In the interest of keeping this blog a bit more lively, I’m going to try something several people suggested: post more often but with shorter posts. That way, I don’t feel like I have to write a book every time I sit down to play and blog, which hopefully means I will play, and blog, more often.
Anyway. Cheydinhal. I made it in early this morning, and as a result, Nondrick doesn’t manage to crawl out of bed until afternoon. Not much on the roster today except to sell the loot I accumulated during the trip — the many bits of weapons and armor I took off the people who forced me to kill them. Also, if you remember, Nondrick contracted Helljoint, a disease carried by wolves. Gonna have to do something about that, too. It’s a family motto of his: “Undiseased joints are better than diseased joints.” Not the snappiest motto, but they were poor and it was all they could afford.
Just down the street from the hotel, I find a weapon and armor shop. There I sell the axes and armor cluttering up my inventory. I stroll out with about 900gp.
Considering how badly I’ve been getting pounded lately, I decide I need to beef up my defenses. So long, leather cuirass. So long, newly acquired iron cuirass. I’m moving up to steel, baby. It costs a pretty penny, but the assorted bandits, brigands, and beasties outside the cities are toughening up, and I’ve got to keep stride.
I go with the steel cuirass, iron greaves and boots, trade in my leather shield for an iron one, and nab an iron helmet. Naturally, after selling the armor off my back I forget to put on my new purchases, and wander around outside half-naked for a little while.
Eventually, I realize my mistake and check out my new duds.
Eh. Kinda badass. Too bad the helmet doesn’t cover more of the face, though. The face remains a problem.
I’m going to spend the day in town, and I don’t want to clank around the whole time, so I head to a trade goods shop for some street clothes. I also mix and sell some potions, as is my M.O. After all the selling and spending, I’m around 550 gold.
There. Lookin’ like an alchemist again. I hit up the Mage’s Guild, too, hoping to sell some potions and maybe find a ‘Heal Other’ spell I can use on Beaker the next time bandits turn him into a pin-cushion. No luck. The mage on duty has a few affordable spells, but nothing to heal a hurt horsie. I buy some ingredients and mix ‘em, winding back up around 900 gold again.
I come across an abandoned house as I’m wandering around. Hmm. If there’s a bed in there, it’d be a free place to sleep while I’m in town. The door is locked, but my psychic powers clearly identify the house as being abandoned… it’s a little against type, but I pick the lock and slip into the house. Harmless enough.
The place is pretty trashed. Cobwebs, broken furniture. No bed, but I find a couple souvenirs for my own home: a couple mugs, a bowl, a plate, a broom. A real find is crammed under a shelf: a book!
It’s called Waters of Oblivion. It’s worth 75 gold, but I think I’ll keep it.
I said keep it. Not read it. Snore!
In the basement I find a huge ancient evil talking door.
Plus, in a crate, I find a burlap shirt and some shoes. Sweet!
Back outside, it’s a crummy day. Raining, pretty dark. I meet a drunk, a couple beggers, and a guy who threatens to have me arrested for some reason. Nice town, I guess? Not feelin’ the love. I also meet a hot elf chick who really likes dogs.
Well, heck, I’ve got a disgusting dog disease. Does that do anything for you, sweet thing?
Speaking of which, it’s already gotten a bit late, and that disgusting dog disease still needs curing. It’s draining my speed and agility, plus, I’m feeling the urge to lick my own butt.
In this game, you can get any disease cured for no cost — Oblivion is practically Canada in that respect. You just have to visit a chapel and get your pray on. There’s someone already standing at the altar, so I patiently wait in line. Nondrick is a gentleman.
While I’m standing there, though, waiting for the lady in front of me to finish whatever the hell she’s doing, I realize something. I don’t think Nondrick is really much of a praying man. He just doesn’t strike me as religious. I don’t think he opposes religion, but, let’s face it, the only reason I’d visit a church is to hit on a priestess or get my body cleansed of canine filth.
Besides, aren’t I somewhat of an alchemist now? I’m not really supporting the trade if every time I get the sniffles I go running to the Gods for a hankie. I’m a man of science. Dammit, I’m not going to pray for a cure. I’m going to cure myself.
I leave the church and head back to the hotel to bed down for the night. That’s it. I’ve wanted to find a quest, a personal quest, I mean, for Nondrick to undertake. Ever since I met that weirdo obsessed with tomatoes I’ve wanted for Nondrick to have some sort of personal goal for himself. I think this might be it.
Look, if Oblivion had achievements, surely this would be one. “As an alchemist, cure a disease using a potion you created from ingredients you gathered.”
Screw the church. I’ll cure what ails me.