[Urbis] Locations of the Cold Frontier - Blue Octopus Village

The third Coastal Tribe village of the Cold Frontier is actually located on an island off the coast. Blue Octopus Village is, of course, primarily a fishing village, but they also trade with some of the creatures of the depths, in particular cecaelia and merfolk, with whom they trade pearls and other treasures of the depths in exchange for land food and tools. In fact, the village serves as neutral meeting ground for these ocean-dwelling sapients, and the PCs might stumble across a conference between these beings (the human villagers will likely attempt to keep them away from there and distract them with their own festivities). The village is medium-sized, with about 400 inhabitants.

Returning to the Random Nations Generator, we get Consociational State as the form of government - possibly the Octopus Tribe and the Fish Tribe (as the cecaelia and merfolk would be called) are actually part of the village government, taking seats on the local Council of Elders. Among the organizations, we get the False Face Society again, just like in Ghost Crab Village. I think I will simply establish that there is a skinwalker presence in this town - given the location, weresharks seem the most likely. A further organization is La Cosa Nostra, implying that the locals who trade with the underwater dwellers for pearls will go to lengths to protect their monopoly, including... accidents (worse things happen at sea, you know). Finally, we have a Biker Gang - which means that many of the younger fishers are rather rowdy when it comes to going out in their kayaks, often racing the waves in rather bad weather. Outsiders who can't keep up with their boating skills - or indeed, can't use boats at all - will get little respect.

Moving on to NPCs, first we get Eddie Chapman, a British criminal turned double agent who pretended to work for the Germans in WWII while in reality working for MI5. For Blue Octopus Village, this might mean a villager - let's call him Long Weasel - who pretends to sell out his village and is willing to subvert the pearl monopoly in exchange for goods and favors, but who is really spying on the PCs for the village - and the Hidden Fire Society.

Next up is John Whiteside Parsons, famous rocket scientist/occultist. Now, this is an interesting archetype, especially considering his attempted "Babalon Working". Let's say our Cold Frontier equivalent, White Sky, is a powerful shaman driven by the need to know. He is a member of the Hidden Fire Society, but doesn't really care about their goals - all that matters is the secret knowledge he has gained through their association. Likewise, while he is strictly speaking not a member of the Wendigo Cult, he has contacts with them and has observed some of their rites. He will probably sooner or later summon Wendigo himself, just to see if he can.

Lastly, we get Doctor Dolittle, which easily translates into a shaman (let's call him Little Water) of the druidic variety who cares deeply about animal life and whose hut will be constantly surrounded by numerous animal companions.

As a political issue, we get Human-animal hybrid ban sought at Louisiana session. Extending the definition of "animals" a bit, perhaps there is a "forbidden love" between one of the human villagers and one of the octopus folk - or at least, the human parents and many of the village elders are against it - the one who is the most sympathetic is White Sky, who is willing to brew them a potion which would allow them to have offspring, just to see what happens. The human male, Long Reed, might ask the explorers if they could live at the Trade Outpost, away from their families. If they sound receptive, he will introduce them to his female cecaelia lover, Deep Swimmer.

Note: A list of all Urbis-related posts can be found here.

[Urbis] Locations of the Cold Frontier - Marmot Warrens, Wendigo Altar, Fog Wraiths, and Ghoul Warrens

In this outlier of the coastal mountains, numerous extended families of marmots make their home. If someone starts to sing, whistle, or make some other kind of music, they will quickly whistle along.

Here the coastal forests fade into the plains, only leaving small copses of trees. In one of them there is an ancient altar with the sign of the wendigo. Sacrificing a living being on the altar will summon a hunger spirit into a nearby animal, or even human being - depending on the power of the sacrifice. A contest of Will can force the animal to attack a designated target. Wendigo priests have their own rituals to improve the odds. In order to destroy the altar safely, a hunger spirit inhabiting it must first be driven out, or else it will attempt to possess the destroyer.

Fog wraiths inhabit this part of the coastal mountains - 2 yard long, snake-like beings made out of fog which are attracted to the warmth of the living. They are not immediately dangerous, but they will cause their victims to become wet and gradually drain their warmth if not driven away. Fire will drive them away, and if their victims can somehow mask their body heat they will lose interest.

