From the files of the Brute Squad: Lazy Sunday Action

Greetings avid readers!  It's time once again for Geeking Out in Skyrim!  Today's adventure is filler; in that its mainly from these wonderful 'mini-quests' that unlock just by walking around the whole goddamn place.  Which I'm constantly doing because of these people.

In this installment, I basically get deputized by whoever's around, and go about smackin' some bandits what-for.  The law in Skyrim is pretty slap-dash.  In a literal sense too; there's a lot of slapping involved.  Dashing not so much.

And now, the time I got drunk with a ghost who just wanted his sword back.


Ghostbustin' Old Hroldan Inn.


While running around the width and breadth of Skyrim, I fell upon Old Hroldan Inn; a quaint ale house and rest area for the weary traveller to sit a spell and wet their throat with the finest of Nord mead.  Which I bet tastes alright, Nords are kinda weird in how they make alcohol anyways.  While I was renting a room there for the night so I could take a load off and get that Rested bonus towards my experience, I was awoken by a G-G-G-G-GHOOOOOOST!  Unfortunately I didn't have a great dane as a comedic relief partner, so I just heard the ghost out.  "I need my sword!  You promised!"

I didn't.  But clearly he thinks I'm someone else, and the current owner of the inn would be more than greatful if I busted this ghost.  So yeah, sure buddy, sword-hunting time.  I'm told that this area that I'm in once witnessed a giant battle a thousand years ago, and many of the current inhabitants (The Forsworn, think militant hippies. I know.)  would be living in ruins which might hold the ghost's sword.  I went to work.

The forgot to Aqua'duck't.

So after a quick run from the inn towards the presumed last location of Old Hroldan's sword, I run into what is effectively a Forsworn camp.  They're like the kind of folks who are SO IN LOVE with nature, they're all about not being civilized and dressing un furs and leathers, using weaponry mainly carved out of deer horn or tree branches.  While I can respect the amount of ingenuity they go through to turn a single deer kill into so many useable resources (Food, clothing, items of war, luxury goods) their attitude towards people who AREN'T Forsworn is kinda shit.

And I mean I'm recycling too!  I took all those dragon bones I got from killing dragons, and made armor with it!  Basically Forsworn are the Hipsters of Skyrim; they don't care if you like recycling and being a freegan, they were doing it before you when it was still underground.  Assholes.

FIST, MOTHAFUKKA, DO YOU SPEAK IT!?

I'm all for Live and Let Live in this day and age, but these guys are really getting on my case, what with the arrows and magic and swords in my face.  Ontop of that, for being dirty hippies, they've completely overtaken the aqueducts that protrude from the ancient Dwemer (Dwarves in Skyrim-ese) dam site, depriving the valley below from their full share of clean water.  So I have to remedy this.

Which I did.  With my fists.  And then I swan-dived off the edge of the aqueduct spigot there, because You don't wanna get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel.

The Return of Citizen Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiips!

WELL WELL WELL.  We meet again, my crafty foe!  Good thing too, I was getting low on funds.  Getting someone to hammer out dragon bones into decent armor costs a fortune!  Also I was enjoying a lot of the inn's alcohol, and my bar-tab might be sufficiently high to cause the Jarl to blush.

Following the river, I eventually ended up out of Forsworn territory, which was nice, but now I was halfway to my goal: I just had to trek through this here cave, filled with bandits!  Common highwaymen!  Honestly, the definition of a "bandit" in Skyrim's pretty vague to begin with.  Its pretty much anybody who's poor, and is caked in dirt. 

The bandits really didn't have anything against me, and the one that immediately fled their group and ran to me and told me so!  She was really nice about it too; told me that if I wanted to go into the cave and crck some skulls, she wouldn't care at all.

Honor amongst thieves, amirite?  Imrite.

"I'm on the Brute Squad!" "You ARE the Brute Squad!"

Thankfully that helpful thief told me who I had to track down once I got in there.  Which is good, because bandits look all the same to me.  That's not racist, one of my friends' a Kajiit.  Besides, he opened up the hostilities with some arrows to my face.  Don't care who you are; the Pope, Space-Pope, Dr. Teeth, or the Silver Surfer.  You shoot arrows at me, you're going down.

You picked the BEST time to get BODYSLAM'D, buddy.

Clearly, I'm not dealing with Skyrim's elite bandit brotherhood, the Thieves' Guild.  I'm dealing with the backwater bumpkin moonshiners, who figure that 'cause I went and stumbled upon their little pawnshop reselling scheme, I gotta go and get dead.  Sucks to be them.  While this guy found it out the hard way, their leader actually came to his senses.  And ran through the tunnels away from me.

