Hello there, if you have read this blog before, I need to address some continuity changes that will be present from here on out. I’m returning this blog to its original live-life-as-an-NPC format. What that means is I will be forgoing my written dialogue for Grawnk’s traveling companions, Ghorbash and Jenassa, and anyone else Grawnk meets. It was a creative roadblock for me, and I couldn’t get past it. Also, I reinstalled Skyrim and my mods, so you might notice some differences between screenshots as well. You can check my about section if you need a reminder of anything, and you can click here to start from the beginning. Thank you so much for reading.
Below is my narration for this entry.
I’m having the worst dream. I’m wandering around in the snowy wilds of Skyrim in only my underwear, and I’m getting chased by bandits that look like ice cubes for what feels like four and a half years. I finally wake up to realize that the rain has put out our fire and we are all freezing to death.
I throw on every scrap of clothing and armor I can wear, crawl out of the tent, yell at my companions and dog to follow me, and we start running. As we search for anywhere dry to escape the elements, I spy a small house up ahead, and make a beeline for it.
Just as I’m thinking to myself, “what a stroke of luck this is,” a herd of squeaking, biting giant rats have set upon us, intent on gnawing our knees off. Unfortunately for the now-dead rats, we really don’t have time to be messing around with them.
I can’t say that the rat welcoming party has left me feeling super confident about the quality of this house, but the roof is intact, and that’s all that matters to me. So without even knocking on the door, we just barge in. Hopefully, the owner can forgive us after we explain our situation. Once inside, I start to apologize but we are accosted by, yet again, more giant rats. Between Jenassa, Ghorbash and Meeko, the two rats are dead before I can even get a swing in with Molyngar (my mace).
Against all odds, the owner is somehow still sleeping through all this racket. Oh wait, he’s dead. Guess my apology fell on…”dead” ears. He must have died pretty recently, because there’s still a fire going. We don’t let it go to waste, and start to thaw and dry out promptly. Before long, I’m feeling good again, and now have time to be curious about what has befallen this rat house. I carefully pick my way through the copious rat droppings and dead rats themselves in search of answers.
I find a bit of gold, a book that I take for my eventual library, and perhaps a clue as to what really happened here: a bottle of poison on a desk next to some wine. I will now attempt to reconstruct the exact happening of events. Homeowner has rat problem. He seeks out an apothecary to buy rat poison from. He brings said poison back home and applies it outside. He brings the leftover poison back in and sets it down. He then proceeds to get drunk in celebration of the thought of soon being rat-less. Once drunk, he mistakenly takes a swig from the poison when reaching for the wine. He starts to feel bad so lies down on the bed, never to get up again. Gods I’m good. But then I take notice of something that doesn’t quite fit my narrative.
Could it be these were all pet rats? Is this rat head the head of a once beloved pet? Come to think of it, this place was closed up pretty tight, so there’s no way these rats could have gotten in without the owner knowing. Skyrim is super weird, so I guess it’s not out of the realm of possibility this guy loved rats. It does make the bottle of poison feel very out of place though. Maybe the rats had eaten him out of mouse and home, so he bought some poison in order to take the easy way out. That, or he was a rat hunter, and the rats broke in while he was sleeping, and poisoned him to avenge their fallen rat brethren.
I really have to stop getting lost in my thoughts like this. I’ve got places to be, and verses to snatch! I feel a little bad knowing there’s a possibility that we just barged in, slaughtered all this guy’s pet rats, and used his fire, so I respectfully nudge the dead rats to the corner rather than leave them all splayed out, undignified. Honestly, what is my life?
About this time, the rain seems to have stopped, and sunlight starts to pour through the windows, so I think it’s high time we make our exit from this rat room. The harrowing morning weather has transitioned to a beautiful day as we step outside, but I can’t focus. I am greeted by more dead (potentially pet) rats, littering the ground. “What in Malacath’s name has come over me,” I mutter, as I shuffle the dead rats over to what looks like some sort of shrine nearby the house.
As we start to walk back to our campsite, my stomach lets out a loud grumble, reminding me that we are running low on food provisions. Hey, that house actually had a lot of food lying around. The dead guy’s not going to miss it. But then again, there were also rats and rat droppings all over the place, oh, and a bottle of poison. Well, leftovers it is!
Next time on An Orc’s Life: Bandit Buffoonery
If anyone actually reads this, I’m very grateful that you have come back to check out my blog when I haven’t posted anything for more than four years. It’s a shameful amount of time, I’ll be the first to admit. I just really lost my motivation, and I’m so sorry I left Grawnk’s story unfinished. I don’t expect there to be much, if any, interest for Grawnk anymore, but I am finishing what I started, regardless.
Today marks the seven year anniversary of my first post on this blog. I know, time really flies, right? I am committed to finishing Grawnk’s story, so I invite you to come along on his journey once more.
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