Lordt, The Splinter Cell Chronicles. “Shhhh”

I had taken my time to check that the coast was clear. I went high, my partner low.

We were ghosts.

I had my night vision goggles on, but it was difficult to see due to the rain. Still, it was better than nothing.

The mission was simple, we had to find and capture an enemy dictator so that he could be brought to justice. The application, however, was a little more complicated.

The building we were to infiltrate was little more than a nightclub with residence above, but it had many windows and dozens of eyes. Our intelligence told us that our man could be located on the top floor and that the men inside would be packing heat.

Stealth was out only hope; In and out, no noise, no mess.

And that’s when the fun began.

As I mentioned before, my partner went low and I could just make out his form against the blackness of the night as he scaled a small fence. I had gone high to scope the joint and then planned on connecting back up with him again once my surveillance was complete.

As I reached the top of the block opposite the club my eyes fixed on the windows to ascertain any movement and perhaps even point of entry. I moved slowly, but surely until I came to a stop.

It was then I shat.

I could hear a variety of alarms and shouting coming from the building.

Struggling to figure out what had alerted the guards my first thought was to immediately blame my partner, who must have bungled into a trap.

It turns out I was wrong as an angry voice through my earpiece informed me that I had come to rest in front of a neon sign in full view of the street and building opposite.

My bad.

Thoughts ran through my mind as I imagined the menacing silhouette I must have offered, rifle on my back, balaclava over my head. There was no doubt they were on to us by now.

I expected gunfire, but the enemy sat tight, presumably brisling with adrenaline as they watched me.

I had to get off the building, and quickly.

As I descended I misplaced a foot and fell into a stack of wooden crates, bringing more attention to my whereabouts. I panicked and ran straight for my partner and scampered over the fence.

He looked horrified as I joined back up with him and whispered. “If you have any grenades on you I’m leaving now”.

“I didn’t bring any” I lied.

We approached the door to the club and listened. All was quiet, but they had to know we were out here. As my partner readied a small surveillance optic I removed my goggles and kicked in the door, sub machine gun at the ready.

Nothing.

I looked down at my partner who crouched in disbelief, optic positioned where the bottom on the door once was. He sighed, putting away the optic and we entered with caution.

Ground level; The bar.

“Now careful” my partner suggested. This irritated me. I’m always careful.

As I casually strode through the bar I realised that my partner was on all fours.

Oops.

I looked around, finished a shot that was hastily left on the counter and crouched down with him, hoping he hadn’t noticed. He never mentioned.

We reached another door and my partner took the lead. He cracked it open and found a guard inside. I took it upon myself to switch the light off and in seconds the guard lay unconscious on the floor. I turned the light back on to see my partner dusting off his hands. I nodded and fired a round into the guard’s chest before moving up the staircase.

“Jesus” is all that came through my earpiece.

Next on the menu were two jokers that thought it was a good idea to try and spot us on the surveillance cameras. They were so engrossed that my partner and I were half way down the corridor before even of them hit the floor.

Slick.

Top floor and we expected trouble. My partners slipped the optic under the door. Our mark was inside along with two guards. There also seemed to be a back exit which we had no time to double back and secure. We were going to have to be quick, but also careful as we needed our mark alive. No exactly my specialty.

Feeling confident, I whispered to my partner “I’ve got this”.

“You take the guard on the right, I’ll get the left, then we’ve got the bastard” he replied, pulling out his silenced pistol.

I nodded and pulled out my sub machine gun. All I got was a roll of the eyes in response.

I suppose at this point my greatest concern was pumping our mark and perhaps even my partner full of lead. As it turned out, none of this came to fruition as I booted the door open and stitched a dotted line of bullets around my guard.

I won’t doubt that the man I shot at had filled his pants, but it made no difference as before I could reload a new clip my partner had stabbed him in the throat with his knife.

There was a moment and then we realised our mark had bailed out the back door.

Shit.

The race was on and my odds were on the grenade I had just produced.

Sadly, I had to rethink my strategy as my partner was already down the staircase after the mark.

