I realize I said Jebediah's entries would be short, but apparently I'm kind of a wind bag.
Day 2—The 18th of Last Seed, 4E 201 11:19 PM
The rest of my day today was a double-edged sword, to be honest. When I woke from my restless and uncomfortable slumber (a piece of wood covered in fur is not a bed) I set in motion a plan to exact my revenge upon the three bandits who had chased me away the day before.
I spent all of the morning and most of the afternoon stealing hides from around Riverwood and crafting myself some armor. Once my leather gauntlets, boots and chest piece were complete, I checked my knives for nicks and, satisfied with their edges, donned on my armor (which looks very sleek and handsome I might add) and headed off West to see if I could find the trio again.
The last time I'd seen them, I was weak from running all day and almost having my head chopped off but after the most comfortable sleep I'd had since leaving High Rock I was ready to rumble, so to speak. I had the advantage of thinking clearly before our second encounter and I decided to see if the fury spell I knew could be applied to people as well as animals.
It was not yet sunset so I was at a slight disadvantage but the brown tones of my leather armor afforded enough camouflage that I was well-hidden on a small outcropping of rock which overlooked the small encampment. Having already evaded this particular group of bandits at that exact location only a day before, I was confident that I could escape if things didn't go my way.
I had a clear shot to the man I assumed to be the leader through a gap in the tree branches between myself and the bandits and so I cast my spell and scored a direct hit. . . which evaporated into nothing as it bounced harmlessly off the stricken man. I tried to cast the spell again on one of his more weak-minded companions but my magicka was spent.
I muttered a curse and heard the sound of an arrow flying through the air before it lodged itself in my newly crafted armor. The pain was unexpected and severe. For a few moments, I could not even move my fingers. The warm stickiness of my own blood trapped between my body and the leather of my armor clued me into the fact that I might be hurt worse than I'd first thought.
The edges of my vision began to diffuse and I knew the next arrow I took from that man would be my last. Ejaculating a stream of curses, I jumped down off the rock putting it between myself and the direction of the shot. I was forced to forego any notion of stealth and surprise so I leaned against the cold stone surface trying to regain my composure. The Khajiit in Wayrest taught me that a rattled thief is a dead thief. I needed a plan.
I could hear the footsteps of the thug's two minions clamoring toward me through the tall grass, trying to flush me out so the archer would have a clear shot to finish the job. I had managed to craft three Restore Health potions during my stay at the Sleeping Giant in Riverwood and I used the brief reprieve granted by the large boulder behind which I hid to grab one and drink it down.
While its somewhat numbing effect took hold, I snapped the shaft of the arrow near the base. I didn't know if the arrowhead was barbed or not or how deeply it had pierced, so I decided it was best to leave it where it was for the time being.
The sound of grass being trampled and the snapping of branches grew closer but I could not gather up the courage to run out onto the firing range. My potions, as Zachariah would gladly tell you, are something of a joke in the alchemical community back home and the one I'd used hadn't gotten me out of the woods, or really anywhere near the edge of the forest.
I was distracted momentarily by a man wearing a fine set of blue clothes, far better than the horrific tunic I'd stolen from Sven the Bard. I saw the glint of steel at his side and decided to call out for his assistance. When he didn't hear my first attempt, I thought about closing the distance and trying again but there was always the possibility that he would run me through just as soon as help me. I came up with a third plan.
A mace crashed into the rock beside my head, missing me only because of the awkward angle from which it had been swung and my plan was suddenly afoot. I sprinted through the trees, keeping as many as I could between the deadly archer and myself.
I'm not sure if the wandering traveler saw me or not, but I was making no effort to hide myself as I dashed behind him and jumped over a small ledge on the other side of the road. The bandits ignored me for the time being and drew steel on the old traveler as their paths intersected. Success. I watched as the man cast spells and slaughtered the two minions with expert skill.
When the leader of the small group emerged from the trees, bellowing incoherently about the death of his party, the wanderer didn't hesitate to engage him as well. The two fought a vicious battle but it was apparent that the stranger was outmatched. I knew as soon as the old man was dead, the thug would come after me.
I could have left well enough alone and fled to safety before their fight was finished but there was no doubt that I would feel obligated to return day after day until the bandit was dead. He did shoot me, after all.
I came from the bushes and leaped into the fray, making very sure my opponent's back was toward me at all times. The last thing I wanted to do was get hit by his dirty-looking mace which was covered in who knows what diseases.
