Screen Cuisine

Dawn arrives at Mortal Camp, finding a very sluggish and sleepy Nondrick P. Cairk’tir. Still, there’s a long way to walk today, and those flowers aren’t going to pick themselves.

I should be able to reach Skingrad today, provided I don’t have to wander too far from the road or have to set any women on fire. Time to get moving!

Not far up the road, I spot a wolf sniffing around. Eager to avoid a confrontation, I hunch myself over, thus becoming harder to see or at least convincing anyone watching that I have painful bowel cramps. The wolf wanders about but never leaves the road, so I decide to engage it at range with a fireball. I miss, but hit it a couple times as it races over. Weakened, it’s not difficult to finish off with my sword.

Along with the usual 10 gp pelt, this wolf was also carrying a fork. It’s not worth anything in gold, though it does provide a nice mental puzzle, namely, why the heck is a wolf carrying a fork around?

My plan to stay on the road derails shortly thereafter, but with damn good reason. INGREDIENTS.

Holy handpicked hordes of herbs! Lookit all this primo shit! The woods positively come alive with things I can gather and sell! Flax seeds, Columbine Root Pulp, Lady’s Smock leaves, Motherwort Sprig, Elf Cup Cap, Nightshade… the list goes on and on! It seems like every few feet there’s a new cluster of flowers. It’s like wandering into a field of cold hard cash. I wasted my time paddling around Anvil harbor and wandering in the dead grasslands to the north — this is the place to be.

Forgetting about my schedule, I wander off the road, first to the south, then to the north, grabbing double-handfuls of everything within reach. Eventually, I stumble upon a small dwelling named Shetcombe Farm. Well, I could stand a break for lunch, or maybe some company, so I head inside the farmhouse. I walk in and a sudden thought pops into my mind.

Hm. Yeah, I guess I could— Oh, no no no no no. No, no. Nice try, game brimming with adventure, but you’re not roping me in that easily. I’m not searching around for nobody. I’m not doing nothing. I’m leaving.

I exit the farmhouse, annoyed. Active quest? Clue to whereabouts? That’s not my idea of excitement.

In fact, I stumble upon my idea of excitement a few moments later, in the form of a small swimmin’ hole near the farmhouse. You know, it’s a beautiful day, I’ve gathered a ton of valuable ingredients, and I haven’t had to murder any attractive women… maybe I’ll have a little dip in the pond!

I strip down to my skivvies and slip into the water. Yes, that’s right, I removed my armor and clothing before entering the water, just like one would do in real life. Lookit me, maw, I’m roleplaying! Man. You’re not gonna find shit like this on other blogs.

I paddle around a bit, enjoying the warm sunlight, the cool water, and the gentle wind blowing through the trees that brings to mind the sound of ungodly leathery wings flapping.

Wait a second… ungodly leathery wings?

Off to Skingrad! A large town in the West Weald, divided in two by a rolling valley, Skingrad is home to the finest vineyards in all of Cyrodiil. It’s also really, really far away for an NPC who doesn’t fast-travel or own a horse.

Still, I’m determined to reach it. It’s definitely more than a single day’s walk, possibly as many as two or three, especially if I’m stopping to pick flowers, which I probably will. I won’t have time to fully explore the area around the road, but Cyrodiil tends to pull you off your intended path pretty regularly. I’m guessing there will be some inns or camps along the way so I’ve got somewhere to sleep when night falls.

[Why not stop at Kvatch, which is a fine midpoint between the Brina Cross Inn (on the far left) and Skingrad? Well, I'm running the Main Quest Delayer plugin of the Oblivion Modular Enhanced mod, which means Kvatch has not been sacked yet, as it is in the un-modded Oblivion. However, you still can't visit Kvatch because, well, it only exists in-game as the sacked version. Look, let's just pretend there's no such place and it'll be easier for everyone.]

