Ain't that a kick in the head: BRAND NEW SERIES!

Jolly good morning, my lovelies!

Today we begin our most assuredly descent into the living HELL that is Fallout: New Vegas' post-apocalyptic roleplaying sensation!

Before we start off however, some slight background for the uninitiated:

Fallout

The world of Fallout is a revisionist telling of America being stuck in a 1950s art-deco military industrial conplex kind of vibe where cathode rays and vacuum tube technologies were still rampant near 100+ years later on, while ray-guns and atomic-fueled cars and personal robot servants were all the rage. Essentially imagine those "Welcome to the WORLD OF TOMORROW!" shorts with a splash of The Jetsons.  Fun right?  Except the cold war never ended, and China invaded Alaska for its oil resources.  SO Vaul-tec, America's leading consumer choice for shelter solutions created a giant social experiment that were the Vaults; large fallout shelters that were to house specifically selected sections of the populace as part of a larger social experiement.  Previous Fallout games have you play as dwellers of these vaults.

But this is Fallout: New Vegas.  We're in the future: 2281 to be precise.  We're in the Mojave desert, skittering across the dessecated husk of the Old World, eeking out an existence as a Courrier.  Essentially we're a mail man.  And we start off the game by being shot in the head, and left for dead on a courrier-run gone bad.  From there-on its however we want to go, but our main goal above all-else is twofold:

1) find out who/where the sons of bitches are that done shot us in the head, and deal with them accordingly

2) retrieve our package and complete our delivery.

Everything else is thankfully free-reign.

Within the wastes are various factions of bandits, raiders, settlers, mercenaries etc, that are all vying for control of the Mojave and surrounding Nevada/California landscape.  As with Skyrim, I've acquired the DLCs for this game, so we'll also be visiting parts of Utah,  the Sierra Madre, Big Mountain & an area only known as 'The Divide'.  

Challenge

As with Skyrim, I'll be going through Fallout: New Vegas with a specific set of parameters that I,ll have to adhere to, regardless if doing something else or indeed the opposite would be more beneficial to me in my playthrough.

Currently, the ONLY suggestion I've recieved was by my friend Marty, who suggested "Put all your points into Luck."  Which doesn't sound like much at first, but its a start.  So I've built upon it, in that because the setting is Vegas, I was going to incarnate Ol' Blue Eyes himself, leader of the Rat Pack Frank Sinatra.  

Except because its Fallout, I'd be forming my own group; the Rad Pack.  As in Radiation.  I am clever shut up.  This would mean the following restrictions to my gameplay:

• All attribute points at character creation be spent into LUCK.
• Armor/Apparel restricted to old-world clothes when applicable (unless required for a quest, i.e. Ultra Lux attire)
• Weapons are restricted to pre-war items, closest possible to actual Rat Pack / Vegas / Sinatra-stuff as possible. So no gattling guns or lasers, or Power-Fists.  Tommy guns are OK though.
• Tagged Skills: Guns (Frank's presumed Mob connections) Speech (Crooner life) and Barter (Vegas Livin' ain't Easy)
• Tagged Perks: Wild Wasteland & Skilled.  Just to give myself the full weird Fallout experience and a 10% Experience points penalty ontop of not being able to wear armor or use awesome weapons why not.

Throughout gameplay, I'll be attempting to pick further perks that go along with the theme of the character when possible, while increasing my main skills as much as possible before spreading out into other areas.  More than likely never updating skills such as Energy Weapons as they don't fit the theme & of no use to me as I'm auto-banning myself from using energy weapons (unless where specified from a quest.  (There's actually one or two.  Sucks, I know.)

And so here goes!  Follow me on an amazing and wild adventure, won't you?

Eeeeeh, what's up doc.

Good ol Doc Mitchell there patched me up after Victor (More on him at a later date.) found me left for dead in Goodsprings' cemetery.  Mind you an apt place to be left-for-dead.  I mean its a simple job for the gravedigger to just cover the body with dirt, but I'm a lucky son-of-a-gun I guess.  Doc's a real straight shooter, and asks me my name; however didn't peg me to be a 'Frankie'.  Considering that the original choice is "Courier", I'd prefer being Frankie any day.

