Well, Journal, remember last time, when I had a gut feeling that writing “it could be worse” was a mistake? Well, just a few hours later, I found out just how wise my gut is. I probably shouldn’t even be writing in you at the moment, but you’ll know why I say that shortly.
So I was stumbling around a bit in the Bannered Mare, and almost bumped into a warrior-looking Nord woman who out of the blue said, “Wanna hear a little Nord wisdom?” No. “You don’t really know a woman til you’ve had a strong drink and fistfight with her.” By this logic, she’s telling me that I’ve never really, really really ever known a woman. I was going to ask her to clarify, but she cut me off, saying, “Think you can go blade to blade with me? You’d be dead in six seconds.” She was very confrontational, this one.
I took a step back and said, “You must really love to fight.”
She replied, “The heat of the battle is the fire that forges the strongest blades.” What? “It’s an old Nord proverb.” Ah. “That, and a true Nord never misses a chance to test her worth.” Good thing I wasn’t a Nord, I supposed.
As the bard behind me sang “Down with Ulfric,” I observed aloud, “Sounds like you’ve got a grudge.” It was probably the ale talking.
She frowned a bit more than she already was and said, “You’ve been talking to those Companions?” What Companions? My Journal is my only Companion. Well, and my trusty horse Skype. “Too hot-headed, they cried. Weak, pathetic cowards, the lot of them.” Hmm, sounds like my kind of people, possibly.
“Why’d the Companions reject you?” I asked. Why did I ask that? I didn’t care.
“It wasn’t my fault! I told them over and over again it was an accident.” Uh-oh. “They wanted me to prove my worth. So they threw me up against a young whelp of a lad. Hardly old enough to grow his first chin hairs.” I do not know how old that is, since we Khajiit have chin hairs from birth. And everywhere else hairs.
Her tone then became pensive. “I guess they thought a woman wasn’t strong enough to hurt him. I didn’t mean for him to die! Why would I want that? I just… I just lost control.”
This was the part of the conversation where things usually got awkward for me, so I silently turned to walk away, as she said, “Good, chat time’s over.” I think she wanted me to challenge her to a fight, but after her ‘accidental death and dismemberment’ story, I decided to pass. That nightmare about dying was still vivid in my memory.
My head started to clear, and I remembered I was going to go to Dragonsreach. So I nodded farewell to everyone who’d been staring at me and staggered out the door. On the way out, I almost ran into a woman, who I think I’d heard someone earlier call “Ysolda” or something. I said hello, and she began to tell me her life goal unprompted. “Once I’ve made enough money trading with the Khajiit caravans, I’m going to buy the Bannered Mare from Hulda.”
I don’t know if I was feeling defensive, or what, but I asked her, “What do you know of the Khajiit?”
“About the same as everyone else,” was her answer. “They’re the cat-folk of Elsweyr. Great warriors, good traders.” Okay, first off, only we can call ourselves cat-folk. Secondly, we’re not all great warriors. That’s just a stereotype.
“The way I hear it,” she continued, “Elseweyr ain’t nothin’ like Skyrim.” You got that right. For one thing, we don’t use double negatives. “It’s got tropical forests and dusty badlands.” Are you TRYING to make me homesick? “It sounds awful.” You know nothing, Fond-of-Snow. But perhaps she could tell me where the Khajiit caravans were, so that I could follow them out of Skyrim. I asked her about the caravans, and she said, “These Khajiit make a living traveling the roads and selling their wares.” I know how they work, just tell me where I can find them. “It’s got to be tough,” she opined, “Skyrim’s a hard enough land when you’ve got a roof over your head.” True.
“Worst thing is,” she added, “Nobody wants them in the cities.” Wait, what? “Nobody trusts them.” Why not? “Reputation mostly. “A lot of Khajiit turn to smuggling and thievery to get by.” I had a bit of a coughing fit at that point. “A few bad apples spoil the bunch. You know how it is.” What’s that supposed to mean? But yes. I do. Finally I asked her, “Do YOU trust them?”
“Matter of fact, I do,” she said, “They’ve been fair enough with me.” I smiled. “Far as I can tell.” I frowned. “And a Nord knows a liar when she sees one.”
Well, it was getting late, so I needed to get moving. I said farewell, she said farewell, and we both went our separate but equal ways.