Near a small lake ruins of an Old Native settlement can be found. These used to be largely stone buildings, in contrast to the modern wooden constructions used by the Coastal Tribes. When the Great Darkness arrived, 150 villagers - about have the population - sought shelter in a nearby underground warren stretching deep into a mountain which was used for kivas and as a burial ground. Unfortunately, it offered no protection, and every last one of them turned to ghouls. A few of them, including a female shaman named Burning Feather, were able to remain lucid and stave off the hunger better than others, and if encountered by explorers before the other ghouls they will be able to hold a brief conversation about the history surrounding the Great Darkness before the other ghouls will be heard coming from the depths of the warren, and before Burning Feather is likewise overcome with hunger for human flesh.

The Coastal Tribes have put a large boulder in front of the cave entrance, while Burning Feather and her allies have destroyed the stairs leading down in order to keep themselves and the other ghouls imprisoned and protect their living relatives. Some living shamans of the Coastal Tribe occasionally contact Burning Feather telepathically, which is safe for both sides. These shamans value her knowledge and would not appreciate attempts by the explorers to destroy her.

Note: A list of all Urbis-related posts can be found here.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 10 - The Way of Shouting

Continued from Dispatch 09 - The Road to High Hrothgar.

Elderly Nords in robes greeted me as I entered High Hrothgar. They want to test me to see if I really am a Dragonborn, and by their request I shouted "FUS" again, which does the trick. Their speaker, one Arngeir, explained that there were many Dragonborn before me. Whether I am the only one currently in existence, he could not say - I am the only one they have detected so far, and presumably finding more is difficult if they only stick to this mountain.

"FUS" is apparently a word in the language of dragons, and all Dragonborn allegedly have an innate gift for using such draconic "Words of Power" and channeling them into a "Shout". Each Shout contains up to three words, and using more of them will make the Shout more powerful. As I have seen on the walls of Markarth, all those many years ago...

One of Arngeir's colleagues, one Einarth, spoke the word "ROH", an extension of "FUS", and draconic letters form on the floor. I stared at them, and they shimmer and vanish from the floor while burning themselves into my mind. Apparently the Greybeards could somehow sense the latter, as Arngeir congratulated me on learning it so quickly.

Normal people have to constantly practice these Shouts to make use of them, while Dragonborn are able to tap into the absorbed knowledge of a slain dragon. Arngeir then explained that Einarth would allow me to "tap into his understanding of ROH". Then streams of light emerged from Einarth, similar to what I had seen emerging from the slain dragon, and my mind was filled with understanding.

Understanding of ROH, not of what in Oblivion had just happened. Had Einarth just transferred a part of his soul into mine? Unlike the dragon, he was still alive - but what had this transferal cost him?

As a further test, they conjured a few phantasms with their own Shouts and bade me to strike them with my new knowledge of FUS ROH, which seemed to be easy enough, but was sufficient to impress them.

We went outside, where another Greybeard, one Borry, taught me "WULD", or "Whirlwind", with the same method as Einarth. Using it caused the world to shift, as I passed quickly through a closing gate. I can foresee that closing distances quickly will turn out to be very useful...

With that, Arngeir turned to me and told me: "You are now ready for your last trial. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav."

"Wait. These last two tests have been about learning and improving my use of the Voice, as you call it. The 'natural abilities' of a Dragonborn, if I understood you correctly."

"That's right."

"And now you are sending me off to some ancient tomb, likely filled with draugr, traps, and other dangers."

"Yes...?"

"What in Oblivion does that have to do with me being the Dragonborn?"

"It is a test to see how worthy you are of the title, like the heroes of old..."

"Do you even know what is going on out there? The dragons have returned, people are dying..." 

"We are aware, and surely this is not an accident that you have appeared at the same time. You should focus on honing your Voice, and soon your path will be made clear."

Keep your temper, Araneus. These people know things. Things that you need to know as well, and blowing up at them will not help.

He further warns me against the "arrogance of power" which other Dragonborn have succumbed to. But he tells me a few things, at least. Apparently, dragons also have this natural ability to "Shout", which comes to them as naturally as breathing. And back in the Mythic Age, the goddess Kynareth granted this ability to mortals - although not the ability to do it as easily as dragons. Except for the Dragonborn, who are allegedly granted this ability by Akatosh himself, and...

Then he let something very interesting indeed slip. When I asked them if the four elderly gentlemen were all of the Greybeards, he told me that there were five of them - their leader Paarthurnax lived on the mountaintop.