Nah Nah Nah Nah DEFAULT-MAN!

Well I'm not much to look at; Doc's asking me if he did an OK job stitching me up together again.  Considering I was only told I was shot in the head, I don't really get what he's at.  Unless I was dismembered and he's actually a sorcerer and brought be back from the dead, in which case WHAT.  WHAT IS THIS DARK MAGICS.

Then comes the requisite 5 minutes of switching between hispanic, caucasian, african descent, male & female, constantly transmuting race & gender infront of Doc Mitchell's very eyes as if some glitching T-1000.  Wolfy's just fine.  Juuuuuuuuuuuuuuust fine.  And so, my pitiful attempt at trying to resemble Frank Sinatra starts.

Enh; blue eyes.  Close enough.

Well that's a fail.  I'm sure there's a guide out there that explains in excruciating detail how to do it, but I can't be arsed sorry.  Nope.  I got things to shoot into the face with gun-things.  Doc's all "can you has legs for walking now?"  Which in non-idiot means "Can you walk around and see if your legs work still.  And if so, please move towards the Vigor-o-Matic Stat-Tester, thank you."

So I do.  Most of this section is a tutorial on how the simple game functions such as movement, etc.  But y'know its fun.  I likes fun.

So luck much chance wowe

First (and main) restriction: check.  Happy Marty?  Luck 10.  I am gonna DIE within 10 feet of Doc Mitchell's house OR breeze through the game.  I mean who knows; I might be that lucky.

Doc, satisfied with my movement and ability to play a carnival machine, asks me to follow him to his salon, so we may discuss some stuff.  Mostly he wants to run a few rudimentary psych evaluations to see if that bullet to the dome I took didn't go about and lobotomize me or something.  Cool.  Cool cool cool.  But first let me steal all your shit.

+1 to being Dapper

Score!  Lucky Strikes!

WHISKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

Alright; Doc must be wondering where I went.  I head on over to his living room, which is essentially a couch placed infront of a fireplace (Why does it have a fireplace, it never gets that cold there!?) and some chairs.  Cozy.  Welcoming.  Comforting.  Let's see what he has to say.

PENIS.  The answer is always PENIS.

Well that was weird.  Word association followed by multiple-choice Rorschach tests.  That last one totally looks like two ants goin' butt-to-butt poopin' back and forth forever though.  Whatever.  Test results come back inconclusive, so he lets me pick my tagged skills (remember now, Barter, Guns, & Speech)  And now to pick two traits:

We can't stop here; this is radioactive bat county!

Wild Wasteland is as described above: its just weird nonsense that you can randomly encounter while playing the game.  Example: in Fallout 2, you could encounter Godzilla, The TARDIS, The Bridgekeeper from Monty Python & the Holy Grail, etc.  This 'trait' just enables this in the game.  Fun stuff.  Skilled gives me a +5 to all base skills, at the cost of a reduction of 10% Experience points gained.  A short boost overall in the early stages of the game, for a somewhat to sizeable penalty over the entire game as it progresses.  Why?  Because CHALLENGES, THAT'S WHY.  Speaking of Challenges...

I am a sissy, I fully admit it.

I chose to not do Hardcore mode simply for the fact that while I'd actually like to try it, its not conductive for the way I play the game; I put in a few hour stretches here and there, and really Hardcore mode requires a lot more dedication than I have available for a 4 year old game I'm bloggin' about right now.  I'd have to devote my every waking moment to playing the game, especially with the host of other restrictions I have in place, that to save myself some frustration, and you guys the sadness of me abandoning this blog enitrely, I'll play the game on the NOT retardedly hard difficulty mode.

What's behind this door?

Satisfied with everything, Doc Mitchell hands me an old pip boy and some duds; specifically a Vault 21 jumpsuit he had lying around, as to cover my shame.  With little ceremony he sends me back out into the world, where I am free to poke around town, or tear off after the assholes that shot me in the brain.