GET OVER HERE!  (v°O°)-O~~~~~~~~~~o-->

Unfortunately, mimicing Scorpion's move doesn't allow me to actually use it.  But it was a good heartfelt attempt that would have won the Oscar for best movie scene ever.  In the end, the bandit leader found himself in a dead end, if you will.  A cul-de-sac.  Between a cavern wall, and a Dragonpuncher.  In his hubris, it was he, not I, who got dead.  Which was cool, because I was getting sick of smacking these fools around.  Seriously guys.  You raid caravans for like, 15 gold.  That's nothing.  Get a real job and work hard, you'll make more money I AM THE 99%.

Brute Squad brutality on some peaceful protesting forsworn.  Occupy Skyrim.

Heading back towards the inn, I ran across the ONE Forsworn I hadn't slaughtered at their camp.  He might've ran away during the scuffle. Or maybe he was only scheduled to come in for the night shift.  Unfortunately for him, he is now in the afterlife, enjoying a SlaughterPHISH concert or whatever these stinky bums do when they die.

I got places to be, and people to punch.

"Don't mess with me lady; I've been drinking with a ghost."

Hellboy parallels aside, I spent the better half of the night once I got back to the inn, indulging the spirit, and indulging IN spirits.  Turns out the guy's got an interesting story to tell about how Skyrim, Cyrodiil and the whole of Tamriel was shaped millenia ago, during the wars.  Once I felt enough time had past, and the ghost's stories became lame, I gave him his sword, and he exited stage right the material plane.  Who says you need an old priest and a young priest to get rid of a spirit!

That's it for now!  Next time, I'll go see what Delphine's up to, and what she wants me to do now, that is probably retarded, even by my skewed standards.

Feel free to leave comments/challenges/suggestions/trollings in the comment section!

The Companions 2: Guild Harder

I was going to stretch this one out to 3 parts, but I'm actually anxious to getting back to Skyrim (I take an inordinate amount of screenshots, which allows me to not spend all my free time playing then blogging about it directly afterwards.)


The Companions pt. 2

So then; where were we.  Ah yes, upon returning to Jorvaskkr, we find out that...

KODLAK IS DEAD.  Oh noes.  Someone start the LotR Enya music.  See, while I was out traipsing about Skyrim's peaks and valleys searching for some witches who deserved stitches, The Silver Hand (No relation to World of Warcraft's similarly-named faction) decided to bust on inside the Companions Club House, and kill the old guy; on account of them being hardcore werewolf hunters.  In fact, he's the only casualty.  At least for the Companions!  Whole mess of Silver Hand all bein' dead and shit, lyin' around, corpsin' up the place.

Plan of action?  Go to the Silver Hand base, and exact bloody vengeance upon them 'cause what the hell, man!  Not cool!  Kodlak was cool and stuff, and even wanted to cure himself.  So I kinda owe him one! (I don't, but I want to get rid of this quest, so I gotta.)  Onwards, halfway across Skyrim! (AGAIN.)

Don't get 'a head' of yourself.

Holy shit these guys mean business.  I mean, that's decoration for them.  Me, I'd put a throw rug, maybe some candle wall-sconces. a vase with flowers maybe?  Silver Hand?  NOPE.  SWORDS AND WOLF HEADS.  KEEP TO THE THEME.  And their name?  Not just a name.  They all have silver-edged weapons, which cause extra damage to werewolves.  (That includes me, even though I have yet to wolf out and surf a van while wearing shades.)  So every time they actually hit me, which lets face it is a lot because as I'm using both hands to fight, I can't block (I know, its retarded) and I'm never the one being wise about engaging targets one on one, when there's HEY LOOK!  DUDES! And I just run at the nearest grouping.

Always offer a reassuring shoulder grab, before you cave their face in with your fist.

Just so we're on the same page; its not like these guys ever stopped to ask me if I was a good or bad werewolf.  These guys are clearly insane, and must be exorcised via violent absolution of my hands upside their head.  I mean they brought it upon themselves.  That's my excuse for a massacre, and I'm stickin' to it.

Knuckle sandwiches: 5$.  Note: beaten dead horse in background.

