Category Archives: Story Time

Warning: potential side quest spoilers ahead!

From Garn’s recollections:

Canvassing Chorrol

Feeling a little paranoid about the potential for suspicion regarding my involvement in Slythe Seringi’s death I decided to avoid busy roads and paths and instead travel through the Great Forest to the northeast, eventually arriving in the city of Chorrol, nestled amongst in Colovian Highlands. Other than my a visit to the area earlier while mapping landmarks and another to seek training a the Mage’s Guild I had no recollection of ever visiting Chorrol before. The strange looks of possible recognition that I sometimes received from people in other areas were all but completely absent around this city. The feeling was liberating and despite its rocky, rugged surroundings I warmed up to Chorrol rather quickly.

Both the Mage’s Guild and the Fighter’s Guild had a strong presence in the city and my first stop after walking through Chorrol’s considerable main gate was to the Mage’s Guild to view their wares and see what guild members were offering training. As the evening began I headed over to a The Grey Mare inn for a drink and a room for the night. The Grey Mare was small and lacked any real frills but it was quaint enough. Of the few patrons still hanging around the bar was a man who introduced himself as Valus Odiil. He was drinking heavily with a deep look of sorrow in his eyes. Without any invitation from myself he began telling me all about how he and his two sons owned a large farm outside of the city walls and how it had been recently plagued by raiding Goblins. The Goblins, he said, weren’t of a great enough concern for the city guard to take up arms against.

“Drop the mug and put your hands on your head!”

Apparently though, the Goblins attacks had been increasing more and more in frequency and they had more or less chased Valus and his family from their homestead. His own sons had decided to stand their ground against the Goblins and that, it seemed, was Valus’s problem. Fueled by ale he confessed to me that old age had tempered his enjoyment of battle and that he now feared such conflicts, though he feared for his son’s safety even more. As he looked up at me from his tankard I could he had had hatched a plan and sure enough, he asked if I could go in his place.

Slaying Goblins was nothing to me and the man seemed sure that he could offer me a reward I’d be pleased with if I could not only protect his sons but also deal with this little Goblin problem once and for all. More work, so soon. Excellent!

Early the next morning I met his sons outside of the gate and whilst both boys were vengeful and hungry to fight they also seemed rather naïve and ill-equipped. No matter, I kept my thoughts to myself and followed them to their fields. As sure as the daylight a small group of Goblins ran towards the farmhouse only to spot us and change direction, drawing their weapons. As they charged I summoned a Daedric creature to assist me and drew my blade. One of Valus’s son became spattered in blood as I cleaved the first Goblin to rush past me in two with a single smooth swing. Screaming with fury he charged into another group of Goblins that had been stirred by the shouts of the first. The battle was over quite quickly, with both sons still quite alive. After I healed their wounds we patrolled the parameter of their farm to ensure that we had slain them all and I returned back to The Grey Mare to give Valus the good news.

“My kind of farming…”

Valus was, at first, ecstatic. After scratching his chin in a look of prolonged contemplation he reached under the table and brought forth a blade wrapped in a cloth satchel. As he unwrapped it he explained that when he was younger and an adventurer like myself this short sword, Chillrend, had been his most prized possession and saved his life countless times. As he apparently no longer had the will to fight he figured he didn’t need it anymore and would pass it to me. The blade was indeed quite a treasure – it shimmered with a faint blue glow and it turned the air immediately around it frigid. For a moment I thought about asking if the blade might make a better gift for one of his budding adventurer sons though I quickly reconsidered and accepted the sword as payment.

Later that day after making my rounds around the city I stood at the base of the hill where Chorrol Castle sits glancing up at it when my concentration was broken by the shrill voice of an older peasant woman. She told me that “today wouldn’t be a good day” because the countess was “right cross” about something being stolen from her. Curious, and with little else to do, I walked to the castle to pay my respects.

Countess Arriana Valga was a gracious host though she had a hard time hiding her frustration even while talking to me about her city and her court. She informed me that her and her guard were in the middle of an investigation. Apparently someone had stolen a portrait of her late husband, Count Valga, right out of her bedchamber. As we talked more she eventually asked me if I’d like to help her with the investigation and mentioned that they had already narrowed down some clues and potential witnesses and/or suspects.

