Cherreads

Chapter 5 - Chapter 4: Whiterun

"Riverwood calls for aid."

"Riverwoods in danger too? You'd better go on in. You'll find the Jarl in Dragonsreach at the top of the hill."

And with that they opened the gate. Just mentioning the dragon and Helgen should get me into the palace, but I need to be cautious. I (and the Dragonborn) need the support of the Jarl here in Whiterun. It's vitally important to have their support in the early stage of the dragon crisis, because having a city state on your side makes logistics a lot easier. It also brings the people up to speed, transforming rumors into facts they can arm themselves with. I don't know what happens when I die, or if these people are even real, but I'd like to try and leave them in the best position possible if something happens to me.

Just beyond the gate is a small stone bridge that lets the stream flow through a culvert to the outside. Standing here I can tell the city is definitely Whiterun, but stretched and twisted into a city many times bigger than its game counterpart. A blacksmith shop, Warmaiden, is still the first building you'll pass going in but it's bigger than I remember. The house itself is only a little larger but the smithy outside is vastly expanded, no longer relegated to a corner and having much more space for tools and inventory. Outside two figures appear to be haggling.

"We'll pay whatever it takes. But we must have more swords for the Imperial soldiers." says a big blond Nord. He's thick enough to give Hadvar a run for his money and is wearing Imperial light armor to boot.

"I just can't fill an order that size on my own. Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?" says a much shorter but no less thick Imperial woman. Her skin is dark enough you'd think she was a Redguard. If I didn't know better I'd say she was overweight with how her clothes fit on her but I know she's probably got a ton of muscle from her job. Smithing is considered a warrior skill so that's probably adding to the bulk that her protective clothing is covering. She's dirty from forge work and starkly contrasts the pale, yellow haired Nord.

"Ha! I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak. Besides, Gray-Mane would never make steel for the Legion." the said Nord waving his hand dismissively.

"Have it your way. I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle." she says firmly.

I keep walking while they're talking. In game no one cared if you stopped to stare at them while they had conversations (that was kind of the point) but I'd imagine staring gormlessly at people while they go about their lives is a touch out of taste here. The timing of their conversation is freaky though, it's the same conversation their NPC counterparts would have had in-game when you first entered the Whiterun. I'll add another point in the 'simulation' column .

Regardless, their conversation presents an opportunity for me. The blacksmith will be desperate for help, even from a complete novice, and might hire someone like me on the spot, like she did in game. That way I can level up my blacksmithing ability, which is one of those skills I would consider technical and needing a knowledge base to start. Out of the three crafting skills; alchemy, enchanting, and smithing I only had a small head start in alchemy. Whether it's just game state or the latent memory of the previous tenant of this body I knew enough to dabble in potions but I'll probably have to build a foundation before I can try the other two.

The lower district is where most of the homes and businesses are, the Plains District if I remember right. At the top of the district is the open market where you can buy most anything. It's midday now and the market stalls appear to be fairly busy. I'd be lying if I said I could recognize most of the faces, or even most of the stalls. I couldn't even tell which house was Breezehome, only that I've passed it already. Buildings and people have sprouted up like weeds to take up all of the space in the much bigger city. I can't even take it all in because I'm busy trying not to get lost in a city I should be about to navigate blindfolded. I do note however, for science, that the womenfolk by and large are pretty blessed in the curve department. By earth standards anyway.

Thankfully the fundamental city layout isn't drastically altered, just massively scaled up, so just by pushing past the crowd and heading up I should eventually get to where I'm going. I ascend, joints oddly achy, a surprisingly wide staircase flanked by twin water streams carved by hand on either side. Atop the stairs is the Wind District, home to the city's elite and the like. The carved streams circle out and surround a grand pavilion that itself circles a massive white tree. It's not as perfectly white but the white tree of Gondor from Lord of the Rings ain't got nothing on the Gildergleam in terms of size and majesty. It's easily ten times as big (five times its original size from the game), give or take, and looks like a fake tree you might see in a theme park. The branches are thick in most places but totally bare, having gone dormant long before the player arrives. The bare branches occasionally dance in the wind giving me the impression of a large skeletal monster.