I don't know why they have a dead horse in a cage tucked away in a cave here.  These guys are kinda weird already, besides their werewolf hatred.  Like they just enjoy torturing people altogether, because there's a lot more gruesome scenery than the dead horse, and they're FINE with it.  Like right next to the dormitory, is this giant room of hatred, covered in blood and offal. (Love that word.)

Despite all his rage, still stuck in a cage.

For some reason, they kept this one alive.  Possibly to kill at a later date.  Never know when you need a fresh werewolf to be slain to impress the recruits!  This one was feral, as in he was as likely to eatmurderkill me as anybody else within the complex.  Its not that I wasn't sympathetic to his situation, but also: HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A DAMN.  So I left his ass there.  He's a werewolf, he's supposed to be resourceful.  I am, hell, why can't he be either.  Oh yeah, stuck in a cage.  Sucker.

BODYSLAM!

OH MAH GAWD STONE COLD STUNNAH! STUNNAAAAAH.  Ahem.  So; after chokeslamming the Silver Hand leader to death, I find a bonus to my satiation of vengeance for Kodlak: a piece of a legendary weapon, once belonging to Ysgrammor himself!  Ysgrammor is the founder of the Companions, and had this sweet battleaxe which  I can now totally smelt back together, because that's how things work.

Back in Whiterun, we hold a funeral service for Kodlak.  And I'm told that hey!  Even though he's dead right now and all, we can still save Kodlak's immortal spirit before he gets tossed into Hircine's backyard like so many wayward mutts.  I just need to reforge Wuuthrad (Battleaxe), bring it to Ysgrammor's tomb which used to be the original Companions hideout before he died, and also one of those witches' heads because why not.

Tomb Raidin' like it was goin' out of style. 

So upon entering the tomb, I'm followed by Varkas and Aela who absolutely want to help out.  I don't have a choice in the matter, and they're about as much help as a 4 year old during peace negotiations between Jordan and Israel.  I mean they're getting so much in the way, that they end up taking a knee every fight because their dumb ass went and got in the way of my mighty Dragonpuncher God-Fist(tm).

Who are you call?

New enemy type!  Ghosts!  Holy crap!  Scared!  Because while up close they're easy enough to see, if you're far-off they melt into the wispy fog-filled background, and don't make noise when moving about!  Also, they're kinda tough.  I mean, punching a ghost is hard enough work, but getting a solid hold onto one to punch it in the mouth in the first place is a whole new challenge.  Halfway through, Varkas tells me he can't go any further.  I mean the dude has waded through fiercer carnage, just killed a bunch of spooky ghosts, but has to stop.  I wonder what in the world could possibly give such a man pause...

"I hate spiders." - Prof. Jones.

Of course.  What else could induce such nightmares as to stop a seasoned fighter cold in his tracks?  Fucking. SPIDERS.  At least there aren't any big ones around right n--

Arachnophobia is an acquired taste now.

Goddamnit.  AND its poison is draining me of stamina with every scary bite!  I'm getting tired just punching at it!  Its just a giant spider though; so I manage to dispose of it, and patch up my wounds with some grilled leeks and salmon.  Not literally, I mean I ate them, and regenerated my health.  Stuffing grilled leeks and salmon into open wounds that's gross.  You're gross.

Punching ghosts in the face, while listening to Southern Rock; its Skyrimnatural. (I'm totes Dean.)

The final room had a swarm of ghosts; all former Companions, risen from their eternal slumber within Ysgrammor's tomb to 'test the worthy'.  yeah OK.  Whatever.  I mean I've gotten this far.  I can't imagine they're really hellbent on killing me anyways, since if I punch them 'dead' they can't get any deader, they just fade out of the room, and probably go back to Sovngarde with a cool story to tell.

So I get done with the 20 or so ghosts that came out to give me a smack on the cheek and a 'how ya do', when Kodlak shows up, all Ghost-style.  Tellin' me if I throw one of those nasty witch heads into this here fire, I can set him free.  Thing is, I have to fight his wolf-spirit to truly free him, so he can essentially hang out with his dead friends in the afterlife and get drunk on ghost beer.  He'd totally do it, but he can't because of y'know the whole being a ghost thing.  Sure, fine.  I'm the Dragonpuncher, what's a wolf spirit gonna do 'bout it.  Thing is probably retardedly small.  It wasn't.  Neither was mine.

Aela attempting to get it on with my wolf-spirit it seems.  Inappropriate.

And they were angry.  Even if I hadn't had my wolf-spirit for considerably that long in comparison to Kodlak, he wasn't any less ferocious.  Maybe its because I enjoy daily leisurely strolls through heavily wooded areas, and punch entire wolfpacks dead for no reason.  Maybe its because it mirrors the owner's own force of personality, so like you're fighting yourself man; its all philosophical.