Shortly after the fading footsteps down the stairwell stopped and I heard a gargled choke followed by my partner’s unmistakable baritone. “Shhhh” echoed up the stairwell.

I looked around and noticed a wells stocked liquor cabinet.

“Might as well” I said, helping myself.

Job done.

~ Lordt

June 16, 2013 0

Lordt, The Diablo Chronicles. “Reaching for the Door”

I write these words only by the grace of a good healer.

I had made my way into he deep depths of a dungeon with an assassin companion of mine. She was strong, brave, and dependable; all the qualities I consider a hindrance.

We were in search of a Horadric artefact, by the guidance of olde man Cain. The daft sod must have lost his marbles for if there was a Horadric artefact down this deep in the shit, I’d be damned.

Still, we ventured on as my companion said she had a hunch. As a spell user myself I merely let her lead the way whilst I counted the coins in my purse until the next batch of skeletons presented themselves. It was a fairly repetitive jaunt and I suppose I could have got a little more involved, but I really couldn’t be bothered. Besides, I didn’t want to mess up my hair, or my codpiece.

As we progressed through the deeper levels of the dungeon I found myself drawing upon mixed emotions. We found more lewt, but also more creatures of the night. I began to get unnerved as my companion took a few deep wounds and I had to weave a few spells to back her up.

After the next group of enemies had been dispatched she stopped abruptly and held up a hand.

We could hear a good deal of shuffling and scratching from the next room.

“Behind that door” she whispered, “Dozens”.

I concluded that they must be guarding the treasure and that if we wanted it, we’d have to open that door.

My companion was in the middle of saying something bout backing her up when I blew the door off its rusted hinges with a fireball.

I shoved her hard in the back into the room as I stood in the doorway hosing the area indiscriminately with chain lightning. Gods, there were a lot of creatures, clawing, rending…shrieking.

My companion then hurled herself forwards, confident that between her skill and my spells we could best the horde and unveil the treasure.

I suppose that sometime during the party she lost track of what I was doing as I had teleported into the next room and emptied the collection of chests within. I could still hear the carnage going on down the corridor as I crammed gems and coins into every pocket and fold of my robes. If I’d had easy access to my anus, I probably would have stuffed a few up there too.

Minutes later I was laden, carrying more weapons that I could ever hope to master and more lewt than I could conceivably spend in the next town. I decided it was time to open a portal and get back to town.

I spared a thought for my companion. She’d be fine…

Just then the door burst open and enemies piled into the room I had just emptied.

Shit.

I had just completed my town portal spell when I heard a harrowing scream from down the hallway. My companion had bought it.

But I was panicking now.

Sack on my back, I looked over my shoulder, ready to step through he portal when I was reamed from all angles by the horde.

Back in town I awoke at the healers. Beside me sat my companion. She did not look happy. “Where were you?”

“I was there, I was backing you up. I was overwhelmed”, I offered sincerely. She seemed to calm. I’d gotten away with it. All I needed to do was regain the loot that I had dropped back down there.

After a surprisingly revitalising potion the pair of us ran pell-mell back down into he dungeon where we retraced our steps and it was then that my number was up. There for all to see was my skeletal remains, sack still in hand, reaching for an open portal.

I cleared my throat as my companion stared at me in disbelief. Reaching down I picked up the sack of lewt, throwing it back over my shoulder.

Calmly, yet self-consciously I stepped through the portal.

~ Lordt

June 11, 2013 0

Lordt, The Call of Duty Chronicles. “Changin’ Mag”

I remember it like it was yesterday.

We suited up. Ghillies on, weaponry packed high and tight.

Rounding the first container I pumped a sentry full of lead. Then we hit the deck.

We were ghosts.

I looked at my watch. 45 minutes had passed since Alpha caught the tell-tale glint of a scope; A rookie error. Now we were aware.

A further 15 minutes passed. I moved off to try and draw some fire. It was all Alpha needed.

1 down.

We moved on until a similar situation occurred. Alpha took care of it.

