Like a Moth Priest to a Flame: More like... Elder Trolls

 Greetings and salutations once again!

Last we left off, Isran and Serana were getting acquainted.  And by that I mean they were politely declining from killing one another in my presence.  How precious!  Gunma has something for me to do, but he's not quite ready yet; so he sends me off to see Sorine who, I'm told, has a plethora of tasks for me to help out on.  Helping is fun.  Its' where I'm a viking!

Isran also has something for me to do; and after discussing it over with Serana, (see: yelling) they decided we need to find out what's on Serana's Elder Scroll.

Now for the uninitiated, Elder Scrolls are the moviepooper.com of Tamriel.  They're spoiler-sheets galore of stuff that will pretty much happen to everyone and everything.  Problem is, these things are pretty much unreadable to the untrained pesants.  So we need a Moth Priest.  Moth Priests are dudes who spend their entire lives training to read the Elder Scrolls correctly, and not have their minds BLOWN (literally) when they attempt it.  See, with that much raw potential swirling on an Elder Scroll, your mind can be pretty much zapped with so much information, you die or go crazy or both.

Sucks, I know.  For the sake of game mechanics however, there's a rumor 'round town that a Moth Priest was sighted near Dragon's Bridge or some other bullshit hamlet.  TALLY HO!

But then: bandits.

If you wander 'round Skyrim and get robbed by brigands, you're gonna have a bad time.

 Bandits dealt with.  At this point in the game (So-far I'm around level 27/28 in these screenshots) Iron/Hide Armored Bandits attacking me with worn bows and rusty daggers do little to stop my progress.  In fact I'd say they do nothin' at all. (Nothin' at all!  Nothin' at all!)

LOOOOOOOOOOOVE MEEEEEEEE

 Spiders however, still scare the shit out of me.  I have a tenuous respect and healthy fear of a creature with as many limbs as eyes, and venom potent enough to strike down a man twice my size and in ten times as better shape.  However this is Skyrim; and beating up spiders twice my size is largely cathartic and empowers me to get over my fears.  Something like that.  Anyways!  So I find out that our Moth Priest IS indeed touring Skyrim, lookin' for that sweet sweet Elder Scroll trim.  He's gonna oggle them scriptures like a 13 year old stumbling on his dad's old Playboy stash behind the paint thinner in the garage.  However he's been priestnapped by vampires because they're dicks and probably have the same idea we do.  Though they don't have an Elder Scroll.  OR DO THEY (Mystery!)

The mushroom patch says 'cozy' while the skewered, flayed, and burnt corpses say 'nuke this place from orbit.'

Charming, I'm sure.  I mean vampires don't mess around do they; they're making a statement here.  "Don't mess with us."  OK.  Fine.  Here's my counter-statement.  I'm gonna mess regardless.  And you'll regret it.

Subterranean realestate should be a promising venture by now.  Its' a buyer's market they say!

 Deep inside the cave, I stumble upon... ruins!  Always with the ruins.  And some weird glowy henge-like formation in the distance.  If games taught me anything, the more it glows, the more important it is.  So I should punch it a whole bunch first and ask questions later.

SWEET FIREY DEAAAAAAAAAAATH

 Well that didn't go as planned, what with the dying and all.  Back to the cave entrance as my last save, I plow through the redundant skeleton forces left as guards, and finally get to the asshole who grilled me bad moments ago:

Malkus rockin' the Ice Cock look.  Blech.

 So Malkus, a masterful vampire and former orc in his own right; is dead-set on making me into a rotisserie chicken.  Suddenly, as I'm punching him, Serana shows up and fires those ice shards into him.  (And one into me in the previous picture.  THANKS SERANA.)  Like she wasn't invited, but OK.  Whatever.  Malkus goes for the eternal dirtnap soon enough, and I can take a few moments to tend to some severe burns.

Magical forcefields oscillate on the skrillex wavelength, because all they do is go "wubwubwubwubwubwubwubwub"

 Moth Priest Get!  Good ol' Dexion Evicus, from the Empire back in Cyrodiil.  He's all about being saved, but when I told him we had an Elder Scroll to read?  THAT is when his little Priest-dick got HARD.