M'LADY

Great, first thing I manage to do after cheating death in a post-apocalyptic radioactive wasteland, is become a gun-toting MRA.  Look at that gun and hat action.  Ready to oppress ladies left and right with my #NotAllMen bullshit.  ugh ugh ugh.  Hopefully I'll find something better to wear soon enough.

Until then, we'll just have to wait on the next installment!  Which will be until further notice: Tuesdays.  Gives you all a week to look it dem purdy pictures and comment on stuff.  Maybe you have an idea for an added challenge?  Maybe you'd like to tell me to go die in a fire?  I don't know, maybe you would, or wouldn't; I'm not the boss of you.  You're free to do as you choose!  Choice! LIFE BE IN IT!

Tyin' up ends tighter than the Raiders' offensive line Pt. 2

(STILL THE SAME FOOTBALL JOKE.)

So; when we last saw eachother, we were warped into Hermaeus Mora's realm of nightmares, with Miraak standing there being all " 'Sup."  like he owned the place.  Well he sort-of did, but really not.  Anyways.  He pulls his Emperor schtick, I say no, and... he kicks me out!  Well fiddle-dee-da, what the fuck.  Maybe I'm not fat enough for him yet; he wants me to plumpen up with more delicious dragon souls before he goes about absorbing me into his collective power pool.

Gross.

Anywho.  Out of dreamland, for now.

SKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!

Remember Frea? 'Course ya do.  WELL turns out the Skaal are her people.  They eek out a meager existence on Solsteim's frosty slopes, relentlessly under assault from Miraak's brainwashed troops.  Because that's what he does.  He mind controls them and stuff.  Kinda sad really; dude can't make friends at all so he just coerces the weak-willed ones to do his dirty work, like excavate all his temple nonsense.

Don't mind if I do!

But first, cool skeleton takin' a nap here won't mind if I take his swords now would he?  Not like he needs 'em, I've punched everything alive and not-quite-dead within a 5 mile radius anyways.  You don't mind mr. Skellington, do you?  Didn't think so.

Shields won't hold captain; we can't take it much longer!

So the Skaal village's defenses compromise essentially of... the 3 people left in it, spending all their time praying to the gods of Old.  Not like, OLD GODS like Cthulhu or whatever Elder Scrolls equivalent (Hermaeus Mora HINT HINT) but like, their own versions of dudes in Sovngarde and according to Nord tradition.  They're ancestors but so ancient they've transcended dead guy/gal status and became legendary embodiments of stuff like courage and compassion and war, etc.  Y'know.  Godly stuffs.  We good?  We good.

Frea's dad is Storn, the local elder Shaman or whathaveyou.  Within me, he recognizes the power to stop Miraak once and for all.  Or so he thinks.  First off however, there's a bunch of totemic standing stones that need to be cleansed of Miraak's influence.  However only a Dragonborn can do so, using the 'Bend Will' shout.  It so happens he knows it, and teaches it to me.  This allows me to also bend the will of dragons and use them as mounts.  Handy!

"Go forth and complete the sacred prophecy of... yelling at rocks."

What Storn didn't tell me however was that Miraak had these stones guarded by hulking masses of NOPE.  Creatures assembled from the inky nothingness of entropy, which is what Hermaeus Mora's realm is essentially fashioned of.  It's like if Livejournal was made into a physical place you could go to, but only the livejournal part of the internet populated by teenagers starting to be  self-aware but still not mature enough to understand that the world does not revolve around them and their non-problems.  Also nightmares.

♫ Ain't lurkin' fer nothin' but a good time ♫

Well that was terrible.  Lurkers are rugged beasts and what's that I hear, off in the distance...

"MACHO MADNESS RUNNIN' WILD YEAH"

Oh. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.  I forgot I had this bad boy installed.  FUCK YEARGH.  Wait.  I kill it (Obvs.) but I don't get his sou--- OH GODDAMNIT MIRAAK.  He shows up from between dimensions, and absorbs the soul for himself.  ALL THAT HARD WORK, FOR NAUGHT.  I guess that's why he let me live, so I could go 'round and feed him some tasty macho dragon souls.  Well F that, I'm not about to stand around and do this guy's business for him.

