely time to choose sides. It appeared Uthgerd the Unbroken might need a new nickname. Had she not bragged so much, I would have felt truly bad about the whole thing. Though not bad enough to not take her gold.
“Twelve septims on the big one!” Ysolda shouted. The fight was over, all bets are off.
When Uthger recovered, she said, “Now that’s what I call a punch! You got me.”
From behind us, Ysolda shouted, “Who taught you to fight? Keep those hands up!”
Ignoring her, I said, “I think I earned that 100 gold.”
“You’re no liar,” she mistakenly observed, “Best fight I’ve had in years. There you are,” and handed me the gold pouch. Then she said, “If you ever need another blade at your side, just ask. Wouldn’t mind seeing how you handle a few trolls.” There we would have to disagree. I try not to follow trolls. They regenerate, so there’s no use fighting them, you’re better off just blocking them.
With that weird interlude over with, I saw Iman out of the corner of my eye, and remembered about the guy in prison. So I left and headed there, despite it being late at night. There was no “good” time to go to prison, even when just visiting. At least this way there was a better chance people were asleep. Perhaps my Thane status would hold sway somehow.
I passed by the orphan child again, who called out, “You’re the best! Can you be my father?” I sighed guiltily and continued on to the prison. I was having quite the identity crisis, in less than the span of a week. At least I think it was a week, it was hard to keep track. Might have been two weeks at this point.
This time when I entered the prison, there were no guards around. Of course there weren’t, now that it didn’t matter.
I went to the first cell door, where a snazzily dressed prisoner was being held. Hang on, so why did he get to keep his stylish outfit, but when I was thrown in there, they took all of my clothes and put rags on me? I smelt a double-standard at work here. “What are you looking at?” The man asked me. Your unorthodox prison garb, I thought to myself.
I needed to play this all subtle-like. Couldn’t show my hand. “I need to find Kematu. Where is he hiding?” D’oh! So much for subtle.
“You have a death wish, then? If you know that name, you must know to meet him would be to meet your end.” I did not know that. Duly noted. “But it seems we both have needs, friend.” He was very articulate, and I didn’t mean that condescendingly. A surprising number of people I’ve met have had horrible speech impediments. Very sad. “Perhaps we can help each other out.” Sounded reasonable, which was suspicious.
“What is it that you need?”
“I have dishonored my brothers by being captured, and so they have left me here.” Ah, so they like soldiers who don’t get caught. “My life with the Alik’r is over now, but I have no wish to die in this gods-forsaken land.” Good luck crossing the border, man. “If I can be released from prison, I may start over. See to that, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
Hmm. I hadn’t perpetrated someone else’s jailbreak since my second cousin was jailed for dipping a local vendor’s tail in glue and then sprinkling chicken feathers on it. I thought it was funny, and not worthy of jail time. The local guards disagreed. But this man was not my cousin.
“How much is your fine?” I asked.
“100 gold will secure my release,” he said. “You can afford that, can’t you?”
As a matter of fact I could, as I’d recently pummeled an older Nord woman for that same amount. That sounded bad, but luckily I hadn’t said it out loud.
He then made the mistake of taunting me. “I suppose you’d better hope you can, if you want the information. Get the money into the hands of one of these guards, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
Yeah, instead I decided we’d do this my way. I snuck up to one of the guards and stole the key off of him, went to the cell door and unlocked it. I then shoved the Alik’r out the door, assuming the guards would react and attack him, or something. Not only did they do nothing, but the prisoner turned around and walked back into his cell. Okay, so much for my way.
I went up to a guard, who said, “What is it? Dragons?”
Hah, no. I swallowed my pride and said, “I want to pay the prisoner’s fine.”
“Good,” said the guard, taking my hard-won gold. “Convince him to stay out of the city while you’re at it.” I’m not a miracle-worker.
I went back to the prisoner and said, “Your fine’s been paid, now tell me about Kematu.”
“Very well. Kematu is west of Whiterun. It’s an unassuming little cave called Swindler’s Den.” He paused briefly, then added, “You realize if you set foot in there, you’re never coming back out. They’ll kill you. But that’s your problem, not mine.”
“Guards,” said the prisoner, “my fine’s been paid, now set me free!” He said this after having walked back into the prison cell I had shove him out of mere minutes ago.
“Sorry, my ears aren’t so good,” said the guard. “You say something?”
“I said my fine has been paid,” the prisoner repeated, standing in the wide-open doorway. “Now let me out!”
