Chapter 21: The Greybeards — Ver. 1.0

Pain in my hand. It's a slight pinch, at first, but soon it turns to agony.

"Agh!" I roll over and sit up. My face is dripping with icy slush-water.

It's my Familiar, tail waving as if it did nothing. It was biting my hand, until it finally pinched a nerve, causing me to scream out, and wake up. With most of my air gone in that scream, I start to hyperventilate again, trying to catch some air. Eventually I do, and my lungs calm down.

I don't know how long I was out for. A few minutes? My face is frozen numb, so however long it takes for ice and snow to freeze half a person's face. Cold wind starts to blow from a breeze, making me shiver. The sun is at a 45-degree angle in the west, indicating it's probably around 5 or 6.

I look around and find the others sleeping as well, their faces half buried in the snow as well. Without my command, either direct or implied, my Familiar couldn't attack the others to wake them up as well.

I crawl over to Lydia, my Familiar trotting behind me, and climbing onto my head. My limbs are numb as well for having been in the snow for so long. I stop crawling and sit cross-legged when I reach her, and flip her around, so that she's face-up. I pull her head up to my lap, and cast Healing to heal myself. I cannot focus on the others if I myself am incapable of working correctly. I regain mobility and feeling in my extremities, and once I feel like I can move around again, I cast Healing Hands on Lydia with one hand, occasionally touching the other on her face to check her temperature.

The warm golden-orange glow of the spell heats the air up and condenses it between us, allowing us to breathe easier temporarily. The spell also makes visible the skin color she should be, versus the color she is. She's normally a peachy-olive sort of skin tone, but clearly she's much paler than that, likely from the cold. I probably was, too, now that I think about it. We were probably getting paler from the cold, and neither of us realized it. We really should have used the mountain bedroll I brought with us.

Lydia's breathing catches and goes to a normal pace, and I brush the ice and snow off her face, which the spell helps to melt. Her green eyes flutter open, and flick around, looking at everything, before settling on my face.

"Hiiii, llove you," she slurs out. 'Seems her mouth is still frozen.' She tries to wave away the hand I was using to check her temperature and sit up, but I lightly slap her hand and hold her down, keeping her on my lap.

"Stay laying down. Your body is still frozen. Wait til you warm up more before trying to get up." I command her. She obeys, slurring out, "Yesh, my Fthane." The way she's speaking sounds like she ate a KFC biscuit without having any water on hand, i.e. very thick and gummy.

When her temperature reaches a normal level, I flick her nose. "'Kay, you're good to stand up now. Don't move too much, though. It'll be bad if you fall unconscious again, and I think this, what we're experiencing, might be altitude sickness."

I let her off of my lap, and she crawls to her horse, trying to get him to wake up. But before she gets too far, she comes back to me, and kisses me.

"Thanks. Love you." She says, savoring it. Her delicious mouth tastes slightly of apples, she smells like... Well, about as good as you can smell on a mountain after a few days. She didn't smell horrible, though, as I imagine I must.

I blush slightly, from both her words, and my realization of how I probably smell. My embarrassment goes by unnoticed, though, as she immediately crawls back to Daryon, checking on him.

I crawl over to where Emeric has fallen. Despite all of his talking, he still hasn't explained more about why he was sent to me by the witches of Beldama, or how and why they know me.

I prop his head up on a rock nearby, and begin casting Healing Hands.

Emeric wakes up with a start.

"Hagh!" He says, trying to raise his arm, but it only twitches. He tries to get up, but he can't. "Whoo knogged me oud? Why can'd I moove?"

"Nobody knocked you out. You're suffering from altitude sickness," I say, exasperated.

"Bumbling fool." I whisper.

"Wha' wazzat? Whadja say?" He tries to get up again.

"It was nothing. Calm down, and stay still." I command.

With his scattered breathing and with how much he's talking, he starts to hyperventilate again. His face starts to turn to a normal shade, and his head rolls off of the rock into the snow.