Now we approached an olde building, most likely rife with targets. A pair of stood sentries outside. This had to be slick; silent and smooth as they say.

A thought occurred. I wanted a full mag in case things went bad. Alpha came to the same conclusion. It was a tough call as Alpha was close enough that the act might expose him. I had a bit of distance. But it didn’t matter as long as we were quiet…

Alpha nodded to me. “Changing mag” he whispered.

Then I think I must have had a stroke as before I knew it I bellowed at the top of my lungs. “CHANGIN’ MAAAAG!”

Seconds later Alpha was riddled by the sentries and I’d gone loud, hosing the area with the heavy machine gun that I had been told to leave behind.

I shouldn’t have needed them for this particular mission, but I happened to have a couple of flash bangs with me. I added these to the mix and got over to Alpha quick smart to administer adrenaline.

I not sure what was worse; the fact that he was dead or the fact that I found the whole situation highly comical.

Taking my time I mopped up before fading back into the foliage.

~ Lordt

June 11, 2013 0

Lordt, The Ultima Online Chronicles. “Wedding Guests”

I remember some years back I was invited to a wedding at the royal palace in NuJel’m.

I say invited, but I suppose turning up uninvited would probably be more apt.

I was flipping coins outside the bank in Britain when I caught wind of a wedding and indeed a grande banquet that was to be held to celebrate the wedlock of two unfortunate souls later on that day. Not being one to waste time I immediately devised a plan with two companions of mine to attend said wedding and leave with our bellies full of free food and ale.

To save time, a magician friend of ours agreed to open a portal near the palace for a small fee. We had decided that if we got there early we could perhaps get in some pre-drinks and really make the most of it.

As it turned out the wedding was a much bigger deal than we had anticipated and the palace was already teaming.

A pair of guards at the front doors seemed unmoving and the three of us didn’t fancy trying our luck against them.

But that wasn’t where the story ended.

Back to the drawing board we realized that at some point during proceedings the guests would be sitting down to feast, and that the food would not simply arrive by itself.

Bowling round the corner we entered a local tailor shop and purchased some cut price chefs attire.

Next on the menu was a quick trip to the local tavern to buy a couple of pies and some hot stew. We then carried this back to the palace and were welcomed in by the guards with open arms. So lame.

We were in.

What the guards didn’t realize, however is that beneath our aprons we were bristling with weaponry and a few flasks of deadly poison.

You see, at some point during the morning I had decided that as well as getting a free meal, we might as well slaughter all of the guests as well as the bride and groom at their own wedding.

Our method?

Poison.

The wedding began, vows we said and rings exchanged. How pleasant.

It was a somewhat, happy affair, and the three of us raised a glass to the coming misery.

Downstairs in the kitchens we helped the other 2 chefs prepare the meals and then bring them up to the tables. Only, when I say we helped the chefs I mean we murdered them with cloak and dagger.

Cheerily, we brought up the platters of piping hot food for the guests to admire and salivate over. We piled the food high. We also pumped it with poison.

As the final dish was served we withdrew to the kitchens and waited to hear the death rattles.

Oh I can hear it now, such a cacophony of woe. “Why? Why!? On our wedding day?”

The groom had died as I had poisoned his champagne, the bride looked on as her guests vomited blood around her.

That is to say, not everyone had been poisoned, but to allay suspicion we redressed into our finery and made our way upstairs shouting about how we had caught the perpetrators in the kitchens below red handed and had dealt with them forthwith.

During the chaos nobody thought to question us. We just looked like part of the entourage.

As the guards left their posts at the main doors to run to the kitchens we took it upon ourselves to loot as many of the half dead guests as we could until the bride called us up on it.

The remaining guests posed little threat to our steel as they were unarmed for the ceremony and we made light work of them on our way to the exit.

In a moment of pitiful compassion I decided not to butcher the bride, but she stood aghast as I removed the ring from the dead groom as a memento of the occasion. Flipping it into the air and catching it I gave her a wink and blew her a kiss.