“Right, right,” said the guard. “Oh, look at that. I seem to have lost my keys.” Perhaps because I stole them? “Might take a while to find them.” It didn’t matter, as his cell was already unlocked. “You just sit tight. I’ll get around to it eventually.”
“Curse you!” shouted the prisoner, as he folded his arms and refuse to step forward to freedom.
Just to be a fair sport, I got behind him again and shoved.
As I continued prodding the prisoner toward freedom, a nearby guard casually offered, “If you’re heading east, steer clear of Hillgrund’s Tomb. Thing about those old crypts – the dead having trouble staying that way.” So this was a known situation, then. Interesting.
“What are you looking at?” said the prisoner. I’m looking at a man too stupid to realize he’s free, it would seem. I even shut his cell door, but he just opened it back up and went inside. It was almost maddening. I decided to nap on his cot for an hour, and woke up feeling rested, which defied all logic, but so did everything else lately.
With a sigh, I headed for the exit, as one of the guards turned to me and said, “You couldn’t possibly be the Dragonborn of legend, could you?”
Y’know, you wouldn’t think so, right? I still wasn’t convinced, myself. After all, I knew me. As he left the room, I spotted the evidence chest. Which I unlocked with the recently pilfered key, and was able to retrieve all of the previously stolen items that the guard had taken from me days earlier. Talk about convenient!
I jogged down the stairs to the main square, and saw that the Talos preacher was already out, despite it being not quite dawn. He did more preaching before breakfast than most people did… ever.
I needed to go check out this… Swindler’s Den. But the man had said if I went in, I would surely die. But the man also refused to leave a wide-open jail cell, so perhaps he is just the overly cautious sort. Still, I probably could use backup. Okay, I was fooling myself. I definitely needed backup. One of my strengths was in being around other people who could fight for me. I stopped mid-jog and spun around to go back to Dragonsreach. I was definitely getting a workout from the stairs, perhaps the 7,000 wouldn’t be so bad. When I entered Dragonsreach, I saw Lydia sitting all by herself at a long table in an otherwise empty room. It was so sad. I mean, not orphan kicked out by her uncle sad, but still. She looked like she could use something to do.
She looked up at me and said, “Up for a little hunting?” As a matter of fact, yes, I was. For once.
“Follow me,” I said in my most dramatic voice. “I need your help.”
“Lead the way,” she said, standing up and striking a rather… Nordic pose, I guess.
Since we were here, I decided to stick my head in Farengar’s room to tell him thanks for nothing. When I did, however, he said “Here, I’d like you to have this as a token of my friendship.” Oh, he didn’t have to do that… and he handed me an 8-ounce bottle of Alto Wine. Okay. So I guess a twelve-gold bottle of wine isn’t “best friends forever” caliber, but it was a start.
“You take care of yourself now,” he said, and didn’t even sound sarcastic about it. Perhaps I had misjudged him. Or maybe he was just kissing up to the new Thane? It was difficult to know.
We headed out, briefly stopping at the blacksmith, who was already up. I had planned to sell her the axe the Jarl had given me upon Thanehood, but I discovered it was only worth 66 gold. So, a few septims more than a bottle of Honningbrew Mead. I found myself wondering just how many magical axes I’d have to sell in order to buy a place where the orphan child could live. Someone really needed to invent some sort of special place where orphan children could go. We had no need of that in Elsweyr, as most people were nomads, so children could go from one traveling group to the next. Though I’ve never seen a Khajiit child with a caravan.
I jolted myself out of my own thoughts, and left without selling anything. Perhaps I would need the axe at Swindler’s Den.
As we left town and I mounted my trusty horse Skype, I suddenly realized that Lydia had no horse. And as she showed no inclination of riding behind me – the tail would probably be awkward – I decided to be fair about it, and we could both walk. Actually, why walk, when we could – and here I whipped out my magic map – Fast Travel! I saw where Swindler’s Den had somehow appeared on my map, which was helpful. I touched it with my finger, and prepared to black out. Instead, it said, “You have not discovered this location yet. Place Marker?”
What? I had not discovered it? It was right there, clearly on the map. No need for discovery. This was a very pernsickety map. I looked over at Lydia, who said, “Still here.” I smiled sheepishly, and she shrugged and said, “Lead on.” Very well.
I tied Skype up at the stables, and then sat down at the stablemaster’s chair to update my journal. I didn’t know what was in store, but I had a hunch that I wouldn’t get to update my journal for a while. And now I must tuck it securely into Skype’s saddlebags, and hope it is still there when I return. Wish us luck! Because we need it. - Steve
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