Time Lapse

This isn't exactly new but it is properly amazing. That is all.

Saturday - A Look Back

First of all, I'd like to show any dragons out there what will happen to them if they decide to start causing trouble by way of a good old before-and-after:

Before...

After

I think I've made my point.

Now that...unpleasantness...is out of the way, I'd like to share with you some of my favourite experiences from my week in Skyrim. First up has to be my climb up the Throat of the World. Because you're supposed to enjoy that sort of thing, aren't you? Clambering up the icy slopes of the world's tallest mountain whilst freezing winds threaten to knock you over a cliff edge and frost trolls attack you is definitely something you're supposed to revel in. Character building, or some such nonsense. It wasn't. My character was already fully built beforehand, I can assure you. A level 8 Altmer, if you must know. Still, the view from the top was almost worth it.

Born free...

My great joy this past week has been the freedom afforded to me. The freedom to go where I please, to spot a mountain in the distance and then to travel to it and climb to its summit just because I can. The freedom to accomplish tasks however I want, using whatever items I like, buying whatever I want, regardless of its usefulness or, indeed, longevity (in the case of a certain four-legged vampire snack). Do I use weapons or magic? Do I use a blade I found lying in a ruin or do I find the raw materials and craft my own at a forge and then enchant it with its own magical properties? The choice has always been entirely mine. The image above shows me going for a swift jog with a new found friend just because I felt like it. Yes, we may have had ulterior dragon-slaying motives, but I've got to say, I was in it more for the exercise.

My new friend had some odd preferences, let me tell you. But again, it's about choice, though not mine in this case. After our jog she took me to the weirdest Spearmint Rhino I've ever visited.

I feel as though I've stumbled upon something I really, really wasn't meant to see

Choice. It's a funny old thing. Sometimes it gives you exactly what you want. Other times it makes you throw up in your mouth. Each to their...no, that's just sick, isn't it? Time to strike her off the Christmas card list.

The Aurora Borealis was stunning last night.

Shlurple the purple

It doesn't always appear, even on the clearest of nights, but when it does you can't help but stop and stare. I'd only seen it in green hues until last night when it was all sorts of shimmering shades or purple and pink.

This is likely to be the last post, so what can I say? It's been fun. And to think, after more than fifty hours in Skyrim I'm still only just embarking on many of my larger quests. I'll leave you with this top tip: always check the age of any livestock you buy.

Friday - Bits and Bobs

Let's take a moment to talk about necromancers. You know, those chirpy mages and magettes who like to reanimate the dead. Back in the days of the Oblivion crisis, Tiber Septim outlawed the practice of necromancy, driving any would-be necromancers underground. Arguably, this did more harm than good, as, away from the control of the Imperials and the Mages Guild, these rogue wizards were left to sink ever deeper into a shady, even evil, underworld. It is interesting, therefore, that I find myself in more liberal times, where the ban on necromancy has been lifted and the Mages Guild openly practices, researches and controls all branches of magic. Now, if the Mages Guild says that bringing the dead back to (a sort of) life is acceptable then that's fine, but I can't help that notice that one can't spell necromancer without romance. Not that I want to make any insinuations about what these people may or may not be doing with their reanimated corpses.

This is the kind of thing necromancers get up to. And this is just the more public stuff.

Unfortunately, some necromancers seem determined to maintain the bad name they've got for themselves by attempting to invoke ancient evil spirits, as is happening in the image above. Will they ever learn? Sadly, I was forced to slaughter every last one of them as it turned out that the answer to that last question was no, no they won't.

Something else that definitely isn't banned is the collecting, trading and consuming of esoteric potions and ingredients. There are seemingly hundreds of different flora and fauna around Skyrim, all offering something to the enterprising alchemist. The best way to discover the properties of those strange berries you just picked from a bush in the middle of nowhere? Put on a brave face and chew them down. If you don't die then you know one of the properties isn't instant death. Combine two or more ingredients with similar properties at an apothecary table and you'll have yourself a potion. You can also speculatively mix ingredients to see if you end up with a useful elixir or poison in the process, thereby learning additional properties of the ingredients you used. Some of the concoctions I've come up with are so potent I'm sure they can't really be legal. Well, as long as they're just for personal use...

Where'd you get those marks on your face? What do you mean, "what marks"? The really obvious stripes! The bright purple...never mind.

Whoops. This somewhat frightening old crone in The Hag's Cure of Markarth was more than happy to take some of my...experiments off my hands. If the authorities show up, just flush them down the toilet! Oh, that's right - there isn't a single toilet in the whole of Skyrim. But you people must go somewhere! Well, maybe it's magic. The teleportation of fecal matter could be an entire branch of magical study in its own right.