I sell everything non-essential to Christophe before leaving the Brina Cross Inn. Ingredients I was saving for potions, spare clothing, and food I don’t plan to eat. With all my assets turned to cash, I’m starting the journey with 127 gp. I wolf down some bread and cheese, and step out onto the long winding road east. I’m more than a little sad to leave the lovely Arielle Jurard behind, but frankly, we’ve run out of things to talk about. Besides, Nondrick isn’t a one woman guy, especially when that one woman seems more interested in discussing mudcrabs with the locals than getting busy with his fine self.

I have the good fortune to run into a traveler headed in the same direction [thanks to the "Crowded Roads" mod I installed, which gives the world a little more foot traffic].

Okay, she’s not as armor-plated as I’d like, but just having someone else out on the road with me makes me feel a little safer. If I trail her by a few dozen years, any wolves or bandits are sure to go after her before they go after me.

And so, bravely using an unarmed woman as wolf-bait, I set off into the cool dawn. Shortly after departing, we run into an Imperial Legion Soldier, those iron-clad swordsmen on horseback who make ideal bodyguards, but he’s heading in the other direction. I think it might even be the same one who saved me from the Khajiit bandit, but he doesn’t mention it if he is. He’s so modest.

Other than flinging a fireball at a far-off deer and missing (I’m determined to bag me a deer one of these days), it’s an uneventful morning. I discover I was right about finding places to stay along the road to Skingrad, as I come upon Gottshaw Inn, a homey little cottage just north of the road. Good news: rooms are only 10 gold a night. The bad news: well, it’s not night. It’s not even noon yet. I’m not really ready to stop. I’m maybe halfway to the road that leads up to where Kvatch would be if Kvatch were there.

I’ve barely made any progress, so the Gottshaw, as charming as it looks, is more or less useless to me. I decide to press on.

By now I’ve lost the other traveler, so I’m alone. Not for long, though, as I come across a quiet young man. He’s dead, which explains the lack of conversation. Face-down in the road, his mace and shield lying nearby, I can’t even tell what killed him, or why, or even who he is. A random traveler? A bandit who robbed the wrong person?

All I know is, he deserves a decent burial, which is a bit of a shame because all I’m gonna do is take his stuff and leave him naked in the road.

For the next few hours I walk alone. I wander off the road now and then to pick some ingredients. I reach the road that leads toward Kvatch, accidentally wander up it a while, get a little lost, then find the main road again. It’s getting late, and I haven’t found anything like an Inn. It doesn’t seem at all worth it to backtrack to the Gottshaw, so I keep heading east. I suppose I can walk through the night if I really have to.

I seem to be missing all the action today. I come across another corpse, this time a wolf. I skin it, as is my way. It’s now nighttime, and the moon (or whatever planet that is) has come up.

I’m a little nervous. Nighttime is no time to be out wandering alone. The roads are dangerous, and you never know who might leap out of the bushes and attack you. Adding to my anxiety is that I still don’t know where I’m going to sleep, plus, someone I don’t know leaps out of the bushes and attacks me.

A bandit! I swear, Cyrodiil has a bandit-to-citizen ratio of about three-to-one. This bandit also happens to be quite an attractive young woman. Hello, sweetie!

Oh, right, you’re trying to kill me. Fine. Have at thee, sweetie!

She slams her axe into me a couple times as I backpedal. I don’t know if she’s got a magic axe or if she’s coated the blade with poison, but my endurance starts to drain. Bandit’s sappin’ mah endurance! I take a few swings with my sword, hurting her but not badly. With my health down three quarters and my endurance draining, I’m going to have to fall back on my spellcasting if I’m going to survive this.

Blammo! A point-blank fireball lights her up like a Christmas tree that’s on fire. I fire a few more into her, keeping my distance at the same time. Finally, she goes down with a cry, and the battle is over.

Man. My health almost dropped to half, making this my most dangerous encounter to date. Normally, a bandit fight isn’t going to be much of a big deal, but with Nondrick, I’m playing with no reloads. If he dies, that’s it. Game over. It adds a bit more excitement to these little skirmishes, I gotta say.