The three of us had trouble running with our pockets stuffed with all the fine jewelry we lifted from the guests. I had even swiped a spare pair of fine boots off of olde coot. But the fact that we were slowed down didn’t matter. By the times the guards returned we were long gone.

“To my dearest Jacob, forever yours, Miranda”.

~ Lordt

June 10, 2013 0

Lordt, The Borderlands Chronicles. “Backup? What backup?”

So I’m not saying that lewt is everything, I’m just saying it is a big part of any normal day. And days spent in Pandora are no exception.

Ah, who am I kidding, lewt IS the most important thing, and following a close second I suppose you could say grenades…

It was just another day in Pandora and an elite few of us decided to go down into the desert and take care o’ bidniz. I guess you could say for the first few hours the skags kept us busy, but with the meagre offerings to be had off their corpses is wasn’t long before we moved on in search of something more rewarding.

As we caned it round the valleys in our Outrunners something caught my eye. It was some sort of Crimson Lance fortification, more or less a giant bridge spanning the valley. It appeared heavily guarded, but I knew the three of us could take them if we played our cards right. Outnumbered, it would take careful tactics, sharp shooting and looking out for one another. It would also take patience, as surprise was probably going to be our best ally here, given to the fact that the Lance would easily spot a motley lot of vault hunters speeding down the valley towards them.

After a brief discussion it was decided that we would dumped the Outrunners and my companions, one a soldier, another a siren, would move into position either side of the valley and slowly work their way forwards to get as close as possible, whilst I played my role as the sniper and picked off key individuals from range to get the party started. The aim was to have at least 3 of the guards headless before my companions became exposed, therefore allowing them to “spring into action” and mop up at close range.

As I looked down the sights of my rifle and mulled this plan over, one thing stood out. A chest.

Then it clicked. As I watched my companions slowly make their way down the valley it dawned on me that I was such a long way away that by the time I arrived to the party the other two would have mopped up the lewt. Disaster.

This was not good, and not happening.

I did what I had to do and fired a round into the air and ran full tilt down the center of the valley towards the bridge, instantly exposing myself and my companions to the enemy and I think partially causing my soldier companion to soil himself as he couldn’t phase like the siren.

Bullets and rockets rained down and the plan had gone to pot.

“Need some backup!” I hear my soldier companion shout. I fired off a few more rounds randomly as I ran under the guise of “being back and sniping”. Any anger at me starting the party early was deferred for now as we were under pressure to survive. I’d smooth things over later.

BOOM.

I’d thrown a few courtesy grenades up into the air to give them impression that the enemy were serious. I then threw a few more and heard my siren companion complain that she had just been showered in shrapnel and that her shield was depleted.

I fired off a final round, they would expect me to be moving in by now. I drew out my magnum and emptied my bandolier of any further grenades.

As explosions rained all around I snuck off to the side of the valley and up the steel staircase of the bridgework. On the way I found a few more grenades and added them to the mix, tossing them off the bridge into whatever was down there; by now a few guards and my companions.

A guard on the bridge. I had to melee him so as not to draw attention. Fortunatly he was focused on massacring my companions and died quickly as I pommeled him in nutsack and chucked him off the balcony.

Sprinting across the expanse I saw the chest I had spied through the scope not so long ago. As I listened to the carnage going on down below I admired the burgundy colour, the clasp and the mechanism as the chest revealed its treasure at my whim.

A wide array of fine guns were proffered up on the steel stray before me. Half of them I didn’t need. I sure there were a few SMGs and maybe an assault rifle or two. I looked over the bridge at my companions bringing the battle to a close and admired their skill. I then looked back at the chest a pocket the lot, mods and all.

Carefully I crept back down the ladder and along the side of the valley just in time as I helped them finish off any stragglers. I ran over to offer pats on the back, wipe sweat from brows and mop up all the bullets and grenades before anyone else got a chance.

As my companions climbed the ladder to gain access to the bridge, I didn’t bother.

I was already in the shop.