Look out! Dragon! There! Above you! In the air! Flying towards...never mind.

Why the picture of the dragon, you ask? Because it's awesome, that's why, and I lived to tell the tale. Look at those paper-thin wings. How ever does it manage to fly with those? They're full of holes! This one actually didn't attack me. It just flew overhead for a while, screaming about something or other. Someone left the toilet paper the wrong way round on the holder, is I think what he was saying. So dragons must have toilets. Figures.

This way to what is probably the most remote city in Skyrim

This post wouldn't be complete with a landscape shot, so there it is. The road to Markarth, where I bought...a dog! Yes, the second horse died, in case you were wondering. I also got through a housecarl and a sellsword on the same day. Pooch is still going strong, though. Admittedly, I haven't yet left Markarth but I'm assured that he's the fiercest companion money can buy, so I'm confident that he'll survive everything that's thrown at him.

Over and out.

Thursday - Time for Pics

Today I'm going to let the pictures do the talking. Don't forget that you can click the images to make them larger. I must confess, that I've only today discovered that my...camera...has what you might call a...HUD...that can be turned off to produce better shots. So apologies for its presence in the snaps below. Future updates will surely include even more beautiful pics.

Red sky at night...

I have no idea what those little blue orbs are, but they followed me relentlessly

Autumn days in Riften

A view from the seat of power in Whiterun

Magic is afoot

Let's just say I didn't end up here of my own free will

A tense scene in Solitude

Solitude sits on the coast of the Sea of Ghosts

Both players take their game of Risk very seriously

A camp just outside Solitude

Wednesday - (Nearly) 40 Hours In

The first tale I have for you today involves the stupidity of the undead. Now you might say that I'm being unfair to call a reanimated human skeleton stupid, but I ask you to consider this: skeletons have no brains. I don't just mean that they have a low IQ. I mean literally. There's nothing inside their skulls. Come to think of it, it's a wonder that they're able to propel themselves, or even do anything, at all. I wonder what a scientist would say to that? Tell me, Mr Scientist, just how is it possible for a pile of bones with no nervous system (or indeed musculature system) to move? Anyway, here's irrefutable evidence of the downright inanity of undead skeletons:

Skeletons. Not known for their smarts.

In case you're unsure as to what's happening here, let me spell it out for you. Your friends and mine, the skeletons, hang out in some kind of ancient subterranean crypt that's remained sealed for hundreds (possibly thousands) of years. Inexplicably, there's an enormous pool of an unidentified, though undeniably highly flammable, fossil fuel lying untouched within the confines of this crypt. I've stumbled into a room containing five hostile undead as well as this wondrous pool of fuel. What are the chances, I wonder, that all five skeletons would be simultaneously moronic enough to wander into that volatile pool of death at the same time? Very good indeed, it turns out! All it took was a simple flame spell to ignite the lot and instantly solve my boney problem. We've all had boney problems (admit it), but how many of them are solved with quite such panache?

Fed up of the constant snow in the Northern mountains, I headed South by way of Windhelm, when this happened:

Ouch

I believe there was some kind of disagreement between the man with the bow and the winged creature that you may be able to make out at the top of the picture. Not wanting to get involved, I left them to their squabbles and continued on my way.

Looks peaceful

Pictured above is my future retirement home. I passed it on the way to Riften in the South East, home to the Thieves' Guild. If I were a thief, personally, I'd keep it to myself. Certainly I wouldn't let anyone other than close and trusted friends know. In fact, the thing I'd be least likely to do is join a club that advertises my disregard for the law. Just a thought.

Riften

That's the Jarl's court in Riften. It was so cozy inside that I decided to bed down for the night in one corner, hoping that no-one would notice me if I kept quiet. Alas, I was out on my ear within five minutes.

In other news, I went against my better judgement and bought another horse. It hasn't died yet. I've owned it for at least an hour. I will be sure to keep you updated on its status over the coming days. Did I says "days"? I meant "day". Let's face it, "hour" is probably being generous. But enough! Check back tomorrow to see if Horsey-Chops survives the night.

Tuesday - 30 Hours In

Today it snowed. It hasn't stopped snowing since I set out for Winterhold and it's been colder than Cherie Blair's smile. Before making my journey I took in the many sights of Windhelm. It's an undeniably pretty place with a certain rugged charm and a subtle undercurrent of racism veining its walls like Stilton mold. But much less tasty.

Windhelm's main square. As frigid as it looks.

Apparently they don't much like elves here. I could scarcely believe it myself. Who on Earth doesn't like elves? We're charming, friendly, loyal and particularly good with bows. And did I mention that we happen to be devilishly handsome? I suppose we must make some men feel insecure. Just look at Legolas - I swear closet doors burst open behind him as if on springs.