As I continued walking up the steps to Dragonsreach, I was feeling very homesick. And lonely. I could not remember the last time I’d seen any of my friends or family. That was partly the amnesia’s fault, perhaps, but I also know it had been a couple weeks, at least. I did not wish to dwell upon that too much, however. It just made the tedium worse. I opened the doors to Dragonsreach, and noted that everything sounded quieter than usual. As I climbed the stairs, I noticed the place was empty. I mean, there were still guards standing around, in case someone like me wandered in, but I saw no sign of the Jarl, the pajama man, mister wizard, Carl the house elf, or the other people to whom I hadn’t spoken.
I hadn’t thought to check the sky to see what time it was when I’d left the tavern. They might have all been asleep. So I bided my time a bit, warming my hands by the huge blazing fire in the middle of the room. I wandered casually past the long tables for signs of leftovers, but all of the dishes were spotless. I walked up to the throne, eyed the guards casually, and just to see if I could, I sat my butt down on the throne. The guards didn’t even blink. I’d always wondered what it was like to be on a throne. It was… anti-climactic. Perhaps that was why the Jarl always slouched. I stood back up, walked up to one of the guards and said hey.
He said, “You look tired, friend. The Bannered Mare has beds for rent.” That was either a not-so-subtle hint, or he gets a kickback, perhaps. Either way, I did not wish to sleep another night in Whiterun if I could help it. I wandered over to Farengar’s room, and discovered he was still up, and talking to someone.
“You see?” he said, “The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier.” How can an era be earlier than first? “I’m convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to blah, blah, blah…” I tuned him out.
“Good,” said the hooded woman, who sounded very familiar to me, but I wasn’t sure why. “I’m glad you’re making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers.” I looked more closely. Wait. Could it be? Delphine, the grumpy lady from Sleeping Giant who obsessed about the ale?
“Oh, have no fear,” said Farengar in his weirdly stilted tone, “The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so now I’m able to devote most of my time to this research.” This was boring, so I decided I would wait somewhere else while they did their thing.
“Time is running, Farengar,” said Delphine in a much more patient tone than she used with Ognar, “Don’t forget. This isn’t some theoretical question. Dragons have come back.” What dragons? It’s just the one dragon, I swear. And wait, I thought the other day she’d said dragons were a load of washed hogs, but now she’s talking to Farengar about them? This made no sense to me.
“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” he said, “Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable.” And dangerous, I thought, recalling the one that had almost eaten me, had Hadvar not pulled me into the Keep at the last second.
Even though I was standing far back, she said, “You have a visitor.”
Ignoring her, he said, “Now, let me show you something else I found… very intriguing… I think your employers may be interested as well.” Her employers? I had just assumed she owned the Sleeping Dragon, it hadn’t occurred to me she was working for someone.
As I was backing up, Ferengar suddenly noticed me. “Hmm? Ah, yes! The Jarl’s protege!” The Jarl’s pro touche’? “Back from Bleak Falls Barrow?” No, I’m very good at illusion spells suddenly. “You didn’t die, it seems.” I winced slightly.
A long and of course awkward pause followed this. The fire crackled behind me, while Delphine stood with her hands on the table, while Farengar shuffled around in his magic bathrobe, trying to decide where he wanted to be. I supposed it was up to me to make the next move, or we’d all just stand around looking like morons. As I entered the room, he just grabbed the dragonstone out of my pocket without asking, saying, “Ah, the Dragon Stone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way.” Your backhanded compliments grow tiresome, magic-boy.
With a sigh I asked, “So what about my reward?”
“You’ll have to see the Jarl about that,” he said, as though I hadn’t just done him a tremendous favor, risking life and limb in the process. “Maybe his steward, Avenicci. I’m sure one of them will pay you appropriately.” Whatever. You’re welcome.
“My… associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork.” Cut the crap, man, I know it’s Delphine. She discovered its location. By means she has so far declined to share with me.” He sounded bitter. This made me happy.
He turned to her, totally invading her personal space, and said, “So, your information was correct after all.” You mean you weren’t even sure?! “And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us.” But not enough to thank me directly to my face. I see how it is.
Delphine looked at me and said, “You went into Bleak Falls Barrow to get that? Nice work.” Turning back to Farengar, she said, “Just send me a copy when you’ve deciphered it.”
I turned to leave, as the housecarl came running in, saying “Farengar!” in such a way that it sounded like a swear word, which I could get used to. “Farengar, you need to come at once! A dragon’s been spotted nearby.” She barely looked over her shoulder in my general direction and added, as an afterthough, “You should come, too.”