The sudden cold makes him jump up. He scrambles to his feet, pulling out his weapon, and looking around wildly.

"Hah-ah!" He shouts.

I sigh. 'How was this man able to kill the troll?'

Emeric makes an attempt to walk over to the edge of the mountainside, but ends up staggering half the way, due to the deoxygenation in his blood and head.

I head over to the Senche-Raht next, staying a good distance away from his mouth. I cast Healing Hands again. My Magicka is starting to run dry.

After casting it onto the Senche for a few seconds, the Senche wakes up. He has fallen onto his side, as though he were paying less attention than the rest of us were on how we fell.

"Thank You." He says. He fixes himself into a lying down position.

"So, uh... You got a name?" I ask. I can't just refer to him as what he is everytime I mention him.

"His name is Ja'Rado. Means 'Young ruling warrior'." Ja'Rado says proudly, clearly holding a bright outlook on his name.

"Young? Aren't you a little... big?" I ask, confused. Ja'Rado is about the size of Daryon, although he is lower to the ground than Daryon.

My spell sputters to a halt because my Magicka finally runs out. The cold of the mountain returns as the spell fades.

"Ha!" Ja'Rado laughs, as though I made a funny joke. "Ja'Rado is Only 17! Khajiit age at about the same pace as men. Despite the difference in the physiologies. However, he is not at the limit of his growth. He should be able to grow more than twice his current size."

Ja'Rado's manner of speaking, slowly, directly, and clearly makes it very easy to understand him, but its slightly aggravating. This conversation is travelling at the pace of a sloth. But what he said, about him likely being able to grow more than twice his current size is incredible.

"You're not that much younger than me, then." I say, frowning. "I'm only,... what, 21, maybe 22? I don't remember."

My 'loss of memory is in reference to ths fact that I don't know this body's actual age, but based on appearances, I can assume it to be the early 20's.

"You're only 22?!" Lydia exclaims, walking over to me. She's split up the weight between her and Daryon so that it's roughly equal between the two, making it easier on Daryon. Daryon, of course, is sleeping on the ground, leaning against Myrmidon. How she managed to split the supplies without lifting Daryon up, I have no clue, but she did it.

Lydia sits down next to me and scrunches up her face cutely.

"I've 23 winters. That makes me older than you."

"Hmmm..." Ja'Rado tilts his head, and scratches part of it with his front left paw. "But as Ja'Rado was saying, he is the leader of a small tribe of Khajiit. Thus, 'Ruling', and he is what the Imperials call a 'battlecat'. Thus, 'Warrior'. Therefore, he is Ja'Rado; 'Young Ruling Warrior.'"

"How did you become a ruler of a tribe at such a young age?" I ask.

"Ja'Rado is part minor royalty, but he also is an exceptional chef. His tribe focuses on three things: food, battle prowess, and loyalty."

"You're... You're a chef?" I ask in disbelief.

"That is what Ja'Rado said."

"A chef?" I ask again. I don't know what it is, but the image of a giant cat, almost born for war, cooking, is impossible. This world is full of magic and monsters, but I don't believe this.

"I mean no offense, but... Wouldn't your fur get in the food?" Lydia asks, just as confused as I am.

"What is so hard to understand? Ja'Rado is a chef. No, his fur does not get in the food. The question itself was not rude but the disbelief you two have that Ja'Rado can be a chef is insulting. He did not spend five years learning how to cook just to hear you say that Ja'Rado cannot be a chef."

"We apologize, we didn't mean anything by it, we just thought that it might be a little... Difficult for you considering that you have paws, instead of fingers. I'm sure you can understand. It's like... a goblin being an eloquent reader. It's surely possible... Just... Very unlikely."

"Hmmm... Ja'Rado does not think that he should trust that defense so quick. But fine. Ja'Rado will let go of his Anger."

"Oh, shut it, Ja. Stop messing with them." Emeric says, berating Ja'Rado. "I should have warned you, Ja'Rado's a pathological liar."