To its left is the temple of Kynareth, Goddess of the sky or wind or something. She's supposed to have some connection to the tree but how much she actually cares is anyone's guess. Based on its appearance I would guess not very much, but pilgrims came in the past to worship under the branches. To the right is Jorrvaskr, the great mead hall of the Companions I saw earlier. Once upon a time they were the warriors who accompanied mighty Ysgramor, ancestor of all Nords. A massive viking style boat has been flipped upside down to make the roof, the same boat that carried them here millennia ago I think. Just before Jorrrvaskr, guarding the stairs to the palace, is a large statue of a man piercing a serpent under his boot with his sword. Talos, god of mankind, who in life was known as Tiber Septim, founder of the current Empire.

I consider the stairs, much taller and narrower than those previous, with distaste. My joints seem to be agitated, the first real health problem I've experienced here aside from almost dying. The small stream that circles the Gildergleam has adorable little bridges at four spots for the main roads. You could easily step over the stream but these have been specifically made to accentuate the beauty of this space. Instead of proceeding to the palace I move to the statue and consider the considerably smaller shrine at its base. I think it's supposed to be a sword but the terrible proportions and exaggerated carvings make it hard to tell. I stand at the little shrine and pray. Before I can even say 'Please heal me!' in my head the aching fades with a small glow of healing light. Skyrim's healthcare system is top notch, better than any doctor I've had on earth. I give a silent thanks and continue my quest to the top of Whiterun.

Dragonsreach is in the final district, the Cloud District, and is the only thing up there. There's a rather long set of stone stairs cut into the hillside, becoming perilous as you ascend. In-game this was merely an annoyance, in real life its pants filling to be so high without rails. It's likely built this way to keep out invaders but when my foot slips on the worn stone for the third time I can't help but think that it was also built to weed out the weak as well. Stamina isn't a problem for this body and I make it up the stairs scared but not out of breath. Taking a moment to mentally recover I look down at the city I was just a part of and find it weird to see it full of people and actively. In-game the draw distance at this height would cut out half of the much smaller city but here I could spend all day people watching. 

Behind me is a wide wooden bridge that crosses not a moat but the carved rectangular water spring that feeds the stream running through the whole city. Carved wooden arches adorn it in a latticework ceiling with dragon motifs placed at certain intervals. Dragonsreach itself is like a giant Scandinavian church made with timber just as white as the tree down below, giving the whole place a holy, dignified appearance. 

"Stop right there. What business does an outsider have in Dragonsreach?" says a guard as I approach..

I was not expecting this. Of course it makes sense that the guard in front of the Jarls' house wouldn't let just anybody in. In the game you would just walk on by, I guess the game didn't want to bother having redundant npcs giving redundant checks. Still surprise human interaction scares me on principle, especially from authority figures. Hopefully they'll accept the same answer I give at the gate, this guard looks particularly swole. They all do, now that I think about it.

"Riverwood calls for aid." I say.

"Those poor sods don't even have a proper wall. Can you imagine with all this dragon nonsense about? Alright you can head on in but no sudden movements in front of the Jarl, understand?" he says firmly, chest puffed out rather impressively.

"Absolutely." I say, grateful just to be let in.

The interior reinforces the wooden cathedral image I had from earlier, minus any religious symbolism. Great white tree wooden pillars support not only the ceiling but much more intricate pattern work above. I pass by several servants going about their business as I make my way towards the widest staircase I've seen so far. Above are simple rustic candle chandeliers that even a giant would have a hard time reaching. Two long tables flank me at either end of this great hall adorned with fancy tablecloths on rather bare boards. In the center is a firepit that starts in the center of these tables and ends at the foot of yet more stairs, dwarfing the one I saw in the Sleeping Giant by a fair amount. The stairs lead immediately to Jarl's throne.

To call it a throne is a bit much now that I lay eyes on it. It is a very nice carved wooden chair with some height in the back, but throne is pushing it. Sitting atop the chair is the best dressed Nord man I have seen since I got here. He has a fur collar, similar to Ulfric, but his is a priteien white fur. Gold seems to outline him, from his circlet to the inlay of his clothes where many patterns, possibly telling stories, were displayed. He is of average build, for a Nord, and golden blond hair twisted into large braids. Talking to him on his right is a much shorter Imperial man with very little hair, in fine blue clothes. To his left a dark ink blot of a woman in leather armor leans against the wall just behind the Jarl. There are more people in and around but those are the two I recognize as being important. Above them all is an ancient dragon skull, tall as a man and still wickedly sharp at all points.

