Skyrim - Life

Life. That is the word that greets me as we slowly leave the unending snows.

Life.

The winter landscape that we have lived in for so long gives way to scattered pockets of greenery. Life returns to the hillside, and not just in what I see - my heart is full of it. Whether it is the view of foxes chasing rabbits, the lush smattering of colour on mountain flowers, or Lydia bounding down after me, I cannot say. Either way, it is a beautiful day, and I'm glad to be enjoying it with her.

On our travel across the range, we have encountered many types of life. From the low-life bandits, wildlife of wolves and bears, to the undead life of the draugr, we think we have seen it all. But the wispmother is a surprise to us both.

A green clearing forms in front of us, with trees in view. Yet it is not the green which has drawn my eye, but the odd transparent blue floating woman burning into my retina from the other side of the clearing. Ice magic is soon thrown at us, and I immediately swallow a couple of potions to help resist this cold magic.

Lydia has her sword and shield raised, and runs towards the shimmering blues. A strange row of ice forms on the ground between me and the wispmother, the creature Lydia has sought to kill, and out of the ice leap three ice wraiths. Their only mission is to sink teeth into my soft imperial body, to protect their matriarch.

I resort to fire magic to deal as much damage to the living ice as possible, while thrashing away like a madman with my sword - all pretense of swordsmanship vanishes in that blur of metal. One by one I am smiting the things, all the while downing further potions to maintain my health and stamina.

It is a hard fight. I can see Lydia smashing away at the wispmother. She is the goddess of death. I can image a grin of hatred and satisfaction and admiration and longing and happiness displayed on her face, hidden behind that dwarven bronze helmet, yet in clear evidence in her action. It is the fight of her life, the fight that any young Housecarl would fantasise about while stuck in Whiterun.

I join Lydia in the fight, again hoping that my fire will reduce this thing to something approximating death. We are having an affect - it rapidly retreats from us, and we are eager to give chase. All the while it continues to spew frost magic at us, and all the while I hit it again and again and again.

The wispmother's life soon leaves it, and I am left standing over the odd corpse of this most strange of mountain denizens. "Yes, yes!" I cry. "We've done it!!" I turn to face Lydia. But I cannot see her. Not right away.

Close by she lays, face down. In the dirt. She does not move, does not make a sound, does not share in my fading celebration.

Life. Life is fleeting. And life is cheep in Skyrim.

I move over to her, afraid to touch her. She is so peaceful, so at peace with this world that has sort to damage her on so any occasions. The adrenalin of battle has been replaced by a feeling of absolute and crushing shock. I stand for minutes staring at her corpse, unable to move or even contemplate moving. Events past this moment wither out of existence.

After what seem like hours pass, I move closer, and turn her so that she can at least face the sun. I don't have the words to say to her, the feelings I have or had for her stick in my throat. I know what I must do, and it tears me apart to do it.

I take that of use from her - the dwarven helmet, the shield, and some gold and arrows. But I leave her on that mountain with her armour and her sword. I leave her as she would want to be remembered. A warrior. And a beautiful woman. 

I leave.

Skyrim - Calm descent

When morning comes, we set out back along the path. It is gradually leading us back down the mountain, but snow covered peaks are still in abundance. Hungry wolves snap at Lydia and I from time to time; their diet must be limited at this altitude, and they know not of the danger they face when hungrily approaching the two of us.

I fondly recall our battle against the bitter Hagraven and her minions the day before. We gelled so well that day, with Lydia taking the fight to the enemy, and me working my way around to snuff out the evil life at the top of the rock. Though hard-fought, we were victorious in a way we hadn't managed before.

Lydia walks a few steps behind me as we progress, and a smile creeps onto my face. We can't really discern each others looks due to the heavy armour covering both of our faces, but I know she smiles back. I can see Lydia remaining my Housecarl for a long while yet. Maybe she'll be something more one day? But that's for another day. In the meantime, we just enjoy the gentle stroll in the crisp mountain air.

I stumble upon a building constructed right on the edge of a mighty crevasse, a high arch visible before the rest of the stonework. The place is called North Skyward Watch, clearly some form of imperial watch tower.

