Bab 218: Small Large Talk
"First off, they've never dyed their hair, it's just naturally blue. I don't know why, I don't care to ask, it just is. Second, I'd appreciate it if you didn't make remarks like that to Tiffania. She'd a bit self-conscious of her ears... For good reasons too." he adds with a meaningful glare.
Valga rises her hand pacifyingly causing Illococoo to tilt her head as she doesn't understand a word of anything they were saying. "I didn't mean any insult, just saying... What kind of elf is she? I know of Dark Elves, High Elves, Wood Elves, and those Half-Elf Bretons from Highrock... Your friend, Tiffania though, looks like a regular, if pretty, Imperial with long ears."
Michael shakes his head, "Who knows, that's just how she was born. Maybe a Divine blessed her with good hearing?" he says causing the woman to chuckle good-naturedly, and he decides to change the subject. "Anyway, we're new to Skyrim so I was hoping to ask about the local news... Anything interesting happen lately?"
Valga looks up in thought while rubbing her chin, "In Falkreath? Not really, aside from a couple villages getting mauled by some giant bear, but that's pretty common for this area, I'm not leaving these walls anytime soon though, not until it's found and killed. You wanna talk politics? Then the thing on everyone's tongues was Ulfric Stormcloak's argument with High King Torygg at the recent summit in Solitude. Some say it was about the Dark Elf refugee's settling in his land, but others think Ulfric's jealous of the young king... Me? I think both could do to get laid and calm down." she jokes, not noticing the contemplative look on Michael's face.
So the Civil War hadn't started yet, and High King Torygg was still alive... Since he and Ulfric were arguing, it probably wouldn't be long until Torygg was killed... This was actually good news for Michael, as he'd have some time to prepare for the Civil War and not be forced into anything.
"Why would Ulfric be jealous of King Torygg?" Michael asks, more to keep the conversation going while he thinks than anything else.
Valga shrugs, "That fiance of his, Elisif the Fair or however she's called nowadays. Not a week goes by that we don't hear at least one mention of her beauty from a bard. You'd think with the number of songs written about her that she was Dibella made manifest... I notch it all up to horny bards though." she laughs.
Michael politely laughs with her, ignoring Illococoo's annoyed twitching at not being able to flow the conversation, "Say, me and my friends are actually looking for a mage to heal an illness. You any in town?"
Valga nods, "Yeah, Runil in the Hall of the Dead, a Priest of Arkay. A friendly guy despite being a High Elf, you might have to donate to the hall but it isn't much."
"Hmm, thanks for that."
"So, what're your plans? You've just arrived in Skyrim with untrustworthy gold and four women with you... Looks to me that you're going to have trouble soon enough."
Michael sighs, "Well, once Tiffania and Charlotte wake up, I guess we'll see what this Runil guy has to say. After that, I think we'll be headed for Winterhold?"
"Winterhold? What for? That collapsed college of theirs?" Valga asks with interest.
Michael crooks a brow, "Why? You no fond of magic?" he asks, knowing that people in Skyrim were generally distrustful of it. That and the folks running the college especially... He wasn't sure what collapsed Winterhold, but the fact that the college was still standing on its own was suspicious enough as it is.
Valga snorts, "I'm from Cyrodil, I'm not like the Nords here that can't tell a conjuration from an illusion, but, I get it. You probably shouldn't mention your plans if you wanna stick around here. Folk is Falkreath hate magic more than other Holds, mostly because of how many Necromancers come by to try and raise their dead heroes."
Michael shrugs inattentively, not really caring about local problems when he and his friends'll be gone soon enough. "Hey, do you know of any crypts nearby that could do with cleaning? You know, to prevent undead from wandering out and causing trouble."
Valga huffs, "Yeah, but if you're going to ask that, don't fib me. You're gonna go treasure hunting for some gold, folk think it's fine as long as you stay away from recent crypts... I have to ask though, you any good with that sword?" she asks gesturing at Derflinger, "You'll need to be otherwise you'll go down to the Draugr." she says with honest worry in her tone.
"Are draugr really that big of a threat?" he asks, remembering the literal thousand he'd killed while playing the game.
She gives a grave nod, "Even the weakest draugr is stronger than the average man, they are slow, but their skin is like hardened leather. Their armour isn't all that great, but it'll block a sword no problem... Most of the time, that would be fine, but it's their numbers that usually spell the end for any adventurer. That, and the stronger draugr are scary foes to face." she explains.
"You make it sound as if you have first-hand experience...?" Michael asks, his words trailing off into a question as he notices her serious face.
She nods, "I have. When I first arrived in Skyrim I was low on funds. I joined a party to venture into a nearby crypt, we only managed to get into the first room before my comrades started falling. We won, but I was the only one left... I buried them, sold their equipment, and use what small treasure we found to make the Dead Man's Drink... Believe me when I say, you do not wish to venture into dungeons alone."
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