~Lordt

June 9, 2013 0

Lordt, the Diablo Chronicles. “Rubies, so many rubies”

Diablo III has many interesting attributes that the previous 2 offerings do not. One interesting feature is that of personal loot. That is “Your loot is your own”. Theoretically this solves all arguments and lends to better team and overall game play.

Of course this is completely wrong as you will soon find out within minutes of logging int into the game and scooping up as much stuff as you can into your sack. Coupled with the fact that you always want what someone else has found and the addition of an online marketplace for just such goods, well, let the hording begin.

I for one see no problem is cramming as many gems as possible into the stash so that the lid won’t close, even if I can’t use them.

Why would I want to share those?

~ Lordt

June 4, 2013 0

Lordt, The Skyrim Chronicles. “Ivarstead, IvarDEAD”

t’s a pity that I caught wind of the ancient keep “High Hrothgar”, for asides from initially being put off at the thought of climbing “Seven thousand stairs”, the information ultimately lead to me wreaking the usual havoc upon unsuspecting citizens of an otherwise peaceful, rural village.

In my defence, what else was I to do?

Not so far from the village “Ivarstead” I happened upon a particularly briskly moving river that looked cold and otherwise unappealing. I moved up the river to a point where a large tree had fallen just above a severe drop into the icy waters below. My luck was in; the tree was nearly as good as a well made bridge, save for the rounded edges and the otherwise haphazard manner it had fallen. I didn’t hesitate and promptly began my way across the ravine.

To my surprise the hunched and scrawny figure man drew himself up before me midway along the crossing. He shouted something in comprehensible, but my lightning reflexes kicked in and I cut him down without thought and tossed his bony behind into the river below. Casually re-sheathing my steel, I completed the crossing and smirked at the coin purse I had managed to relieve the bandit of before he fell. Flicking a coin in the air I decided this was not such a bad day after all. Not at least until I moved upriver…

At sometime during my journey I must have had a stroke, for not for the life of me can I remember how or when I disturbed the sleeping troll. All I knew was that it was awake, going berserk and was looking for me. My consistent luck was in as the water was fairly still here and mists that had formed partially masked me from view. It did, however, run around playing hide-and-seek for a while before heading up the mountain path I was due to take. Great…

Still, not being one to pass up an opportunity I made my way to its alcove cave and relieved the beast of the few valuables it kept stashed within. Snap. Now for the path up the mountain…

Well, I’d not gone far before the Troll spotted me and decided it needed to see what I had had for lunch.

Naturally, courage won out and I met the beast head on, peppering it with arrows from a safe and discrete distance. My warrior companion at the time, Lydia decided she would aid me by clobbering the thing with dull sword to little effect. Minutes later she was a sorry state at the bottom of the ravine and I was out of arrows.

However, my keen eyesight fortunately noticed the top of a building on the crest of the hill we fought upon, Ivarstead, no doubt. An idea began to form, but not for long. Foolishly I let me gaze linger on the horizon and the beast struck me with more force than I cared to feel again. Looking to my side I considered aiding the downed Lydia and then decided, actually, it was best to leg it.

I ducked under the Troll as it swung for another attack and ran pell-mell up the hillside towards the sleepy village of Ivarstead. Sleepy no more…In under a minute I was there and if the men were not awoken by my screams, certainly the women and children were.

A couple of villagers, weary from an evenings drinking, hailed me as I entered the village and then looked puzzled as I bowled through them with out so much as a “good evening” and a firm handshake. The next stranger they were to greet, however, was the Troll.

Cheers lads, you made it possible for me to sit here in comfort and write this journal.

The very first thing I did was nip into the local tavern and order a strong mead before gazing out of the rear window to watch the sight of the two men get beaten around by the Troll like wet fish. Who was I to complain if they felt the need to fight my battles for me? And the warmth of the fire…ah…it was like watching a good plaie.

A minute passed, blood flowed, crops were trampled, men were slain…women were slain…I dare say even livestock was smeared across the cobbles before the show was eventually over.