"Wait a moment. I saw the stone tablets on the way to here. Is this the same Paarthurnax who 'pitied Man' and taught Men how to use the Voice together with Kyne?"

Arngeir seemed to realize that he had said to much. "Uhm..."

"Does this Paarthurnax happen to have wings and breathe fire?"

"All will be revealed in time to you. You will be able to meet him when your Voice can open the path to him." And with that, this particular conversation seemed to be over.

I looked around the courtyard, and while there was a path leading further up the mountain, the need for "opening" it was fairly obvious - a raging storm seemed to cover it which would have surely swept me off the mountain, had I tried to pass through.

Very well. If that's what it took to get an interview with a dragon, I would go to this "Ustengrav" and get that damn horn.

We were halfway down when a dragon - the same as before? - ambushed us at a narrow ridge. It landed, and to my horror I watched as the impact from its landing knocked Lydia right off the mountainside! My other companions were likewise knocked away, but luckily in different directions and were only momentarily stunned. Then it attacked again and again, breathing ice as we peppered it with bolts and arrows and finally forced it down. We slew it on the very edge of the ridge it had pushed Lydia off, and it screamed and screamed as its scales and very soul boiled off before its lifeless bones finally fell down the mountain.

The nausea returned as the creature's life force poured into me, but this time I felt strangely okay about it.

Then we stared down the steep cliff. Even the normally chatty Vrija was silent.

"There is nothing more we can do here. You saw the arc in which she flew off. Nobody could have survived that. And we have avenged her death, as if that matters now. We must move on and get off this damn mountain before nightfall, before we all die of exposure."

Gorr and Jenassa understood - they were veteran warriors and too pragmatic to mourn a fallen comrade while our own lives were still at stake. Vrija looked like she was about to protest, after seeing my face thought better of it. And with that, we started the long walk down the mountain, lost in thought.

Continued in Dispatch 11 - Messages.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 09 - The Road to High Hrothgar

Continued from Dispatch 08 - Bandits Horribly Slaughtered by Well-Armed Travelers.

Now, whatever you can say about the roads of Cyrodiil, they are relatively safe. Why, you can only expect to be held up by armed bandits once or twice during any given journey! In Skyrim, you do not only have the bandits, but also skirmishes between Stormcloak rebels and some kind of necromancer coven, strange people spitting jets of poison from their mouths, trolls, more necromancers, and, of course, dragons - although this one at least did not spot us this time. And all that before we even reached Ivarstead!

But not all roadside encounters were people or things out to kill us. Sometimes, the people or things had been out to kill someone else first and then vanished into the thin underground, only leaving the grisly remains of their kills behind. Such was the case when we left the main road and started to climb up a small path to Ivarstead - we found two corpses attired in the bizarre garb of the Forsworn, still familiar after all those years.

Forsworn, for those of my readers who are unfamiliar with the history of western Skyrim, see themselves as rebels against Nord oppression of their native homeland - the Reach. A generation ago, they actually managed to overthrow the Nords for a time before... but I digress. From what I've heard, they have become more and more desperate and brutal since then - but finding them this far east, this far away from the Reach was certainly unusual enough to merit my attention.


There was a cave nearby, where bloody skulls had been impaled to scare away intruders, but of course that didn't stop brave investigators of the Truth like us. Inside we saw two bandits fighting with... a werewolf? What was a werewolf doing here? Had it come with the Forsworn? And if so, are the Forsworn now deliberately recruiting werewolves for their ranks?

Sadly, when we investigated the rest of the cave system no answers were forthcoming. Apparently the bandits had discovered an old, hidden fortress, and made their home there. They had also started to cage various animals, although only a sabre cat was still alive when we reached the cages. But there were no hints about their actual goals, or what their connection to werewolves or the Forsworn was.

As night fell, we finally reached Ivarstead, which was currently under attack - first by a trio of crazed mages and then a frenzied bear charged into town as well (frenzied by an illusion spell?). The locals seemed to need little help in putting them down, however - Nords are a tough breed, but I guess they have to be.

We holed up in Vilemyr inn for the night, and I asked the locals about the path to High Hrothgar. One Klimmek allegedly went up on it on a regular basis, but he wasn't at the inn - I would have to hunt him down the next morning. The inn's proprietor also warned me about the "haunted barrow" overlooking the town, claiming to have seen a spectre with his own eyes. But after Bleak Falls Barrows I feel no need to delve into another one.