I approach it without my usual reticence, seeing little of life around it. Nevertheless, I am soon met at the entrance-way by a couple of bandits intend on bashing my head in with iron maces. Lydia fires iron arrows into the narrow door, and helps me end them quickly. They aren't the thugs and outlaws we've previously tussled with, just your run-of-the-mill bandits.

The dead bandits have little of worth stored in the watch - a table contains their coin-purses, some almost-worthless potions, and a chest with a bit more gold in it. Other than that, the only luxury they've afforded themselves are a couple of wolf-skin beds.

I take one last look at the place, then we return to the path to continue our traipse down the mountain.

Skyrim - Battle at Orphan's Rock

A lake comes into view as we descend back down the mountain from Helgen. I walk over to it, and decide that with all the hubbub I've been through of late, that I deserve a dip.

The water is freezing cold, Lydia cleverly remains on the shore. I dive down into the depths. On the bottom, I find a sunken boat - its former occupants nowhere to be seen. Whoever they are, they left behind their chest of goodies -  stuff my pockets with what I can before surfacing and returning to the shore.

My quest still uncompleted, I resume my search for the magic blade which the priestess in Whiterun was after to fix the tree. The weather has turned from snow to rain, all around I am surrounded by dripping trees and grey rock. I wouldn't call it foreboding - there are just nicer places I'd rather be right now.

I can see a cleft of rock jetting out of a nearby hill - it is here, I work out, that I will find the blade. The priestess had said something about it being dangerous around these woods, but again I hadn't really listened to her. After all, a priestess is going to find most things outside the comfort zone of the  shrine to be a bit dodgy isn't she?

I wish I had heeded her warning, as moments later we are under attack from mages seemingly from all quarters. All forms of magic are lashing the ground around Lydia and I - fire, ice, even electrical. Lydia runs into the fray after loosing a volley of arrows, her sword flashing blows on the mages.

I try to follow her in, but someone or something else is throwing heavier magic at me. Large explosions rock the narrow valley we find ourselves in. I have no idea where they are coming from, or even what is capable of magic of such magnitude.

The mages are suffering a sound thrashing from Lydia, who is once more reveling in bloodshed. I finish off a few of them, dashing between outcrops of rock to prevent the magic expert from getting a bead on me. I'm feeling a bit strange - the near constant barrage, and the need to down potion after potion just to remain upright has left me somewhat light-headed.

A path is visible up to the outcrop of rock, and I make a dash for it. An ugly creature is at the top, in the middle of a savage encampment called Orphan's Rock. It is a hagraven, a disgusting cross between woman and bird. It is this which has been causing me so many problems. I apply some poison to my blade to stem the creatures magicka, as well as taking copious amounts of magical protection potions myself.

My blade swipes again and again at the evil harridan, and eventually I am left stood over the dead creature. Searching the body, I find the blade which the priestess was after - Nettlebane. It is made from a dark metal, and is dull in the afternoon gloom. I slip it into my pack.

The battle has been won, and now I allow myself the blessed luxury of sleep. I enter the cleanest tent I can find, and close my eyes for hours.

Skyrim - Ancient's Ascent

Though still chilly, the mountain air is welcome respite from the cold breeze of Bonehill Passage. It is early evening by now, and the sun creeping towards the horizon is beginning to turn the snow a gentle salmon pink.

The pathway leads us further up the mountain, the sides lined by alpine trees and sharp rocks. I spot some signs of ancient construction - walls and cut stones. Maybe we're nearing a tomb or an ancient ruin? Rounding a corner, the pathway opens up.

My voice catches in my throat as I glance up and see incoming doom. A dragon screeches, and both Lydia and I stumble with the volume of noise. It passes us many times, spewing flame at us as we fire arrows skyward.

I run toward a nearby stack of rocks in the hope of giving myself cover, but Lydia... Lydia remains in the open. She is shining, replete in her armour, flame licking at her from the flying beast. The dragon lands in the centre of the mountainous arena and tries to take bites of of Lydia. And yet she still stays put, sword now drawn.

I am throwing arrows doused with poison at the dragon, and a final flight of orcish arrows puts the thing to rest. It collapses on the ground, its incredible weight no longer supported by the once living muscles of my reptilian opponent.