“Sweet statue…”

There were only a couple people with direct access to her private bedchamber: the castle porter and the court mage. First, however, I decided to talk to some of the other people who might know more about the situation. First up was the castle’s herald, Laythe Wavrick. Laythe’s only piece of information concerned the drinking habits of the porter. He was apparently a drunkard and had even sunken to asking for money to help support his habit. Very interesting. Next up was an Orc steward named Orok gro-Ghoth. Orok said he wasn’t out that night due to the heavy rains but also mentioned catching the porter drinking in the castle’s west tower one night and confronting him about it. Finally I spoke to the Captain of the Guard, Bittneld the Curse-Bringer. Bittneld apparently hadn’t gone to the castle that night but had mentioned running into the mage in the west tower on another occasion which he seemed to find at least somewhat curious.

Finally, the actual suspects. First I spoke to the porter, an Orc named Orgnulf Hairy-Legs. Orgnulf had a bad attitude and at first refused to even speak to me. Eventually he begrudgingly told me a story about arguing with a delivery boy who had slipped in the rain and damaged a shipment of wine that night. Chanel, the Court of Chorrol’s resident mage, told me she spent the night taking star readings in the courtyard and then drank some wine in the great hall and went to bed.

So now I had a motive for the porter. However, the mage’s story definitely didn’t check out. Two separate people mentioned it raining heavily the night of the robbery yet she claimed to be in the courtyard taking star readings. Very suspicious. I decided next to search for clues around the castle. First stop, the great hall. I found some paint stains on the carpet but nothing to point me in the right direction. I then decided to head over to the west tower. Upon exploring it I found an easel with an unfinished painting on it and evidence that it had been painted recently – someone in the castle is a painter! Since both suspects had been spotted in the area this doesn’t really help out too much though, though it’s hard to imagine the stubborn Orc being an artist. I moved my search to the suspects themselves’ rooms.

“Entering the court of Chorrol.”

The Orc porter, unsurprisingly, gave me quite a hard time about searching his room but professed that he was hiding nothing. Indeed, I found nothing of real interest there. Chanel, the mage, was a different story. I woke her from her slumber and began searching her room. At first she seemed overly friendly towards me but when I did nothing to entertain her advances her attitude changed sharply. Soon I found some painting supplies that had been hastily stashed in a small lock box upon her dresser.

As I grabbed up the painting supplies I took a step forward and pointed at her. “You! You’re the one!” At first she bit her lip, curled her brow, and focused on me as if every bit of anger she’d ever possessed was bubbling to the surface and the possibility of her using whatever abilities had earned her the position of Court Mage to attack me popped into my mind. Fortunately for all involved the hatred in her eyes almost immediately melted into sadness as the tears started to run down her face.

Quietly sobbing, Chanel confessed her affection for the late count. Not only for he himself, but for his portrait – a portrait that she herself had painted. She evidentially missed him so much, and was so jealous of the countess having the painting all to herself, that she stole it. She removed the rolled up canvas from under her bed and gave it to me, pleading not to tell the countess where it was discovered. While more questions remained about the exact nature of their relationship I decided not to press Chanel further as the countess might be none to pleased with me if I were to stir up such accusations. Regardless, I felt it best to tell the countess about what I had learned about the robbery.

“Ye gods, get back into the shadows old woman!”

The countess was quite displeased at being betrayed by a member of her own court and stern in her punishment. She stripped Chanel of her duties and banished her from ever coming back to Chorrol. In gratitude for recovering the painting she rewarded me with a generous helping of gold and gemstones and, possibly most importantly of all, I had made my first friend in power. Yes, Chorrol was working out quite nicely for me…

Warning: potential side quest spoilers ahead!

From Garn’s recollections:

Farm Hand

After another few days spent in Anvil I felt that I had worn my welcome and decided to ride back towards the east. As I rode slowly out of the Anvil gates I noticed a farmer woman tending to her crops, only the way she was doing so caught my eye. The woman was violently swinging her hoe with a deep hatred in her eyes. I slowly approached, at first curious about exactly what (or who?) she might be swinging at in such a manner. It turned out it was indeed just the soil. The woman noticed me and looked up, at first with the same angry expression though it quickly changed into a much friendlier one. She politely asked me if I was an adventurer and if I was available for work.

“No, I have no idea why he would have wanted to leave you.”