See, Moth Priests train all their lives, right?  Well what they don't tell you until its too late, is that the more you read an Elder Scroll, the more you go blind.  Like straight up blind, your eyes don't work.  But the better at reading an Elder Scroll you get.  And like you gain the knowledge of knowing when your final reading will be, and the scroll itself lets you know this, but is Good Guy Scroll because it gives you that final warning so you can prepare yourself to get a sweet boost of knowledge before going batty.

Whatever, they're not my eyes; read away, Poindexter!

"Oooh, miss Firedas!  Tasteful, yet enticing!"

 Standard prophecy nonsense.  We need a McGuffin (Auriel's Bow.) to defeat the ancient evil.  (Serana's dad, most likely.) Because why?  WELL the scroll says that the vampires have found a possible way to block out the sun.  In an easier way than Mr. Burns did on the Simpsons, too.  Which would be really bad for everyone because vampires and sunlight; even though I've been traipsing around Skyrim with Serana in tow under harsh sunlight and she's FINE.  Let's take a closer look, shall we?

'So all religious nonsense is made up!  HA! Atheism!' - Ricky Gervais or some other tired Carlin quote.  Whatever.

 Sonofabitch is just making it all up!  I mean clearly its not that I'm too stupid to read an Elder Scroll, and if I really attempted to, my brains would shoot out of my ears at an alarming pace.  Whatever.  I'm gonna go see what Gunmar is up to.

Gotta pay the troll toll.

 What. I don't.  What.  Gunmar,

I'm tempted to take one into battle with me; maybe ride him as a faithful steed (You can't.  I tried.  The troll wasn't too pleased either.)  So Sorine tells me that some bandits have stolen some crossbow schematics she had once, and despite being a mechanical genius and medieval engineer in her own right, studying ancient dwarven relics to reverse-engineer their stuff to better our chances against the upcoming vampire onslaught; she absolutely CANNOT remember how to optimise her doohickeys, without the plans SHE drew up in the first place.  OOPS!  Butterfingers!

So whatever, fine.  I'll go hunt down your silly drawings.  First stop: Riften.  Its the closest town and I need supplies.  As I enter the town, I'm greated with the distant din of a really epic battle.  By the time I run over to the merchant's quarter, its over.  However this:

I used to be a vampire like you; then I took an arrow to the GERK, I AM DEAD.

 God bless you, random town guardsmen; you're finally leading by example.  Don't let no sassy vampire mess go about your town like they runnin' thangs.

I don't know what hurt worse: the fact that I hit her so hard she's bleeding from the spine; or that it looks like I've tore her head off, bare-handed.

 Its ok folks; I do not condone violence against women.  In fact I am a big softie who loves all the ladies in my life, and would never harm them intentionally.  Unless they became part of the undead, including but not limited to the following:

• Vampire
• Zombie
• Mummy
• Ghoul
• Ghast
• Lich/Demi-Lich

If that happens, they know the drill; destroy the brain to make sure.  I mean at that point they chose their lot in life.  Unlife.  Whatever.  A little birdie told me the bandits aren't far away!  So I set off to flush'em out of their little hidey-hole.

DA BEARS

 Banditry and Highwaymanship must've been a very popular course at college in Winterhold; because everybody took it.  Also their teachers must've sucked, because these are the most inept marauders I've met so-far.  I've seen arctic wolves formulate better plans than these dunces.

Gon' drop you guuuuuurl like a ton'a'bricks!

4 minutes, major penalty, checking into the barrels on #01 Ge'ek Outt.

 Schematics: GET.  Sorine's quite happy with the results, and even gives me a free crossbow.  I sell it back to her immediately.  Before I go through a few rounds with the Dawnguard, I figure now's the best time to stop home and see what Lydia's been doing with all my money, now that I've told her she has run of the house.

"I really wish my brother George was here."

So... she decided to hire a bard.  Poor gal.  Trained to fight as a shield-maiden, all she does is sit around my mansion, eating my sweetrolls, and dusting my trophies in the trophy room, and resenting that I have a children's room but do not have kids.  I'M JUST NOT READY YET, LYDIA.  OK!?  QUIT PUSHING ME.  STOP EMOTIONALLY SMOTHERING ME WITH YOUR NEEDS OF A STRONG STAY-AT-HOME THANE.  I'M A LONER DOTTIE LYDIA.  A REBEL.

Next time: I break up a cult, overtaken by another cult!  Cultception!

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