After a sustained effort, the bandit lay dead. I rummaged through his things and found a treasure map which indicated a location in a tree stump somewhere near Riverwood. I tucked the map away in my pocket before the wanderer had a chance to see what I'd found.
While I was bent down, checking the dead thug's purse for coins, I reached another hand out and surreptitiously placed it in the wanderer's pocket. Feeling around, I found he had nothing worth taking. It turns out the old man, Talsgar, is a bard of sorts who wanders the land singing songs inspired by the wilds of Skyrim. He asked if I had any requests but wasn't willing to sing a song for free (even though I saved his life) so I left him to his own devices.
A noble couple and their Imperial guard came along as Talsgar and I were speaking and I managed to snatch a garnet away from the haggard-looking wife while she was busy snapping at her husband for making her walk while he rode the horse. With the bandits dead I was free to explore their camp which I did only briefly. The stench of the bedrolls drove me away before I gathered anything more than a book and a light coinpurse, holding less than the leather pouch itself was worth. At least the bandits were dead, my work there was complete.
I had planned to head toward Redoran's Retreat, where the bandits from the Jarl's bounty were holed up, but my day was already gone. Instead I returned to Riverwood deciding that I could search for the treasure better in the daylight after a solid rest.
I sat in my room and carefully stripped out of my armor. To my surprise, the arrow came out as my armor came off. (I am talented enough with leather that the arrow did not pierce very deep into my flesh). I quaffed another of my potions and went out to the river to wash my blood away.
When I returned to the inn, Sven began “Ragnar the Red” for the third time that evening. I drifted into the shadows behind him and pulled on a lockpick I found in his pocket. It must've gotten caught on a thread or something because his cheaply crafted pants jerked toward me and he spun around, slapping my hands away.
Maintaining a cool head, I jumped over the chairs between myself and the door and ran out into the street. Perhaps my dad was right when he told me, years ago, that I would always be on the doorstep of a ****storm. Sven followed but few else seemed to pay mind to his cries and accusations. I don't know what he was so mad about, it was just a lock pick and I didn't even end up taking it.
I dove into the river, crying out in pain as the water hit my wound. Even with my bad shoulder, I swam to safety, easily out-pacing the apparently hydrophobic Nord. When I was sure Sven had given up, I crawled ungracefully from the river and flopped down on the bank only to be chased to my feet and then down the road by an angry mudcrab whose sleep I had disturbed.
I ran until I reached, what I assumed to be the city mentioned by the Jarl's bounty letter, Whiterun. I spoke to a man sitting patiently atop a carriage outside the gates and asked what he was doing. I was hoping to get him lost in a conversation so I could dig around in the swollen packs I saw sitting on the sides of his conveyance. He told me that he could take me to any of the hold capitols. When I asked if Riften was a hold capitol he laughed at me and said it would be 500 gold for the trip. I almost slapped him.
At the time I had only twelve gold on me (I admit, I gorged myself somewhat at breakfast) and a bunch of stolen goods that I didn't dare show to any vendors for fear they might recognize the items as somebody else's property. I tried to bargain him down to twelve gold but he only laughed again. While he was doubled over with mirth, I stole some coins from his packs and was on my way.
I passed a band of traveling Khajiit merchants who divulged that they were not trusted in the cities of Skyrim and I broke bread with the noble cats, sitting and discussing their homeland and my own. I told them about how I came to Skyrim and mentioned the trouble I'd run into over at Riverwood. One of them offered to teach me a few tricks about sneaking. I would have loved the chance to learn from another Khajiit (really they are the best teachers) but I explained my coinpurse was dry.
When I mentioned that I had some “previously possessed” merchandise I was very willing to part with Ri'Saad, their leader, said they could not traffick in stolen goods when all of Skyrim was already at their throats. He was lying; I have yet to meet a Khajiit trader without a hand in the underbelly of society, but he spoke the words with enough fake earnestness that I let the fib slide.
I packed up the wares I had shown the Khajiit and headed toward the city. I froze when I saw one of the guards at the gate walk toward me purposefully. There was no way word of my botched pickpocket attempt had reached Whiterun already but still, the guard seemed pretty angry. As I turned to nonchalantly walk away as if I'd been there by mistake, the guard told me that they weren't letting anyone into the city because of dragon attacks.
I sighed, knowing the real reason was because I'd been seen with the Khajiit. The very notion of dragons is ludicrous. I've heard better lies come from children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. After some quick conversational wizardry, the guard decided to let me through the gate after all.