The dark elf eyes me immediately and moves with lightning precision, stopping me well before I can approach the Jarl. Her hair is so red as to be unnatural but here in this world it's perfectly normal for a dark elf, as are her blood red eyes. But even her exotic red eyes can't distract me from her most pronounced features. Like all warrior women I've encountered so far she is impressively thick, though her armor covers most of her muscles. What her armor can't conceal are the basketballs that are her breasts, jutting proudly from her chest, even if an impressive amount of leather was used to cover them. She is balanced, if you can call it that, by an equally impressive rear. I can see it even from the front. Her body sways in the leather armor several seconds after she stops.

"What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors." she says sword drawn.

I have to remind myself that her ludicrous proportions are because she is a highly skilled warrior and she could probably crush me with those thighs instantly. Kill me instantly I mean. They probably don't even think these proportions are special in this world, I'm actually the abnormal one here, and starring gobsmacked might get me killed.

"A dragon has attacked Helgen. Riverwood calls for aid." I say, trying not to drool.

"You know about Helgen? That explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally." she says sheathing her sword.

I gratefully follow behind her admiring the craftsmanship of her armor as it bounces to and fro. The leather creaks rhymically and I imagine that it might be time for a refit. I tear myself away from those leather hills before I'm caught drooling in front of the Jarl.

"My lord. Please." the Imperial continues "You have to listen. I only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these. If the news from Helgen is true... well, there's no telling what it means!" 

"What would you have me do, then? Nothing?" growls the Jarl.

"My lord. Please. This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we act. I just..." the Imperial's bleating is cut off when the Jarl spots his dark elf servant with me in tow.

"Who's this, then?" the Jarl huffs, nodding at me.

I'm made to stand five steps below the court, seven below the Jarl as his throne is elevated two steps. The dark elf leans in to whisper something to her Jarl. It's a practiced move that prevents her from outright smothering him with her tits but it looks natural. The Jarl nods and she straightens up and flanks his left side again, this time standing at attention position.

"Well. I trust you have something vitally important to tell me. What's this about Riverwood being in danger?" the Jarl says, relaxing in his chair.

"A dragon attacked Helgen. Riverwood could be next." I say matter of factly.

"And you're sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?" the Jarl says, leaning forward slightly.

"Yes I was there. They were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak when a dragon showed up and destroyed the town. I escaped to Riverwood and then here to warn you." I say unbothered by the serenity of him and the court. I know there's no real danger of telling the truth here, even if it is fantastical.

"I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this. By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" he says, leaning back with agitation. 

"Again?" the Dark Elve Irileth chides.

"I'm in no mood to joke." the Jarl says darkly. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls, against a dragon!?!"

The diminutive Imperial man hesitates, a noise dying in his throat. I don't blame him. There are no books on how to handle a dragon crisis. None that any here have access to, despite the height of Dragonsreach. Even if they could get their hands on the material, I doubt they could even read it. Irileth sees her chance in Proventus's analysis paralysis.

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains-"

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" Proventus retorts. "He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him."

"Enough! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once." barks the Jarl.

"Yes, my Jarl." she bows and exits.

"We should not-"

"I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" rumbles Balgruuf, slamming a fist on his throne. Proventus winces.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties." Proventus says, retreating.

"That would be best." the Jarl huffs. He straightens up in his chair before addressing me. "Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem."

He holds out his empty hand, like he's waiting for someone to give him something. For a moment I think he wants me to do some kind of weird handshake, as if that would be reward enough for a peasant like me, but then I feel one hundred gold pieces fall into my inventory. That's wildly convenient.

"I'm sure you'll be needing to report back to General Tullius, assuming that dragon hasn't got to him. Give him my regards and thanks for the warning." he says, smiling slightly.

"Actually I'm not an Imperial, sir. They abandoned the keep when the dragon attacked and I needed protection so I picked up what they left lying around. Apologies for my deceptive appearance." I say bowing my head. I completely forgot my own warning about wearing a uniform.

"Really? Not a soldier and still survived Helgen?" he says, eyes suddenly bright. "In that case…there is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

He rises from his throne and guides me to the right, past some of the great pillars flanking the feasting tables.

"Farengar is probably puttering around in his lab. Day and night. I'm not sure he ever sleeps." Balgruuf says with a sigh. "He can be a bit... difficult. Mages. You know."

Oh I know. I'm still coming to terms with the fact I can shoot lightning out of my hands, and that's not even close to one of the more impressive spells in this world. Magic is fundamentally world warping power. I wonder how bat shit crazy I'll be if I live long enough.