Well, I don’t know what drove this pleasant looking young woman to a life of crime — frankly, I blame mudcrabs — but she messed with the wrong mushroom-picker. Again, as my religion dictates, the dead are to be honored by yanking off their clothing and leaving them nude in the road. So I do.

Nearby I find Mortal Camp, the bandit’s base of operations. Being the scavenger I am, I go through the sacks and crates, finding a silver pitcher worth 4 gold, some food, a few bottles of beer, and some other odds and ends. Plus, it’s a camp, which means I finally found a place to sleep. And for free!

Or, is it? Is it free? Was not a price paid, a dear price, that of a mortal life? Nondrick has killed crabs and wolves, but this was a person, and frankly, he’s contemplative about the whole thing. See, look at him being all contemplative. Or maybe he’s just staring into space with his stupid fish face. Whatever.

It’s just after midnight, and there’s still a long way to go tomorrow. Bedding down, I set my internal alarm clock for five hours, crawl into a dead woman’s sleeping bag, and get some shut-eye.

A new day! To the south, adventure beckons! So, Nondrick heads north. You know how he is about adventure.

A quick stop at the Wayshrine of Arkay buffs my health, and, tiring of the usual breakfast of beef and berries, I attempt to take down a deer, at range, with a fireball. I score a hit but it flees into the woods before I can do any more damage.

Ah, well! I’m optimistic that the day will yield an impressive crop of ingredients to sell. Just look at this fertile land!

Unfortunately, dead grass doesn’t fetch a high price on the market.

A long stroll more or less directly north leads me to a small farm on a large estate, and the eerily accurate voice in my head tells me it’s Lord Drad’s Estate, near the enticingly named Bleak Mine. I don’t see anyone around, not even in the worker’s quarters, and it’s tempting to start plucking vegetables out of the ground all willy-nilly since I haven’t found much of anything to sell yet today.

But I’m not playing Grand Theft Onion. Nay, this is Oblivion, and I want to make my way by harvesting the unclaimed wilderness and occasionally stealing the clothing off fresh corpses. It’s an honest, simple living, and I’m an honest, simple NPC. No stealing!

From Drad’s pad, I head east for a bit, still finding little to sell. It’s already past noon, and my stomach is growling. Or maybe the growling is coming from the wolf that charges out of the dead grass directly ahead of me.

This time, it looks like no one is going to leap to my rescue. Luckily, I’ve got a shield and sword for just such an eventuality! I block as the wolf lunges a few times, then swing at it wildly when it leans back on its haunches. My blows don’t do a whole lot of damage, and it manages to take a couples bites out of me, but the outcome is never in doubt. Triumphant, I skin the beast of it’s valuable pelt. Finally, something I can bank on.

Another long stroll leads me to Brittlerock Cave, and, thinking I might find some ‘shrooms within, I hesitantly step into the darkness.

Inside the door I find a small stool and a sack, which contains some clothing and a torch. I light the torch and move slowly down into the cave.

Further down, I find a chest. Inside: twenty gold pieces. And there’s still no one around. Twenty gold, to me, is a small fortune, especially with the day I’m having. It’s two nights of lodging at the Brina Cross Inn. It’s a new cuirass or an iron bow. It’s an obscene amount of ham.

No! I will resist. Damn this world, always throwing opportunities for thievery at me.

I creep a bit deeper into the cave, finally spotting one of its occupants skulking around in the gloom. A small, bent figure paces about just beyond the light of my torch. A daedra.

Okay, the picture sucks, but I’m not getting any closer just to get a clear shot. Trust me, it’s a scary oogy monster that I don’t want to mess with.

As I head back out the way I came, I stop again near the chest. Stealing is wrong, but what about… stealing from evil enchanted monsters? What the hell is a Scamp gonna do with twenty bucks, anyway? Stroll into First Edition and buy a copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid?

What the hell. I pocket the loot, ensuring the day hasn’t been an entire waste while simultaneously striking a blow against the evils of the realm by seizing their ill-gotten assets. Who says one NPC can’t make a difference?

I also try on the clothing I found in the sack. It’s a shirt with suspenders.