At some point a local strong-arm emerged and stuck his oar in, felling the Troll. I saw it coming and made sure that I was nearby when the killing blow was made, if not to claim all the glory, then at least to claim all the loot.

~Lordt.

June 4, 2013 0

Lordt, The Skyrim Chronicles. “Stenvar,…Stenvar?”

It was just another typical day in Skyrim, except on this morning I had to send the Housecarl Lydia back to the kitchen in Dragonsreach. Honestly, her bungling is consistent and it was high time I took up the search for a more able strong-arm to aid my cause. Though, I must admit, my cause is yet, if ever, to be discovered.

I set off immediately for Windhelm, specifically because I had heard rumours that an elite swordsman by the name of Stenvar often frequented one of the taverns there.

Upon arrival it wasn’t hard to find the man I was looking for.

I entered the Candlehearth Inn and drew up a chair as I surveyed the room. As I looked from face to face I considered the rumour I had heard to be wrong. That was until I noticed a maniac sitting at a table in the far corner. He was on his own and I probably would have passed him by if it wasn’t for the size of his sword and the shine off his bald head. He caught my eye and my first instinct was to get the hell out of there. But I stopped myself and made my way over to his table.

Without preamble, Stenvar introduced himself and mentioned that for a piffling five hundred gold he’d come and work for me. Done.

On the road out of Windhelm Stenvar already paid for himself by running wildly at anything that moved within a hundred yards of me, be it animal, vegetable of mineral.

Our travels took us far and wide, but were largely uneventful. That is until we heard of a quest…

I’ll spare you the specifics, but the short of it saw Stenvar and myself travel towards a particularly grim Dungeon in Volunruud.

Needless to say, we summarily slew the guards, looted the chests and barged our way in the front, and only, door.

Our journey was tedious…We were looking for a shady character by the name of Kvenel the Tongue. Apparently he had a good sword or something, but that was enough for me. By all accounts our chances we slim, and once I saw what we faced down there, I realised it was time for Stenvar to take point.

A brief argument about that for five hundred gold I would expect Stenvar to hang himself if I said so saw the brute lead the way into a large chamber with a rather pissed off looking, and I assume, Kvenel the Tongue lounging in a crude throne.

Had I led the way, we may have had the element of surprise, but then again…perhaps not. Anyhow, events unfolded at an alarming rate and before I knew it, not only had Kvenel the got up off his arse to offer up front row tickets to a disembowelling contest for Stenvar and I, but his olde chum, a late and great Draugr Scourge decided to join and invite Mr. Anti-Social the Frost Atronach along for the party.

I’m not sure exactly how much time had passed before Stenvar realised I was half way down the corridor trying to ring the faeces out of my britches, but much to my surprise the bald headed maniac actually gave as good as he got. My brow rose.

As I saw the tables turning I decided it was perhaps a good idea for me to get involved. Casting my trousers aside and rummaged through my pack and found a scroll of fireball conveniently placed at the top. Swheet.

Logic would dictate that fire would melt ice, and seeing as the giant before me dealing out punishment was made of ice, or rather frost, why not throw some heat at it?

Turns out there was a good reason for that…

As luck would have it at the precise moment I loosed the fireball, Stenvar smashed the thing into smithereens. This meant that instead of the fireball hurtling into the Frost Atronach it hit Stenvar square in the chest and sent him into the clawing arms of the waiting Draugr Scourge and ever-cheerful Kvenel the Tongue.

Well its all fun and games until someone looses his temper…and takes a fireball to the chest.

Stenvar went berserk, and I’d like to think that his rage was directed at my enemies, but I think he was perhaps trying to fend them off as much to get to me as to hurt them. Whatever his motive, the greatsword he carried dealt a lot of damage in a shockingly short space of time and had I had a video camera to film the event, I would have.

I saw victory on the horizon and wanted to get in on the glory. I ran down the corridor like a man possessed, dual daggers at the ready and a potion of strength already making its way down my throat. This was it; brothers in arms, warriors side by side, companions… victors!