21st of Last Seed, 4E 201.

Klimmek was up early. As it turned out, he had never been in High Hrothgar itself, only leaving supplies outside it. He did not even get paid for this service, believing that this would be "wrong" to demand payment from the Greybeards. Allegedly they could kill with a single word, which may have been part of the reasons for his reluctance, although he really did seem to hold them in reverence. Since I was heading there anyway, I promised to bring his food supplies there for him. He said he never encountered anything more dangerous than some wolves, but told me to watch out for slippery ice.

As we ascended the path, we spotted stone tablets with inscriptions along it:

I: "Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus; Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs; For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land."

A giant spider ambushed us.

II: "Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus; The Dragons presided over the crawling masses; Men were weak then, and had no Voice."

Wolves this time, with white fur adapted to the colder climate at these heights.

III: "The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times; Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices; But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts."

Ah. Another reference to the Dragon War. The plot thickens.

IV: "Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice; Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue."

Another dragon appeared from the south. A strange woman warrior clad in skimpy pink armor who had been meditating on the fourth tablet charged it and disappeared behind a ridge. The rest of us used this distraction to move on, but we ran into a white-furred troll in a small canyon.

V: "Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their Voice too was strong; Although their sacrifices were many-fold."

Who was Paarthurnax? Who was Alduin? And how did they "shout him out of the world"?

VI: "With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World."

The snow began to fall in earnest.

VII: "The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled; Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation; To understand how Strong Voices could fail."

Red Mountain... wasn't there a major battle involving a Nord invasion? I will have to read that up.

VIII: "Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The 17 disputants could not shout Him down; Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World."

Logically, this home would be High Hrothgar.

IX: "For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar; They blessed and named him Dovahkiin."

That's the word that both the dragon said and the Greybeards shouted from the mountain. Dovahkiin =  Dragonborn?

X: "The Voice is worship; Follow the Inner path; Speak only in True Need."

Now High Hrothgar was directly in front of me. I was cold, I was miserable, and I was desperate in need of answers. Hopefully, these Greybeards will have some for me.

Continued in Dispatch 10 - The Way of Shouting.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 08 - Bandits Horribly Slaughtered by Well-Armed Travelers

Continued from Dispatch 07 - Dragon Rising.

Whatever else can be said about devouring the soul of a dragon, it is highly invigorating - I don't feel the least bit tired, despite missing a full night of sleep. I head out of Dragonsreach, and...

...there is another dragon - this time attacking the city itself! Both my companions and I pepper it with arrows, and the guards join in as it makes one pass after another over the plaza before the local temple of Kynareth, freezing the air with great cones of ice. Even when grievously wounded, it doesn't retreat - do these things know no fear? Finally, it collapses on top of the city ramparts, and again I feel this unholy rush of both power and nausea as its very soul pours into mine. No new insights into the Voice, though.

This time, I take some leftover bones and scales as souvenirs, but plenty remain. I expect that dragon bones will become popular with many people across Tamriel - enchanters, alchemists, even some demented armorsmiths - and that there will be no shortage of fake dragon bones made from cattle and the like.

After I wandered through town and sold some of my loot from the Barrows as well as aquired some new spells and gear (it turned out that the proprietor of the Drunken Huntsman had somehow acquired a large collection of dwarven crossbow bolts!), I started to think about my mission. While I now had plenty of brawn at my disposal, what I really needed as well was an assistant - someone with observation skills, someone with investigative drive, someone with brains. While I had only known Jenassa, Gorr, and Lydia for a short time and I didn't think they were precisely stupid (other than the fact that they were following someone around who almost seemed to attract dragons), they didn't seem to have all that many interests beyond combat.

For some reason, most of the brighter locals seemed unwilling to accompany a stranger investigating the Mystery of the Dragons. But in the Bannered Mare, I found a young Nord woman named Vilja (sporting an accent odd even for Skyrim) who was doing an investigation of her own - she was on the search for two people who had stolen some kind of bottle from her. I assured her that I was an excellent investigator and that while normally mere thefts were beneath my notice, I was willing to make an exception for her.

