Sunday, March 11, 2012

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.

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!

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