As soon as I stepped foot beyond the threshold, my heart began to ache for the beauty and craftsmanship of Wayrest. The city of Whiterun (a glorified village if anything) was small and sparsely populated and I found I missed the cacophony of the morning market and the colorful banners hanging around Cumberland Square.
I stole a few gold from a patrolling guard as I made my way to the only lit building in the entire town. I know I should have taken the opportunity to raid some houses and bolster my savings a bit but I was still sore from my bandit encounter and raw from my own stupidity and failure at Riverwood. All I wanted was to lay down in what Nords consider a bed and fade into oblivion until morning.
I was surprised to see how clean and well-kept the Bannered Mare was. I was even more impressed with some of the people I saw enjoying their meals by hearthlight. I rented a room from the woman at the counter and found my attention caught by a pretty woman, somewhat older than myself, but still a viable shape. I spoke to her and she introduced herself as Carlotta. I gave her a fake name, as usual, and did my best to charm away the thin cloth barrier between us.
Happily for me, Carlotta was already upset at the advances of another man who was obviously less subtle and masterful with seduction than myself. She was almost in tears with rage as she told me about the rumors this bard, Mikael, had been spreading around town. Carlotta assured me that she could handle her own affairs, but her small daughter had begun asking questions when the rumors made it back to her.
Women love a white knight. I know this from watching my brother Ezekiel charm the underclothes off even the most frost-hearted women through deeds of courage and valor. Since I had neither of those things, I decided to try and use my tongue to convince Mikael that his interests would best be served by leaving the woman and her poor daughter alone.
I have to admit, Mikael caught onto my game far quicker than I'd anticipated and so we ended up in a tussle that sprawled across the entire inn. Everyone around began casting bets (none on me, since I was obviously not “the big one” all their 12 Septim bets were falling on) and hurling racial slurs, the likes of which I have never heard outside of a prison.
When I was sitting on the bard's narrow (and poorly defined) chest with my hand raised and ready to strike his handsome (but not nearly as handsome as my own) face, he recognized that he had been bested and agreed to leave the matronly Carlotta alone. I rummaged through his pockets while he was staring in terror at my poised fist but found nothing worth the risk of getting caught again.
Once I had finished performing my heroic deed, Carlotta explained that she had no desire for romance. She said raising her daughter was the only important thing in her life and I suppose I can respect that. Out of pity, Carlotta gave me 250 Septims. The celibacy of the comely produce vendor became irrelevant a few moments later when another fine young woman pushed gently through the doors of the tavern.
She sat down alone at a table in the corner, her features even more radiant in the warm light of the candles there. My fingers touched my golden tattoo gently. As embarrassing as it was, there was nothing I could do about it. I sighed and fixed my hair, straightened my armor and walked toward her. She greeted me warmly enough and I sat down at the table with her.
A Redguard woman came to the table to take our order. When she showed me the drink menu, I saw something that made me smile with pure joy. Listed on the sheet of parchment was a bottle of Surilie Brothers Wine. It was 121 Septims but I could not resist.
Once Ysolda and I had imbibed the spirits, which were worth every Septim, and shared a plate of crisp baked potatoes (excellently seasoned), we got to talking about the Khajiit caravan outside the city.
She mentioned that Ri'Saad had asked her for a mammoth tusk, in exchange for some crucial information about running her own business. Drunk and in the presence of such a lovely Nordic specimen, I had to offer to find her one. I remembered seeing one such tusk on a shelf behind the innkeeper so I stumbled over to the counter and dropped from sight.
How I managed to sneak by both the Redguard woman and her boss while too drunk to see straight, I'll never know. I did manage to get my hands on the tusk and slide it, unnoticed down a leg of my armor. I walked stiffly back to Ysolda and handed her the prize. I thought surely that I would be making good use of my double bed upstairs in no time but Ysolda only thanked me politely and gave me a few tips on bargaining with the stubborn Nords in the area.
Dejected and twice rebuked, I retired to my room alone to write this entry. Trying to buy my way into Ysolda's bedchamber deflated my coinpurse and at this point, it seems as though the only chance I have of making 500 gold any time soon is to go and rob the bandits mentioned in the Jarl's bounty letter. Hopefully there are no master archers among them.
First, I should try and see if I can't track down the treasure from the map. That seems a lot less dangerous. Who knows? If the treasure is abundant enough, I might never have to set foot in Redoran's Retreat.
