Assignment Skyrim Borders: Like A Hero From a Swashbuckling Breton Romance -- 8th of Heartfire

• Posted by Piper Jo April 19, 2012 - 757 views

  Turns out it’s pretty difficult to buy rope in Markarth.  If I were on the coast, I’m sure I could have found what I wanted, but here in the interior, I searched for a day and a half, and finally found myself at the stables, buying, of all things, leather braid.  This isn’t the stuff we used in the Mountaineering Club at Old Imperium, but I am confident it will be strong enough, supple enough and light enough for what I need.

  

  Now I am back on the roof of the Temple of Dibella.  It is about three in the morning.  I have to cross in the dark, but I can’t take my shots until it gets light enough to see the landmarks.  I bet from up there, the city is breathtaking at dawn.

  Understone Keep is brightly lit and well guarded.  If anyone looks up or my rope breaks, my life is pretty much over.  On the other hand, if this works, I’ll be a legend in the ICGS.

  I tie one end of my rope to the juniper tree rooted in the outcropping on which the temple is built.  I neatly coil my rope on the tiles next to me.  The working end of the rope, I affix to an orcish arrow.  I steady myself on the very edge of the roofline, choose a target in the rail of the Wizard’s Balcony, and fire. 

  

  The arrow crosses the gap, the rope uncoils smoothly, and the arrow (plink!) strikes the rock just over the lip of the balcony.  I haul it back and the arrow lodges in between the rock overhang and the dwarven railing. I haul in all the slack and re-tie my knot at this end, so the line is taut.  So far, so good.  Now for the real test. 

  I stuff my survey scope and compass into my pack and leave everything else behind.  Tentatively at first, I reach out at far as I can, and grab the line.  I place a little bit of weight on it.  I wrap my leg around, and commit myself entirely to the rope, letting myself hang underneath it by hands and knees.  It supports my weight with just a little bit of bounce.  Hand over hand, I begin my crossing.

  It’s not until I am a third of the way across that I notice the problem.  Every time I move a hand or a foot, the bouncing of the rope gets worse.  I freeze to let it settle down, and it does, but as I wait, not daring to move, it seems to me that I can still feel myself falling, ever so slowly.  In a flash of panic, I imagine my knots slipping, or my arrow coming loose, but that’s not it.  The rope itself is stretching—I can actually feel it in my hands.  The braid is tightening down on itself. My choices are either to back up to my starting point, or crawl forward as fast as I can and hope for the best.  I choose the latter, and the frantic bouncing turns into a nauseating circular orbit.  I can barely hold on. 

  The faster I move, the worse it gets.  With every fall, I am bathed in the light of the torches, and it feels as though I will strike one of the guards on the head.  I stop to let it settle, but even then, I still feel myself slowly sinking.  It now feels as though the very fibers of the leather are stretching under my weight. By Divine forebearance, no one looks up and I press on, past the middle, and now I am climbing up the steep rope, and my arms are burning, and the backs of my knees feel like they’re being sawed in half. If I make it across, I will never trust a leather rope again.  Finally, the bouncing begins to settle, and I can move faster, and the climb gets easier, and then I am hauling myself over the rail, and collapsing on the floor of the Wizard’s Balcony, laughing hysterically in relief.  I slap the brass benchmark like it was the “Home Safe” in a game of hide and seek, and I stand up, look out over the city, raise my hands in a V, and declare myself, “God of Survey!”