I don't know; I'm not a doctor.

Sit Spirit-Ubu sit.  Good dog.

This existential crisis did not stop me however from putting my wolf-spirit down harder than Old Yeller.  Fully cured of my werewolfism, having saved Kodlak's immortal essence from the Daedric Prince Hircine's eternal hunting grounds, I am offered the leadership of the Companions!

Damn, it feels good to be a gangstah.

Next time: I putter around Skyrim while Delphine works on stuff!

if anybody has any extra challenges they'd like to toss my way, things to try / not try, etc, drop a comment below!  Or whatever.  Validate me!

The Companions Guild: You don't get to be a member without making a few enemies.

Its that time again!

Today's edition is the start of a two-parter, because I want to spread out this content and be a total tease.  Joining the Companions!  They're the Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion's somewhat equivalent of the Fighter's guild.

Unlike in Oblivion, they tell you that the Companions don't have as strict a hierarchy as the guild does; members are members, and if you're allowed into the companions, then that's it.  There's a 'circle of true companions', above regular members that is, but these are simply the people who've earned their place enough that newer/younger recruits can look up to them for guidance and training.  They also make any big decisions that what need decidin' on.

Warning: there might be potential spoilers to the game in this post.  And by potential I mean definitely.  You've been warned.  Sucker.


Joining the Companions pt. 1

I set out to Whiterun, and entered Jorvaskkr, home of the Companions, intent on being the very first no-weapons-guy in the guild filled with weapons-guys.  Y'know, stick it to the establishment.  Show'em what bein' a Dragonpuncher is all about.  They're cool with that actually!

They even go as far to say that their leader Kodlak had a dream about me, so he's super into me being in the Companions!  Sweet! (Creepy, seeing as he's an older fellow, and I don't fancy the gentlemen, but ok.)  So they send me on about a few quests; nothing interesting really.  The first one involved me beating up (But not killing!) a lady so she'd stop being a bully.  Counter-intuitive, but I guess sometimes you can only solve violence with more violence.  (A solution I wholeheartedly subscribe to.)

Perks though; while doing an errand, I remembered that legally, the deceased no longer retain ownership on their loot:

♫ You hungry have a sandwich, got my wallet cheese & lettuce ♫

Was about time I found some decent food; and with the Companions giving me paying work for once (Damn Jarl won't even PAY me for ridding him of his little oh, y'know, DRAGON PROBLEM.  Cheapskate.)  I could afford new steel plate armor!  I GOTS SWAG HONEY-BOO-BOO-CHILD.  So I immediately put it to good use.

Chicks dig a dude in a full suit.

Cooking that is.  I made SO MUCH STEW.  All the stews.  I made them.  Eventually, after enough errands for the Companions, they made me a full on member; and even invited me to their swanky elite grouping, the Circle of True Companions!  First, they held a formal ceremony for me atop the Skyforge, and told me if I wanted some cake afterwards, to meet them in the Underforge for some cake and...

If Thriller and Twin Peaks had a baby, it'd be this.

... werewolf's blood.  Ooookaay, uh sure.  Its the secret which binds the circle of true Companions, it seems, what with them bein' all werewolf-y.  What the hell, when in Rome, right?  Ok give me your blood to drink, I've eaten millennium-old cheese last time, proving that I'll put anything in my mouth, really.

So I'm a werewolf now?  Cool.  Cool cool cool.  Oh wait, Kodlak wants me to cure him from his werewolfism before he dies, so he can go to Sovngarde with all the other Vikings Nords, instead of Hircine's infinite hunting ground, acting like the Daedric Lord's hunting hell-hounds for all eternity?  Y'know, that sounds kinda nice too, being a dead spirit in an infinite mead-hall waiting for the end of the world to fight one last glorious time, rather than being some Daedric prince's bloodhound forever.
Kodlak, challenge accepted.

No-one told me bears would be involved.

Kodlak's pro-tip: Go to the witches' coven (half-way across the wold, kthx) and bring me him a witches' head as that is the 'seat of their power'; to break the curse.  Also it can't be ANY old witches' head, it has to be one from the clan that cursed the Companions 500 years or so ago.  Ok.  Sure.  OH LOOK, nature is out to get me, now that I am a nightmarish magical amalgamation of Man, Wolf, and Punch.  I don't blame the bear either; I'd want to eat me too, because I'm DELICIOUS.