Ja'Rado sighs, before saying, "That is not true. Ja'Rado should smite you. Ah! Speaking of smiting, did you know that Ja'Rado is a holy paladin of Alkosh?"

"He's not, ignore him." Emeric refuses to let Ja'Rado lie to us.

"Hmmm... Ja'Rado really thinks otherwise." Ja'Rado has a confused tone.

'I've never met a pathological liar before... Let's have some fun with this.' A smile edges it's way onto my lips.

"Hey, Ja'Rado, didn't you say that you know how to fish upsidedown and backwards last night?" I ask him. I know he said nothing of the sort, but if Ja'Rado is a pathological liar, he'll take me on a verbal adventure.

"Hmm...? Ja'Rado doesn't remem-... Oh, yes, he did! How kind of you to remind him! Yes, it is a hard thing to do, to learn how to fish upsidedown and backwards, but anyone can do it. The birds become a bit of a problem, but as long as you avoid them, you should be fine."

Ja'Rado nods to himself, and gets up.

Lydia catches on quickly. "Oh, yeah, and didn't you say that you can catch birds just by whistling?"

"What?" Ja'Rado tilts his head, not registering the question at first. "But Ja'Rado cannot... Actually, he can whistle the finest melody in the world, even if the shape of his lips physically make it impossible. In fact, he can whistle so well, even the birds get jealous of him. Even inanimate objects envy Ja'Rado's talent with the mouth."

"That is insulting to do to him. How rude. He cannot help himself." Emeric's attitude regarding our verbal adventures sounds hurt, almost dejected.

I switch to the horses when my magic gets back to a normal level. I sit in front of the two, and start casting Healing Hands on Myr. I chose to start with Myr because he seems like he understands my words very well, almost to human degree.

A human degree? I hadn't thought about it until now, but if I had been... Reincarnated, or taken to this world somehow, others might have been as well. Wait, didn't Sithis say that when he was still the Benefactor, that he had others beneficiaries? They could be in this world, as well! This should have been one of the first things I thought of!

Eventually, Myrmidon wakes up, and I stare into his large eyes with a suspicious gaze.

"Don't try and stand up, you'll fall back down. 'kay?" I order him. He complies and remains lying down.

"What you're experiencing is called high altitude sickness. It'll pass when you get used to the height, but it might return if we go much higher." I tell him, maintaining my spell. I wait until he stops looking as cold, and throw one of the tents over him as a horse blanket.

He neighs, and stands up with his powerful legs. They wobble for a minutes at first, but soon gain strength and stop. Even with the weight from gear and supplies on him, he stands tall.

"Interesting..." Ja'Rado murmurs, watching. He stands up as well. He does the same, his legs wobbling much less given that they were much stockier and shorter, but he eventually manages to rise up as well.

Emeric, Lydia and I all stand up as well, and we walk around, trying to get our bearings in this much thinner air. Eventually, we become more resistant to the thinness if the air by taking in deeper breaths.

We'll travel at a slower pace, but it's fine so long as we keep moving. Bodies, other than ours, are dropping at a rate much faster than us, and they won't be getting up.

"Ah, sir, your spell seems to be able to restore fatigue, and even grant some minor resistance to this air! Remarkable!" Emeric tells me, excitedly.

"Hmm. That's nice." I answer, unperturbed. I don't really get his surprise, but okay, cool, whatever.

"My Thane. You do not understand. Restoring fatigue in itself is impressive, but adding a resistance to the elements? That's nigh impossible!"

"Oh?! That's pretty crazy, then, huh?!" I ask her. The meaning of that ability is dawning on me.

"Crazy would be the right word, yes." Emeric says, nodding.

"Well, if that's the case, let's continue up the mountain, then, as soon as I revive Daryon." I say.

"Yes, my Thane." Lydia gladly says.

