Dear Journal. Hi. Steve the Khajiit here. As if it would ever be anyone else, right? But anyway, so as I was saying in the last entry, I had entered a clearing in an effort to avoid some highway bandits – though really they were more like sideroad bandits, since this seemed to be a dead-end.
Come to think of it, they couldn’t possibly have been getting very much business where they were situated. Perhaps I could assure them that I’m one of them, and could offer them tips. Though I generally don’t directly rob people. I just know plenty of robbery theory. And pickpocketing. And burglary. But I digress.
Anyway, in this clearing in the snowy woods held a small but creepy-looking castle of sorts, nestled on a smallish hill. My map had given no indication that such a thing was here, but – wait, I take that back. I examined my magic map again, and discovered that it had been updated, with a little tower icon and the name Bloodlet Throne. “Bloodlet”? I wasn’t sure what a bloodlet was, but it didn’t sound savory. I shook the map in the hopes that it would show me more details, like the closest route to the border, but it seemed content to only show me places I already knew about. Wonderful.
I dismounted from my horse, who I still needed to name, and crouched beside it stealthily. The horse, for its part, persisted in its totally non-stealthy nature. I wasn’t sure if the bandits had followed me, nor was I sure there wasn’t anyone watching me from the castle.
I heard a whispery sound, like a “Pssst! Psst!” As if someone was trying to get my attention, but I saw nothing, other than the clouds of my own breath. I also felt myself getting better at being stealthy, which is a weird feeling, but also an indication that I wasn’t alone. (Not counting my horse. No offense.)
I cautiously made my way up the stony stairs, keeping outside of the light of the lovely godrays, as my people call them. I also plucked a few things of nightshade, because apparently that’s something I do now. Nervous habit, maybe? Anyway, I looked at the wooden door and debated going inside. On the one hand, it would be a good place to wait out the bandits and warm up. On the other hand, it seemed likely that I’d find almost certain death inside.
Still feeling my cowardly oats from having evaded the bandits, I decided to take a chance and go inside, hoping my horse could fend for his or herself. (I hadn’t thought to check my horse’s gender, mostly because it was none of my business, really.)
As soon as I entered I began the urgent task of second guessing myself. The opening foyer was dark and stony, with nothing of note except a torch-lit hallway arch ahead of me. So, this place wasn’t abandoned. I suppose that was hoping too much. I cautiously walked forward, and then stepped on a metal plate. Immediately two jets of flame shot out of both sides of the hallway.
“Nope,” I said, turning around and heading back out the door. I may be many things, but flame-proof was not one of them. I’m not even what you’d call flame-resistant. And have you ever smelled burning Khajiit hair? It is a smell that sticks with you for days, especially if it’s part of you. I do not recommend it.
I’m sorry if you thought something exciting was about to happen there. I like excitement as much as the next person, provided it doesn’t end in my being burned alive. Or burned dead, for that matter.
As soon as I went outside, I immediately felt as though I was being watched. Shortly thereafter, I realized it was my horse watching me. I wondered if my equine companion was going to wreak havoc with my skills of stealthiness going forward. Hopefully it wouldn’t matter for long, once I reached the border and headed for home.
Again I heard the “Pssst!” sound. Was my horse trying to get my attention? I looked at it curiously, but it just snorted and pawed the ground with a hoof. I do not speak horse, so I have no idea what that meant. Possibly “I’m freezing my tails off.” I feel your pain, Horsey.
I got back on my horse and tried to find a path around the bandits and back to the main road, but my equestrian skills are not so good – there’s a reason you don’t see many Khajiit on horseback – and I ended up riding up the side of the hill to an upper level of Bloodlet Throne, which I still thought was an unsettling name. I didn’t know if that was its actual name or if whoever made my map had a weird sense of humor.
Once up here, I noticed someone had left a perfectly good bow and arrow lying out, so I added them to my posessions. Though I’d rarely even held a bow before this week, I could tell just from examining the bow that it was not only more effective than the one I had, but was also magical. I wasn’t sure how I felt about using magical weapons, but I knew they were worth a lot more coin when sold, so I kept it.
I also found a vein of quicksilver ore, which I’m told is valuable, but I unfortunately didn’t have a pickaxe, and… well, too make a long story shorter, I was killing time, because I knew I had to face those bandits again. Unless I lucked out and they were gone, or sleeping. You never know.
With a sigh, I mounted my horse again and headed back the way I came. Fortune was smiling upon me, as not only were the bandits nowhere to be seen, but I found the path leading to the border! I could already smell the warm sands of my homeland between my toes. (I feel bad for tiny-nosed humans who cannot smell warm sand. To them it’s just coarse and gets in everything. They do not understand.)
It was very dark except for the moon, and I was freezing even in my fur armor, but I knew it would be worth it once I reached the border, and put this whole Skyrim nightmare behind me. If my map was correct, the border should be just up ahead on…
And that’s when I saw it. The gated wall in front of me. Nooo! I was so close! Who puts a wall at their border? I mean honestly.