Curious about whether or not this related to her strange demeanor I inquired further. The woman, she told me her name was Maeva, explained that her husband, no longer content with a boring life of farming, had stolen an enchanted weapon, a mace named Rockshatter, from her and abandoned her to join a gang of local bandits. The weapon was apparently a family heirloom and she was looking for someone to get it back for her. She was offering a surprising amount of gold coin as a reward so I agreed to assist her despite it seeming like a somewhat trivial task. She told me that the gang makes the nearby ruins of Fort Strand their headquarters and that I’d most likely find her husband and her mace there. She provided no hint of concern for her estranged husband’s safety.

Beneath the ruins of Fort Strand lay a twisting maze of crumbling passageways and rooms. The gang the farmer woman had described was quite a bit larger than I had first assumed though I was able to slay most of them without much effort as I slowly worked my way through the corridors. When I finally reached the bottom level of the fort I faced quite a tough battle against the inner-circle of bandits there which including one wielding Rockshatter. In the end I stood victorious. I took the mace and returned back to Whitmond Farm.

Maeva was not happy to hear about her husband’s death but didn’t seem to be in a great deal of grief over it either. She handed me a small coin purse and mentioned that another local farmer, Thorley Aethelred at Shardrock Farm, might also have work for me.

“Wildlife sucks.”

As I was headed his way anyway I paid Thorley a visit. Shardrock Farm was a quaint little farm with several animal pins nestled next to a small pond with a grand view of the northern hills. Thorely was startled, drawing a short sword and yelling that he had nothing of value when first casting eyes upon me. After I explained that I had heard he needed work he chuckled and explained to me that while he has little trouble in his area his sheep had recently been harassed by a group of mature West Weald Bears. This particular type of bear, he explained, was far too tough for him to take care of himself. I had come across this type of bear in my previous travels and understood his situation. He had little to offer me but after showing me some of the possessions he’d part with in return for the work I found an ancient tome of sorcery that I thought might make it worth the effort.

“I’ll never go camping again after this quest.”

Thorley wasn’t exaggerating about the bears, they were incredibly vicious beasts – probably the toughest I’d faced yet. Luckily they were spread apart enough that I was able to heal myself and summon fresh assistance between skirmishes. After slaying the final bear and preparing its pelt to bring back to the farmer as evidence he rewarded me and sent me on my way, mentioning to me that I might want to check with Slythe Seringi at the nearby Shetcombe Farm.

Upon reaching Shetcombe Farm I discovered it to be thoroughly abandoned. The farmhouse itself offered little clue to the farmer’s whereabouts at first until I discovered a note – a page ripped from Slythe’s journal. The journal entry on this page painted a picture of a troubled man who blamed all of the troubles of late, not the least of which the Emperor’s assassination, on his god, the so called Sunken One, being displeased with mankind. Slythe noted that he believed that The Sunken One perhaps needed an offering to appease it as in years past when his father before him saw to the very same task. It seemed as if Slythe has taken a collection of his valuables to a nearby site to make this offering.

I darted to my steed and galloped off through his fields and into the surrounding wilderness. Soon I discovered an old cave entrance that looked like it had been freshly disturbed. The path leading into it suggested that it was either the place I was looking for or I was about to be wandering into the middle of a bandit hideout. I drew my sword and raised my torch and cautiously crept into the cave, which soon opened up into a fairly large cavern filled with dusty, twisting passages.

“A sample of page 2 of Slythe’s journal.”

After slaying another already rather agitated monster I knew I must be in the right place and that Slythe had been here, perhaps even only moments ago. Soon I discovered another page torn from his journal. This entry seems to recount his dangerous journey through the caverns – one that he apparently barely survived. At this point the outlook didn’t look too good.

“Where’s your god now?!”

I continued on through the maze of rocky passages, battling the occasional cave dwelling monster until I finally found him. Laying face down near in a wide passage lay the body of Slythe Seringi. The apparent offering, a small sack with a lackluster assortment of gold pieces and poor quality gemstones – most likely his entire life savings, lay by his side. Clinched in his hand lay a final journal entry. It explained that he had been ambushed before being able to make his offering to The Sunken One. I briefly thought to myself about Slythe’s mental state before I was interrupted by the sound of rocks shifting behind me – a cave in?