Whatever.  Storn's all about finding a way back to Hermaeus Mora's realm, but on our own terms.  Which will require another of Miraak's books.  Thankfully he knows where one is!  Unfortunately its within a deadly dwarven ruin known as Nchardak.

Thankfully he knows of a dark elf named Neloth, who just so happens to be an expert on dwemer ruins and more specifically Nchardak.  Good.  Come along and try to be useful.

"Ah, ruins.  Good ol' ruins.  Nothin' beats ruins!"

Well this place looks sufficiently rundown and dirty.  Where am I, current-day Detroit? HORT HORT HORT I'm sorry Detroit city is in a very unfortunate situation where it recieves less aid from the US government than certain 3rd world countries.  In fact less than all of them.  Detroit's in a bad place go out and help'em.  Maybe become a robocop, clean up the place.  It's OK I'll wait.



You all done?  No?  A bit more time? Ok.





We good?  We good.

"Friendly fire is this guy's favorite spell, it seems."

Gatdam Neloth.  Seriously dude; check your aim.  That's a big ol dang ol frosty ol twinpops in my fuckin' chest there.  Furthermore, you've enhanced it, and the poor sap I was killing I might add, with the elemental power of electricity.  Behold, you robed Tesla, for you've cunningly channeled it through the ice shard creating a sucking wound through and through me, directly into the dude's junk.

That's pretty amazing, actually.  Hardcore bro.  up top.

Oh no a puzzle whatever will I do.

Puzzles suck, moving on.

Oh no a book whatever will I do.

Yay book-get.  Let's get this baby back to the village so Storn can do whatever magic nonsense he needs to do to it.  I ain't no book-mage; don't look at me.

"I I I Iiiiii want the booooook."

So, Storn gets his book, gets about halfway through it, then WELP, if we press on, Hermaeus Mora will be pissed probs, and there's no turning back.  Frea of course opposes contnuing, because usually stuff like that means her pops gonna get got, and she'd rather keep him alive.  I'm all for an alternate solution, because those usually involve me punching a lot more things into various thicknesses of paste.

SIKE!  Reading.  For idiots.

Oh SNAP.  Storn's all "WE DON'T HAVE TIME" does the thing anyways, counting I'll probably be able to rescue him from that Daedric Prince's realm while I'm in there rootin' around for Miraak too.  Yeah OK.

This is all too heavy, man.  I need to reflect on all that's happened... also I'm hungry.

Well its like; now Storn's dead, and the Skaal village has a floating murderous book in the town square, and no longer any defense against Miraak's agents in the physical realm.  I... guess I should get in there and y'know, hop to it.

And eyeball tentacles everywhere.

No longer in Kansas, AMIRITE? HA HA HA WHAT A JOKE WE SHARE RIGHT N--

Books.  Why'd it have to be BOOKS.

For those of you who don't know me, I hate to read.  I used to love it, but then college happened and I've read enough for one lifetime.  So a nightmarish realm filled with cthulhus and constructed entirely out of books is my own personal HELL.

INVISIBLE HORRORS

Damn things can go invisible!  Ambushing me in a book tunnel after a flurry of pages swarm me.  I think I peed a little, out of fear.

He comes bearing... gifts.

Hermaeus Mora, like all Daedric Princes, comes offering me a gift.  Why? who knows.  these guys are always doing shit for no reason; its how they get their jimmies in jams or whathaveyou.  Of course this requires reading, so I hate it already.

Desintegration!?  Fucking RIGHT.

I can shout people into dust?  Sign me the fuck UP.

ULTIMATE POWERRRRRRRRRRRR

Aaaaaaand Miraak.  He's impressed I got this far! We're not so different he and I, and all the other monologuing platitudes.  Whatever.  Time to go to TOWN on this supposed Dragonborn.

Hoisted upon his own nightmare-tentacle.

Well Hermaeus Mora might've helped a bit there, at the end.  Mostly because he suffers no losers in his team, and Miraak got his bell rung by yours truly, he done went and murder-killed him, releasing all of Miraak,s poached dragonsouls back to me while I was there.