As it happened, they hadn't really bothered to hide their trail, and we caught up with them in front of  the Honeybrew Meadery, a bit outside of the city. They were arguing about how the bottle allegedly "talked to them" and "cursed" them. I know how it is - bottles talk to me all the time, usually saying things like "drink me!". Of course, a surprising amount of these bottles had also been cursed - poisoned, really - by my many enemies.

They were only too happy to hand the bottle over. Just as they were doing so, another dragon appeared - how many of these things are out there? This one was smarter - it just did a quick flyover and breathed fire into our general direction before vanishing into the direction of the Throat of the World.

Vilja thanked me, and then asked me if we had met before. While I took this as a blatant ploy, there is always a chance that we had met, and I had forgotten about it - thanks to the influences of these cursed bottles, again.

She believed that her bottle was not really cursed, though. It was left to her by her grandmother and allegedly contained some ancient magic of Morrowind - and that a place called the "Eldergleam Sanctuary" supposedly had the key to unlocking it. I agreed to help her search for this place, which means that she will tag along with our merry group. And it turns out she has some alchemical training as well, so she probably has the smarts for the assistant job.

Perfect.

According to my maps, the shortest route to High Hrothgar led around the north side of the mountain, along the White River, before we had to climb up to the town of Ivarstead - the start of the "7,000 steps" pilgrimage the Jarl mentioned. Unfortunately, we were off to a bad start, as the heavy rain and the cloudy night sky conspired to make our surroundings pitch black - and then we stumbled across a skirmish between guards of Whiterun and some bandits. Only with difficulty did we manage to disentangle us from the combatants and move on.

Then Vilja started to chat with Lydia, and it began to sound as if she was interested in recruiting her for some dungeon crawling of her own. That was not a train of thought I wanted to encourage - Lydia is my bodyguard, assigned to me by the Jarl of Whiterun. Before I could intervene, however, we came across an old fortress spanning the river - and a bandit stopped me and explained that this was a "toll road" - that I would have to pay 200 septims to go on.

I considered my options. There were very likely bandits hidden in that fortress, taking aims with bows even now. But behind me, Gorr was sniggering, Lydia was grinning, and Jenessa was taking her pre-combat stance. And I didn't have 200 septims - those dwarven crossbow bolts were expensive.

"Listen very carefully. I am Araneus Venator, writer for the Black Horse Courier. Unless you want the news to be 'Bandits Horribly Slaughtered by Well-Armed Travelers', I suggest you let us pass immediately. And not make any sudden moves, that kind of thing."

"Hah! Tough talk for someone who is about to have their guts spilled!"

With that, she drew her sword, and the carnage unfolded. Under a blood red Masser emerging from the clouds, which I thought was a nice touch. First we brought down the predictable archer who hadn't quite grasped the concept of staying in cover. Then we had a running battle across the ancient stone bridge spanning the river, all the while taking fire from snipers on the other side. After I had put down of them, I decided that this was enough for the night - I was cold, I was tired, and we were unlikely to find another place with beds any time soon, lice-riddled as they were. So we made camp within the northern tower.

20th of Last Seed, 4E 201.

Unfortunately, I was still cold the next morning - I really should have built a decent fire and dried myself up before going to bed. Stupid young beginner's mistake, which I really shouldn't have made... But just as I had gathered firewood and got a nice fire burning, we spotted another group of bandits arriving at the south tower next to the road, presumably a raiding party that had returned after a long night. Once again my bodyguards set upon them with glee, while I attempted to hit a few of them with the crossbow held in my shivering fingers.

We took what we needed from their corpses. I lucked out - one of the bandits had some skeever dust with her. I hadn't managed to find any suppliers around here, given that I was preoccupied with other concerns.

Finally, we moved on. I hope that Whiterun will send some guards to occupy this place, or else bandits will likely camp here again within the week. But with the Civil War raging on, fewer and fewer guards are available to keep the roads safe, even in such a strategic location as this one...

Continued in Dispatch 09 - The Road to High Hrothgar.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 07 - Dragon Rising

Continued from Dispatch 06 - Bleak Falls Barrow.

19th of Last Seed, 4E 201.