I quickly turned to find my point of exit as to prepare for my escape yet it wasn’t a cave in that I saw at all. It seems as if The Sunken One was real after all, though not a god per say, but as an atronach. I know little of atronach except that, like many of the creatures I’ve learned to summon, they are daedra and they are often quite fearsome. I pulled my sword from my back just as the fiend roared with rage and shot a shocking bolt of energy in my direction. I parried its giant rock arm as it swung powerfully down towards me and cleaved my blade heavily into it. It swung its other massive arm causing me to jump backwards and roll to the ground to avoid it. I then unleashed upon it with a flurry of my own magics, soon bringing the creature to an end.

“Oh shit, here he his…”

I suppose I’ll never know if this creature was really The Sunken One that Slythe and his family before him and feared and honored as a god but if so vengeance was now theirs. I gathered up Slythe’s would-be offering as payment for my troubles and began to backtrack. I had second thoughts about leaving Slythe’s body deep in this cavern eventually to be eaten by the rats and spiders. Instead I drug his corpse out of the cavern, slung him on my horse, and eventually deposited him back into his house. I was hopeful that a friend or, at the very least, a guard, would find him soon enough and give him a proper burial.

I knew one thing – I’d had enough of farm life for awhile. It was time to ride back towards the east as originally planned.

At this point thanks in large part to purchasing training at every available opportunity I had managed to make it up to level 21. Hopefully in another 9 or 10 levels I’ll be at the point where the vast majority of the non-leveled creatures I run into will stop kicking my ass.

Warning: potential side quest spoilers ahead!

From the journals of Garn:

Who you gonna call?

I rise late from my Anvil inn room and leisurely wander the city streets for a while to attempt to overhear something that might turn into a lead but there doesn’t seem to be anything particularly interesting going on. After my brief glimpse of it the night before I figure the most excitement probably lays outside of the city walls on the Anvil docks.

“Yes, it’s a travesty about your crystal ball. What about those murdered sailors again?”

Before I’ve even made it half way across the waterfront I’m hailed by a Altmer woman on a nearby peer. She says that judging by my appearance I might be able to perform a job for her so I’m quick to hear her out. The woman is quite distressed – something about her hiring a ship to retrieve a precious family heirloom only to have the entire ship’s crew turn up murdered upon their return. She needs someone to finish the task for her by retrieving the item from below deck as the ship is overrun by the ghosts of the slain crew members. She must have spotted the silver claymore strapped to my back and figured I was prepared to handle the undead. She isn’t wrong.

I agree to help the woman and, torch in hand, head below deck. It is a grizzly sight – corpses strewn about, many of them obviously killed in cold blood. The crew’s personal belongings still sat next to them, undisturbed. Card games interrupted and bowls of chowder now gone cold, like pictures frozen in time. Odd that nothing seems to have been stolen. I barely have time to react to the scene when I hear a crashing noise coming from just ahead in the captain’s quarters and draw my blade. Just as the woman had claimed the spirits of her slain crewmen restlessly roam the cabins.

“Err, yeah, how about you charge in first…”

I quickly summon a flame spirit to aid me in the fight as a chaotic melee soon breaks out in the room. Items fly from tables and paintings are knocked off walls but soon the ghost is vanquished. I cautiously climb down to the next deck and continue exploring this ship of death. More spirits fly out towards me, clawing at me with corporeal hands and slicing at me with their sabers, their terrible moans filling the air. I’m more ready for them this time though and despite the close confinements I slay most of them with relative ease. Finally on the bottom deck I find the heirloom that the woman so desperately seeks, a crystal ball.

“Compensate much, Garn?”

I quickly gather it up into one of my packs, survey the room one last time, and scramble up both sets of ladders and back out onto the main deck hoping to not have to fend off any more spirits. When I emerge the woman appears overjoyed at the sight of her crystal ball if not also a bit surprised that I succeeded in my task. As compensation she rewards me with a powerful enchanted cutlass which should fetch a pretty penny in the Imperial City’s markets if I don’t keep it for myself.

I quietly slip into the Flowing Bowl tavern to ponder the fate of the sailors over an ale. It isn’t long before an Imperial man steps in and takes a seat directly next to me. Before I have time to mentally question the curious nature of his seating choice given that I’m the only other person at the bar he turns and introduces himself to me. It turns out that this man, Velwyn Benirus, was directed to me by the Altmer woman from earlier. He tells me that he has a manor house in the city that he wishes to sell but it seems to be haunted. Hearing of my apparent skill at clearing out ghosts he offers me the job. Another opportunity so soon!

