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Mehitabel 3 -- The Meadcrab Herself

Discussion in 'Skyrim Articles' started by theoduck, May 13, 2013.

  1. theoduck

    theoduck If persimmons approach, Khajiit will smell them.

    May 2, 2012
    Likes Received:
    "I thought about becoming a bandit; I decided I liked clean clothes and fresh mead." -- The Meadcrab Herself
    “She smelled funny.”

    “She did not smell funny; she smelled exotic. Are all Bosmer men without a clue with regard to women, or just you? Besides, Khajiit was more interested in the look on your face.”

    “What look?”

    This one attempted to affect an open-mouthed, jaw-dropped, wide-eyed stare and Faendal's hand svenned off of the table into his lap. Fangs make imitating the fangless difficult.

    “For a few moments, Khajiit was ready to believe that you had forgotten all about the Camilla Trophy, but this one understands; it is rare to see a woman's back on such delicious and public display to begin with... but while she is engaged in the business of kneecapping a man who is swinging a club twice her size? You have nothing to be ashamed of; it was a gawker's feast.”

    If any of The Drunken Huntsman's current patrons were surprised to see a heavily-armed, slightly-drunk, talking cat in their midst, they were hiding it fairly well. This one had reunited with the Vanishing Elf and we had settled our rather intense discussion concerning the precise definition of the word wait. Then the silly cat opened her mouth, took a breath, and sunk her fangs deeply into her own foot.

    “She is the only woman of interest in that entire village – the only woman of interest to young males, anyway. This makes her a trophy. You may not realize this, but she definitely knows it. Khajiit feels that perhaps you should see more women – other kinds of women, before pitching your tent with one who, well... might have some issues to sort out.”


    “Yes. Issues. Such as her flummoxing over having to decide between an elf who took down a bear at three-hundred yards in a flash flood...”

    “A blizzard.”

    “Yes. A blizzard. So Camilla has to think about which suitor is more, well... suitable: your lumber-jacking, bear-slaying self or a boy who gets drunk and yells at his mother. Then there is the brother, Lucan, who paid very generously for the return of his claw-bauble. Those two cubs are never very far from each other; it seems that sometimes two people can be married and not even realize it.”

    What? You don't honestly believe that Camilla and her brother are...”

    “No. They just appear to have a few of the less-intimate entanglements with one another that people who are married typically have; they behave as if they are each others' owners. In a very short time, however, you have managed to meet a few women with no such, umm... webbing around their boots.”
    “Women.” Faendal glanced at the Dunmer, who was holding her flagon very close to her face and moving it slowly this way and that, carefully studying it from multiple angles. “What... are you doing?”

    “I am measuring. A proper mead flagon should always be larger than one's head. Elrindir, darling? What have you done to the flagons? How did you shrink them down... and where are the lids?”

    The Huntsman's proprietor glared. “I put those away after you dented one on that Redguard's face.”

    “The Redguard and his swarthy midget had it coming. Please bring them with haste; my new boss and I have work to do.” Jenassa turned to her new boss. “My previous employer asked me to wait outside that barrow, but he never came back. As a standing policy, collecting my fee in advance has worked out well. Thus far working for you has not been boring to say the least. The fact that you were able to get into the city at all...”

    Mehitabel had not yet mentioned the Dragon and the having-to-run. Faendal changed the subject. “What did the two of you do while you were outside?”

    “This one wanted to fix the floppy thing on...”

    Elrindir arrived at our cluttered table, made a face, then found room to set down three proper mead flagons. “He was just as tall as the other one.”

    “He looked a lot shorter when he was down there on the floor.” Jenassa turned to Faendal, snatching Mehitabel's response. “We went over to the forge at Warmaiden's and she asked me to get undressed. Then she threw up in the forge. I suspect the gigantic eruption of molten steam cured whatever was bothering her. It definitely prevented anyone from observing me hiding behind the smelter in my underwear.” She was laughing from her belly. “By Nerevar you nearly shrouded the entire Plains District in yak-mist; if it weren't the middle of the night, we might have ended up attending whatever fetcher-convention is currently in progress beneath Dragonsreach! But you look much better now–you're not as... well, 'pale' doesn't exactly apply in your case, does it? The showmanship notwithstanding, you did an excellent job on my armor.” Smiling, she said “Thank you... and thank you, Elrindir!” Raising her flagon and tilting her head back to face the ceiling, Jenassa took several luxurious gulps of Honningbrew mead.

    Faendal was chuckling. “You really weren't the same when you came out of there and found me. You looked really bad, actually. I'm sorry, Mehitabel. I should have realized what was going on and come after you. I was being 'reliable,' I suppose. So what happened in there... and what is that?"