Maybe I could open it, I thought. I dismounted, and went up to the giant, unmanned wooden gates. Nothing. There were no handles, no levers, no indication that I could open them at all. I tried scaling the sides to see if I could somehow go over it, but no luck there either. And I had no rope with which to pull myself over. Perhaps if I found some rope…
I took a deep breath and counted. Many roads lead to Skyrim, after all. This was just one of them. There was no way they all had such a wall. I just had to find another road, that was all.
Using my map for reference, I rode back to Helgen, and saw a road that would eventually also lead to the border. The only problem was that in order to take it, I would have to go through the remains of Helgen, the gates of which were currently closed, not to mentionly fairly intact. The rumors of Helgen’s destruction were slightly exaggerated. My bad.
Jumping stealthily from my horse and walking stealthily to the gates, I flung them open with such a loud, groaning noise that if anyone was till in Helgen at this point, they’d know I was here. Not giving anyone a chance to act on this knowledge, I galloped through the debris and rubble toward my destination, the other gate, not far from where I almost lost my head.
As I rode along the path, which appeared to head toward a place called “Falkreath,” I went underneath a large wooden structure built across the road, complete with an elaborate contraption designed to drop boulders on unsuspecting passersby. Which is probably more effective if the passersby are not galloping through at full speed on horseback. I glanced behind me just in time to see the boulders fall, as a sleepy bandit at his post said, “What was that?”
Amateurs.
As they belatedly started firing arrows at me and missing, I continued single-mindedly on my course. I had seen several interesting sights along the way, things that I might have investigated were I less driven by my mission. But I was not going to let this place distract me any further.
Even when I passed by a group of revelers, making jokes about mead and drinking in the clearing, I didn’t slow. At first. But then I thought, I was thirsty, and I haven’t had a good mead in a while, and the Sleeping Giant kept advertising how stale their ale was, so… a brief pit stop wouldn’t hurt.
I walked up, and one of them said, “Hail friend! It’s good to see another merry soul enjoying this fine day!” It was night, and raining, but it’s the thought that counts, right? “Ah, but you look tired!” Indeed. “Come! Share a bottle of Honningbrew Mead with me!” The expensive stuff, eh? If you insist.
My expression must have given myself away, because he said, “You’ve never had a taste of sweet Honningbrew? Why, it’s only the finest mead outside Sovengarde!” So, better than what they serve dead people. Got it. “Its sweetness is like a fair maiden’s kiss on a starry night.” Short-lived and inexperienced? “And it’s got enough kick to put a frost troll on his hind quarters! Ha!” Wait, why would I want to put a frost troll on my hind quarters?
“But enough talk. Come! Won’t you share a drink with me and my companions?”
I said I’d love to, and he said, “Ah, nothing like fine spirits to help raise your… well, your spirits!” Yes, I see what you did there. It shocked me how much puns annoyed me when I wasn’t the one making them.
He handed me the drink and said, “Cheers, my friend! May your adventures find you fame and fortune!” Well, as long as it’s not bad fortune. And fame is overrated. But here’s to drinking! I took a drink, and lo, it was good. I went to thank the man, who was now walking away, but he just gave me a blank look and said “Hmph.” Like his personality had totally changed. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but before I could, he glared at me and said, “What do you want, cat?” Cat? CAT?
That’s Mr. Khajiit to you, Nord-man. I was now regretting this poor excuse for revelry. Without another attempted word, I jumped back on my horse, and continued on my way, though a bit more staggeringly than before.
I was so ticked at the sudden rudeness that I couldn’t even enjoy my first glimpse at the Aurora Tamrielis, or whatever it was called in Skyrim. As I rode on, the map in my pocket vibrated and made a “fa-WUMP” sound, so I paused to take a look. It said I had discovered, “Halldir’s Cairn.” Great, whatever, I didn’t care. I continued on my way.
As I rounded the bend near the border, I happened upon another one of those annoying gated walls, but thankfully this one’s doors were open. Actually, there were no doors, just an archway, but no matter. I was free and clear, at last!
I made it perhaps twenty feet from the arch, when suddenly my horse stopped in its tracks. A voice in my head said, “You cannot go that way.” Wait, what? Is that you, horse? I wondered. I got off the horse, and tried to continue on foot. All I managed to do was run in place, while some invisible force held me back, reiterating silently to me that I Could Not Go That Way.
But I saw the road right in front of me, beckoning me, daring me to continue. Yet I could not. How could this be? I was SO close. What had changed? I managed to arrive here, why could I not leave? What–
And then I looked at my things again, and it suddenly became clear to me. This CLAW. This stupid, cursed golden claw! It’s what’s keeping me here, I just knew it! It was the only explanation. I needed to find a way to get rid of the claw, once and for all. And I suspect that I’d find out in the journal of the deceased Dunmer from whom I’d taken it. So I wearily headed back toward civilization, wrote this out, and prepared to dive into some non-recreational reading. I’ll let you know how that goes. Next time.
Wearily,
Steve
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