Yeah, no. I don’t think so. One nearly fatal dragon encounter is plenty for one lifetime, if you ask me. Granted, she didn’t ask me, but I had that answer handy just in case.
Farengar didn’t share my reluctance, saying, “A dragon? How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?” My guess is it was seen in the sky, and it was terrorizing the local populous, but that was just an educated guess.
“I’d take this a bit more seriously if I were you,” said Irileth. (I’d forgotten her name before, but now I remembered it. I’m not sure why I thought her name was Carl.) “If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don’t know if we can stop it.” Ooh, I know this one! No, no you can’t stop it. It’s a freaking dragon.
“Let’s go,” said Irileth, as she, Delphine, and Farengar all headed up the stairs, away from the front door, so I don’t know what was up with them. As for me, I took a seat by the fire. I didn’t know what they were doing, but I wanted no part in it. Nope. No thank you. No sir.
So now I’m writing this here. I don’t know, what do you think I should do, Journal? I mean, fate saw fit to save me from both an execution AND a dragon attack. Not to mention the undead, an angry shop-owner who refused to take his property back, and a vision of a murderous fellow Khajiit. I’m not sure how many lucky breaks one preson is allotted, but I had to be nearing my limit, for sure.
On the other hand, I couldn’t very well get my reward if Dragonsreach burned down. Nor could I ask Farengar about magic if he died in a flaming burst of misplaced curiosity. Besides, they had gone upstairs, which was clearly not somewhere dangerous, so it wouldn’t hurt for me to follow them, right?
I saw Delphine leaving, and decided to ask her for advice. I got up and went up to her, and she said, “Mind your own business.”
Hmm. You know what, Delphine? You’re right. I should mind my own business. And this… whatever was going on with Whiterun and this dragon… was none of my business. True, I’d seen it burn down Helgen, but honestly, they kinda had it coming to them, what with their attempted mass execution. In a way, I almost owed the dragon my life, because if it hadn’t shown up, I’d be dead for sure. So I could return the favor by not helping Irileth and Ferengar with whatever they planned to do to it. I mean, for all I knew, it was frolicking peacefully by the stream. Okay, probably not. But still. And yes, I was rationalizing, because yes, I was feeling guilty about what I was about to do.
I made a beeline for the front gate. Why is that even a saying? Haven’t they ever seen a bee? They don’t fly in a line, generally. They wandered wherever there’s flowers. Anyway, I wasn’t going to stay in Whiterun if the dragon was going to torch it. And I meant no offense to the various residents, most of whom seemed like nice people. But I needed to watch out for me and Skype.
I went down the incline and across the drawbridge, and looked around for signs of a dragon. I saw nearby smoke and glowing embers. The dragon?! But no, it was the Khajiit caravan, as they had returned, from wherever they’d gone. This was perfect. A sign, even. I would follow them to their next location, preferably far from Whiterun, and maybe soon to Elsweyr. Surely they’d have to go home for supplies, yes?
I walked up to an older Khajiit sitting in front of a tent to greet him. He said, “We are creatures of the desert. The north wind chills us to the bones.” Tell me about it, brother.
So… “Why sell your goods in Skyrim?”
“An astute question,” he said. Hey, I thought it was pretty good one. “For we are far from home, and this is a cold, hard land.” I know, right? “The wisest trader finds the best opportunities.” I nodded. That made sense. “Even if he must travel far to find them.” Huh. Okay. “Skyrim is a ripe opportunity indeed.” I saw his point. But… “The dragons and the war have scared many other traders away.” Can you blame them? “But for those with courage, there is much profit to be made.”
I pondered this wisdom. I hadn’t considered this angle. Yes, I could return home, but what would I have to show for it? Did I really want to go home nearly empty-handed? Sure, I had the claw, but I’d already determined it was mostly junk, and cursed junk at that. Yes, I wanted to go home, more than anything, but… the Khajiit’s words about courage and profit resonated all too well.
I took out the two septims from my pocket, which I’d kept separate from the others. A little boy had given them to me, with the understanding that I would help him. If he died in a dragon fire tonight, I will have failed him, and myself. I thanked the old Khajiit for his time.
“May your road lead you to warm sands,” he said in the generic farewell.
Someday it will, kind sir. But it is not this day.
Looks like I needed to get a little bit more drunk.
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