    The flat, heavy stone sat in the center of the table, silently defying all mead-fueled attempts to identify its function on Nirn.
    “Have either of you ever been poisoned?”

    “By something other than Elrindir's cooking? No.” Over her shoulder, “Is the stew almost ready?

    “This one hopes the stew is not green. That gigantic spider was spitting its foul venom everywhere; if it had not been for the overpowering stench of the dead in that place, she is certain that those green death-blobs would have smelled awful. Oh lovely! Brown. Brown is good!

    Food is good. I could eat a frozen dog right about now.” Faendal began a heroic frontal assault on Elrindir's elk stew.

    “Khajiit had thought that her poisoned carcass was not going make a very pleasant meal for the skeevers.”

    Jenassa popped the spoon out of her mouth and pointed it. “Mm... you would be surprised at what those little scavengers can tolerate, but they wouldn't be brave enough to try and steal a giant spider's meal.”

    “It would have been more scavenging than stealing. This one had managed to stumble her bitten self back through the hole she had used to enter the beast's lair. After a long time healing herself, she realized that she was still alive because the spider was too giant to follow her. Khajiit found that she could run back inside and get off one, perhaps two shots, then retreat. Once the thing figured out it could not reach with its, umm, appendages, it became a simple game of getting out of the path of stinky spider-spit – then it would skulk back to the other side of the chamber, believing the cat would come running after with her big hero-club.”

    “Heroics are for the dead.” Jenassa delivered her mead a finishing blow. “That must have taken a long time.”

    “This one is thankful that spiders tend to forget things quickly; we repeated that little game several times until it got too tired to continue moving. Then this one spent some time burning it until its legs began to fall off; being bitten by one of those creatures is something Khajiit will go to great pains to avoid repeating. The Aardvark was not concerned about this at all; he just kept yelling to cut him down.”
    “Aardvark?” Jenassa was getting us another round of drinks.

    Faendal was laughing. “She means Arvel. She does that when she forgets people's names. She called me Fusstwat.”

    URP! This one meant to do that...”

    “Arvel?” Jenassa was incredulous. “Arvel the Swift? Are you certain?”

    “Yes, that Arvel. Honestly, I'm happy to see him and his gang gone before they decided to try kidnapping...” Faendal had begun to dig through his pack; he plopped the leather-bound journal onto the flat riddle-rock.

    “Idiot,” Jenassa muttered, flipping through the pages. “That man is a complete fool. I almost joined up with him and his group... until I saw what a stupid lot they are.”

    Khajiit burped again. We were both looking at Jenassa.

    “I thought about becoming a bandit,” she shrugged. “I decided I liked clean clothes and fresh mead.”


    “Were what?

    “They were a stupid lot. They are all dead now.”

    “There were at least a dozen of them; are you telling me you killed them all by yourself while your friend was waiting for you?”

    “You and I got three of them at that tower,” Faendal was counting on his fingers. “There were... how many outside the barrow?”

    “Three more. Then there were two inside at their campsite in the main cavern. They probably never saw this one coming. A few of their friends were already dead; they had gotten into a fight with a pack of skeevers. A few more – skeevers burn easily – were lurking on the stairs down to where the spider had wrapped up your friend.”

    “We were not friends.”

    “Before she reached the spider, Khajiit watched another one pull a lever and get poked to death with poisoned darts. He was trying to get the gate open, but he neglected to look around. There were these rotating pillars that had to be arranged correctly to avoid the trap. It required a moment of looking around, but the correct combination was not hard to figure out. Your assessment of their minds was, from this one's perspective, accurate; one would have to be either blind or...”

    Stupid! So you killed Arvel and got what you came for.

    “Arvel ran off after I cut him down; he was shouting. Khajiit was a fool. Did she really think that he would share? Then there was a very strange, loud noise.”

    “A tomb-raider press!” Jenassa stood up. “Speaking of strange, unidentifiable noises, I'll bet a round that Mikael is on over at The Bannered Mare. Pack up that rock and let's go.”

    Elrindir was already clearing our table. “You said you wanted to find some work. If Hulda lets you through the door, you're likely to find it. Perhaps if she returns from whatever trouble you end up getting into, Jenassa will have a few extra septims to assist me with...” He swept his outstretched hand in an arc that seemed to take in most of the Huntsman's interior. “...maintenance."

    Jenassa suddenly, quickly, whipped a hand onto each side of Elrindir's face, turning it to her own with such force it seemed like the poor fellow's neck would have snapped had he not been anticipating such a move. She planted a rough, merry smooch upon his lips.

    “See you later.”

    “I know.”
    “In a blizzard, eh?” Jenassa was in the lead, zig-zagging us in the direction of The Bannered Mare.