It was like in Highlander, when Christopher Lambert kills another highlander guy and absorbs all their power / knowledge, but with less lightning and Queen music, but more badassery and.. well that's about it.  Coulda used the Queen though.  Here it is.

With Miraak dead, Mora's all "Coo' coo'.  GTFO." And warps me back to Skaal village.  Hopefully nothing has changed while I was gone...

Squatters suck

Buncha gremlin-lookin' dudes decided to move in to the empty houses, F that nonsense.  Riekling gon' get evicted or die tryin'.

That's done!  The end! Skyrim got skyrimmed (Sorry.)  Solsteim is saved for now, so I can go back to Skyrim's holds, see if everything is still the same as I left it before my last big adventure.

Ol Stumpy we calls'im!

YEP.  Everything's still the same.  Glitched all to hell and back.

THANKS for pursuing this adventure with me, especially if you followed along from the start to the very end.  This was fun, despite the lack of updates here and there.  

My next adventure will be a Fallout: New Vegas adventure, but there will be more about that soon enough in an upcoming post.

Thanks again for all your stalwart clicks and stuff, its been a wild ride!

Tyin' up ends tighter than the Raiders' offensive line Pt. 1

(FOOTBALL JOKE)

Greetings!

I know, I know.  It's been a while.  I'm terrible, and the worst, and a double-Hitler.  I love you too.  Without going into details too much, 2014's been a shitty year so-far and I've had to sideline a few things to keep a hold of what's left of my sanity, powering through the worst of it.

Skyrim will be shored up soon enough; so I'm going to have to rename the blog to something more all-inclusive!  I know this is all very passionate stuff, that all of you, my loyal fans are waiting with baited breath to hear me discuss at length.

Yeah baby, how you like dem re-branding scenarios.  Uunnnnh girl, you wanna revitalize my key performance indicators while I maximize my forward-facing image?  Alright enough I sound like like my Marketing class back in college.

SKYRIMS.  AWW YISS.  It's only been like 3 years since this shit's been out, so LETS FINISH IT, SHALL WE?

Majestic as FUCKBALLS, amirite?

Awwwwww yeaaaaah.  Cold heart of mothalovin' WINTER.  ETERNAL GODDAMN WINTER.  I type this as its like 30°C outside with 500% humidity so it feels more like FUCK YOU °C.  Because we are all meat-puppets made to suffer within our terrible slowly-rotting fleshsacs.  MOVING ON.

"And I call this game I made... RISK.  Pretty sweet huh?"

Galmar's all "Alright, we're goin' for the head honcho now.  GET YOUR ASS TO MAHS."  But by Mars he means Solitude; what's wrong with you.  Keep up will ya? Solitude's the seat of the Empire in Skyrim, and the major thorn to the Stormcloak's rebellion.  So fuck it.  Time to go annex some Jarls and their holds.  POLITICS, MOTHERFUCKER YEAAAAAAAAAAH

"If you see something that's not-on-fire, make it on-fire."

Well that's rather straightforward of you, Ulfric!  Also bravo for being a leader who's not afraid to get in there and mix it up!  As xenophobic and frankly straight up RACIS U RACIS you are, it is somewhat refreshing to see someone put their money where their mouth is, and go to task.

I just wish your task weren't to be a complete dickbag.  Oh well, the others are worse.  Having played through Elder Scrolls Online (Part of why this place went unattended for a while!) I can tell you the Aldmeri Dominion are cocks now and even back then when like Alduin was first time-shunted from the past into the present, or whatever.  I hate them and they can all die in a fire, I don't care call the cops.

"Good job on that everything-on-fire task I gave you."

So Solitude's on fire, I've gone through pretty much every guard in the whole city that didn't have the good sense to leave well enough alone and get outta dodge before the fightin' done started and... Tullius shows up.  Looks like he wants to talk.  Maaaaaaaaaaaan I just lit everything you've ever loved ON FIRE and even possibly screamed a few of your friends and children off of Solitude's parapets into a icy watery grave below if they're lucky, or had their bodies broken as they smashed onto the rocky shoreline, to be fed upon by mudcrabs and vultures.