We make our way through a large open door way into the wizards lab. The room itself is largely reminiscent of the rest of the palace with its white wood and ornamentation but the furnishings are really what set it apart. Two large tables put into a L shaped configuration hold all manner of arcane components in various states of care. There's a familiar alchemy lab and enchanting table that have clearly been modified to suit Farengar's needs. A large map of Skyrim on mobile board flanks the space making a room inside a room. The map has all kinds of notes and markings on it, dragon sites I think.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with all the details."

A man in blue robes looks up from his book. Impressive sideburns frame his angular face, his large nose and blue eyes giving away his Nord heritage despite his skinnier frame. He stands up slowly to greet me, as if burdened with a heavy load.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" he says, sounding bored. "Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

"Cool. Where?" I say, eagerly.

"Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?" he says smiling.

"Yup." knowing exactly what he wants and where to get it thanks to my game knowledge.

"I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself." Farengar explains.

"This is a priority now." Balgruuf cuts in. "Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late." 

"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf. You seem to have found me an able assistant. I'm sure she will prove most useful." Farengar says, thinly veiling his sarcasm.

"Succeed at this, and you'll be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt." Balgruff says to me.

"I'll do my best." I say.

Balgruuf walks away with a nod, leaving me with the mage. I internally sign. Why does the first real access to magic we get have to be such a weirdo? Regardless, with the payday I got from the Jarl I should have enough gold for a new spell.

"Do you have any tomes for sale?" I pipe up.

"Hmp. Didn't think you were the type. Sure, take a look." he says.

He has a lot. It doesn't take very long before I realize I am very poor in wizarding land. Only the bottom bargain spells are really available to me, of which there are a few. Out of all of them only two really catch my eye. Candlelight and Fury seem the most useful to me now. With Candlelight I'll never need a lantern again but Fury might be very useful in situations where I'm outnumbered. I ponder for a moment and decide to go with Fury. I've got a lantern so I should be fine for now. I give him the gold and thank Zenithar (God of money) I've still got enough for a night at the inn.

"Now did you have any questions or can I get back to my research?" he says impatiently.

"No, I'm good." I say, ready to go. "Unless you want to teach me how enchanting works."

"Ah, a student of the craft. You'll need to start by learning an enchantment. Take an enchanted weapon or piece of armor, then use the Arcane Enchanter to learn its secrets. The item is destroyed in the process, so be wary. Once you know an enchantment, you'll need a filled soul gem, and something to enchant. You'll use the Arcane Enchanter for that, too. Of course I have everything you need for sale, if you have the coin." he explains, surprisingly eager.

"It's just that easy?" I say doubtfully. "I don't need to know how to work the enchanter?"

"Just so, although it never hurts to understand the underlying theory. Intention and magickal inclination are all that's required for basic enchantment." he says.

I move to his enchanting table and take out the mage robes I got from the dead mage at Helgen. I was never planning on going pure mage so disenchanting them is probably more useful to me now. I take the hood first and try to will the table to teach me the enchantment. To my surprise the hood unravels, then evaporates but I somehow gain an understanding of its nature at the same time. I can now enchant things to hold extra magicka. I do the same with the robes, gaining the knowledge for applying a replenishing magicka enchantment. Easy as that. I guess the alchemy lab and enchanting table really do most of the work. Whoever invented them was beyond a genius.

"I don't suppose you'd have a filled soul gem lying around that you wouldn't miss?" I say hopefully.

"Not for free, no" Farengar says curtly.

"I don't suppose you'd be the only wizard in town with access to soul gems then?" I ask, hopeful that maybe someone else might be a trifle more generous or careless than the court wizard. In the game there wasn't, but in a city this big there has to be somebody.

"I believe I am, yes. Technically speaking, of course. The city is also home to a respected priest, priestess, and alchemist. I'm sure there are others who practice some form of the magical arts but I am the only one whose work requires enchantment." he says, nose in a book. "Ah, that reminds me. Speaking of alchemists, I have some frost salts that I needed to deliver. Would you be so kind as to deliver them for me? Normally this task would only be worth a few gold but can offer you a small gem, a value worth many times the price of a normal delivery, for your services."

"Okay."

"Excellent. You'll find your gem behind the alchemy lab. Don't worry about the substance coating it. It's only minorly corrosive." he says thoroughly unconcerned. "And don't forget to have the salts delivered. I could easily have you arrested and condemned to prison. Even small soul gems are quite expensive."