You'd think that Skyrim is empty of people when you get off the roads, but you'd be wrong. First we spotted a lone bard fighting off some bandits, and then we encountered a very peculiar Khajiit clad in a robe who introduced himself by the name of M'aiq and dispensed gems of wisdom like: "M'aiq can travel fast across the land. Some lazy types take carriages. It is all the same to M'aiq" or "M'aiq once walked to High Hrothgar. So many steps, he lost count." Than he walked away without even giving me some of the skooma he was obviously on. Some people!

After getting my reward for the retrieval of the golden dragon claw from the Riverwood trader, we headed back to Whiterun. And again, we were not the only people in the area - a few revelers were returning from a very long pub crawl.

Arriving at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace, I caught Farengar talking to a hooded woman, presumably his "reliable source". I couldn't see her face clearly, but her voice seemed familiar... Farengar was talking about some old text he and unearthed, and how he could use it to "cross-reference sites" - perhaps the dragon burial mounds? The woman referred to an "employer" who seemed to be "very anxious" to learn about the dragons... but that could be anyone from the Synod to the Penitus Oculatus to the Thalmor.

Then they spotted me, and Farengar let slip that his "associate" was the one who had discovered the location of the dragonstone, although she hadn't told him how.

Then Irileth, the Jarl's bodyguard, burst into my room and demanded that both Farengar and me should come with her - a dragon had been sighted nearby!

Farengar was rather more exited at the prospect of seeing a dragon than was seemly, while Irileth was more worried about whether her forces could repel such a creature - and after Helgen, I was feeling rather skeptical myself. Irileth and the Jarl interrogated a guard who had ran from the "Western Watchtower", where it was apparently still circling.

The Jarl ordered Irileth to go there with some men. Then he asked me to come with them and help them fight this dragon, since I had more "experience" with dragons than anyone else in the city.

After Helgen, there is nothing I'd like to do less. And yet, what choice do I have?

The News must be told.

As a reward for my past services, the Jarl gives me an enchanted shield (sadly, too heavy for my tastes) and tells me that I am now allowed to purchase property in the city - with the qualifier "...if you survive this" remaining unspoken.

Irileth is a good military leader, I'll grant her that. This is clearly a suicide mission, and her men realize that, expressing dismay at fighting such a lethal foe. But with a short speech she grips them by their Nordic souls' metaphysical testicles and fills them with visions of being the first Nords to kill a dragon in the modern age, instead of merely being one of the first to become a dragon's lunch in the modern age.

The watchtower was burning.

Survivors at its base were warning us off. Then it came, from the mountains to the south. A different one - not black and full of spikes, but a light green and smooth scales. It landed and breathed fire, and we peppered it with arrows and bolts in return. Then it took flight again, presumably to find a better vantage point from which to breath fire on us puny insects.

Then it went down. By the Divines, it went down! It struggled to get into the air again, but its wings had suffered too many pinpricks and could no longer support its weight. We kept our distance and continued our barrage. As it collapsed, it let out some final words. "Dovakin? No!"

Then it began to glow. Its scales began to dissolve and turn into motes of light - which rushed into me. A sense of overwhelming power filled me, and echoes of ancient knowledge not my own whispered through my mind.

Then I realized what had happened. Those ancient Nordic heroes from the "Book of the Dragonborn" hadn't merely absorbed some kind of power from defeated dragons - they had devoured their very souls, like some of the blackest necromancers are reputed to do with human souls. And, by the Divines, I had somehow done the same!

The guards were rather excited by this new development, and had heard of those legends as well. One of them told me that the Dragonborn of old could "Shout" without training. Then they started to argue about the folklore surrounding those old heroes. I was still too stunned to join in the debate, but I remembered that rune wall in Bleak Falls Barrows, and something stirred in my memories... no, not my own memory. Suddenly, I realized what one of the words on the wall meant. I opened my mouth...

"FUS!"

And in a wide cone in front of me, some kind of force pushed the guards back and whirled the soil into the air.

I knew that words had power. I mean, I always knew it - but this?

This was too much. I headed back to the city - as always, the News must be told, in this case to the Jarl, who would be relieved to hear that the dragon was slain. After that, I needed a stiff drink - or a dozen.

But when I approached the gates, the ground shook. Then eerie voices said a word - "Dovakin", like the dragon had cried. I was too rattled to be sure, but they seemed to come from a high mountain nearby - the Throat of the World itself, if I wasn't mistaken.

