The Coast with the Most

Another uneventful morning follows Ymelda’s relocation. Last night’s windfall leaves my well equipped and supplied, and as it’s such a nice day I decide to take it easy. First I wander to the South, to see how far up the steep hill/mountain I can take her. Turns out the answer is “not very”.


I can see my house from etc.

But hey, this is a decent view, and provides a nice vantage point. Despite the several days I’ve spent in the area, I’ve barely scratched the surface. The river opens into a sort of semi-glacial sea, complete with what appears to be a wrecked longboat embedded in an iceberg, and there’s more land to the North, and what looks like another settlement or fort. It occurs to me that I’ve no idea where I am in relation to the rest of Skyrim. The climate had me assuming I was as far North as I could get, but maybe I was underestimating how insane these people are.


I can see some graves from etc.

Pretty as it is, the view can only keep me occupied for so long. With my baggage safely stashed back at the house that I’ve just now decided to start calling the Shambles, I head back to the Morrowind border to finish weeding the graveyard. It looks like this is as far East as I can go – it’s sheer wilderness beyond, and I’d be dead long before I even reached crappy old Morrowind.

I guess I might as well have a wander near the river. See if there are saltwater fish, too, or maybe more sea lions. I’d also quite like to get at that longboat. It looks neat!

The first thing I see on my way down, however, is a person. Uh oh.


Sasquatch lives!

He’s clearly seen me, but wanders off without approaching. As I’m walking over to say hello, business matters intervene. It’s a fox!


Professor of Cunning, my arse.

Fast little buggers, foxes. This one leads me out onto the shore, where I kill it and turn to watch a wolf fighting a sea lion. The wolf loses, despite the huge advantage of fighting it on land, and to spare it the eternal humiliation it deserves, I mercilessly perforate its brain. Then I kill the sea lion too, because it’s just that kind of day.


He’s being incredibly rude to citizens in heaven now.

It seems I’m not alone in that assessment, either; the man I saw walking around just a few minutes ago is dead. He’s one of the Stormcloaks, Ulfric’s rebel soldiers, and he was well equipped. Maybe this four foot spider can tell me someth…


Somebody call Julian Sands.

THERE ARE FOUR FOOT FUCKING SPIDERS. Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, pig with a beard, seven kinds of shite. I know it’s dead, but does the spider know it’s dead?

I hack at it a few times, just in case. Yeah, okay, it’s dead. Why did nobody tell me about this? Spiders the size of a wolf, out in the open, thinking nothing of murdering a fully armed Nord soldier. Come to Skyrim! Don’t worry about the cold – the venom will soon turn your insides into a boiling, soupy mess anyway!

Breathe in, Ymelda, breathe in. Well. As long as it’s here, I might as well get some use out of it. If this thing can kill a Stormcloak, I need to get my hands on some of that venom. The next bandit to jump me will regret trying his luck when his spleen is imploding and a lunatic Redguard is kicking him in the ribs.


Athletics skill, we hardly knew ye.

Oho, what’s this? Maybe I’ve got the wrong killer after all. Another stranger is lurking near the scene, and this one does a runner when he sees me. Iiinteresting. After a brief chase he turns, and mumbles a generic greeting. An Imperial running from the scene of a dead Stormcloak.


Half expecting him to drop a card and vanish.

I really should. He’s clearly guilty as sin, and I can take him. But this isn’t just simple crime: it’s politics. Not something I want to get involved in. If he doesn’t come back home, the Imperials might think the Nords killed him, or he could be delivering an important message… no, I think I’ll stay out of this. Longboat time!


It’s not the prize of the ship, it’s the notion of the ocean.

Or not. Sure, the water looks clean, but I’d freeze to death even if I made it to the iceberg. Instead, I content myself with picking grass and shooting some more sea lions.

The Nords call the “horkers”, which just sounds weird to me. Their meat is greasy and quite unpleasant, but fatty food is probably what you need round here. More importantly, their tusks are worth a good handful of coins. Today turned out profitable after all.

Time to head back. I chomp on some carrots, realising I’ve not eaten since dawn, and settle in for another mammoth steak back at the Shambles.

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