Kind of like this guy, but meaner. A lot meaner.

Ok bear, you don't like me, I don't like you.  I still have no food on me, so we're gonna have to rely on the stupid low level healing spell I got at level 1 because magic.  I am still going to repeatedly ram my fists into your face until you run away, or die.  I'd prefer the you dying part.  Good?  good.

So it died because I killed it.  Impressive?  Maybe.  Scary?  Not compared to where I'm going.  Glenmoril Coven.

Wonder if they'll have any Witches' Brew.  I'm parched.

Great.  See what I mean?  A scary hole in the ground, filled with witches.  And I have to go in there and punch their heads off.  Literally.  Like that's what Kodlak wants me to do.  "Go knock some heads" he said.  HA HA OLD MAN YOU ARE THE JOKE-MAKING.  But really, I've delved into dungeons.  I've fist-fought dragons!  Surely, there's nothing in here that can possibly be worse than all that.

ARGHLEBARGHLEDAKJDHFDJD HEEEEEEEEEELP

I TAKE IT BACK.  ITS WORSE.  ITS WOOOOOOORSE.

HELP
HELP
HELP
SOMETHING IS PROBLEM.

I forgot my regular common fantasy tropes; witches can cast magic.  While a bit on the frail side of things physically, they can cast pretty much all the spells.  That one there?  Casting regenerative magics on itself, after it launched a good pair of fireballs at me, because it thought that would be cute.

Normally, I'd never punch a lady.  But she ain't no lady.

This is more what she looks like when not tossing eldritch fire at me, or healing herself.  Note: there's like 5 witches in the entire coven, and Kodlak suggested I bring back a single head for himself, or y'know, all the heads.  Presumably so they can't make any further deals with anyone who wants to become a werewolf.  They're quite tough!  But I found the secret to my success.  (And their imminent demise.)

Honey Dragonpuncher Don't Give A Damn!

Ok so those raptor-like talons hurt too.  These gals mean business.  Thankfully I made all that stew earlier!  Also: they are vertically challenged.  I stoop on this 4ft ledge and dangled off just enough so that while she was mauling my shins (my poor poor shins.) I was scoring straight-smacks to her cabesa.  Which now that I think about it, was the one part of the witch I was supposed to bring back intact.  Albeit not attached to the rest of her.  Maybe wailing on it with my steel-shod hands in an attempt to cause so much brain trauma that she dies from it was a bad idea.

Oh well, its for Kodlak, and he can get his own damn witches' head next time if he doesn't approve.

Speaking of Kodlak, We'll find out more on the next Geeking out in Skyrim entry: The Companions pt. 2!

Questin' for the Greybeards: Gettin' Horny with Jorgen Stormcaller's stuff

Welcome to another fantastic edition of Geeking out in Skyrim.  Its been a week with no updates, as the real world has kept me very occupied with my mundane job of making sure gambling addicts always have a place to spend away their hard-earned money.  Its a dirty job, and I love it.

Now then!  On to better things!

Retrieving the Horn of Jorgen Stormcaller, for the Greybeards.

After ascending High Hrothgar and meeting with the Greybeards, they presented me with a task; to fetch some ancient artifact known as the Horn of Jorgen Stormcaller, the first of the Greybeards.  Such an item of course would be within the sepulcher of said owner, because he's been dead for thousands of years.  So y'know, I better be careful with whatever I find down there.

Thousand-year-old-cheese?  WINNING.

Before you even ask; yes I ate it.  I had left High Hrothgar without raiding their supplies, so after hauling ass accross half of Skyrim to get to Jorgen's tomb, I needed a little pick-me-up.  In no way was eating a millenium old wheel of goat cheese a bad idea that made me hallucinate giant spiders trying to eat me.

Honey, I shrunk the Dragonpuncher

Because those spiders were quite real.  I mean what other reason could be the cause to have such nightmarish visions of such nature?  Food poisoning?  Really?  That's insane.  You're insane.  I drank enough alcohol after that cheese that I should've been in an alcoholic coma, awaiting Death's timely arrival.  But no; Dragonborn metabolisms are too strong for such mortal woes, and I powered on after fisticuffs were made with the totally-real-and-not-made-up spiders.