    “What?” Faendal, a crack-shot with the bow, missed the intent behind her not-really-a-question sort of question. Someday, when the less-than-clever have finished their conquest of civilization, all such questions will be, by law, marked with a flag. The flag will be bright-spider-spit-green, depicting the likeness of the offending questioner so that all of the non-trouble-making citizens of the hold can be sure to avoid contact with her.

    “Never mind. Good evening, Eee-Solda!”

    The lovely woman with the ridiculous name was coming out of Whiterun's fabled tavern. She nodded and held the door for us, her eyes fixed on Khajiit.

    “Hello.” She smiled. “How did you get into... Never mind; welcome to Whiterun. Wow! I have to get home now, but I hope you are here for a while. I'd really like to talk with you.” Her blue eyes were bright and intense, her pupils a bit smaller than Imperial septims. She giggled, steadied herself against the Bannered Mare's sign, took a few steps, laid a hand on Faendal's shoulder, smiled and said “Hi!” – then waddled off into the cozy Whiterun evening.

    “Skooma? Here? Umm... This one is not looking for a whole lot of trouble, Jenassa.”

    “You have nothing to worry about, Miss Kitty.” We slipped inside and an entity this one would eventually come to know as Nocturnal managed to conjure up a table with three empty chairs just inside the door.

    “Khajiit prefers the Drunken Huntsman with its dearth of gawkers. If the guards find out about the sk...”

    “The guards?” Jenassa spilled herself into a chair, laughing fiercely. “First off, the guards are not an issue; avoid inconveniencing the Battle-Borns and you can get as happily twacked as I have, on occasion, seen the guard commander. Second, that,” jerking her head toward the exit, “was not skooma. I don't know what that was, but Eee-Solda is the only person you can get it from. I'm afraid you will have to settle for plain, common skooma here, but only if Hulda likes you.”

    Once the ladies were seated, Faendal put down his pack and laid his elegant, elven hand over Khajiit's paw. “All right, wish me luck. I'll be back in a bit.” He began to head to the bar. When he turned, his beautiful hands found themselves greeting the young Redguard waitress' bosom.


    “Oh!” He lowered his arms quickly to his sides. “I'm so sorry. I really didn't see you back there...”

    Another round of giggles from Jenassa. This time Mehitabel joined in. The waitress, her lovely almond face highlighted with a crescent scar across one cheek, stepped aside and gave the Bosmer a shove toward the bar.

    “I'll see if I can manage to catch my breath... Good evening, ladies. Two large house meads?” She regarded Khajiit with a look of cheery disbelief. “The sweet-rolls are fresh out of the oven. Shall I bring over a bucket?”

    Four!” Jenassa proclaimed. “Four large house meads. Since Mikael is enjoying a few warble-free moments, I say we have now reached the Story-Hour! Please, Miss Kitty, tell me about these ridiculous Draugr. Spare no gory detail; I assure you I can handle it!”
    We had worked it out after the guards let us through the city gates. Mehitabel had decided to postpone her meeting with Whiterun's Jarl; she wanted to bring more to this meeting than dubious tales of rampaging dragons, addled bandits, giant spiders, mystery-rocks, swooning alcoves and homicidal people with body parts in danger of falling off – tales all set in places other than Whiterun. Faendal agreed that the minor epic of the Dragon and the Having to Run would be far more compelling coming from someone who had recently done something helpful, and probably dangerous, for the good people of Whiterun. Once we were able to determine who to approach for such work, we agreed that the Bosmer would negotiate the deal – a deal that might be sweetened when the person offering it got a peek at the unprecedented, heavily-armed, fairly-drunk cat-who-could-probably-also-talk sitting over in the corner.

    The first, and what would turn out to be one of the most significant happy accidents in this one's career, was the finding and hiring of Jenassa, who could only help us in our plan by adding to the mystery and danger sitting at the table in the darkened corner of The Bannered Mare. Miss Kitty and the Meadcrab Herself, burning holes in the overconfidence of the cocksure with our silent, menacingly female gaze. We can see you! Your feeble attempts at obfuscation are pointless! The Cat, who took repeated shortcuts across an underground stream within Bleak Falls Barrow to win the running-and-shooting marathon against the swiftest of the shambling, shock-breathed undead, which could not follow her because it was AFRAID OF THE DAMN WATER, then ascended the steps to the Swooning Alcove to claim the glowing, dizzy treasure, learned a MAGIC WORD... and SHE CAN STILL SEE YOU! How can you hide your true intentions from The Cat who has learned The Word and can SEE you? The Cat! ...Who can see into your milk-drinkin' SOUL and...

    “Damn! You're crazy... and druuuunk!” The end of Jenassa's sentence lifted off, its pitch going up, up.

    “Sheeryuzzly! They hate getting wet.”

    “Balls! You are so drunk I can hardly even see you.”