The death of a dragon is an awe-inspiring sight. As the life leaves its body, the scales begin to glow with ruddy heat, and soon they are alight with magical fire. Flakes of ash are blown away from the massive skeleton of the creatures by the valley wind, lifted to the heavens.

And another wind builds up, one which builds and builds, pulling the dragon's soul into my very fibre. I'm left with a feeling of intense strength, but also massive loss. I whisper silent prayers to the departed creature, before taking that of use from its remains.

I turn to face the rest of the ruins, and see a circular wall, very similar to that seen earlier in Dustman's Cairn. A similar wind to the dragon soul builds around me, and a strange text in blue glows on the wall. I gain another shout, but do not have the knowledge to use it.

The path we followed here leads no further, so we turn back the way we came and head back through the ice cave, and down the path through Helgen. Soon another fort is within view, this one southeast from the destroyed town, named Fort Neugrad. Bandits walk its perimeter. Lydia and I walk on past - we will clear it another day.

Skyrim - Up to Bonehill Passage

The road into the mountains continues to weave upwards, and soon the weather turns chill. Snow covers all surfaces, and I can barely make out the road. Up ahead lies a familiar place. Have I been here before?

Yes, yes I have - for this town is Helgen, the town where I started this little adventure. Broken towers and burning pyres lie behind the walls of the destroyed town. I try to find a way in, but all the gates are locked. Some deft lock picking eventually opens the portal, and the doors swing open.

Anger and retribution rise in my throat like bile, as more vile bandits inhabit this murdered town. What level will these animals stoop to? Without a second throught for mine or Lydia's safety, I dash into combat with the nearest bandit, mad with bloodlust.

They seem to be coming out of the stonework itself, more and more of the feral men and women charging at me. Blades flash, and magic pulses across the wasted town, as Lydia pulls arrow after arrow from the quiver on her back and fires them into the pack.

I charge ahead, through broken homes, and finish each bandit off with gusto. I survey the devastation around me - bandit corpses lie scattered across the wrecked town, and blood seeps into the white snow floor.

I quit Helgen in disgust, and we continue our slog along the cold road. What appears to be a cave comes into view ahead of me, but not the normal rocky formation we have explored before. This is an ice cave called Bonehill Passage, the very walls formed from glacial ice. Lydia wonders aloud on what could be inside. We enter to find out.

A chill blows continuously through cave, the likes of which I have never felt. The heavy armour does nothing to warm me, the cold metal conducting the chill straight to my flesh. I spy bones littering the floor. Sounds of wildlife travel down the passage as we ascend up an ice bridge, the roar of a bear. I edge my way forward, suspicious that any noise will bring the creature upon us.

But it is an ambush. Despite my wariness, an ice wraith has crept up behind us and begins attacking. I drink potions of resist frost and strengthen my magicka, and I throw fire balls at the denizen until it moves no more.

The noise of our surprise draws a snow bear out of its lair further up the passage, and we slice again and again at the creature. It falls into the ice - no doubt its corpse will remain here for hundreds of years, desiccated by the intense cold wind blowing through the cave.

I find the exit to the cave, and we push our way out and back into the daylight of the mountainside.

Skyrim - Up into the mountains

A Companion named Vilkas meets Farkas and I outside the meeting hall. He leads as around the back of the building - I guess he doesn't want us traipsing our muddy boots through the hall. In fact, I am inducted into the Companions, and all because I brought back the Fragment of Wuuthrad.

Filled with hubris, I listen to my next assignment, but choose to not understand - I'll come back to them later. For now, I'm quite happy to walk around Whiterun with the town knowing that I am a Thane as well as a Companion.

 I deposit some items back at Breezehome, and get Lydia back on board. She seems keen for some adventure - so would I if I'd been stuck in this boring home of mine for days. No wonder I spend all of my time out in the country, battling bandits and dragons alike.

We exit the town, and I choose to lead Lydia on a quest to retrieve a magical blade for the priestess of Kynareth. It's right there on my "list of things to do" labeled "fix dead tree." Of course, it isn't a simple case of walking out of Whiterun and tripping over the blade, so I begin our rather circular trek into the mountains. Discovery is still very much the buzz word.