Naptime of the Living Dead

Halfway through the tomb, I found a pair of Orcish plate gloves, which explain the change of style; also they allow me to punch harder or something.  I wasn't aware that Jorgen Stormcaller was a fan of Orcish Couture, but whadayaknow.  So of course, I get to this main room filled with sarcophagii; or sarcophaguses, sarcophages, snuffalupagus.  Coffins, and a lot of them.  "Oh cool.  I'm pretty safe here, everything's dead, and I can stop tripping out on cheese."  NOPE.  The resting Draugr decide to pop out and say Hi!  With their teeth, and boney sharp limbs.  I return the favor, with my two meaty ham-sized fists.

You got: Dragon Word!  It makes you translucent.  Boo.

After giving the undead a good exorcizin', I'm saddened to see that Jorgen's Dais is Hornless.  Not only that, instead of the horn, there's a note!  Someone came in here before me, left everything that wanted to eat me with their giant teeth alive, stole the horn, AND left a note to sass me about it.  I punched the shit out of that note.  Whatever.  Maybe Jorgen has some other instruments lying around, like a trombone, or a percussion harp, or a kazoo or something.

Jorgen's got a lot of junk in his trunk.

While there were no other instruments, I did strike it rich!  Lots of wonderful ancient treasures to pawn the hell out of, to make up for my reckless property purchasing in Whiterun!  Staff of Flames?  More like Staff of Paying off my Mortgage!  With the place thoroughly looted, my attention turns back to the note from that sneaky thief; "Meet me in Riverwood if you want the Horn."  Damn right I do!

So I go ALL the way back to Riverwood; and meet up with the owner of the note; Delphine.  Delphine is a Blade.  Not an actual blade, but a person with the title of.  They used to be the Emperor's personal Guard back in Cyrodiil, and were pretty badass.  They wear splintmail and use katanas, so think of them as the awesome Samurai caste within the Emperor's entourage, even though the Emperor is more of a Westernized King-figure than say, an Eastern Emperor.  Anyways, Delphine is one of those, and its been 200 years or so since the events in Oblivion (Elder Scrolls 4), and the Blades are kind of in a bind.  There's 2 of them left, and she's one of them.  Also, she doesn't know where her other Blade friend is.  So she needs help.

Back when I got that Dragonstone for the Jarl?  Yeah, that was her doing.  She convinced him  to make me do it, so she could suss out just who I was, and then, if I was trustworthy.  Lady, I'd gladly help you out, but you went the wrong-ass way of asking me.  Give me the Horn.

Oh she will, she says, first she needs to test out a theory of hers, and I'm gonna help.  It'll be win-win for me she says, because that Dragonstone?  Actually a map.  Of all the dragon burial sites, but the dragons they're not staying dead.

Basically she wants me to kill a dragon dead, to prove her theory that they're not staying dead, and that she knows where they'll show up next.  Ok lady, fine.  I'm the Dragonpuncher.  One punched dragon, coming up.

Dragon souls taste like strawberries.

There.  See?  Dead dragon, as promised.  Surely after all the good word-of-mouth you've heard previously in the Jarl's court, this wasn't so much a test as it was a community service I did for the people of Kynoreth; what with there being a dragon in these here parts.  There's no way you needed proof of who I wa..

Delphine the Blade; kinda like Mack the Knife, but more lame.

Goddamnit.  Everyone's a critic.  Is it SO HARD to beleive that yes, I can absorb dragon souls into myself and use their essence to form powerful vocal magic shouts?  Also I punch things?  Thoroughly impressed with me, she gives me Jorgen's horn, and tells me to lay low for a while, as she's got to think some things over.  Hopefully she'll ponder her trust issues with me.

Next time on Geeking Out! in Skyrim: I decide to join the fighter's guild: The Companions!

The Greybeards: Not a ZZ Top Coverband.

Going to meet the Greybeards.

Dealing in dragon killings is risky business; all I got for my troubles was a lousy dragon soul, and the opportunity to buy a house in Whitemane for 5,000 gold.  The real-estate business would be a buyer's market considering that now potentially any property is at risk of a dragoning, you'd think.  But no, you want that house?  Pay for it.  (So I did.)

Portal 2 Space Core sold seperately.

So I go about setting up my new house, which comes with my very own Housecarl.  I don't know what that means really, other than some very annoyed woman in armor follows me around all the time.  I told her to sit tight, because if I used her as a follower, that would technically be against the rules.  Also told her to hold all my stuff, because she is oathbound to carry my burden.  Well good news lady; here's 15 sets of iron armor I just made.  Go nuts on that oathbinding.  Oath it up all you want.

High Hrothgar: its like going to your grampa's but with death on the way there.

