My mission has been delayed for two days, as I sought to retain an assistant and secure the tools of my trade.
Even after selling those weapons from Helgen, I did not have enough money. The perceptions of the locals did not help. “I used to be an adventurer like you,” a guard told me. “Then I took an arrow to the knee.”
“No, no, you misunderstand,” I told him. “I’m not an adventurer. I’m a surveyor. I’m here to survey the border.”
“The border--Right!” I could not see his face through his mask, but I got the distinct impression he winked at me. Whatever. I’m used to it.
To make matters worse, I had picked up some sort of infection in the wilderness and my joints were killing me. A visit to the apothecary revealed that a simple patent medicine cost some 240 septims in this backwater province. “You smell like tobacco,” the Redguard alchemist mentioned by way of greeting.
I froze. “There’s no need to mention that to anyone, is there?”
“I’m an alchemist,” she replied. “Far be it from me to tell you what herbs to experiment with, even if I wouldn’t muck with it myself. Purple mountain flower—that’s the stuff, here in Skyrim—common, legal and safe, as long as you don’t combine it with wheat or swamp fungal pod."
I thanked her for the suggestion; I may be forced to take desperate measures to complete this mission. Speaking of which, I nicked a bottle of patent medicine off the shelf and slipped it into the folds of my robes.
My search for a retainer eventually led me to the Falkreath jail. It might sound foolish, but some of the Empire’s greatest champions have been recruited from jail cells. Read your history books if you don’t believe me.
While there was no one in the only jail cell, there was a man locked securely in what appeared to be the cistern. He stood knee deep in water, behind stout bars that were not a door. They must have thrown him down the well to put him there. He explained that he was a werewolf who had stolen a ring from the daedric prince, Hircine, in an effort to control his transformations. Instead, Hircine had cursed the ring, leaving the man with neither control nor predictability to his transformations, and then the man had tragically killed a child in his animal state. He requested that I return his ring to Hircine in hopes of forgiveness.
My first instinct was to walk away, but then I got to thinking. What better survey assistant in the wilds of Skyrim than a werewolf—assuming we could control his affliction? Bears beware! I agreed to take the ring. He gave it to me and immediately transformed before my eyes—which was remarkable—climbed out of the cistern and escaped.
I looked down and realized I had idly slipped the ring on, and now it was stuck on my finger. Damn the luck! I fled the town before chaos could ensue.
If anything, the wilds of Skyrim were worse that day than the previous. I was chased first by bandits and then by wolves. I remember thinking that this would have been a great time for one of those unpredictable transformations. I finally escaped by jumping into Lake Ilinalta.
After that experience, Hircine was surprisingly easy to find. The ring led me right to him. Hircine demanded that I track down Sinding and kill him. “The man’s done me no harm. I’ll not be your murderer.”
“Suit yourself,” he replied. “There are other hunters willing to complete the task.” The daedra disappeared.
After a quick smoke break to think about things, I realized that left me still wearing the accursed ring. I had really put myself into a pickle and I could not see a way out! I followed the guidance of the ring to the mouth of a narrow box canyon. I entered as quietly as I could.
There! I froze. Directly ahead of me, sitting by a fire… ears, muzzle, whiskers… the unmistakable silhouette of a werewolf! I dipped the tip of an arrow in spider venom, and drew the longbow I’d acquired in Helgen. Steady… steady now Pingham… Release! My quarry dropped dead next to the fire. Could it possibly be so easy?
My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized my mistake. This was no werewolf, but a khajit, perhaps one of those hunters Hircine had mentioned. I noticed the gruesome wounds he’d sustained before I put him out of his suffering. Glancing around, I realized I was surrounded by corpses, each of them shredded by the monster, Sinding. Sweat broke out all over my body. What was I thinking, intentionally trapping myself in a crevice with a werewolf? “This is not my job!”
“Didn’t ever expect to see you again!” I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Sinding’s voice, coming from the rocks overhead. The hulking beast crouched on a high ledge, silhouetted against the moon. I am not ashamed to admit I nearly soiled myself.
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