Great. I look behind the lab and find the whitish iridescent gem plattered in a sticky green substance. I take out my ragged robes and use them as a barrier to take the gem over to the enchanter. Since this is practice I may as well enchant the rags. I focus my intention over the table and enchant the rags with a very minor magicka regeneration enchantment. The soul gem evaporates just like everything else with magicka but some of the goo remains on the robes. Nothing tossing it into the void can't fix.

Farengar has taken to ignoring me now and I don't need anything else here so I leave the palace. I'm headed down to the smithy now to see if I can't pick up a new job as a blacksmith's part time assistant. It'll be the last of the crafting skills to start and possibly the most versatile. Imperial armor is pretty adjustable but after looking at some of the more powerful ladies it's pretty evident that adjustments will be necessary in the future. In-game the best armor was usually the stuff you crafted yourself anyway. Imperial grunt armor will only get me so far. 

Even with how useful the skill is I still might have to outsource smithing to someone I trust depending on how much time the process takes. In-game items were created instantly with the correct skill and materials but I can tell from the alchemy I did that's probably not going to be the case now. Enchanting takes almost no time so I'll be able to practice that no problem but I might have to rely on a trusted alchemist and smith to help save down crafting time. Today though I've got all the time in the world to devote to the literal grindstone. I'm even prepared to spend a couple of days as needed if that's what it takes.

-

"I don't have time for a new apprentice. I need someone who's at least worked a forge before." says the dark skinned Imperial blacksmith, hammering away. "Come see me after the war's over, if you're still interested."

"Ah, okay…"

She gives me a shrug before returning to her work and I wander off aimlessly. Eventually I find myself under the branches of the Gildergleam, sitting now on one of the white oak benches that circle the great tree. I take out a head of cabbage I got for fiber and start munching on it, leaf by leaf. It would be total tranquility if not for a distant priest constantly bellowing about Talos off by his statue. I sit there like a sad turtle munching on my lettuce, dealing with the shock of unexpected rejection.

"Miss, can you spare a coin?"

I'm jerked out of my small depression by a little girl in a dirty green dress. What should be a young round face is sunken in, making her look like a tiny starving adult. Her hair is as well kept as a child could manage but it still needs a wash. Her braids have grown out significantly, making it painfully obvious how long she's been alone. Dull green eyes peer at me from her dirty face, hopeless. So you'll understand when I hand her five gold pieces without thinking. With a gasp her eyes light up like the stars. Those shining emerald orbs beam up at me with a wide smile.

"Thanks miss! You're the best!" and she runs off toward the marketplace.

As I watch the small back of the little girl I realize how foolish I'd been. There would still be chances to pick up smithing and still useful things for me to do while I'm in Whiterun. I turn to stare at Jorrvaskr, the great mead hall of the Companions and make my choice. I turn my back to it and instead make my way to a different hall. The Hall of the Dead.

The Hall of the Dead is a Nord mausoleum where a priest of Arkay presides. This is so Nords can more easily honor/pray/remember their dead, rather than let the elements have their way with the grave site. The priest performs rites not only for the soul but also for the body. Since the bodies of people preserved this way tend to last longer these rites are very important in a world where necromancers exist and where the bodies could just self animate after a time. This particular priest of Arkay here in Whiterun has lost his Amulet of Arkay and with it the power to quell undead spirits. 

I'm not headed there to help the priest. I'm headed there to help myself. The Companions don't believe in using magic to fight which is unfortunate for me, weak as I am now. Given the blacksmith's sudden rejection I was going to wait until after I had seen more action to try and join them. It shouldn't have been possible for the smith to reject me, it was the tutorial quests for smithing, but seeing that little girl take all my inn money has caused me to reconsider. There should be a few skeletons roaming the hall to practice my melee skills and get mentally pumped to join the Companions. Plus I can earn a few coins if nothing else.

The building that sits on top of the hall looks like Dragonsreach but on a much smaller scale, with a small house attached. The lawn is a raised circular graveyard divided by a path that cuts down into the hill. At the bottom of the hill are two heavy wooden doors that I push. The battle is much more brutal than I expected. I ignored the priest in the entrance hall and headed straight to the hall proper where seven skeletons were waiting for me. Over double their number from the game.

Skeletons are the easiest enemies in the game. They can deal decent damage but usually fall apart after one or two hits at most at lower levels. These boney bastards are taking at least three or more swings to beat. My only saving grace was that they didn't swarm me, allowing me Healing before I hunted more of them. I emerge from the catacombs bloody and panting, after accidentally taking on the last three at once. The priest is understandably shocked but thanks me when I give him his stupid amulet of Arkay back. I get a few gold pieces for my troubles and head back to fresh air. I don't think I'm looking forward to Bleak Falls Barrow.