Velwyn shows me the house but initially refuses to go in. I insist and finally he gives me a quick tour around the premises. The place is covered in cobwebs and dust yet it is obvious from its general cleanliness that no one has been squatting here despite its abandoned state. Velwyn tells me that while all seems quiet now if I stay the night I’m likely to encounter the spirits. This whole situation sounds like a setup but I don’t get the sense that Velwyn is lying to me so I cautiously agree.

“A magical necromanic seal, what every home needs!”

After Velwyn leaves I make another round around the house only this time visiting doors he had left unopened. At first I don’t discover anything all too interesting but soon I stumble upon the house’s basement. The basement is impressively large, filled mostly with old wine casks and smaller barrels – potentially a fortune down here providing any of these are still full. As I reach the end of the final chamber I spot an odd looking seal on the wall. Now this is curious.

“Take a number and get in line!”

That evening I warily bed down for the night in the house’s master suite. As far as I can recall this is probably the biggest, most comfortable bed I’ve ever been able to sleep in and I’m enjoying the concept of being paid to sleep in a nice room instead of the other way around for once. Sure enough, as I’m finally drifting off to sleep I’m startled by a blood curdling moan. I immediately spring out of the bed and take up my sword but before I’ve even managed to rub the sleep from my eyes I am surrounded by ghosts. I quickly summon a flame spirit and jump into the fray.

“Bethesda gave me a hand with this quest. *rimshot*”

The melee ends quickly enough. As I’m surveying the aftermath I hear a loud crash coming from the room below the stairwell – more ghosts! I dash down the stairs but alas the room is empty however I do find an old jar smashed upon the floor. Amongst the debris lay the skeletal remains of a hand clutching a note. Naturally I grab the note and attempt to decipher it.

The scrap of paper appears to be a page ripped from the diary of a incensed necromancer. The necromancer describes building a secret chamber in the basement to keep his physical form while he transcends into the spirit world. He mentions leaving the spirits of his previous experiments around the house in order to protect it. He also mentions that only one of his blood line can open the portal into his secret chamber. I immediately grab my things and head back to the inn to attempt to find Velwyn to find out more about the history of this house.

“And this is why I canceled my subscription to TV Guide.”

At first Velwyn seems surprised by the contents of the note but after continuing to press him he tells me the whole story. Velwyn himself is the grandson of the necromancy in question who was killed when the townspeople of Anvil found out about his hobby. The body apparently disappeared and ever since the house has been cursed. I had a feeling Velwyn hadn’t been giving me the whole story! I convince him to come back with me so that I can finish the job of removing the curse.

After vanquishing a few more ghosts we return to the strange seal in the basement. It takes some time but eventually Velwyn is able to remove it though he doesn’t stick around to see what is beyond the portal. This large, secret chamber is filled with all kinds of necromantic tools and tomes not to mention a scattered selection of long decayed corpses. The centerpiece of the room is an alter containing a final corpse – no doubt that of the necromancer himself.

“Going lich tipping.”

I reach out to examine the necromancer’s body when the entire corpse suddenly jolts and a disembodied voice begins speaking to me. It’s the necromancer, Lorgren Benirus, and he spins a sorrowful tale about how his soul has been trapped and how now he just wants to make peace with the Nine and finally rest in peace. To do this, however, I must join the severed hand I found earlier to the rest of his body. I somehow instantly knew that Lorgren was trying to trick me. Still, if I complied and Lorgren rose from the dead I might be able to finish him off and lift his curse from the house entirely.

As I predicted attaching the hand immediately causes the necromancer’s body to begin to flush with life. Before I can react he summons several skeleton warriors to distract me while he rises from the alter. I immediately summon a companion of my own and fight off the skeletons, beating a path directly towards Lorgren. Once I reach him it is all over for the necromancer as blow after blow from my silver claymore folds him in half until he falls, finished, onto the cold stone floor. The curse is lifted!

I search the secret chamber a final time before heading out. As I return to the tavern I find Velwyn sitting at the bar with an empty tankard of ale in front of him. He looks sick with nerves but that quickly changes as I tell him that the deed is done and the necromancer’s spell is broken. Elated he hands me a small pouch fill with coins and jewels, shakes my hand, and hurriedly runs out the door.