Just inside, I witnessed the guards kicking out two Redguard warriors, still in the garb of their homeland. One of them approached me and claimed to pay good money for information on the whereabouts of a "middle-aged Redguard woman", but refused to elaborate on what they wanted with her. I smell a story... but this will have to wait.

As it turned out, the Jarl was also versed in those old Norse legends, and after my update explained that the cry from the mountain had been a summons from the "Greybeards", who probably wanted to meet me because I was Dragonborn - because I was able to absorb power from dragons and use these "shouts", or "thu'um" like dragons do. His brother elaborated that the last person to be summoned like this was Tiber Septim, when he was still Talos of Atmora.

...perfect. All I wanted - or rather, what my editor wanted - was to do some nice, quiet investigation of the Skyrim Civil War. And such an investigation would have been much easier if I had been able to keep a low profile. But now... the way the guards talked, this will probably be the talk of all of Skyrim within the week, and of the Imperial City the week after that (although the latter would undoubtedly be distracted by more important matters, like who in the Imperial dynasty was sleeping with whom).

But still, these Greybeards sound like they might have important information - if they know about these "dragon shouts", they might know more about the dragons themselves. So it took very little prompting from the Jarl to decide to make the "pilgrimage along the 7,000 steps" up to High Hrothgar.

Then he made me a thane of his city - for my Cyrodiilic readers, think "high-ranking flunky/courtier of the local baron". Which meant that even if I wanted to stay out of the local politics, I would still be seen by others as part of the system. More headaches, although it might open up some new doors for my investigation... On the upside, he appointed a "housecarl" (think: bodyguard) to serve me - a muscular Nord woman named Lydia. Which means that I now have three bodyguards, which makes me feel a lot safer already, unless they decide to gang up on me (which has happened before...).

Continued in Dispatch 08 - Bandits Horribly Slaughtered by Well-Armed Travelers.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 06 - Bleak Falls Barrow

Continued from Dispatch 06 - Cash Flow.

While I knew where Bleak Falls Barrow was, my new companion and I headed into Riverwood first - perhaps some of the locals could tell us more about what to expect inside. Besides, I was drenched from the constant rain, and so we made a stop at the Sleeping Giant Inn.

Inside, a Redguard named Gorr who openly bragged about "killing more men than there are minutes in the day" offered his services as a thug-for-hire. Apparently he had started out as a gladiator in the Imperial City, but left for Skyrim for the horker stew (although he'd like to upgrade to dragon stew, if he finds some). He also seemed to live for the thrill of combat, and unlike Jenassa he didn't even ask for an advance payment. And right now, that's all the qualification he needs, apart from standing between me and harm's way.

The barkeeper couldn't tell me more about the barrows than what I already knew from Hadvar, though he had some other interesting rumors - that necromancers were moving from Falkreath to Whiterun via Brittleshin Pass, and that a boy in Windhelm was attempting to contact the Dark Brotherhood. The barmaid also told me that Ulfric had allegedly escaped from Helgen - I suspect I will see him again, sooner or later. The local bard was completely useless as a source of information - he was only interested in a romantic rivalry about some local girl.

I checked the Riverwood Trader next, and as it turned out he had just suffered from a break-in - the thieves took a golden ornament in the form of a dragon's claw - and only that ornament, despite all the other valuables in the house.

Dragon's claw? And apparently the thieves had taken off to Bleak Falls Barrow, too. Perhaps I was not the only one searching for this Dragonstone - if Faengar's "reliable source" had sold their knowledge to more than one interested party...

As we began to climb up the mountain, the cold rain transformed into snow, compounding my misery. We saw a bandit lookout at an old, decrepit watchtower, but managed to sneak past, despite Gorr's mutterings about what and whom we should kill today. When we reached the cyclopean arches of the actual barrow, our luck ran out - I came up a set of stairs just as one of the bandits was looking in my direction. Fortunately, my new companions were well worth the money I paid (or didn't pay, in the case of Gorr) for them - without them, it might have gone badly, since two of the bandits had somehow acquired crossbows. One bolt hit me, but nothing some still-remembered healing magics couldn't mend.

I snatched one of the crossbow, but I was now shivering violently from the cold. I needed a fire - fast. And just inside the barrows, several bandits were clustering around one, discussing one dark elf who had apparently "gone ahead" deeper into the barrows with the claw, apparently in the hopes of finding some treasure. Then they, too, spotted us, and after a short, ugly fight I warmed myself up. I also found a woodcutter's axe, which I kept - if I keep on getting caught in the cold like that, I want to be able to build a fire instead of searching for bandit camps and killing the current occupants.