I nod, and switch to Daryon. It takes less than 10 minutes for Daryon to wake up and get up, in comparison to Myr's minimum of 15.

Daryon gets a couple furs from a bedroll placed under his saddle to warm him up, as well.

We slowly make our way up the Throat of the World again, and make it to the 9th Emblem.

It reads:

"For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar; They blessed and named him Dovahkiin."

With the 9th Emblem finished being read, all we have to do now is to get to the 10th, where High Hrothgar stands.

High Hrothgar is the monastery the Greybeards call home. It's not at the peak of the Throat of the World, but on an outlook point where the entire western, northern and southern parts of Skyrim are visible. It'd be able to see the eastern half, too, but the peak of the mountain is on that side of High Hrothgar.

Anyways, continuing on past that, we reach the 10th Emblem, and thus, High Hrothgar. It's about 8 or 9 now so we head inside, and besides the temperature dropping rapidly, reading the 10th took much less time than the others.

The 10th reads, "The Voice is worship; Follow the Inner path; Speak only in True Need."

That being said, we quickly head up and around the dual stair case of the entrance to High Hrothgar, and the four legged members of our party walk up a small hill of frozen snow that had built up beside the stair case.

I open up the nine-foot tall doors, intricately carved with the Nordic designs of the First Era. A blast of dense, warm air comes out, and thin, cold, frost-ridden air is sucked inside. At the foot of the door, snow spins up, caught in the mixing winds of air and twirls as if it were a miniature tornado.

Everyone heads inside, and I slam the doors shut. They clang loudly, and we hear footsteps echoing in the quiet space of the room. My eyes adjust to the dark of the room. I leave the horses inside the entrance, and the others follow me as I step forward from the entryway.

Even Emeric remains silent as we find ourselves in the brazier light of a massive room, his mouth hanging open.

Standing at the far corner of a large diamond on the stone floor is a man, radiating with a peaceful and quiet aura. I know exactly who it is. It's Arngeir, the speaker for the Greybeards. As far as the game's lore explains it, Arngeir is the only one capable of speaking without accidentally killing someone, as the other's Voices, both in reference to the Thu'um and normal talking, are too powerful for mortals to hear. Whether or not that means he's younger, or older, than the rest of the Greybeards is debated. He is, however, the most powerful, at level 150. He's currently the strongest being in all of Skyrim.

He's a wrinkly old Nord with blue eyes and grey hair. His grey and black robes are practically tattered with age, their edges worn thin by years of use.

"So..." He starts, in a soft but powerful voice. "A Dragonborn appears, at this moment, in the turning of an age..."

"Dragonborn?" Emeric interrupts. "What in Aetherius is that supposed to mean?"

"It is not your place to ask questions, Breton." The man explains. "We cannot be sure he even is Dragonborn as of yet."

The other Greybeards walk up and stand at the corners of the diamond and turn to face me. All of them, like Arngeir, are wrinkly old men as well.

"We will see if you truly have the gift. First, let us taste of your Voice."

I Shout at them, no hesitation whatsoever. I know they can handle my Voice. As it is now, it's little more than a strong breeze.

"FUS!"

It kicks up dust, and they take a step back. Arngeir throws his head back and laughs, before saying, "Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar."

Two things happen at the same time. The first thing was Emeric, who's standing to my left, stumbling backwards in surprise, and exclaiming, "What kind of foul magic did you just cast?!"

The second was Ja'Rado jumping back as well. He hisses and his claws pop out of his paws and scrape against the ground.

Immediately after, Arngeir steps forward, and gives a slight bow. "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"

"I'm just answering your summons, Master. You called, so I came." I respectfully answer, bowing my head. The fact is, I'd rather not offend the most dangerous person in the empire.

Lydia looks at me with a strange look. Deference likely does not suit my personality, but I will do what I must in order to not die.

"We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar." Arngeir continues. "We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny."

