Skyrim #8: Fight Clubs; Patriarchy

It’s been such a long time.

When last we spoke, we were with this jerk:

About to fight this jerk:

We pretty much handled it like this:

Well… we “handled it like this” after several reloads where the troll murdered Malborn.

(or I burned him to death)

Found some dumb gem in the troll’s treasure cache:

Then Malborn (the elf) and Etienne (the prisoner we saved) wander off without another word. Of thanks, that is. Malborn is not speechless. In fact, he’s quick to complain that he ruined his life by assisting us and will have to go into hiding.

Super King is like “Uh, what? Nobody here invited you on this mission so if you got a problem you can take it up with the boss. Who is… that innkeeper lady in that town, I guess. I don’t know, I don’t regularly keep tabs on who is or is not the boss because it’s almost always me and that’s easy to remember.”

Super King plays it cool, but once Malborn and the other guy are out of sight he sublimates his roiling agression by fricasseeing a couple of helpless goats.

Their carcasses are, inexplicably, “empty.”

So I guess there’s no goat meat in Skyrim?

Back in the inn we tell Delphine all the stuff Etienne told us. I have pretty much already forgotten it, but Super King has a prodigious memory (for things that will allow him to accrue more cash-money).

I guess there’s some guy we have to talk to? Some old guy? The Thalmor take issue with him, which makes him our friend since… well, I don’t have any specific beef with them, other than the fact that they keep assaulting me with fiery spirits summoned from the ether.

And we’re totally gonna get right on that whole Esbern thing, boss!


Just as soon as we check out this sweet mead hall


Where people spend all their time having shirtless fistfights

So OBVIOUSLY we want to join up. Not because we like fighting, which we do, but more because, statistically, 50% of the people in these fist fights are gonna be CHICKS and they’re gonna be SHIRTLESS.


We don’t divulge our reasons to the recruiter.

Oh Lydia, can’t take you anywhere.

While pillaging their every last possession, we come upon a book that really speaks to us.


I’m starting to think we’ve found our people.

“finding our people” does not dissuade Super King from robbing them blind, he’s just more circumspect about it than he usually is.

Translation: we steal less baskets.

And they got some weird stuff to steal for a cult that pretty much is just about punching each other! Like… like Ice Wraith teeth!


Sooooo… what’s more horrifying? That Ice Wraiths exist, which I certainly did not know, or that they have spectral, floating teeth?

While wandering, we overhear choice trivia bits.

Okay… so… pretty weird, between that and the Ice Wraith teeth, but, uh… we’re still willing to give you guys a shot. It’s getting late in the semester and we still haven’t pledged…

We finally find the specific old guy we’re supposed to talk to and he tells us to go outside and beat up some guy.

At least, that’s what “see what he can do” means to me. We’re gonna beat this guy to hell.

YEAH. LET’S DO THIS. GETTIN’ PSYCHED BRO.

Turns out “let’s do this” is stupid fight club code for “block while I hit you a couple times”

Which is some bullshit.

Of course, nobody sent me the memo, so we run around the arena blasting him with fireball hands while his health bar regenerates and I’m like “man, this is a tough fight!”

Whatever

Lydia senses our rage and keeps beating on him even after his test is finished. I appreciate your spirit! You go girl!

But I guess it’s a bug. Since combat didn’t have an official conclusion (i.e.: no one died [regrettably]), Lydia can never leave combat and is stuck in an eternal battle of beating the hell out of this guy who is just leaning against the wall.

It’s kind of poetic, if you think about it man.

Super King is like “fuck poetry.” Which is not a claim about the value of poetry as an art form so much as it is a claim on his favorite mode of poetry, of which there is none on display here.

So after a reload where we tell Lydia to “wait outside,” which seems kind of patriarchal to us and makes even Super King feel a little awkward, so he has to be all like “this is not a comment on the relative power imbalances of the genders, even in a seemingly gender egalitarian place like Skyrim, I am requesting (not ordering) you to wait here so it doesn’t bug the game because I’m really interested in where this quest line is going.

To which Lydia, in her taciturn way, responds: “I am sworn to carry your burdens.”

So I’m like fine. whatever. just wait.

This time we get it right, Super King picks Lydia up, and the psycho-cult/fight-club guy tells us to bring a broken sword to some dude to get fixed and I wanna be like “and then we get to the fight club part?” but the look he gives Super King tells us everything. He knows. He knows.

So we head off to deliver the blade. But, uh, we misread the mini-map and wander off into the wilds.


Where we find a dragon!

Fuck yes, DRAGON FIGHT.


And then it falls down dead in front of us before we even do anything.

I guess there was a nearby guard tower peppering it with arrows.

While no one is looking, we saunter over to the dragon corpse and very casually start sticking enormous dragon bones into our pockets.

I’m sure no one will mind. I mean, we helped, technically. I probably shot an arrow at it. You guys saw it! This arrow, this one right here! That was mine!

Uh… no?

Lydia:

Run.


I am sworn to carry your burdens.

  • Jolt

    See, my arrow went directly into it’s mouth and down it’s throat. I’m most likely the lizard who actually killed it. I will accept your praise and women at any time now.