Another bandit was guarding a room with strange tablets and rotating pillars with rotating animal signs. A puzzle room - though I've heard of trickier ones. Rotating the pillars so that they would match the tablets did the trick, and pulling a lever opened the gate to the next corridor without triggering any obvious traps.

A short time later, I heard the thief calling out for help - as it turned out, he had been trapped by a giant spider (horse-sized this time, though it was fortunately already wounded). As expected, he did have the claw, and promised to share the "treasure" with me - but he ran as soon as I had cut him loose.

Bad mistake. Beginner's mistake, one that you usually don't survive - running deeper into an unexplored dungeon, without paying attention to your surroundings? I followed much more cautiously, and indeed he awoke lurching, undead things from their slumber. No mere zombies these, armed and with eyes whose glowing blue burned an afterimage into my retina - those must be the infamous draugr of Skyrim. But one of them went down to our maces, while the other two were dispatched by a swinging, spiked gate triggered by a pressure plate. Not the brightest of creatures, which is a trait you should always value in your foes.

The thief had a journal with him, where he explained some old legends which hinted that the golden claw is some sort of key in the "Hall of Stories". The legends also stated "When you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands". Looking at the claw's palm, I saw the same animal markings as in the puzzle room...

A more immediate problem presented itself, though - a corridor with swinging pendulums ending in large blades, still sharp despite all the millenia. How did all those ancient architects manage to build their traps so that they would last this long, anyway? I timed my passage carefully, though Jenassa received a small cut as she raced after me before I could find the lever to deactivate the swinging blades.

The barrows are well-lit by torches and braziers - but who keeps them fueled? Are they magical, are they ever-burning ghost-lights, or do the draugr sense our approach and light them just before we arrive? ...there's a nightmare to go with Hadvar's childhood terrors.

Then we reach a section of natural caves, which strangely enough are no less well lit, thanks to glowing mushrooms growing everywhere. A priest of my acquaintance claimed that the abundance of glowing fungi in the caverns of the Empire was proof of the Divines' benevolence by allowing the faithful to see even far away from the daylight, while the caves of Morrowind are often utterly dark because of the heresies of the Dunmer (later that night, he was mugged by a trio of dark elves who had overheard his claims).

Apparently at some point in the not-too-distant past a miner had gotten in and attempted to extract iron ore from a vein, but as his skeleton attested he never got out. I picked up his pickaxe - you never know when you might have to dig yourself out.

Finally, we reach the Hall of Stories. The door to the passages beyond turns out to have three movable circles with animal symbols, as well as holes which seem to have been made for the golden claw. I rotate the symbols until they match those on the claw and put the claw in, and the door slides into the ground. Not much of a puzzle, if you have the key - so why not just stick to the key itself?

We reach a large chamber with a monument at the center. A stylized dragon head is shown on the top of the central portion, while below it are runic markings. As I approach, the air begins to throb and shimmer blue, while I hear ancient Nordic chanting. I suspect fumes of some sort - a neat trick if you need your cult followers to really get into your holy day festivities and the booze and sacrificial virgins aren't enough.

Still, I have to admit that the runes fascinate me, and I almost don't realize another undead abomination rising from a sarcophagus behind me. Fortunately, my minions are quicker on the uptake, and Janassa dispatches it with a few short strokes of her blade. It turns out to have the dragonstone with it, too - it displays a rough map of Skyrim and a number of markings, presumably where the dragon burial sites are located.

It also had a greatsword that felt exceptionally cold to the touch, and had the shimmer typical of enchantments. I handed it to Gorr, who seemed to prefer two-handed weapons, as a down payment for his services. There was also an old dwarf-made mace in a chest, which had a much nicer heft than the shoddy one I had plundered from Helgen.

As for the runic markings, I've tried to copy them to the best of my ability - perhaps some scholar, either here or in Cyrodiil, can translate them for me.

A small tunnel close to the runic wall led us out of the mountain where we breathed the fresh air of the wee hours of the morning. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. While getting a bed in Riverwood was tempting, Whiterun wasn't that much further, and I wanted to know more about Farengar's research.


Continued in Dispatch 07 - Dragon Rising.