"Whoa, hold on, what's going here?" Emeric raises his hands, pointing at us. "You Shouted, and some kinda... force came outta your mouth. We can talk 'bout that later, but what's all this about you being Dragonborn?"

Emeric looks to the Greybeards, questioning them more. "And who are you really? I get that you're part of a group called the Greybeards, obviously named as it's full of old men, but that don't mean shit to me. What are your goals? And, why are you all acting as if this is just your part in a play? All of you are too... Nonchalant about all of this."

"Breton! I have warned you once, be QUIET!" Arngeir's had enough, but he regains control of his temper in a flash, sighing. "Hooo, This is a matter for you to find out later."

"But-" Emeric sputters out angrily.

"Ugh! Fine! You shall have your answers, then! Ask your questions, we shall proceed with the ceremonies tomorrow. You may, of course, stay here for the night. I apologize, Dragonborn."

I shake my head. "It's fine. I can understand his confusion, but I've at least heard the stories. Being from High Rock, he wouldn't know anything."

"Yeah, I don't know anything!" Emeric agrees with me.

"I... Understand." Arngeir calmly says looking at me. His gaze flicks back to Emeric and becomes cold and hard. "Ask your questions."

Emeric clears his throat. "So, uh... Like I said, who are you, really?"

"We are the Greybeards, followers of the Way of the Voice. You stand in High Hrothgar, on the slopes of Kynareth's sacred mountain. Here we commune with the voice of the sky, and strive to achieve balance between our inner and outer selves." Arngeir explains, his voice turning proud of himself and his home.

"You're... new at this, then?" Emeric asks, inquisitively.

"What?!" Even the other Greybeards' eyes widened at this.

Arngeir turned furious again. "You dare insinuate that I have not made progress in my more than 70 years practicing this?!" He bellows.

"No, no, that's not what I meant!" Emeric tries to cover his disbelief up.

One of the Greybeards clears their throat.

Arngeir coughs, and quickly resumes a calm facade. "I'll pretend you didn't say that. Continue asking your questions."

"Um, alright, then. Earlier, you made it sound like he's not the only Dragonborn, what was that about?" Emeric asks, nervously.

"He is not the first. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift upon mortalkind." Arngeir turns his attention to me. "Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age... that is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say."

"What does Drake being Dragonborn mean?" Instead of Emeric's voice, I hear Lydia's. I look to her in surprise.

"It means that he has been blessed by Akatosh himself and carries within him the ability to speak the language of the dov, the dragons. Beyond that, he is also the only one that can permanently kill a dragon, and by doing so, he steals it's soul, and is able to use it's power for himself. Being Dragonborn also means that he will be the most hated and feared enemy of the dragons, and the most likely to be hunted."

Arngeir notices the somber mood as the others learn of how much of a target I am. "Of course, that is exactly why we need to train him. However, this place is safe from the dragons. We can be... Sure of that. But as I said before, training will start tomorrow. That being said, if that is all the questions you have, Einarth will show you to where you will rest for the night."

Einarth steps forward and gestures for us to follow him. He guides us to the western wing, the tail of his robes flowing behind him, barely touching the floor.

He shows us to a wide room, filled with stone beds and dimly lit by only a couple large braziers. The beds had small pillows made of straw, wrapped in a tan linen lining, and thin brown wool blankets laid over the beds, as if they were old rags. They might as well have been, with how worn and torn they were. The majority of the braziers, on the other hand, were filled with coals.

I nod my thanks to Einarth, and he walks away. Lydia picks the bed closest to mine, before she and Emeric bring out furs and bedrolls, to supplement the hard basalt rocks these Greybeards call beds. I do the same, and after I light more of the braziers up with Flames, the room gets brighter.

The dark, mysterious atmosphere from the monastic old guys disappears, and the room, now brightly lit and filled with life, gets more... Lighter-toned, the word would be.