So; now as a homeowner, I have to go visit the Greybeards.  These are the last guardians of The Word.  Basically they are your generic wizened prophets living on the highest mountain in the game, where they spend their time not-talking because they have become so BAW$$ in Dragonspeaking, that a very whisper from one of these guys could destroy someone.  So basically its a bunch of elderly Black Bolts, puttering around all day, waiting for the destined Dragonborn to show up.  No biggie.

Sabre! SABRE!  SABRECAT HOOOOOOOOO!

What they don't tell you at the Jarl's courtroom, is that the way to High Hrothgar is filled with nearly every considerable permutation of wild life possible, all hell-bent on making you their latest addition to their layer of winter fat.  Sabrecats are little more than bears with a smidgen less health, and a faster attack speed.  On account of them being cats.

One thing they don't have, is an immunity of getting stoutly punched on the nose, like regular cats.  I went through pretty much all my cheese wheels during and after this fight just to get back up to snuff.  Contents of my bag started to look less like a delicious variety of foods, and just a slowly rotting produce section, overflowing with cabbages.

Picturesque view, when not being mauled by wildlife.

About half-way there; damn Greybeards and their living in the fucking attic of the world.  I've braved the depths of a draugr-filled barrow, the ferocity of a dragon, and the masses of giant nightmare-inducing spiders, surely there's nothing that will impede my progress!  Nothing at all! No--

ICE to meet you!

Mothafukkin' ICE TROLL.  Super strong, super fast, and health regeneration.  The normal Fantasy/Mythology trope holds true, even in Skyrim: trolls have an aversion to fire.  However, that is out of question, as it would require me to abandon my strict regimen of only hitting things with my hands.  I was doing good, too!  I was almost there before I tripped and fell face first onto this guy.

I ended up running around the entire mountain trying to put enough distance between us to be able to regroup and come up with a new strategy.  I couldn't wage a war of attrition, as his health regeneration kept him topped up completely if I did not put constant pressure on his healthbar.  I couldn't either simply plant my feet and wail on him until one of us dropped, because it was clear I would be the one dropping every time.  By the time I reached the Greybeard's doorstep, all I had left were some grilled leeks, and some wine.  Broke-ass Dragonpuncher.  At least I'm not homeless.

Citizen Sniiiiiiips!

I bet this guy's got a whole bunch of cash he's willing to be violently parted with!  Next step: doing the Greybeards' errands (while staying off their lawn).

The Adventure Begins!

Foreword:

Herein lie the adventures of Ge'ek Outt; Nord Dragonpuncher.  On a dare for a friend's radio show (GeekOut! on CKUM 93.5 FM every Saturday from 7PM to 8:30PM in the Greater Moncton Area), I started a new character in Bethesda's Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, with the objective of getting through the first dungeon and beyond, while relying on my own two fists, and solely my own two fists; I was not allowed to use any other means of damage.  So no spells, no swords/axes/maces, no nothing.

At the start of the show, I entered Bleak Falls Barrow, the first dungeon in the main quest line (After the one from the tutorial, during the sacking of Helgen).  This was the initial challenge; getting through Bleak Falls Barrow by the end of the radio show (an hour and a half affair) and then defeating the Dragon that's triggered when you turn in the quest from said dungeon in Whitemane.

The challenge as it were was a success; not only did I manage to complete the dungeon, kill the dragon, and prove to the Jarl of Whitemane that I was indeed the Dragonpuncher, I had time to FUS a bunch of plates off the Jarl's sumptuous dining tables.  But more-so was that I had fun doing it.  So much, that I decided to keep playing ol' Ge'ek Outt (Traditional Fantasy Name) whenever the fancy struck me.

And so this blog is to catalog the stuff I do with him, and more-so the stuff I eat with him.  Delishus Cabbagez.



Bleak Falls Barrow.

Spider-sense; going haywire...

 Upon entering the dungeon and dispatching two bandits lollygagging at the entrance of the barrow, it was a rapid descent through empty abandoned chambers... until this one.  Clearly inhabited.

Beleive it or not, NOT the biggest spider in the game.

Defeating that thing allowed me to 'rescue' Arvel the Swift.  By rescue I mean chase the theivin' bastard down, because he renegued on our deal:  If I save him, he'll give me the Golden Claw.  So I cut him loose and he bolts, taking advantage of the fact that I had just drank 2 minor health potions and eaten 4 potatoes to restore my health after battling that giant spider.  Elven bastard.