Mm, yeah. I don’t think the exposed midriff is Nondrick’s look.

I’ve wandered pretty far north and east today, and it’s nearly nighttime, so I make my way back to the Inn. Another wolf leaps out of the bushes and I manage to kill it without much difficulty. This one, in addition to its pelt, is carrying two gold pieces. Crabs with lockpicks and now wolves with pocket change. The mysteries of nature.
Most of my spoils for the day are wolf pelts and stolen coins, though I mix up some ingredients, including some mushrooms I picked in the cave, and manage to sell the resulting restorative potions to Christophe for a profit of 10 gold. All together, I’ve got 72 gold at the end of the day.

That’s not bad, it really isn’t, but I’m troubled. So little of my earnings today came from gathering ingredients and selling potions. I can’t count on robbing evil imps and slaying weathy wolves every day. My luck just won’t hold out very long if I have to explore caves and get into brawls.

As much as I like the Brina Cross, my career is going nowhere here. I’m gonna have to move on.

I decide. Come morning, I’m leaving. I’m going to Skingrad.

I reach Anvil without incident, and head to Morvayn’s Peacekeepers, a weapon and armor shop near the north gate. I chat with Varel Morvayn for a bit, hoping to get a discount by boosting his disposition towards me. It turns out, he loves being coerced. This guy owns a store fill of deadly weapons and it just makes him all kinds of happy to get threatened by a fish-faced weakling! Ah, well, it takes all kinds. I sell him my three axes and buy myself a short sword. I give him 3 gold to repair my rusty dagger and my new fur boots and cuirass. I also buy a fur sheild to complete the rugged, furry adventurer look.

Look out, wolves and crabs! Nondrick is armed and dangerous! Don’t mess with me or… or… or someone else will probably show up and kill you!

I swing by the Count’s Arms to sell my ingredients, of which I have a great many after yesterday. After buying some cheese and an orange to go with my supply of crab meat, I’m at 101 gold pieces! Triple digits! A far cry from just a couple days ago.

Now, watch this clever shit. I head to the Mage’s Guild and buy a novice Mortar & Pestle (42 gp). I also buy an apple and a loaf of bread (2 gold each), knowing they both have fatigue restoring properties. I grind the apple and bread with my mortar and pestle, creating — no, no, not mushy apple-bread porridge — but a potion of Restore Fatigue! That’s right. I’m an alchemist now. Helllllls yeah.� And with those 4 gp worth of ingredients, I have created a magical potion that is worth… wait for it…

Uh. 3 gp? Hm. That… that definitely didn’t work like I thought it would. I guess I need to be a better alchemist to make expensive potions. Crap, I really thought that would pay off. In fact, I have to sell it for only 2 gp because these guys are cheapskates.

Ah, well! I needed a mortar and pestle anyway, and I’ve still got 57 gold left. Lesson learned. I briefly consider buying a bow and some arrows, but I decide to hold off for now.

I head back to the Brina Cross Inn, exploring a bit on my way back. I find a cave without even seeing it — I mean, I suddenly know it’s there but actually have to search around to find the entrance.  I’m very insightful. I psychically deduce its name (Hrota Cave) and poke around in it, hoping to find some mushrooms. I don’t find much except signs that someone lives in this cave: a barrel with torches in it (I take one), a chest with a few pieces of gold (I leave them), and a bedroll near a campfire. Yep, definitely someone’s pad — I’d better bail. Only an adventurer would poke around in a cave knowing there are bandits or marauders living in it.

I get back to the Inn around sundown — have some food, stare at Arielle, even though we have nothing new to talk about, and have a bottle of ale. Whoah! The inebriation mod kicks in, big time:

Man, a single bottle of ale hits me harder than a two-handed axe. Either Arielle slipped me a mickey, or that mod might need some tweaking. Perhaps taking pity on the poor, drunken, amazingly ugly traveler, Christophe doesn’t even seem interested in charging me for the room. I do buy some beef, bread, and cheese from him for the next day’s travels, then watch drunkenly as the ladies discuss mudcrabs and how much they don’t like them. Par-tay.