Emeric assists Ja'Rado with doffing his saddle and saddlebags and Einarth comes back a minute later, bringing our horses behind him. He leaves them in the room, and ties them to the pillar of a stone brazier. The other Greybeards' appear carrying large water barrels, large feed bags, and horse blankets. Lydia and I take care of our horses as well, removing their saddles and saddlebags, brushing down their fur, cleaning their hooves, and generally just checking up on them.

When we finish, I sit on the now much-warmer and softer fur-covered beds, I relieve myself of my armor and my pack, and stretch.

"I feel disgusting, so I'm going to find one of the Elders¹, and see if he can guide me to some kind of baths or something." I announce, before departing.

Lydia jumps off her bed, and comes to my side, grabbing my arm. "I'll go with you." She says, a flirty look in her eyes, and her mouth curling up in a hungry smile.

"I-if you really want to..." I stutter out, and start walking away. Lydia tightens her grip around my arm, and soon all I can think about is how much blood is being stopped by Lydia's fingers.

"Eh, I'll go later. Me 'n Ja have some talking to do." Emeric states, laying on his bed, and reading a book he got from somewhere, holding it above his head.

"Mmm? We do?" Ja'Rado asks, raising and tilting his head.

"Yes. We do." Emeric firmly states. He glances between me and Lydia, and continues. "Yeah, I've thought of a new battle tactic we could use in the future."

"Oh? What is it?" Ja'Rado asks, falling out of hearing range.

"So,--..." Was all I was able to hear before we walked out range.

'Nice. Bro's a G.' It seems for all Emeric's worth, he can tell how Lydia feels about me and what she wants to do.

We eventually come across Wulfgar, meditating on the floor. He sits kneeling on the floor, leaning back, arms raised outward at the elbow. His eyes are shut, but open as we approach. He's facing a window, one with a special steel frame inside it.

He looks at me, and whispers "Dovahkiin?", acknowledging me and asking me for what I might need.

"Um... Yes, would you, uh... Happen to have a bath of some kind here?"

Wulfgar nods slightly, then guides us through the maze-like halls. He takes us to a corridor with three doorways that had brown flaps of linen hanging down.

Wulfgar then points at me, then the right hand side doorway, then at Lydia, and to the left. After that, he gestures to us both as a 'connected' individual, (clearly an obscene gesture that implied we were having intercourse), and points down the center doorway. I thank him, and he walks away again.

Lydia and I immediately glance at each other and head into the center one together. Lydia leads the way, directly into a room with lots of cubby holes, like a locker room with another doorway at the other end. There's a wooden bin on a shelf that holds a pile of neatly folded towels and wash rags, and a bucket near it, containing chunks of lavender-scented soap.

After undressing ourselves, we grab a couple towels and chunks of soap, and head through the open doorway.

A wide, shallow pool sits in the middle of the new room we just walked into. Water flows in from the far end of the pool, and drains from holes at the walls of the pool, keeping it at an even height. Steam rises from the waters' surface.

I can feel it's warm temperature even from here, making me wonder. The amount of water inside would take hours to heat up to a comfortable temperature, but it's also flowing in and draining out.

This much water has to come from somewhere, but besides that, how does it get heated? It's not like there's someone heating all of this, just for it drain out and be cooled later. At least I hope not.

That'd be a whole lot of Magicka they're using, if that's the case. The amount of Flames needed would be insane.

I step forward into the pool of water. It's just the perfect temperature, around 37° Celsius, (98.6° F).² The water comes up to my waist.

Lydia tugs on my arm and looks up at me, a certain... *glow* in her eyes.

"Do you want to wash up, first, or should we just get started, then wash up after?" I ask her, gesturing towards the pool of water.

"Let's do both." She says, grinning. "I want to do more than just sit on you, unlike last time."

"That's fine with me," I answer.

We clean up ourselves on our own, scrubbing ourselves with the wash rags we picked up and the soap, but Lydia decides that I apparently need help with scrubbing my back. Given the fact that because my body was physically impressive (i.e. I'm freaking ripped thanks to Sithis), I couldn't perfectly reach very far on my back, I agreed to her help. I don't feel terribly embarrassed or insecure about needing help, because after all, who's going to judge me for needing it? I can't reach it myself, and she offered, so there's not arguable point in doing so.