SURE let's talk.

Et tu, Fruit-Brute?

 *KNEEL BEFORE ZOD JOEK OK LOLOLOL !! 1!!one!*

Tullius' talks are little-more than wanting to get a death-soliloquy in before he's off'd.  Which is OK, he deserves it, but mentions that he's AWARE that the Aldmeri Dominion are the true evil driving force behind the Empire, and that he doesn't love them at all.  WELL HE SHOULD'VE DONE SOMETHING ABOUT IT.  Hate on Ulfric buddy, but Ulfric got shit DONE and kicked y'all out of his goddamn backyard.  Imperials are the worst.

*Final Fantasy Victory Music*

SOLITUDE-GET.  This is essentially where the 2nd of the two main plot-lines from the standard game ends; with Alduin defeated and the civil war ended, I'd be left with an open world sandbox game to go fart around and do randomly generated quests for loot forever and ever and get to level A BEEEEEEEEEEEELYON.  Or whatever.  That's dumb.  You're dumb!  NUH UH!  Good thing those dragonpriests earlier went and attacked me openly in Riften or some shit, time to get to Solsteim and fffffffffffffffffffuck shit up.

Bonus imaginary points if you figure out which one I picked.  Like double-bonus, too.

And we're now starting the final DLC for Skyrim!  The first Dragonborn, Miraak has been essentially being a VERY NAUGHTY BOY, and is pulling a Palpatine with the whole "Join us! We'll rule the world!" OR ELSE routine.  Unfortunately for him, I don't play with others!  (Story of my life.)

"Not my job.  Shove off."

Solsteim is... less than receptive to fresh faces.  Dark Elves are the major ruling class here and pretty much do not give a shit about you unless you're bringing in a profit to their Houses.  Miraak has essentially RUINED all trade for the island however, so I'm able to use that to my advantage and leverage some dawdling bureaucrat to spill some beans.  Solsteim is home to Miraak's first ever temple!  Back when he was the first Dragonborn, and not crazed with power!  Like thousands of years about.  WOO.  Let's head there shall we?

Aaaah.  Just like home.

Somewhat dissappointing; the location is very same-y compared to the rest of Skyrim, when in Oblivion the 2nd big DLC had a completely different look to it (Shivering Isles) and with what they did for the area in ESO (which runs on a lesser engine than Skyrim, too!) Oh well.  I'm here, might as well go ahead and save the world.

The esthetics of this place scream of 'warm' and 'cheerful'.

Place is huge.  People really must've thought this Miraak guy back in the day was a big deal.  I mean you need people to build something this size.  This isn't a one-person job.  I can barely assemble a pillow fort by myself without giving up, let alone a giant temple to myself!  This is definitely a multiple contrator affair.

A wild lady approaches!

No really; she's a wildling.  Or at least Elder Scrolls' version of one.  They're essentially Nords who kept to their shamanistic and totemic ways, worshipping powerful imagery of wilderness and elements like bears, and snow.  So that's cool.  I like that.

'Sup Frea.  Wanna get to know one another better near a nice'n'warm hearthfire?  OH you're here for business?  Cool cool.  Stop Miraak's goons?  Nice!  So am I.  but moreso to stop Miraak.  'cuuuuuuuuuuz duty I guess?  Nah; I just want to punch'im in the face.  I'm not gonna lie and say I have an altruistic motive to all this.  I'm ruled by my baser urges of:

1. Punching things in the face (if they have a face; elsewhere if they don't.)
2. Eating meat (preferably red.)

Anywho; lets go in shall we?

Stairs.  Why'd it have to be stairs...

This place must be TARDIS-like 'cause I descended what felt like forever to get into the place and immediately I'm shown stairs that go up into a space I'm sure from the exterior would appear to be carved out already to make room for all those descending stairs.  This game takes some liberties when it comes to distances travelled during loading screens, but you're pushin' it here...

