Tag Archives: Oblivion

Warning: potential side quest spoilers ahead!

From Garn’s recollections:

Ogres and Cultists

I stayed in Chorrol for quite some time doing the odd job here and there while spending most of my free time studying spells and reading books in hopes of sparking some memories and, at the very least, regaining some long forgotten knowledge. Of those jobs a couple turned out to be fairly eventful.

The first started one morning as I stepped out of my inn room to find a shady looking Dark Elf propped up against the wall next to my room door patiently waiting on me. I was, of course, prepared to draw my blade but much to my surprise the Dunmer made no move. Instead, he calmly looked up and slyly smiled at me. He spoke and told me that he had heard I was good for the type of job he had to offer and began laying out the entire scenario.

Apparently the Dunmer had employed a local thief on a regular basis for years and, eventually, this thief had betrayed him and ran away with a valuable object. This object eventually fell into the hands of a local tribe of Redguard Valley Ogres. He desperately wanted the object and would pay me to brave the Ogre’s den in search of it. This task, sounding like much more of an adventure than my last few jobs, I gladly accepted.

“Ewwww, Ogre blood!”

Upon reaching Redguard Valley to south of Chorrol it didn’t take long for me to follow the horrid stench to the cave where the bulk of the Ogre tribe lived. As I crept into the cave and entered the main chamber a number of blood thirsty ogres caught my scent clumsily came running to investigate. Ogres were little challenge to me at this point and I halved them in place one by one until I finally reached the room in which the Ogre Chieftain guarded his booty. The Chieftain turned out to be quite worthy of his spot in the tribe’s pecking order and we fought viciously for what seemed like an hour before I finally stood victorious.

“Expelliarmus!”

After rummaging through the Chieftain’s rather lackluster treasure room I was sure I had found the object that the Dunmer was after. Unfortunately I was faced with a conundrum. The item in question was a special ceremonial blade, the Chorrol Honor Blade, or at least I suspected as much. So the dilemma was clear – do I return to the Dunmer who was employing me or do I return it to the Court of Chorrol where it was stolen from originally?

Given my reputation and relationship with the Countess of Chorrol I thought it only best to turn the Honorblade of Chorrol back to Chorrol. Laythe Wavrick, the court Herald, was ecstatic to have the blade back after so many years and arranged to reward me with a special item of my own from Chorrol’s armories: a mighty shield named the Escutcheon of Chorrol. I have no doubt that the mysterious Dunmer would soon learn of my betrayal but I bet on him being more concerned with getting the sword back for himself than seeking any vengeance on me.

“No kidding. I could have kept the thing you know.”

So now I had an excellent new shield to go along with Chillrend and just in the nick of time as well.

Then, as I was walking back to the inn a young Argonian boy came running towards me yelping “Are you Garn?” I slowly nodded and he hurriedly spat out that Seed-Neeus needed to see me at her traders. Hmph, another opportunity for work I supposed and, of course, I was correct. As I entered Northern Goods and Trade Seed-Neeus hurried to me and thanked me for coming. She explained to me that her daughter, Dar-Ma, has gone missing after making a delivery on her horse to the nearby town of Hackdirt. She asked me to look for her or any clues of where she might have been.

I had visited Hackdirt once previously in my travels and wasn’t at all surprised to hear its name mentioned along side something like this. It was an odd place – a run down town that looked like it might have been a good size at one time but at some point most of the buildings in the town had been burned to the ground. The few locals I talked to there were unusually unfriendly to me and are apparently equally suspicious of all outsiders.

“What, are they going to knock on my door and shower me with pamphlets or something?!”

I immediately rode south to Hackdirt. Upon arrival I had little time to look around before night fell and search for clues via torchlight would surely give me away. In the church I found an unusual book upon the alter. It was something about “Deep Ones”, written in an odd runic language that I had never seen before. This was quite strange and certainly nothing to do with The Nine or even Daedra worship to my knowledge. Of course, none of the townspeople seemed to know anything about Dar-ma though I didn’t expect them to be extremely forthcoming in any case. It was time to call it a night so I didn’t dare to get a room at the town’s sole inn. Instead I made camp in the surrounding woods.

Deep into the morning I was awoken by the sound of someone passing through the trees. As I reached for my blade I was surprised to see a tamed horse slowly walking through the woods, grazing. The horse seemed to match every possible description of Dar-ma’s horse Blossom. Interesting.

In the morning I went back into Hackdirt and brought the horse with me. When I inquired about the horse to the storekeeper whom Dar-ma was supposed to be delivering she claimed that the horse was hers yet at the same time she seemed totally unconcerned about its welfare. Very suspicious.

“Err, yeah everything looks completely normal here…”

Next I decided to visit the inn as to look for clues that Dar-ma might have been there. “Clues” is probably an understatement for what I found there. One of the inn rooms was completely ransacked and after a quick search of it I found Dar-ma’s journal. It appears from her last entry that her horse had thrown a shoe and she was forced to stay the night in the town. She also mentioned hearing footsteps outside of her door. When I asked the inn keeper about the room and the journal itself she claimed that Dar-ma must have simply left without the book. The more I questioned her, the more belligerent she became, even tossing out a vague threat about “The Brethren” at one point. I’m obviously not getting the whole story here…

“The world is a more attractive place when you’re hiding down in your cave.”

The next odd event occurred just a few minutes later as I was poking about in some of the old, burned out buildings on the outskirts of town. Out of no where I was attacked by a man wearing only a pair of sack cloth pants and brandishing a club. He had unusually large eyes and a crazed look about him. Although I slew him easily enough I was still taken aback by how strange he was. I wondered if this was one of the “brethren”.

Later that day I had finally made a breakthrough. One of the townspeople, a man named Jiv Hiriel, told me he had information and to meet me at his home. I was preparing for some sort of ambush but was surprised that Jiv was legitimate. He nervously told me that the townspeople had Dar-ma held captive in the caves below the town and planned on sacrificing her to the Deep Ones soon. He gave me a key to the various trap doors scattered throughout the town and suggested that I make my move that night, while the majority of the townsfolk were at The Gathering.

“Well, I call them freaks.”

Later I snuck back to Jiv’s house and used the trapdoor in his house to gain entrance into the caves below the town. Much to my surprise the cave system was quite extensive with various rooms and an exit into every building in the town. I was able to sneak a quick listen to the sermon. They spoke of The Deep Ones forsaking them after the Legion had burned down their town, and about how only a sacrifice would bring them back.

“Found her, now let’s GTFO!”

As I turned away I faced another one of those crazed, big eyed “brethren” though I was able to subdue him without making enough noise to get me noticed. As I crept through the cave system I came across more and more of these “brethren”. They were relentless in their attacks but nothing I couldn’t handle – I was more concerned with drawing the attention of the rest of the townspeople. Eventually I encountered Jiv once again, and he quietly led me to place where Dar-ma was being held. I thanked him for his help one last time and led Dar-ma to the safety of the above ground world and quickly away from Hackdirt.

I still don’t know what kind of foul things the people of Hackdirt had dug up beneath their town. Perhaps the “Deep Ones” were nothing more than a prank by some bored Daedric Prince, or perhaps something even more ancient and evil was unearthed there. Whatever the case I had enough foes to concern myself with to worry about those that had long since forsaken their people and vanished.

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.