"Hehe, it's my duty to assist my Thane with whatever he may need," She says, enthusiastically scrubbing my back, with the rag at first, but then she switches to her hands. It feels great, but...

After she does it more than a couple minutes, I question her immediate intentions.

"I think my back's clean enough, Lydia."

"Mm, I don't think so." She answers, continuing to rub my back. Her arms wrap around my chest, and I then feel a much softer, more... squishy, sensation being rubbed on my back.

"Lydia?" I ask, thinking that she couldn't possibly be echoing the clichés of bath scenes in almost any anime's romantic subplot.

"Yes?" Her voice was almost in a falsetto, and she sounds like she's failing at trying not to make me raise my suspicions, so of course, that confirms my thoughts.

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" I ask her.

"Maybe...? What do you think I'm doing?" She asks, in return.

"I think you're rubbing your breasts on my back." I give voice to my thoughts.

Immediately after, her right arm drops from my chest, and head to my cock, which is rising in anticipation. Her soft fingers make contact, and start sliding up and down on it.

"And if I was?" Lydia asks me, her left arm gently turning my head to face hers.

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop." I answer.

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¹Little tidbit of info here: I capitalized it because in the game, the devs made all of the older people part of their own special race called the Elders, because it'd be easier to write programming for them. It's a bit of a joke that I wrote that there.

²If you notice me changing temperature scaling a lot, check the context. In relation to water and cooking, Celsius is more fit, because it makes sense, (0=Frozen, 100=Boiling). In relation to weather, Fahrenheit is more fit, because Fahrenheit wasn't made for cooking, it was made for people and parts of scientific uses, (0=fuckin cold, 100=hella hot). i.e., I use what makes sense, where it makes sense.

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Funds: 1,004 septims

Weapons:

💠 - Orcish Sword of Paralysis

💠 - Blade of Whiterun (Ebony longsword, 3rd Era, 10 points Frost damage/5 to Stamina/ slow)

💠 - Quicksilver Throwing Knives {x5}

💠 - Nordic Daggers {x2}

- Elven Bow, Unstrung {x12 Elven Arrows, 1x Ayleid Arrow}

- Orcish Sword

Apparel:

💠 - Refurbished Steel Helm (15% more armor)

💠 - Steel Armor (HP Regen. Injury Heal Rate 25%↑, Light Wound Heal 50%↑)

💠 - Spiked Steel Gauntlets (+20 extra H2H damage)

💠 - Refitted Steel Boots (15% more armor)

💠 - Custom Quicksilver buckler (18% more armor)

💠 - Winter Cloak (20% Cold Resistance)

💠 - Snow Bear Greatcloak (50% Cold Resistance)

- Shield of the Dragonslayer (Kite, 40% Fire Resistance)

Potions:

- Mysterious Potion {x4}

Food:

- Basket of Fruits and Vegetables; {onions x1, apples x2, leeks x1, potatoes x2, head of cabbage x1, carrots x2, loaves of bread x1}

Books:

- Stack of Stormcloak notes and letters to family {x15}

- Letter to Thrynn & Torturer's Ring

- Spell Tome: Sparks

- Spell Tome: Oakflesh

Scrolls:

- Scroll of Blizzard

Supplies:

- Backpack

- Bedroll / Mountain Bedroll

- Cooking pan

- Waterskin

- Metal Bowl

- Torches {x3}

- Tent

- Pitons

- Climbing harness

- Rope (200 ft.)

- Hiking Staves {x2}

- Ice Picks {x2}

- Bar of Soap

Miscellaneous:

- Lockpicks {x1}

- Vial for Mysterious Potion

- Golden Claw

- Potion bottle remains

- Klimmek's Supplies