"Miraak's First Dragon - Age 25"

Well he's got a sense of style, at least; I too put the bones of my first dragon kill in my own house  It's not as big as this place here, but I think mine has a quaint charm to it, that invites one over for a visit, sit and perhaps even stay for dinner.  When my necromantic neighbor isn't respawning, that is.

THE PENITENT MAN KNEELS.

 SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSECRETSSSSSSSSSSSSS.  Miraak LOVES Last Crusade because he's built in pretty much every trap from it into his own base of operations except for the Magic Eye(tm) bridge because that one's lame.  Thankfully I've weathered far worse traps and horrors so-far just fighting dragons and draugrs.

Nobody's gonna block THIS fire exit hort hort hort I'll see myself out.

This might've stopped the casual zombie, or a slightly determined dungeon-explorer adventurer-type, but I'm made of sterner stuff.  I know words of power in an ancient tongue that where their very utterance I can shatter a man's bones, light him on fire, or freeze him to his very core if I so choose.

Come at me, Dragonbro.

OK THIS IS GETTING RIDICULOUS.

I feel like I'm in some shitty redneck circus' funhouse at this point.  I mean ALL that's missing is bendy mirrors, and a sad clown doing a jump scare at the end.  Well that's not true, there IS a sad clown, but he's the one doing the jump, because scared...  OK that one needs some work.

Just gonna grab you right through your face aaaaaaaand.... you're gone.

FINALLY some cultists.  Poor poor cultists.  Have mercy on them whichever God that is contracting them to do this shitty work, for they know not what they face.  I am DESTROYER OF WORLDS, EATER OF CABBAGES FOUND IN BARRELS DEEP WITHIN GHOUL-INFESTED BARROWS... I... really shouldn't eat produce I find in forgotten tombs now that I think about that.

BEHOLD; A CTHULHU STATUE-THING!

Well, I for one welcome our horrible nightmarish crab-overlords.  NAH JUST PLAYIN'.  The second I see this thing, I'ma punch it in its big doofy eyeballs.

End of the line

Well there's nowhere else to go, and I'm in a domed room with only one exit: the way I came in.  In the centre there is some sort of pedestal, with a book on it.  No Miraak.  Shit.  Maybe its his dream journal or something.  Maybe a diary detailing his most private thoughts.  Mmmmm yeah.  Tell me who you got a crush on...

READING!?  CURSE YOU, MY ONLY WEAKNESS!

Shit, well it IS his dream journal, of sorts!  As Miraak's not here, I might as well read it, see what it's got to say 'bout him and his powers and stuff.  Who knows, maybe it'll be interesting!

'Sup.

 OH GOD THIS IS NOT INTERESTING THIS IS NIGHTMARES.

His book has warped me to another dimension; the realm of Hermaeus Mora; Daedric Lord of secrets and general fuckery.  Remember Clavicus Vile from a while back?  That cheerful chap who resembles Loki from Norse Mythology?  Vile looks like goddamn Baldr next to Mora.  Mora's like if you took the story of "A Monkey's Paw", that severed chimp hand that grants wishes but its always twisted and whatever you wished for ends up being worse than not having wished for it?  Mora's like that.  "I wish for eternal life!" he'll turn you into a statue.  That level of shit.  But aslo steal your soul and torture it for eternity within this hellscape.

But I digress.  There's Miraak bein' all First Dragonborn, totally not keepin' his Dragonborn Privilege in check.  Like some sort of older sibling he's bein' a dick, while being flanked by his two pet octopus-ghosts?  I don't.  What.  everything in this dimension is tentacled, sickly-green, and ghostly.  And dripping.  Everything's just so wet all the time.  It's really gross.

Miraak's talking about I don't know, some bullshit about us not being so different he and I whatever.  He wants me to stop killing dragons and rather tame them so we can rule them and then the world.  I'm all "How you gonna do that from in here dummy.  We're in the dream-world or some shizz."

Big.
Mistake.

"THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM!"

AIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HELP HELP HELP HELP!

And so, we shall FINISH THIS in Part... DEUX!?

Stay tuned!  Comments/Likes/Subscribes/Retweets/Shares/Pies down below in the comment section, kthnx.