How I spent my Summer Break in Skyrim: Day Three – Some Nordic Culture

This guys’ family were amazingly chilled about everything. Seriously. He was all, ‘so you may be wondering why I’m not at work, but this dragon totally burned it all down at no notice, also you may observe I have someone a bit novel in tow, well, she was about to be executed but as luck would have it…’

There was no eruption about how did he think he was going to earn his keep now his workplace was ashes. There was no explosion about bringing home strangers of ill repute (all strangers are of ill repute in the boondocks, right?) They actually thanked me, for my help, and said I could take anything I wanted; ‘within reason’.

I took an apple and some ale. I thought it was a trick. I did have a go at making this armour a bit better at the guy’s forge – been a while but you never forget, eh. It’s the proverbial swinging a hammer.

Wish I’d chanced my arm now, right enough. An apple a day isn’t terribly filling. Plus, the implications of having lost everything are beginning to sink in; especially now I realise I might need a lot more than I’d originally packed. The weapons are starting to look like a bare necessity, put it that way.

In return for the apple and the ale – and I’d thought I should maybe put a bit of distance between myself and whats-his-name’s Uncle in case they changed their minds – I agreed to take the news of the dragon to some guy called Yarl in some place called Whiterun. They said it was a simple enough journey. Yeah, no. It was only about a half-hour’s jog and I was still attacked by a pair of wolves and some guy who wanted my ‘valuables’. Ha again. When I told him to shove it he tried to stab me to death – admittedly this was far less surprising than it would have been, ooh, yesterday – but I triumphed. Somehow. Maybe those guys in Riverwood knew it was dangerous out here and just wanted me gone. I mean, if this message was that important, someone would have come with me, right?

Anyway, civilisation finally dawned upon me. As such. City walls and guards and so forth, and sweet, familiar shops. Once they let me in, which they were not much for doing at first.

Amazingly bad prices one gets round here for a haul of second-hand weapons. Maybe it’s because they’re so numerous or something. Stompa would probably know about that.

I took the message to the Yarl, which I now know is a title not a name, and he was all, ‘great, well done, now there’s this ruin that needs investigating for this stone to control dragons or something’… and it would be great if I coulddo it because everyone else is busy. Apparently. This, at least, sounds a lot like spending the summer at home.

He seemed to suggest how maybe I should go at once. Yeah, no. It feels like a week since I got any sleep. Couldn’t they have rustled up a bed for me or something? A corner would have done at that point. I trailed back out into town, discovered a tavern, and spent rather more on food and board than I’d made on those weapons. I probably won’t mention this part, assuming I get home, because it’ll just add to everyone’s conniptions, but I did stay well away from the local bard. He seemed to be staying well away from me, too, which is… not what I expected from their reputations.

Actually, thinking about it… The bad prices. The way everyone’s been very grateful – as they’ve hustled me out the door. The way I’ve had three different people, who I’m sure didn’t know each other beforehand, shout ‘die, Orc filth!’ as they tried to murder me pretty-much on sight. Hairy bollocks, I am right in the boondocks.

Fine, I’ll still get this dragon-stone thing. I don’t like the thought of that big beastie just lumbering round the sky waiting to drop on who-knows who and burn them to cinders. Besides, if I go home now… No. I’ll get some shut-eye and head out in the morning to make the best of this.

Oh, I almost forgot. On my way into town, there was some sort of commotion and it turned out to be these three locals killing a giant. Literally right across the river from town. A giant. I got heckled by the hucksters for not joining in – as if I was going anywhere near that carry-onwhich I ignored because it’s been quite a day already. Only, thinking about it, what sort of people cut about all dolled up in war-paint and give total strangers grief for not dropping everything and wading in?

People who are on the pull, is who. I might be in, there.

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