There was about a minute of hacking, slashing, some further hacking, followed by a little more slashing until eventually I realised the battle had stopped.

I thrust my fist up into the air in triumph and sheathed one of my daggers. The other had been wrung from my grasp at some point during the melee. In the heat of the moment I thought it appropriate to turn and hi-five the warrior Stenvar, to make up for my earlier mistake with the fireball.

“Stenvar!” I cried, joyously. “Stenvar” I said normally. “Stenvar?” I asked quietly. I took a step to see if he was down the corridor and as I moved my foot hit something heavy, a helmet, Stenvar’s helmet to be precise.

I looked down to see the butchered corpse of not only the Draugr Scourge, the Frost Atronach, Kvenel the Tongue, but also that of Stenvar the unlucky. A dagger was sticking out of his back… My dagger.

I looked around to make sure nobody else had witnessed what happened. I searched the area and looted what chests and enemies I could find. Then I looked down at poor Stenvar and looted him too.

As I made my way out of the dungeon back to the fresh air of Skyrim I hefted a large coin purse in my hand. By my best guess it contained a little over five hundred gold pieces.

You just can’t get the staff these days.

~Lordt.

June 4, 2013 0

Lordt, The Skyrim Chronicles. “Should Have Stayed Down”

It was just another day in Skyrim. Bow over my shoulder, wench over my knee, and a warm cup of mead (stolen I might add) clasped firmly between my grubby fingers.

Had anyone walked into the Bee and Barb at that time, they might have considered me well-off. The truth of it though, was that I was anything but well-off and had in fact been hanging around like the last turkey in the shoppe waiting to see if a likely hireling presented himself.

After the death of Stenvar I was a little more cautious over the quality of mercenary I recruited this time and had decided that I wanted someone with brains, if not brawn. After all, if I’m honest, I needed someone to even out the scales.

I was six cups gone when in walked an arrogant chap with a rapier wit. His attire seemed fine and his tongue sharp when he ordered at the bar. An educated man perhaps…

In short order I downed my current offering of mead and sent the wench packing.

“Lordt”, I offered the man a handshake. He was outrageously sceptical of me and my first instinct was to slit his throat in broad daylight, but I calmed myself and extended my arm a little further. “Marcurio” he offered, hesitantly.

I smiled. “You look like an educated man. I’m paying good money for just such a man to aid me on my travels”, I said. What he didn’t know was that I was broke, and that my “travels” were more or less suicide missions in search of gold and/or artefacts.

His eyes lit up. “Just what I’m looking for. You need not know fear with me by your side”, he said. I smirked. What an arrogant sack of dung. If he knew what I was going to put him through, he’d change his name AND sex right then and there.

So anyway, pleasantries over with, I hired the man and we set of for the nearest dungeon with inadequate supplies and a series of bad jokes and one-liners in tow.

It wasn’t long before we encountered our first brace of Skeletons and began messing with them. I don’t really know where we were, but I had HEARD that deep within there was gold to be had and at least a chest or two worth of reasonable loot. I had half a mind not to bother and wait for something better to come along. That is, until I saw Marcurio in action. I knew he was educated, but I hadn’t imaged he would be such a pyromaniac. Turned out the well groomed mead connoisseur happened to be an adept spellsmith, hurling fireball after fireball into suspecting animated skeletons.

I couldn’t be bothered to move, so I sat back and watched as Marcurio did the dirty work and cleared the entrance to the dungeon. After which, I mopped up the coin with a slice of bread and hunk of cheese.

Now then, I have to say, I was impressed. Marcurio clearly had talent as a wizard and he wasn’t the worst looking guy I’d seen around lately either. That being said though, when the chance arose I did slam a Dwarven Helmet on his head just for good measure. You can never be quite sure when an errant arrow might catch you in the eye.