    Faendal's timing could not have been better. We both looked up at him for a moment, then buried our heads among the flagons and sweet-rolls, laughing out-of-control.

    “Valtheim Towers. East of here a few hours. Some very, very bad people the Jarl would like to see gone. They stop everyone who tries to use the road to Windhelm. If you're lucky, they just take all of your worldly possessions. Ball-Groof wants the leader's head. We bring it to Dragonsreach, we get paid.”

    “Eggsalad! Fangs, Fusstwat. Less catch a few Zneepies and be off.”

    Jenassa reached across the table and brushed The Cat's paw. “Twoayoo get some sleep. 'Ever Miss Kitty sleeps, Jenassa is awake. Part of my standard service argument!”

    “Argument?” Faendal looked at her with a puzzled expression.

    “Don't argue with me! And don't you dare debunk me, Bosmer-Boy! Now off to bed. You'll probably have to share one. Don't take advantage of the drunk and lovely Miss Kitty.”

    “He'll be good... woncha, Fusstwat? If you haddas many drinks as this one, you probably wouldn't even be able to find her twa...”

    “You'll be fine, I assure you. Let's get upstairs; I'm exhausted. I'll need sharp eyes if I'm going to be picking off angry bandits later on.” We had gotten up and he put his arm around The Cat. “Come on. Can you stand up straight?”

    “Yes, yes... hold on...” Mehitabel had forgotten about the gifts. After rummaging around her pack for what seemed like a week, she placed the small, identical books on the table. “Theeze... arf or yootoo! Cuzeye wanna keep you. G'night!”
    The elf was recalcitrant, but eventually snuggly. After a few hours, Jenassa gently woke The Cat. “You two get whatever supplies we're going to need; Arcadia and Belathor's shops are open now. I'll catch an hour or two while you're out.”

    Khajiit twitched her tail under Faendal's nose and his eyes snapped wide open.

    “What the...What time is it?”

    “It's midday. I gave you two an extra hour for being adorable, now shoo!”

    Jenassa had taken a large chunk of our cash for her fee, but aside from purchasing all of the arrows we were physically capable of carrying, we didn't need very much; if anyone has successfully dispatched a gang of highwaymen with a quiver of septims and garnets, this one would be very interested in hearing their story. We collected Jenassa a little later and got out of town late that afternoon. The farmers we had passed yesterday were finishing up their days' work and probably had a chuckle over the conversation they no-doubt overheard between Miss Kitty, The Meadcrab Herself, and the Vanishing Elf as they passed, headed for who-knows-where...

    “It wouldn't have made any difference, you know.”


    “If this one had not thrown up in the forge; nobody would have seen you at that hour, anyway.”

    “Why not?”

    “Because without any clothes on, you are almost the same color as the smelter.”

    “Ha! True! It could have been worse, you know.”


    “You could have thrown up in the Skyforge.”
    AUTHOR'S NOTE -- Included in this article should be a downloadable .zip file. It contains a spreadsheet (in MS-Excel [.xls] and OpenOffice Calc [.ods] formats) of the entire Mehitabel character build up to level 79, which is when she decided to retire. I see lots of posts on the forums about "x build," so this is hers... along with a wallpaper-sized pic of The Cat gettin' all sloppy at the Bannered Mare :) I played this game with several mods installed, including Deadly Dragons, which allows you to exchange several surplus dragon souls for a perk (believe me: on Master difficulty you earn them), hence a few instances of Khajiit taking two perks in a single level.

    .zip of Mehitabel Character build to accompany article MEHITABEL 3 -- THE MEADCRAB HERSELF

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    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    Lifts-Her-Tail: 6 Points (Amazing story can't wait for more!! xxx) Jun 5, 2013
    Reaper87: 2 Points (This is great; keep up the good work!) Aug 8, 2013
    -Mir-: 5 Points (Awesome! You give everyone so much character! MUST READ MORRRRRE) Aug 27, 2013
  2. theoduck

    theoduck If persimmons approach, Khajiit will smell them.

    May 2, 2012
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    MOD LIST (for my last play-through as >^^<)
  3. Drapor

    Drapor "Drasok Ghett, the Dragon Knight, at your service"

    Aug 17, 2012
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    Amazing :) can't wait for the next one!
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    theoduck: 6 Points (>^^<) Aug 28, 2013
  4. theoduck

    theoduck If persimmons approach, Khajiit will smell them.

    May 2, 2012
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    Thanks everyone who has read and commented. I guess this place could use another visit from Miss Kitty? I've been really busy with music these days, but I guess we need to find out how the Meadcrab handles herself...

    Funny, I still remember the way the events played out in my game, but in case I forget something, I shot video of most of the game. An embarrassing and huge amount of HD video, really.


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