A lovely night of free sleep at Atrene Camp, and I’m ready to start Day Five. I’ve got lots of ingredients and two axes to sell, so I think I’ll head into Anvil. Maybe I’ll have enough cash afterwards to pick up more than lunch.

As I head toward the main road, I see my Khajiit buddy loping up the road toward me! Maybe he finally wants to talk to me?

Yeah, he does. “Your money or your life,” he says. Wait, haven’t we been through this once already?

Well, it worked last time: I tell him I have no money. Now, he’ll wander off and our strange relationship will continue, right? Ha ha! Good times.

Ruh-roh. What the hell, man? I thought we had an agreement! You were the gruff criminal with the heart of gold, and I was the fish-faced putz in the vest! We were a great team!

I guess he doesn’t feel that way. He attacks with his ginormous axe, and I backpedal, trying to ready one of the axes I got from the skeletons. I attempt to yeild, hoping for a truce, but he’s not having any. Mere feet from the corpse of the wolf he saved me from, he slams his great axe into me, drawing blood and blurring my vision.

Okay. If it’s gonna be a fight, then it’s gonna be a fight. No one to save me this time except me. That’s life in Cyrodiil, baby. Quite often you wind up going toe-to-toe with the people you know best.
Suddenly, something huge and iron fills my field of vision — and it’s not the highwayman’s axe. It’s the Imperial Legion soldier I’ve seen patrolling the main road from time to time! He’s come sprinting out of the undergrowth, rushing right past me and swinging his huge honkin’ sword at the Khajiit! Unbelievable. He circles around and slams his weapon into the highwayman’s back.

The Khajiit, foolishly, continues to target me, instead of defending himself against the much larger, pointier threat. And in a just a few moments, it’s over. The highwayman is dead, and the soldier sheaths his sword, gives me a look, then marches back off into the trees to find his horse.

Well, that’s that. Too bad. I’d sort of gotten used to seeing the gruff Khajiit skulking around every time I passed. He was merciful to me, once, and even saved me from a wolf. It’s a shame, and it’s sad, how things ended up for him.

On the other hand…

One man’s misunderstood life and violent, tragic death is another man’s free fur armor and giant honkin’ battle-axe! Awww yeah! That’s life in Cyrodiil, baby! One minute you’re mugging travelers, the next, a bald twerp is leaving your naked body next to the road and heading into town to sell your belongings.

Turns out, the soldier who saved me is headed back to Anvil, so I walk along with him. Funny. The Khajiit saved me from the wolf, and the soldier saved me from the Khajiit. Who knows? Someday I might need saving from the soldier.

That’s life in Cyrodiil, baby.

Since I scoured the area south of the Brina Cross Inn yesterday, today I’m going to head north and west. I figure if the ingredient gathering doesn’t go well, at least I can come back down the coastline and maybe liberate some crab of their meat to make up for it.

After a breakfast of ham and strawberries (breakfast of Champions of Cyrodiil), I take the main road west and then take the path forking to the north, where the Khajiit highwayman is still skulking around. He still doesn’t want to talk to me. A few minutes later I stumble upon a camp. There are a few bedrolls and a tent, but no one around — maybe this is where the Khajiit hangs out when he’s not holding people up. Inside the tent is a locked chest. I brush the crab-flecks off my lockpick, and pick the lock. Inside, there are 10 gold pieces, a silver urn, and a repair hammer.

I hesitate to steal the contents. First off, it probably belongs to that highwayman who was nice enough to not kill me. Second, they probably used to belong to whoever he robbed. It just doesn’t feel right. I do try to borrow the repair hammer to fix my rusty dagger, which took some abuse during my crab fight. I fix my dagger but break the repair hammer — oops. I had intended to put it back. Maybe I can buy one later and stick it back in the chest. Or, maybe I can just run away before anyone spots me here.

