The Dockworker 1: Robbing the 'Hood

• Posted by Clement Bilhorn June 17, 2012 - 582 views

  My life begins like this. Trapped in a dank, Amnesia-esque wooden box with nothing but a faux Virgin Mary statue to greet me.

  

  It turns out she's pretty cool though, and offers me a chance to relive my life. I choose my choice and, with visions of "Awake" brimming in my mind, I pop into bed, excited at the wonders the Divine will bestow upon me! As it turns out, fate is capricious.

  

  Yes, my choice to be an Argonian dockworker, appropriately so, has been a dire one. I scrounge around my shabby quarters, wondering what's become of me, as the noise from outside pounds through the walls. I find next to nothing--some lockpicks, a pickaxe, and three bottles of ale, which I promptly down in succession. On myself, I discover three silver rings and an iron axe, which I treasure given my otherwise decrepit circumstances.

  My self-inspection complete, I head outside.
  
  "This sucks," I think to myself, watching a young skeever gnaw on the frozen planks of a dock that only a fool king like Ulfric could approve of. Already, I'm beginning to feel angry toward Windhelm and its weather. Despairing Argonians jostle about, eyes downcast, under the shapely noses of their Nordic masters. 
  
  But as I'm a reptile, in pajamas, in a snowstorm, I decide to duck inside a nearby office to escape the cold.
  

  

  I meet a chap named Orthus Enthario who seems a bit down. He tells me his office is being strong-armed by his competitor, Clan Shatter-Shield, because they are unscrupulous enough to employ pirates. Surveying my decrepit appearance and pronouncing me "intrepid", he enlists my help in stealing a logbook from the rival office. Steal from racists? Why, sure! Glowing with the heat of idealism and completely unsure how to get into Windhelm from where I am, I jump into the freezing river and swim to the other side.
  

  Remembering the small house I had glimpsed a minute ago from across the river, I decide it can't hurt to see what's inside. Coin, perhaps. Or clothes. I'm cold. The lock gives easily while the owners' disloyal chickens watch serenely. Inside, I find nothing of value, but decide to sit down and 'ave a bite anyways, relishing the impropriety of it all.

  I also drink some more ale.
  
  
  Finished with that nonsense, I decide to head into Windhelm and see about finding this logbook. Lo and behold, I stumble upon a dark elf at the gate, being accosted by more racist, shapely Noses who make vague threats at her. I stand beside in solidarity with non-humans, giving the Noses my best lizardy stare, before being completely distracted by the words "Black Sacrament".
  

  

  As it turns out, it's just some kid summoning someone or some such thing. I listen to him prattle on about the "Dark Brotherhood", only vaguely interested, aware that I'm currently planning a heist. I leave Aventus and his trust issues alone, but not without pinching some garlic and a health potion before I leave. I then go to the wealthy part of Windhelm, keen on finding this "Shatter-Shield" office where the logbook supposedly lies. The houses don't exactly come with labels on them, so I, HUD-less, break into the first door that presents itself. 
  
  As it turns out, it is not the office of Clan Shatter-Shield.
  
  

  The hatchling gets to live, since I'm not the sort to kill little ones in their sleep. Instead, I move on by and, deftly avoiding the mother with sneaky skills I never knew I had, proceed to pillage the place, lifting every coin, potion, and herb I can get my scaly fingers on. Sadly, there are no lockpicks, a matter which concerns me to some degree, considering I only have two and have only searched one building so far. Furious, I decide to take my wrath out on this useless family by taking their clothes.
  
  

  I'm not a monster, though, so I make a trade--I leave my pajamas in the closet. That done, I go back outside and break into a few more houses, caught in a pathetic, probably self-destructive loop of picking locks, risking my precious picks, in the hope the next building will have some more for me. 15 minutes later, royally disappointed by the paucity of Windhelm's reputed "upper class", carrying nothing for my efforts but an unusual gem with doubtful resale value, I head to the local inn to see if anyone can direct me to the Office of Clan Shatter-Shield. As it turns out, I've been in completely the wrong place--the office is back outside. In Skyrim. Not twenty yards south of where this mess started. Hissing and blinking, I lurch out of the inn, bee-lining toward the docks.
  
  Until I see another door, anyway.
  
  I level up upon breaking into this poor sap's shop and decide to drop +10 into my Stamina and a point in Sneakiness, seeing as how it's the only thing useful at the moment. Wondering why the shop's owner is absent during the day--in a blizzard, no less--I strip the place bare, before stripping myself bare and helping myself to some nice light armor I found lying inside.
  
  Incidentally, my last lockpick breaks on a chest in the shop, so I decide to get my act together and find that bleeding logbook. I find the Office of Clan Shatter-Shield and pop inside. And who do I find but the dark elf herself, owner of the logbook, consort of pirates, and the same bloody wench I saw back at the gateway!
  

  
  I begin fingering my dagger.
  
  In the end, I decide I don't have it in me to kill her just because it took so long to find her, and because it cost the lives of two lockpicks. Instead, I mosey on past to the backroom, effortlessly pluck the logbook (read: diary) from its table, and head back to Orthus. 

  He's delighted at my success, and tells me that since this logbook confirms Shatter-Shield's dealings with pirates, there's more work to be done. Feeling tired of Windhelm and its Noses, I happily accept Orthus's request. I swim across the frozen river again, briefly die of hypothermia, and summon a carriage. Night begins to fall, thunder rumbles on the mountain peaks, and I depart for Dawnstar.