Not so swift now, are ya!?

My Golden Claw!  Mine!  Sucker could run, though.  Guess it wasn't just a silly made-up name.  Good thing he also died right next to the door I needed the Golden Claw for!  What could possibly be behind a door requiring a massive gold key in the shape of a dragon's talon?  Zombies.  Lots and lots of zombies.

Naptime of the Living Dead

See that tiny bit of red there?  That was my health.  Took every last health potion I had to survive the undead onslaught of Draugr (Dragon-worshipping variant on your normal zombie theme, also they're vikings.  So, scary in other words.)  At this point, all I had left was some raw rabbit meat (urk.) and 3 cabbages.  The dungeon itself was rife with Magicka potions, and Stamina potions, but not very helpful in Health potions.

Also they could've been sitting there for a long while, so the prospects of drinking spoiled potions and eating cave mold wasn't too promising.

Waterfalls: do not chase. stick to known estuaries.

After surviving (barely) the hall filled with Draugr, I was faced with my first true hard decision; jump down the waterall here, and continue forwards into the barrow, or remain up top where I could still exit the dungeon, and go for supplies.  Backtracking is for sissies, communists, and the mentally ill.  So after taking the plunge, I took a moment to look up and wave goodbye at my only salvation.  It was punch or be punched now.

Let sleeping Draugrs lie.

Winding down the waterfall chasm, I ended up in this pretty well-lit grotto; with a large dais decorated with an altar, carcophagus and treasure chest.  Oh and a very angry Draugr, intent on reclaiming the Dragon Claw.  Sorry buddy, finders keepsies losers weepsies.

Once the restless zombie was slain, I was allowed to exit the barrow with my quest item in tow: a dragonstone of various importance to the Jarl of Whitemane's court wizard.  However upon arrival and a "thank you" from the regent-lord, some fool runs in screamin' DRAGON!  DRAGOOOOON!  As you can guess, I was asked to deal with this new situation by the Jarl.  Well, I wasn't so muh as asked, as I was tasked to do it regardless of my willingness to go fight a dragon, considering that at the start of the game, I owed my life to the dragon who decided to make the little hamlet of Helgen its bitch, while my head was on the executioner's block.

But this was part of my challenge; I had to go.  I had my honor to uphold!  I had drove too and from the radio studio with minutes to spare to get an HDMI cable so I could actually to this, and damnit; I would not be denied!

So there lil Ge'ek Outt is, running across the open plains to the west tower outside of Whitemane, heading to go fight a dragon.  And this is where I died the first time.  EXACTLY when Siskoid goes "So where are you now?" and looks over at my screen, to see a nice 3rd person view of my flaming corpse drop like a ragdoll.

However, I had previously saved behind a large rock, and attempted the dragon fight again.  This was going to be hard, however, as I had only stocked up on cheese and bread, instead of health potions.  Ge'ek Outt is not the sharpest tool in the shed.

CSI: Skyrim

Oh hell yeah.  Take that, dragon!  Right in the kisser!  (Well, more like running around debris, and taking a few shots at the dragon's ass before he'd turn around and attempt to roast me with his all-consuming firebreath)  For my troubles, I got a handful of gold, and some neat swag in the form of dragon bones & dragon scales.  Heavy as all get-out, but worth to keep as they're indispensable as crafting materials later-on in the game.

Posin' for my adoring fans.

Dragonpuncher, buddy.  But I'll let it slide.  This time.  having previously learned FUS (Dragon-word for Force) in the barrow grotto after defeating Mr.-I-am-a-zombie-and-have-issues-with-letting-go-of-stuff-like-that-golden-claw, I was able to apply the freshly harvested Dragon Soul to learn my first Shout!  Unrelenting Force!  I tried it out on the dragon remains, but they remained immobile.  Guess I'm not strong enough yet.

I talk with my fists, and I haven't lost an argument yet.

Thanks Cap'n Obvious; that WAS shouting!  I am a Dragonborn; hell you saw the dragon's soul get sucked out of a dragon's corpse that I fistfought moments ago, and in a visibly showy display of lights and Ooh! Aah! jump into my noggin'.

This is where the first of possibly many of Ge'ek Outt's adventures end, as this was the end of the radio show.  Challenge: SUCCESS.  I'll be posting more of his going-ons as often as possible.

In the meantime, go visit Siskoid's Blog of Geekery, and go tell him what you think of Spider-Man or Batman or Dr.Who or whatever.  He has some interesting things there not-Skyrim related.