I also leveled up. I put a point into conjuration because the wolf familiar is just too useful. I could have doubled down on another warrior skill to maybe sure up my acceptance into the Companions but I thought better of it. The Companions might reject me but they won't be there to help me at Bleak Falls. My Wolfy will.

I need to catch my breath and heal. And figure out how bathrooms in the city work. Very important. After making a few strange inquiries of the priest, and a bathroom break later, I finally head to Jorrvaskr. Past the Gildergleam and its tranquil sanctuary, up wide stone stairs flanked by blackened braziers and into the ancient ship-turned-mead hall.

The boards that make up the old ship are a ruddy orange pine wood that colors the interior. Before me is a great fire pit and just behind that is a dangerously placed great table, currently being resplendent with food by what look to be servants and perhaps a few of the warriors. I think they have a feast every night, of a sort. Not really sure. I think it's an imitation of Sovngarde, the Nord afterlife, or maybe the afterlife is an imitation of Nord life. I make my way past all sorts of weapons, armor and food heading to the right of the hall to locate the stairs that should lead down to the living quarters. Above them are the fragments of the legendary shattered axe Wuuthrad, weapon of Ysgramor.

The stairs lead to another subterranean lair not unlike the Hall of the Dead, only this one sleeps the living and smells somewhat better. Mostly its food and equipment down here but also a surprising number of bookshelves and a game that looks like chess. The lair runs underneath the hall and was probably carved out before they put the boat on top. I hear the faint whispers of a familiar conversation and decide to wait before interrupting. The hall splits off three ways and I wait before the split, catching a few glimpses of the speakers.

"But I still hear the call of the blood." says a younger Nord with dark hair and eyes.

"We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome." reassures a much older Nord with a veritable mane of white hair and beard.

They both wear a peculiar set of armor. Steel armor atop dark black furs adorned in wolf motifs. A bit gaudy but at least they look warm. They must have smelled me or something because they've stopped talking. I wasn't trying to hide, I just think it's rude to interrupt a conversation when you don't know someone. I reveal myself to them and quickly realize there's something off about them.

They are much more… immense than I remember, both men look like they could lift a mammoth. I don't remember my mod making them quite so muscular in the game. I can't tell with the armor exactly how much muscle they're packing but both look like they could have real world mobility problems, even without the armor. More muscle in one forearm than I have in my whole body. This is a little, ever so slightly, intimidating. One of their legs is easily wider than me. To my relief the old man breaks the tension and speaks first.

"A stranger comes to our hall." he says.

"Um, I would like to join the Companions." I say.

"Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you." he says, eyeing my stick body up. He spends most of his time staring at my face. I try not to blink. "Hm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit."

"Master, you're not truly considering accepting her?" balks the dark Nord. His chair protests as his massive body moves in the seat.

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas." rebukes the old Nord. "And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

"Apologies. But perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even heard of this… frail looking outsider. " Vilkas remarks.

"Sometimes the famous come to us." the old Nord says to me. "Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."

"And their arm." Vilkas adds.

"Of course. How are you in battle girl?" the old Nord asks, turning to regard me properly. His chair also creaks under his bulk.

"I killed some risen skeletons in the Hall of the Dead earlier but that's about it. I'm about as green as they come." I answer truthfully..

"Did you now? Vilkas here will see how you fare against the living." the old man says cheerfully. "Vilkas take her out to the yard and see what she can do."

"Aye."

And with that the dark Nord gets up and passes me to go back out the hall from where I came. He moves with starling speed for his size. I realize now that things are bigger in Skyrim probably to accommodate people like him. I could feel his footsteps when he passed me. When we reach the upper level his steps lightly shake the floor and nearby tables. He even braces a few of the more precarious items as he passes with a practiced hand as if he's saved these items countless times.

Through the back doors is the courtyard, with a large dining porch attached to the back of Jorrvaskr. More ridiculously thick Companions are resting here, sweaty from training. Even the smallest here could be bodybuilders but none come close to Vilkas in size. Save for one.

I can only assume that it's Skjor, the Companions unofficial second in command. He's an older man but definitely younger than the one below. Despite his mostly bald head he has a vigor that defies his age. What greying hair he does have is tied in a small efficient ponytail. His right eye is scarred and cloudy. He might be the biggest Companion yet, his massive forearms are on display, although I can't figure out if it's on purpose or if his gauntlets just exploded off and killed someone one day. God could I get that big if I live long enough?

