It's a cold, spare night as I wander aimlessly in what I hope is Korvanjund's general direction. I meet a giant and ask him for directions, but he just grunts at me, before and after I fill him with my shiny new elven arrows.
I stumble upon Korvanjund after a little while, no worse for wear. Legate Rikke is waiting outside with her people, so we go over the battle plan for a short bit.
I feel like the hired thug brought in from outside to do what the Legion can't, and I like it. But of course, the Legion's also coming with me on this particular operation. I look forward to having their company, mainly because I don't know any better.
Rikke gives the order to move out, but I'm already gone. I figure my bow and I can claim a few Stormcloaks before the Legion arrives.
My first genuine, non-criminal kill of a Stormcloak is a satisfying one. My second kill is equally so. And the third. And the fourth.
And so on and so forth. It's pretty fortunate that a guy like me met up with people like the Legion. I might've been a serious problem for the local authorities in any other circumstances.
The Legion quickly makes a mess of my stealthy approach, clanking about with all their leather and metal, but my particular set of talents is soon again called upon.
I stalk through the shadowy rafters, lining up my shots, setting up my targets to take them down in rapid succession. I'm surprised at the sneakiness of my first bow, even though it sets people on fire on impact, but I'm not surprised to discover that I can't harvest the Stormcloaks' souls. Just because skeevers have souls doesn't mean Noses have to have them as well.
A different kind of soulless enemy confronts us deeper in the crypt. Or so I thought. So now the draugr, the undead dustbunnies shaped like people, have souls, but the Stormcloaks still don't. That's a pretty insulting hierarchy by any measure.
We fight our way to the center of the crypt, to the throne room, and search for the crown. I find it on the head of a regal fellow who evidently died from sort of bowel contusion. I prod him gently to see if he's still alive.
He is, in a manner of speaking. His similarly contused friends join in the fray and kill most of the Imperials with me, but Rikke and I are soon able to finish them off for good, with considerable ease.
I pluck the crown from the guy's head and try it on. It's a bit ungainly, but I adjust the fit while Rikke tells me to return to Solitude and deliver it to General Tullius.
The crown is getting kind of heavy, though, by the time I reach the surface, so I take it off and put my hood back on. But I'm not going to Solitude yet--I swore I'd finish the deal with that silly tree. A lot of people and a horse died for that sap.
I meet an old face while heading north.
Then I meet some more.
By the time I finish off the pack of wolves, I'm dead tired and getting sick of the gloomy night. I make my way to the nearest inn and take a long nap, waking up just as the sun is rising.
Well, sort of. I remind myself that I'm back in Windhelm territory now, where the sun rarely shines. I feel the cold hand of dockwork clutch my heart once more--I've been gone a week and it already feels like I never left.
Except I don't quite recall this guy being here before.
Now, we've got somethings in common, so I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. It's possible he's just doing freelance work for the trade officers--Shor knows they need it. But somehow, I don't think that's the dragon's reason for coming.
Instead, he's here for a social call at the local mill.
He's nothing if not warm and effusive, but he's a dragon--anyone as old as he is should've learned by now that it is possible to overdo it. People simply don't like surprise visitors, no matter who they are.
I do my best to shoo him away, telling him we can talk this over somewhere far away from the mill, but I'm too late and tiny. The mill is soon devoid of life.
Except for one heavy sleeper who arrives late to the party. The dragon is unforgiving.
He really sets the bar high on manners, I guess. If we ever have a real family reunion, it's going to be ugly. I lack the social graces these dragons demand, and our one-on-one meetings always seem to end in tears.
I'll tell his family he died like he lived.
Comments