Lydia keeps the pace well, already I am impressed with her zeal. I enter the the village of Riverwood, where a lot of my old friends no longer seem to recognise me. Has my face become swollen with endless bashes from the denizens of Skyrim? Has my voice changed because I've been breathing strange fumes in mines? Where once they claimed that it everyday was a good day with me around, now they only grunt in acknowledgment.

Maybe its Lydia. Maybe Faedal has returned to Riverwood and spread bad word about her. We left on such good terms. I banish the thought from my head. I sell some gear, and we move on.

The road out of Riverwood snakes up into the mountains, and a bandit encampment comes into view. They don't seem to have notice us approaching, so giving Lydia a quick wink (I know she sees it, regardless of the heavy armour obscurring my eyes) we sneak towards them. When I'm in range, I stand up, and they are taken by surprise.

"Get out of here" one says, another growls "You'll do what's best for you." Which I do. We unsheathe our swords and remove the bandits from their mortal coils. Lydia seems to be relishing the attack, it breathes life into her.

I have a look around the camp and nab what I can carry. Spying a table and chair at the edge of camp, I sit down and take in the view of the valley. Birds sing, and I can barely hear the gurgle from cut-bandit throats over the gurgle of the river.

Skyrim - Dustman's Cairn

Dustman's Cairn is very similar to the other tombs I've entered so far - rows of shelves carved into the stone walls house ancient Nord bodies in various stages of decomposition. Farkas seems keen on running ahead, though he has to stop often to wait for me to catch up. It's not me being slow ( and I resent the implication), I'm just clinically searching every urn and body that we pass for treasures to fund my adventuring.

It doesn't take long before some of the Draugr arise from their somewhat incorrectly described "eternal slumber." Farkas proves to be an immense warrior, and rarely needs my assistance in putting the Draug back to rest. Whether this will impinge on the report for my trial is unknown at this time.

We soon find that the Draugr are not alone in the cairn - few Whights rear their very ugly and decompsing heads. I'm no anthropologist, but in my limited contact with the Draugr, I believe them to be the hoi-polloi of this society, and the Whights to be their betters. I might be wrong, it has happened on a handful of occasions.

Skeevers also run around these dark halls, but they prove of little entertainment to Farkas and I - a single sweep from either of our blades ends them in an instant.

We enter a large room, where I spot a lever in a small ante-chamber. I absent-mindedly pull on it, and a gate swings shut. "I have the worst luck" I think to myself. But then Farkas is approached by almost a dozen bandit-types calling themselves Silver Hand warriors. It looks like this is the end of our very brief friendship, but then something curious and strange occurs - Farkas turns into a slavering beast. The Silver Hands don't seem perturbed in the slightest, and carry on trying to have at him. This beast-that-was-Farkas jumps on them all, killing each and every one of them.

He disappears around a corner, and comes back as a human after pulling another lever to open the gate and release me. We have a little chat about what I just saw. He isn't embarrassed by the bestial display, and tells me that this is what can happen to the upper "Circle" of Companions. He doesn't even swear me to silence. Not that anyone would believe me. Although Lydia might.

We walk into an even larger room than the last after navigating a series of skeever infested tunnels. Obsidian coffins line the walls, clearly filled with more Draugr ready to awaken and feast on our flesh. Yet they stay put for now. As we progress through the room, stairs lead us up to an altar where in plain site, I spy the fragment I'd been tasked to acquire.

Already knowing that picking this chunk of cut rock up would raise the dead, I begin to charge my firebolt spell. Then, while doing so, I reach across and put the fragment into my pack.

Crash. A number of stone coffin lids fall open, and the Draugr advance on me and Farkas from all sides. Flame shooting from my hands, Farkas engaging them with sword, we best them swiftly. Even the Restless Draugr and Draugr Wights are no match for our combined arms.

The battle is soon over, with undead corpses lining the stone floor. I do a quick search of the chamber for more treasure - those Ancient Nords knew how to send their dead off in style, and I find plenty of gold and jewels. Turning my attention back to the altar, I notice a large semi-circular carved wall.

Things go a bit funny for a minute, as my vision blurs and a great gust of wind and knowledge hit me. I have learnt a new dragon word it seems - my head buzzes with "Fire Breathe". There is an exit to the upper world just behind the wall, and Farkas and I ascend it and head back to Whiterun to deliver the fragment to the Companions.