"The old man said to have a look at you" growls the massive Vilkas. "So let's do this."

-

I'm on the ground with blurry vision and burning lungs. I tried everything I could think of, even anime samurai nonsense. It made no difference. I was little more than a gnat buzzing on the ass of a bear. Honestly I feel I would have stood a better chance against a bear, at least I know I can hurt those.

I didn't need to go so hard. He even said he just wanted a look at my form but Vilkas's unimpressed face pissed me off. The shouts, jeers and even cheers from the other Companions watching didn't help either. I think towards the end he was even trying to teach me discreetly, the bastard. As soon as I stop seeing spots I'm going to stand up and kick his ass. Somehow. One day. Gotta hurl first.

"No ability to speak of but there's some small amount of potential there. You might just make it." He says with that same irritating expression. "But for now, you're just a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you. Here's my sword." he says, placing the sheathed blade on top of my heaving body. "Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful, it's probably worth more than you are."

This fucker. I swear to the divines that if I get fus-ro-dah powers I will blow your ass off the city wall and blame it on the wind. Unfortunately at his size that might actually be impossible. I lift my own blade and come to realize I've probably removed more material from the blade than I did from Vilkas. It's chunky for a blade, which is good because I ended up using it like a club toward the end. It's a bent and chipped mess. I put my sword in the inventory and hope the repair rune will do the rest. I struggle to sit upright, the sword Vilkas dropped on me is crazy heavy for a one handed weapon. I can't imagine using it for combat.

The forge hangs above overlooking the yard and Jorrvaskr. I can't see the forge from under the cliff per say but I can see the great stone eagle that adorns it, looming like a giant menace over Jorrvaskr. Twilight is starting to fade as I climb another set of wide stairs to Eorlund and the famous Skyforge.

It's a large circular platform at the top. Or at least I think it used to be. Most of it has fallen off the cliff side so who knows how big it used to be. There's still plenty of space, for now. Vilkas and I could have had our sparring match up here with only minimal risk of falling. The actual forge is relatively untouched by the years that took its platform. Without the giant fire pit the forge itself reminds me of a massive stone bath. It has an air pump built into the stonework, unseen, but the vents I can see look like they would be the right fit for adding or filtering water. In this case it's sadly air to feed the forge. I could really go for a hot bath, I hurt.

Working this massive pool of heat is yet another white haired Nord wearing sleeveless hide armor. It's downright skimpy as armors go but that works well for a hot forge, but the scars on his exposed stomach testify that this man has never worn an apron like the other blacksmith's I've encountered. Eorlund Grey-Mane comes from an aptly named family of naturally white haired Nords but he's old enough to have earned the lack of color. He lacks the absolute size that the rest of the Companions seem to have but he would still be absolutely jacked by earth standards. He's currently shaping something on the anvil sweat dripping from the point in his bears, muscles rippling. If I were into dudes this would probably be grade A material. I guess my preferences haven't changed with this new body. 

"Uh hi, Vilkas wanted his sword sharpened." I say, after determining there will never be a good time to interrupt him.

"I'm guessing you're the newcomer then?" he says, not looking up.

"Yeah, that was me getting my ass kicked down there." I reply, heaving the sword with a grunt on the side table built into the stonework.

"Oh, don't worry too much about it. They were all whelps once. They just might not like to talk about it." he says in between swings. "And don't always just do what you're told. Nobody rules anybody in the Companions."

"That works in theory but I'll die if any one of them sits on me."

"Well, I'm not sure how they've managed it, but they have. No leaders since Ysgramor. Kodlak is the Harbinger, and he's a sort of advisor for the whole group, but every man is his own. Every woman, her own… you'll grow into it." he says pausing to wipe his sweat.

"Thanks…I guess. I better get going. You look pretty busy."

"Now just wait a moment. I have a favor to ask." he says, putting his project aside to face me. "I've been working on a shield for Aela. My wife is in mourning and I need to get back to her soon. I'd be much obliged if you could take this to her for me."

"I'll do it, but it'll cost you." I say, sensing opportunity. Eorlund raises his eyebrows.

"Don't worry, I'm pretty cheap. How about you just let me watch you work sometime? I'm trying to learn to smith a little and I'm sure even a novice like me could learn something from watching the greatest blacksmith in Skyrim." I say, laying on the praise in an obvious way. Eorlund exhales shortly and his face softens.