Here's one man who wasn't upset by my breathtaking visage. He owns a 'House of Curiosities' and his tour is astonishingly entertaining. Here he is showing me a flute that, when played, compels men to dance for as long as the music continues. Why only men, I'm not sure. There's a definite homoerotic theme to today's update that I can honestly say I hadn't anticipated when I began writing it.

I forget the chap's name. Thaxtis or something like that. Interesting fellow. Knows how to make men dance for him.

Satisfied that I had broken enough hearts for one day, I set forth down the road to Winterhold. Being a mage, I was intrigued by the town's eponymous college, renowned for its excellence in research into the arcane arts. Upon the road I met a band of revelers who invited me to share a bottle of mead with them. Needless to say, I partook of their generosity and continued on my way feeling a little warmer than before. The reason this is of particular note is that one of the revelers caught my eye with his somewhat weather-inappropriate attire.

I can only imagine how much mead this guy's had...

He might not look happy in this picture, but believe me, he's buzzing. Not quite sure how his respiratory system hasn't packed up, but I'm guessing it's something to do with the skinful of mead he's sporting. That, or he has Scottish ancestry. Look at him, with his surprisingly pliable nipples and laissez-faire attitude to life.

Anyhow, I don't quite remember actually walking to Winterhold, but somehow I ended up there. Here's a shot of my first lesson at the college, where the tutor is teaching alteration magic.

The turnout for the class was better than expected

Tomorrow I'm planning on heading out on a grand adventure, with the possible eventual aim of reaching Dawnstar. Check back in 24 hours for the latest on horses, vampires and innuendo.

Monday - 20 Hours In

It's been an interesting day, with much gold spent and new lands explored. I exchanged 1000 gold for a short-lived horse (more on that later) and 5000 gold for a house in Whiterun. Satisfying the explorer in me, I ventured North-East, via the geysers of Eastmarch and eventually on to icy Windhelm.

A beautiful morning near Whiterun

So, back to the horse. There's one thousand gold that I'll never see again. What good is a horse if it can't stand up to a simple vampire attack? Really, I expect better. Never fear, though. That cursed vampire won't be bothering any more unsuspecting travelers. Why not, you ask? Well, why the devil do you think? Because it's dead, of course! Burnt to a cinder under the blaze of my flame spell.

As luck would have it, I took a snap mere moments before the wretched creature leaped from the shadows. Here's horsey features admiring the Northern Lights, blissfully unaware of his imminent demise.

The Aurora Borealis in all its luminescent glory

Fortunately, my new Whiterun home proved to be more robust than my long-faced friend. Whilst, admittedly, it hasn't yet come under direct attack from a  vampire, it has managed to spectacularly out-live Mr Neigh-Neigh. It hasn't gone and died on me even once. What's that? Proof? Well I certainly wouldn't be running my mouth off about the virtues of a vampire-resistant house if I didn't have proof, would I? Here it is, standing firm, exactly where I left it (another way in which it is clearly superior to any for-legged beast). You'll notice, also, that there's a distinct lack of any vampiric presence in the vicinity. It's also vampire-repellent, you see.

Mine is the one on the right. Undead-free. Guaranteed.

Undeterred by the unfortunate events of the night before, I set off North in search of adventure. On foot, I might add. I followed the White River through a narrow ravine and turned East towards the aptly named Eastmarch. It's a pretty inhospitable place, I must say, with boiling geysers, saber-toothed lions and, during my visit at least, not one, but two dragons. At the same time.

Steamy

Almost as if they were telepathically aware of my burgeoning distrust of anything with hooves, a pair of mammoths came to my aid. I know that sounds unlikely, but it turns out that mammoths are pretty spectacular when it comes to slaying dragons. I was running for my life when the first of the winged beasts mysteriously died. The second one landed to assist its fallen comrade and got subsequently butted to death by two tonnes of mammoth tusk. I should mention that, despite what the previous sentence might lead you to believe, I am not an authority on the weights of tusks - I made a guess for the sake of effect. Anyway, I was so impressed with my new woolly friends that I was almost ready to forgive horsey boy for his shortcomings and untimely departure. Almost.

Slightly guiltily, I looted the corpses of the two dragons and found that I was so weighed down with pricey goods that I could barely move. I was sure that Windhelm couldn't be more than a couple of miles away (again, units of measurement not my area of expertise), so I began limping, almost painfully slowly, along the road to the North. It wasn't long, much to my relief, before the walls of the city rose over the horizon.

My first glimpse of icy Windhelm

I trudged my way slowly along the final approach to Windhelm (half a kilometre, if I had to make an outrageous guess) and back to safety. At the first inn I found, I fell into a bed in order to get some much-needed rest before setting out again in the morning.