We made our way further into the dungeons, brushing aside cobwebs and skeletons alike. My opinion of Marcurio lessened somewhat in the moments that followed as he managed to set off all five bear traps that I had circumnavigated so far on our journey. He then managed to nearly impale himself on a sprung gate and failed miserably at making his way through a narrow tunnel whilst being hampered by swinging axes. So much for a quiet entrance…

By now I was certain that every creature below surface level must have known we were there and were summarily making their way towards us, presumable to rape us and feed on our… Well, presumably to kill us.

It wasn’t so long before we found another congregation of skeletons and Draugr milling about. I turned to Marcurio to tell him to wait a moment and sit still so we could plan our next action, and if possible, sneak our way in. The problem with this was that Marcurio already had lightning playing between the fingers of one hand and smoke rising from the other, presumably from the fireball he had just loosed into the fray.

“Fuck sake!”

I shouldered my bow and drew my sword and dagger. On a side note, anyone who knows me will know how much I hate to have to shoulder my bow and actually venture into the heart of a battle. Thanks Marcurio.

That was the point when I turned back to face the fight and realised that everybody was dead. I glanced to my left as I could hear further crackling from Marcurio’s fingertips. I tried to hide the smile creeping onto my face and I think it was at that point that I lost the battle to try and suggest ever again to Marcurio to shut up and get down.

So, I hired a spellslinger!? All one word.

“And I won’t be needing this” he said, tossing the Dwarven Helmet aside.

Well, you might, I thought… And then moved on.

We continued onward and downward, the usual route for any self respecting loot gatherer. Together we pilfered coins, smashed urns, shared tales, got lost and set off traps.

Until we came to a door.

Well, it wasn’t really a door, more of a side of wall with the appearance of a door.

It was a door.

The funny thing was, that in the centre of it was a keyhole of a claw-like design and a simple puzzle around the edge. I suppose this was meant to be challenging, but I just looked at the design on the claw key I conveniently had in my sack and use the symbols on there to line up the lock properly before opening the door. Done.

Well, it’s not that funny, but the tale of how I got the key is slightly more amusing. I’ll spare the details. But in short, I picked it up during a quest a while back and never really got round to using it. As luck would have it a local merchant in Riverwood was offering good coin for such a key. Who was I to turn down good coin? So I sold it to him. Then, when his back was turned, I stole the key back off him and got the hell out of Riverwood. Thanks very much.

So, there I was, using the key that didn’t belong to me and gaining access to another daunting chamber in which at the end loomed another bloody puzzle door. I’ll admit, at this point in time a frown did furrow my brow, but I in no way lost my cool. Just so you know that before reading the next part of this journal.

I cleared my throat and subtly ushered Marcurio in first. I didn’t want to walk head first into any traps, but if Marcurio wanted to, then fine.

We walked slowly. Along the side of the vault many sarcophagi lined the walls. Call me sceptical, but I had already assumed they would burst open any moment with skeletons and draugr springing out of them like jack in the box..i.

Yup.

Marcurio was in there like a shot. His mistake. The undead had not seen me crouched in the doorway. I took a swig of mead to calm my nerves and nocked an arrow. It was like a shooting gallery. But what to shoot first? The undead we bursting out of their tombs in a manner a little less athletic than I had given them credit for. In fact, it rather looked like they were getting out of bed after a long nap. I decided it was best to shoot the ones just getting up. It turned out that in the process of waking up they were rather vulnerable to arrow fire, and I took them down one by one.

Sadly though, during the commotion Marcurio had been knocked down. It didn’t see it happen, but I suppose his hand to hand combat was not up to scratch. He probably would have been alright if he had stayed down, but I was on a roll and shooting anything that moved, particularly things that were just getting up, including Marcurio.

As the dust settled I must admit I felt a pang of annoyance at my own sharpshooting.

I moved over to the corpse of Marcurio. He looked like a snowman with a giant stick protruding from where his nose used to be, albeit the shaft of an arrow. I winced and left the arrow where it was. I considered if perhaps a local healer might be able to revive him. After all, he wasn’t the worst merc I’d hired to date. I fingered my beard until the lock of the door to the next chamber piqued my interest. What riches lay within?

“Should have stayed down, mate”.

~ Lordt.