"It's an honorable craft. When you have the time I'll show you what I can." He replies, returning to his work.

Eorlund, bless him, places the shield in my inventory instead of dropping it on my face like a certain asshole. Walking down the stairs with a bit more hope in my step I find my way back down into the living quarters of Jorrvaskr. I hope Aela is here just like in the game because there is no quest marker and I have no idea where she would go. I catch a break as I manage to eavesdrop on another, albeit louder conversation.

"All these younglings scampering around." remarks a gruff male voice.

"Worried one of them is going to take your place?" replies a smoky feminine voice.

"Some of them might try. But that's not what I'm worried about." the male replies firmly.

"What then?" the female replies and my eyes involuntarily flutter.

"That they might get themselves killed." he replies flatly.

"By you?" she asks.

"They should be so lucky."

They go quiet and I take that as my cue. Turning the corner I see Skjor again with the biggest women I've ever seen. Frame wider than any man on earth she would look obese in most clothes Her armor is ancient, heavy and primal yet still revealing. Several bands of iron protect a healthy cleavage plunge and her upper arms and thighs are exposed for movement. Her arms strain the confines of the armor, bigger than most peoples legs here or on earth. Tree trunks are the only comparison I can think of for her legs, muscular pillars that force her feet apart. A healthy layer of fat protects the muscles giving them a softer look. I'd be in love if I wasn't scared.

"I have your shield from Eorlund." I say trying to keep my head up.

"Ah, good. I've been waiting for this. Are you new here?" she says. Though she's being friendly I can't help but feel small here. Everyone in Jorrvaskr is at least a few inches taller than me, but these two are a foot or more above me.

"I saw this one training out in the yard with Vilkas." Skjor says, mercifully speaking for me.

"Ah, yes. I heard you gave him quite a thrashing" she chuckles.

"Don't let Vilkas catch you saying that." Skjor says, amused.

"Do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?" Aela asks me with a raised eyebrow..

I take a moment to think seriously. That's a no.

"Maybe if I pushed him off the top of Dragonsreach. You guys are like mountains to a twig like me." I answer.

"Honesty, I like it. Stick with us and you won't be a twig for long." Alea says, perhaps oblivious to the fact she has to look down past her chest to see me. "Here, let's have Farkas show you where you'll be resting your head."

"FARKAS!" yells Skjor, shaking the dust off the roof.

And the dust keeps shaking in rhythmic beats as massive footfalls pound towards us. When they stop the largest Companion I've seen yet stands behind me. Nearly a carbon copy of Vilkas, save for his size and duller eyes, this one wears sleeveless wolf armor out of necessity to allow for movement. He's almost too big for these Companion sized doors which could comfortably fit three grown earth men standing side by side. His hair is longer than his brother and he has a bit of a blank expression to him.

"Did you call me?" he asks in a low baritone.

"Of course we did ice-brain. Show this new-blood where the rest of the whelps sleep." Alea replies.

"New blood? Oh, hello. I'm Farkas. Come on, follow me." and he lumbers back down the hall, beckoning me to follow.

"Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they're good people. They challenge us to be our best." Farkas says. How anyone can tease this moving mountain of muscle is beyond me.

"Nice to have a new face around. It gets boring here sometimes." he continues. "I hope we keep you. This can be a rough life. The quarters are up here. Just pick a bed and fall in it when you're tired. Tilma will keep the place clean. She always has."

We make it to the end of the hall and Farkas stands in an open doorway opposite the stairs up. He actually looks like he might be too big for this door and just stands outside. He gestures to it all the same, as if I could get past him. He reminds me of a big dog that thinks it can still fit in its owner's lap after growing up.

"Alright, so here you are. Looks like the others are eager to meet ya. Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work. Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas might have things for you to do. Good luck. Welcome to the Companions." he says. He starts to move away from the door and then remembers something.

"By the way, if you're looking for something to do..."

Noooo. I'm tired and I wanna go to bed. One of my favorite things about this body, apart from boobs, is the ability to sleep like a log. I have a very important mission from the Jarl and I need my beauty sleep. I'm a very important person. I have concerns beyond this cosmic sprawl. You want to bother me with pitiful mundane trifles? I've seen worlds you couldn't even begin to imagine. I ponder questions the Gods themselves have no answer for. Do I look like I have time for every mudcrab with a problem? Did someone steal your Sweet Roll? I'm cranky and need a nap.

"Yes?..." I sigh.

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