Good news, I finished Skyrim again!
No, Jacqwhortz did not fight and defeat the dragon, Alduin and fulfill the destiny of Dragonborn. He bought a house. As far as I’m concerned, he won the game, and this fucking adventure is over. Possibly.
Jacqwhortz took a liking to the town of Solitude early on in a burglary quest for the Thieves Guild, and had been finding more and more excuses to visit it. After assisting the Jarl and some of the court at the Blue Palace, Jacqwhortz was given the right to buy property in the city. The only house for sale, however, was Proudspire Manor: a three-story piece of stonework located next door to the Bards College. It would provide shelter and storage, and it was considered to be one of the finest properties available in Skryim, if not all of Tamriel. Also, it cost 25,000 septims.
“What a fucking ripoff,” Jacqwhortz muttered to himself as he lugged his every heavying load of wares and crap across the land. For as long as he could remember, Jacqwhortz had been a nomadic wretch staying only at inns and at the camps of slaughtered men. He and his horse, Frost were travel buddies on a neverending road trip. His Thieves Guild armor and the blessing of the Steed Stone allowed him to carry massive amounts of loot until he could sell it back to the Guild or at some lucky fence, so carrying capacity had never presented too much of a problem. But the notion of a home appealed to him all the same.
He saved and fought and bought and stole and sold and fucked around for months. He became a Nightingale. He became head of the Thieves Guild. He became Thane in at least three reaches and the first mortal to speak with the Greybeards in centuries. He killed dragons and met with foul gods. He broke into countless homes and businesses and left them empty penniless shells. He killed men and women and beasts of the land, air, and sea. He forged something like 300 daggers.
One day, he finally had the money and said, “Fuck it. I’m retiring. At least as a full-timer. I can’t do this shit forever. It’s fucking taxing and everybody wants to goddamn kill me all the time. Enough. I want to learn the drum.” He visited the Blue Palace, and Falk Firewhatever was there to greet him.
“McGlockenspiel! Good to see you again, my friend. Come in. Have some wine?”
“No. I’m here to buy a home.”
“Ah, you mean Proudspire Manor! Finest house in the city, next to mine, Erikur’s, and maybe…”
“That’s the one. I’ll pay cash.” Jacqwhortz lifted the bulging child-sized sack of gold from the folds of his dark cloak. It folded over itself in his arms like a too-filled sack of potatoes and a mountain of gold coins poured out onto the floor of the Jarl’s audience chamber. “Ah fuck,” Jacqwhortz swore.
Falk looked at the heap of gold and the dark elf in disbelief. “Uh, we’ll uh… We’ll count it right away. Guards! Secure this area and fetch the chief beancounter. We’re going to be here a while.”
Jacqwhortz shrugged and upended the rest of the gold onto the pile. “Have the keys and deed delivered to me at the Bard’s College. I’m going to drum class.” And with that, the elf was off. A great weight had literally been lifted from him, and Jacqwhortz fought the surges of panic from having parted with so much of the precious resource that could buy anything from a hot meal to a new blade, influence, and perhaps kingship itself. Broke, alone, and finally free, Jacqwhortz McGlockenspiel turned and walked away.
“McGlockenspiel!” Falk called after him. “Have you sealed away the Wolf Queen yet?”
Jacqwhortz halted and sighed. “God damn it,” he muttered. “That’s right.” He turned to Falk and said, “I’ll head to the Temple of the Divines after a good night’s sleep in my own home. Not a moment sooner.” He walked away and said some more bad words. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll destroy that bitch and finally, truly retire tomorrow.”