I head west again, spotting a few more deer, but none close enough to sling a fireball at or chase down with my knife. Ahead of me, up an incline, squats the crumbling remains of a fort. I creep up to investigate — I haven’t been finding a ton of ingredients, but they do seem to grow more around large rocks or walls. I catch a glimpse of something walking around just inside the wall of the fortress. I creep a bit closer as it walks by in the other direction. It’s a skeleton!

Wow, an actual member of the undead! Maybe Crowhaven is a hideout for necromancers or vampires or something. It doesn’t see me as it shambles back and forth, and I wonder if it’s a skeleton archer. If so, and if I could defeat it somehow, I’d have a bow without having to buy one in a shop. As I peer at it, though, I see that it seems to be carrying an axe and not a bow.

That’s when another axe hits me right in the face.

It catches me completely off guard, as axes to the face often do. I was so intent on watching the one skeleton I didn’t notice the other one charging me. They’re using velociraptor tactics! Clever girl… I run backwards down the hill, causing the original skeleton to spot me as well, so now I’ve got two angry piles of bones after me. Run away!

Wait! I’m an NPC, not a… not a… running away… thing. I’ve seen plenty of NPCs fight foolishly to their own deaths! I should be no different. So, after running away for a while, I turn and stand my ground.

The skeletons are pretty slow, and have a big wind up before they swing their axes, so I manage to get some slashes in without taking any big hits. I use a combination of my Flare spell (a wimpy fireball) and dagger attacks to take one down, and cast Blessed Word (my birthsign’s Turn Undead spell) to repulse the other. As it flees I repeatedly stab it in the backbone until it flops into pieces. My health slid down to about half, so I cast a heal spell on myself a couple times, and then pick up the two axes. One is iron, the other steel, and together they’re worth maybe 20 or so gold resale.

I’ve survived my first real fight but I don’t want to push my luck by checking out Crowhaven. Instead, I continue west until I reach the ocean. There, I find something else: an ancient Ayleid ruin called Garlas Malatar.

The Ayleids were an ancient race who inhabited Tamriel long, long ago. Also known as Heartland High Elves, they were tribal, and their downfall is often attributed to OH HOLY CRAP! JACKPOT! THERE’S ALL SORTS OF INGREDIENTS TO PICK AROUND HERE!

I paddle excitedly into the water and start stuffing sacred lotus seeds and water hyacinth nectar into my pants as fast as I can. A couple mudcrabs clack over when I climb back onto land, and are dispatched from a safe distance with my Flare spell. Suckas! I head south along the coastline, finding new clusters of herbs and crabs every couple hundred feet. I think this will prove to be a pretty lucrative day. And hey! At long, long last, the sun makes an appearance.

Just in time for it to set. I’ve wandered pretty far south, actually, and I’m almost back in Anvil again. I don’t want to shell out for a room, so I decide to down some crab meat for energy and double-time it back to Atrene camp. It’s closer than the Brina Cross and I’ll be able to save ten gold. Provided, of course, no other bandits are using the camp when I get there.

It’s full dark when I make it back to the road, zip past the highwayman again (guess he’s working the night shift). As I get close to the camp, though, something springs out of the bushes right at me. A wolf! The first live one I’ve seen. I backpedal madly. I’ve been running the whole way from the coast, so my fatigue is very low (thanks to a mod for that) and I won’t be doing much damage with my dagger (or axe) if I connect.

As it turns out, I don’t have to connect at all, because another growling bundle of fur meets the wolf head-on. The Khajiit highwayman, swinging his mighty, two-handed axe, makes short work of the wolf! My hero!

See, he’s all gruff on the exterior, but I knew he liked me! He spared my life once and just saved it again. Even if he won’t talk to me, he sure seems to care. To show my appreciation, I skin the wolf and take the pelt so I can sell it in his honor. It’s the least I can do.

Hey, this wolf is carrying a lockpick, just like that crab was. What the hell? Who the heck is going around trying to pick these animals?!?

