Wattage

Wattage

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Nosferatü Diary Day 5

Winterhold. A broken village in the north. Two buildings have been destroyed and still stand with their skeletons exposed. Off in the distance a man and woman are fighting over his drinking. He mentions the college. I can only assume he’s referring to the College of Winterhold. That’s where I must go. 

Sven trails behind me. As a good servant should. A steep ramp leads to the College. During our approach I notice a crumbling walkway overlooking a long drop to the water below. There must be some history here that I’m unaware of. Or just don’t care to remember. 

A woman elf stands watch at the first platform. The Eye of Magnus engraved in the stonework behind her. She stopped me and asked questions. I hardly heard her and gave some lame response. She agreed to let me pass as though I gave the correct answer. I think any answer would’ve been correct. 

She hands me off to a Breton who promptly tells me about the college. She commented about how many new students there are but I see none. Fellow students aren’t why I went to the College of Winterhold anyway. 

After the ra-ra speech from the Breton, I rushed away to meet up with a mage who specializes in Restoration magic. If I understand correctly, there's a special ability Restoration mages have that I could put to good use. 

The Restoration instructor is annoying. She’s constantly complaining about how she's treated although I never once seen her interact with colleagues. Maybe it’s her that’s the problem. 

I paid for several training sessions before leaving with Sven in tow. 

Monday, November 25, 2019

Nosferatü Diary: Day 4

Sven is a clunky dullard. He’s slow and loud, and unresponsive. Yes, he will do just fine. A general store merchant told me of a place called the College of Winterhold. Apparently it’s a place where magic can be taught. I’ll need to get there soon. 

Arrived in Whiterun, a Hold capital. A walled city with a busy marketplace. I think I’ll make it home. For now. 

Upon arrival in Whiterun, a gate guard stops me. He says the city is closed due to dragon activity. Seems odd as I watched people come and go from the city. I convince the dope to let me pass. I eluded to him I know about the dragons and have come to warn the Jarl. This, of course, seems odd since he should already know about the dragon given his guard stopped me for that very reason. Either way, I’m allowed to enter the city. 

Within the city I meet several women. A blacksmith having an argument with a man in Imperial armor. He asks me: Gray-Mane or Battle-Born? I’m assuming he wished to know where my support lies. I recognized the name Battle-Born from a farm outside the walls. I said Battle-Born and he approved. 

Ysolda, Hulda, and Carlotta all seem available, especially Ysolda and Hulda. I’ll approach them first. Hulda was easy to please by selling her firewood. This act grants me a free room for the time being. 

But the city is large with many prying eyes and strained ears. I’ll need to keep a low profile until the High Rock situation wisps away in the wind. I wonder if she’s coming for me?

Sólaire, are you out there somewhere? 

Saturday, November 23, 2019

Nosferatü Diary: Day 1

Am I fleeing from some court intrigue? That’s what the Imperial soldier asked me. As if he might know what goes on in the rest of the world. What with the increasing decay of Skyrim due to the growing animosity between the locals and the Empire. Of course that countrywide fracture was nearly knitted back together as the Imperials hand the Bear of Markarth in bindings. Still, that Imperial soldier was much closer to the truth than he knows. Best to avoid him for now. 

Then that black dragon showed up. Of course stories of dragons have always been told, but as everyone else had done, I dismissed them as folktales to frighten children. Now, though, it appears they are real. No matter, its appearance garnered me freedom. I suppose I owe that dragon. 

The blond Nord said something interesting just before cutting me loose. He said something about the harbinger of the end times. That struck me in a familiar way. I can’t quite put my finger on it, though. I’m certain I have heard that before. But where? Or when? 

Riverwood. A small village with a mill and blacksmith. A tiny general store. A bed and bar. 

And Sven. A simpleton bard. He will do nicely. Or the wood elf. Nah. The bard.