Everyone knows when you want to warp to the city of Solitude you warp to the Blue Palace, and when you want to read about the disgusting habits of man and elf, you read this blog. Or you should.
Yesterday (now two days ago), I had the shortest session of Skyrim ever. I loaded up, checked my most recent Thieves Guild quests, and said, ‘fuck it, I want to be a bard.’ And with that I decided to go hunt down the lost verse of King Olaf in a cave south of Morthal. I warped to the standing stone around there, and when I arrived, I saw that my faithful steed, Frost had accompanied me for the journey. I decided to ride him the rest of the way to the cave, as it would be a most welcome relief from hoofing it myself. We strode south past a fortress of some kind, and I kicked the fucker into high gear and hot trot. We rushed through the woods, and I thought, hell, I could go in, find out what kind of enemies I’ll be facing in the dungeon, and still have time for a whole bowl of morning granola before I have to go to work, when suddenly, the game froze. Now, the horse is a very useful companion, and I have something akin to affection for it, if not an obsessive habit of keeping the beast alive through each wild encounter. But every time the game freezes, I happen to be on horseback, and if there’s anything I believe in more than coincidence, it’s empirical data. The motherfucking horse is freezing the motherfucking game. This is not the end, and I will kill the horse if it burdens me again.
The next day was fine. I did many things, including not having to kill my horse and successfully joining the Bard’s college after raiding an ancient Nordic cave of Draugrs and their treasure. I found one thing disturbing, which was a Draugr with an Imperial helmet. Imperial? Are slain Imperials to become the next generation of Draugrs? Anyway, I horked the helmet and hocked it. I’m finding that merchants just don’t have enough gold for all my wonderful shit for sale, and that’s something that smug hagglers say.
The day after that, we got into another battle with another fucking frost dragon. I’m going to stop capitalizing their species name because I’m sick of them. The only way to win against dragons is not play. Or not be a pussy. Hey man, Jacqwhortz got what you’d call a different ‘skill set’ in your buzzword-friendly office place. Don’t give me a hard time about dragons. I’m experimenting with a lot of different spells including a flame atronach (melted by the frost dragon almost at once), rallying people (NPCs) to my call and getting them to fight the dragon, but I always get eaten or frosted to death. So I ran and ran. And yes, Frost saved me. We killed some saber cats together instead. It was cool.
My 6:00 alarm still says ‘Let’s Play Bioshock.’ I see it every morning when I’m playing this horrible/wonderful game. In way way, waking up at 5, or 4:30 on this particularly beautiful Friday to play Skyrim is really a bio-mental shock. Like waking and baking, if you’re into that kind of thing. I’ll have to go to work soon, and occupy my mind with other things. As all must, unless your job is playing Skyrim, in which case I hate you avec lols, but still don’t envy your job, sir or madam.
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