I’m up at 4am on Day Three, ready to leave Anvil behind. Look, there are plenty of nice NPCs in town. I’ve gotten to know some of them. I’ve joked with them. I’ve admired them. I’ve boasted to them. Heck, I’ve even coerced them. I don’t even dislike the actual, physical town. It has a nice statue, a lovely lighthouse, some charming buildings, some lunatics, a chapel filled with slaughtered clergy… everything a town should have.

But I can’t live here. A single, over-priced inn, and not enough employment opportunities… it’s not the place for an NPC just starting out. I’ve got to move on before I wind up blowing Penniless Olvus to get my gold piece back.

Thus, the road I shall hit! Hopefully, there’s somewhere nearby I can live on the cheap, and just commute to Anvil when I need to sell my loot or go shopping. I buy some ham (2gp) from the guy in the lobby, then head out of Anvil, north, along the darkened road.

I pass a heavily armored Legion soldier on horseback, which is sort of reassuring. I don’t know what dangers these roads hold, so even a slow-moving cop on horseback is comforting.

A little further up the road, and around a bend, I see a small stone wall and what looks like a diverging path to the northwest. Suddenly, out of the rain dashes a Khajiit armed with an enormous battle axe. He has an interesting proposition for me:

Hmmm. I mull it over. If I choose to give him my life, he’ll probably take my money anyway. On the other hand, I have no money. I decide to tell him that. To my surprise, he mutters something about how times are so bad even an honest highwayman can’t make a living, and wanders away.

Huh. I’m sort of shocked. I thought for sure he’d gut me like a crab and pull a lockpick from my corpse, but he just turns his back and stalks off into the rain. Weird. If I were, say, an adventurer, I’d probably never have tried that approach.

I try to engage him in conversation, but he just tells me, more or less, to piss off. Around then, an actual adventurer, clad in armor and hauling his own giant axe, strolls down the road heading for Anvil. The highwayman doesn’t try to rob him; instead, they just start chit-chatting. Maybe because that Legion soldier is approaching at the same time.

This is about as close as it gets to rush hour in Cyrodiil. I leave the bustling crowd and stay on the main road until I come to a small, fenced in farmhouse with a stable and small garden. My spidey-sense tells me it’s the Brina Cross Inn, which is confirmed by a sign.

I’ll be happy to get out of the rain (I’m starting to think the Gods hate me or my weather mod is broken), but if they don’t have an affordable room, I really won’t be able to stay. But, as it happens, they only charge 10 gold a night for a room! I’m saved! The owner of the inn, Christophe Marane, is even nice enough to buy the few odds and ends I’ve collected on my long, slow walk up the road. I’m back up to 17 gold, my exact starting amount. Hopefully, the ingredient gathering will be a bit more fruitful up here, and with any luck, in a few days I’ll be able to head back into Anvil for some gear.

I head right back out in the pissy weather with a new lease on life. I can make this work! I’m sure of it.

I scour the countryside to the south of the inn, not finding an overwhelming amount of fine pickables, but doing a little better than I have lately. I also find a spot with a nice view of Anvil from up on high. Again, too bad the weather is so gloomy or it’d make a nice picture. Er. A nice memory. I circle back around and hit up the fields to the north of the inn. I spot a deer, but it spots me as well, and dashes off into the undergrowth. Someday I’ll own a bow and at least one arrow. This I so swear!

As I turn my head to watch the deer flee I realize I can see, in the distance, the city of Kvatch. Ah, Kvatch! Long may she stand. I’m sure nothing terrible will ever happen there.

I head back to the inn. On the road, I see the Legion soldier again, dismounted this time. He’s killed a wolf, it seems, and so I hurry over like the pathetic bottom-feeder I am, and skin the carcass. Then it’s back to the inn, where I sell my haul to Christophe. Deduct the price of the room, and I’m still up 32 gp at the end of the day. Not a bad rebound. I eat some bread, cheese, and grapes, then have a chat with an inn resident, the lovely and alluring Arielle Jurard.

Frankly, I can’t remember what we talked about. I’m sure I joked as much as I boasted, and admired as many times as I coerced. But she coerced my heart.