Broken Fang cave is home to naked corpses and an empty chest. Tom wonders how much he can sell a handful of dusty skulls for.
-
Rorikstead is quiet. Tom picks wheat to refill his purse.
"This is Gleda," says Ennis, with an aura of pride usually reserved for relatives of royalty.
"Hello, Gleda," says Tom.
-
Just at the end of a bridge is a vacated camp. Tom stuffs his pack with salvaged arrows from the ground, but finds little else of interest.
-
He makes it to yet another bridge. He stares at the foreign skull on the arch for a while, wonders what it took to slay such a beast.
Another settlement, another chance at work.
One of the handmaidens back home had said her brother got stretch marks -- like a woman with child, she said! -- after working at a lumber mill. So, Tom heads straight for the tavern.
"What sort of rumors have you heard lately?"
Faida arches a brow. "The Dragonborn is in charge of the College of Winterhold now. Strange for such a skilled warrior, if you ask me. She's killed a herd of mammoths with her fists-- why bother with fancy magic?"
"I've never seen a mammoth."
"Consider yourself lucky to have come to Skyrim now, traveler."
"Right."
-
Solitude is a pocket of peaceful civilization.
"We were besieged recently," says a shopkeep, "such dreadful business. Although... the Dragonborn did it all by herself. Unparalleled mastery of weapons."
"You admire her for it?!"
"The Dragonborn lives here now! She bought Proudspire Manor, moved her family here and everything. We are neighbors to a legend. My children are friends to the Dragonborn's children. It's an honor. Every two days, she sells me the most wondrous clothing."
And here she'd only bought some salmon meat. "I have this lovely tunic--"
"I'm not interested."
-
Tom gives up trying to find Morthal from the sketchy directions a beggar had provided -- it's much easier to follow the coastline. He finds a house with a cow, horse, and chicken, but doesn't see anything else nearby. A few disastrous days later, he makes it to a place called Dawnstar.
"The Dragonborn was sighted in Riften, Markarth, the Bard's College, and Mixwater Mill-- at the same time!"
"How do you know that?" Tom's flat tone is hardly questioning.
"Witnesses, traveler. You've no reason to doubt the Dragonborn's power."
"Yeah, I guess. I've heard a lot about her."
"Clearly not enough if you say the Dragonborn is a her."
"Huh?"
The bard leans in close. "The Dragonborn isn't like us mortals. The Dragonborn is above men and women and belongs to neither group. Between the Dragonborn's legs is--"
The innkeeper shouts, "Karita!"
Karita promptly goes back to singing and Tom has lost his appetite.
-
"What is the illusion of life?"
Tom studies the strange, glowing door for at least ten minutes. Aha! "Jobs that aren't already done!"
"You are not worthy."
Tom moves on.
-
Tom has a beard that goes down three ribs now. Sometimes he deigns to comb it with his fingers. Sometimes.
Maramal has given up on him as well as the Bee and Barb. Thank the gods for that.
"Hear the Thieves Guild is recruiting," a shady no-name says, sidling in close. "Led by the Dragonborn herself. All the riches in Skyrim await."
"More's the pity." Tom slugs down the rest of his ale.
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timeasmymeasure
Word on the Street (M!NPC Gen) 2/2
Date: 2013-05-06 12:27 pm (UTC)-
Broken Fang cave is home to naked corpses and an empty chest. Tom wonders how much he can sell a handful of dusty skulls for.
-
Rorikstead is quiet. Tom picks wheat to refill his purse.
"This is Gleda," says Ennis, with an aura of pride usually reserved for relatives of royalty.
"Hello, Gleda," says Tom.
-
Just at the end of a bridge is a vacated camp. Tom stuffs his pack with salvaged arrows from the ground, but finds little else of interest.
-
He makes it to yet another bridge. He stares at the foreign skull on the arch for a while, wonders what it took to slay such a beast.
Another settlement, another chance at work.
One of the handmaidens back home had said her brother got stretch marks -- like a woman with child, she said! -- after working at a lumber mill. So, Tom heads straight for the tavern.
"What sort of rumors have you heard lately?"
Faida arches a brow. "The Dragonborn is in charge of the College of Winterhold now. Strange for such a skilled warrior, if you ask me. She's killed a herd of mammoths with her fists-- why bother with fancy magic?"
"I've never seen a mammoth."
"Consider yourself lucky to have come to Skyrim now, traveler."
"Right."
-
Solitude is a pocket of peaceful civilization.
"We were besieged recently," says a shopkeep, "such dreadful business. Although... the Dragonborn did it all by herself. Unparalleled mastery of weapons."
"You admire her for it?!"
"The Dragonborn lives here now! She bought Proudspire Manor, moved her family here and everything. We are neighbors to a legend. My children are friends to the Dragonborn's children. It's an honor. Every two days, she sells me the most wondrous clothing."
And here she'd only bought some salmon meat. "I have this lovely tunic--"
"I'm not interested."
-
Tom gives up trying to find Morthal from the sketchy directions a beggar had provided -- it's much easier to follow the coastline. He finds a house with a cow, horse, and chicken, but doesn't see anything else nearby. A few disastrous days later, he makes it to a place called Dawnstar.
"The Dragonborn was sighted in Riften, Markarth, the Bard's College, and Mixwater Mill-- at the same time!"
"How do you know that?" Tom's flat tone is hardly questioning.
"Witnesses, traveler. You've no reason to doubt the Dragonborn's power."
"Yeah, I guess. I've heard a lot about her."
"Clearly not enough if you say the Dragonborn is a her."
"Huh?"
The bard leans in close. "The Dragonborn isn't like us mortals. The Dragonborn is above men and women and belongs to neither group. Between the Dragonborn's legs is--"
The innkeeper shouts, "Karita!"
Karita promptly goes back to singing and Tom has lost his appetite.
-
"What is the illusion of life?"
Tom studies the strange, glowing door for at least ten minutes. Aha! "Jobs that aren't already done!"
"You are not worthy."
Tom moves on.
-
Tom has a beard that goes down three ribs now. Sometimes he deigns to comb it with his fingers. Sometimes.
Maramal has given up on him as well as the Bee and Barb. Thank the gods for that.
"Hear the Thieves Guild is recruiting," a shady no-name says, sidling in close. "Led by the Dragonborn herself. All the riches in Skyrim await."
"More's the pity." Tom slugs down the rest of his ale.