Why'd I have to punch that guy? (Anna)

 Ridiculous sentence prompts, “So why did I have to punch that guy?”

Setting: Whiterun Hold, Skyrim

Farkas and I stand in the middle of the main road running through the little village of Riverwood, looking at the man on the ground plucking his stomach in a half conscious state. “So...Why did I have to punch that guy?” I ask, he seems familiar but I can’t place the name. Oh- I remember now! Sven was his name, a bard, also rather annoying when I met him right out of Helgan. “Somebody wanted him taken down a notch to put it simply but couldn’t do it themselves, so they come to us. Here you go.” Farkas explains digging through his pockets for a small bag of gold. “Just remember, not assassins, don’t kill anybody.” He adds, I hadn’t even thought of the possibility. Catching the tossed bag I stash it away for later, my belongings and stash of coin had been taken when I was arrested by the imperial military after walking into that ambush, so I’ll take any work I can get, I ended up spending the coin I had gathered from Helgan on a new change of clothes, food, and the necessary medication and things. Mercenary work, if that’s what one would call the companions, pays rather well.

The layout of Whiterun reminds me of Daggerfall a bit, though it sits close enough to the river, it’s not exactly “on the water” nor is it a bustling port like Daggerfall due to the lack of water transport. It is, however, a hub for trading due to its secure position upon a steppe above the tundra, and its central position in the middle of Skyrim. The ideal position makes it easily accessible from almost anywhere, and easy to defend. The tiered layout of the city is nearly identical, if on a much smaller scale. It’s almost...quaint, really. The natural hill that the city sits on is an interesting phenomena as well, a single hill situated among miles and miles of flat, barren, tundra.

Walking back from the little village of Riverwood we take our time, it is a beautiful day after all. “Do people come to the companions often for that sort of thing? Like with Sven?” I ask tossing the pouch up and catching it as we walk through the village and cross the bridge over the river. “Sometimes...why?” At the secondary question I shrug “Carlotta said she’d pay me if I beat up or otherwise threatened that bard from the bannered mare when I first got to Whiterun. Was wondering if I accidentally took a job from you.” Farkas shakes his head “Probably not, and let me tell you, Carlotta was not the only person who was very satisfied when you challenged the bard to a fight.” Oh really? I knew he was annoying, but I wonder how many people wished he’d keel over or otherwise shut it. “If I truly had it my way…” I begin to say, catching the pouch and putting it away before turning back to Farkas “He would simply be struck down with apoplexy and die.” I add morbidly, but cheerfully. Farkas goes slightly pale, well, paler, but seems to agree. “That took a dark turn.” He remarks “Ah what’s a death threat to someone who enjoys dark humor and just saw a bunch of burning bodies not two weeks ago.” Having said that I pause, that doesn’t seem to help my case, it would seem.

By the time we actually return to the city it’s nearly dusk, took us longer than expected as we had stopped to examine a few things here and there that were of interest. Most of the townspeople are heading home for the evening, or to the inn, having finished browsing at the market. The main pathway that leads from the front gate to the keep of the castle is the easiest and most direct route to the guild hall of the companions, who’s name I still cannot pronounce for the life of me. Why must Nordic names be so difficult? It can be accessed through the side street and going through the residential district, past the temple and the large tree that sits in the center of the city, but it takes longer. Carlotta Valentina, the merchant who I’d helped, flags us down, and gives us each a piece of apple she had just finished cutting up, thanking me again for dealing with her “situation” and how she appreciates it. I look over my shoulder at the sign of the inn that is illuminated by the light coming from inside, a contrast to the fast fading light and oncoming wall of night outside. “Want to get dinner?” I ask, still inspecting the inn sign. “Why not. Nadja and Athis are probably going to be beating each other up again if we go back now anyways.” Farkas says before pausing and adding with a slight smirk “Which I why I usually eat downstairs or with Aela and Vilkas later.” The two of us wish Carlotta goodnight and walk over to the inn, heading inside through the side entrance by the kitchen.

The common room of the inn by now is rather busy with patrons in various states of drunken stupor. It’s barely 8:00 PM people get it together! And so the two of us find a little table in this smaller room and decide to sit there. “Ah, well, if it isn’t the only two people who will be leaving here having eaten an actual meal and sober tonight.” The Redguard waitress says coming down the stairs. “And by the way, Holda says thank you for toning down the serial womanizer in the other room. The female population of Whiterun and beyond thank you.” Saadia adds. “Ah, that was nothing, misogynistic bastards need beating up, that’s all, it’s the same from High Rock to Morrowind and Valanwood to Skyrim, as well as everywhere in between and beyond.” I reply with a shrug, then pull up a very faint flames spell, letting them flicker between my fingers “Could have done much more than punched him in the face, you know.” The mysterious redguard gives me a knowing look and a nod that says I’m sure you could...and I hope you one day do. “Anyways...what do you want to eat?” She asks pulling out a scrap of paper and bit of charcoal. Since it is a bit cold out this evening we both settle on soup, it’s easy to eat, replenishes fluids, is inexpensive, and filling when made right.

Half-way through eating dinner there is a halt to the music from the other room and a blonde man holding a lute comes staggering in “well well well, look who it is- the little Breton and her bodyguard, how cute. On a date are we?” Even from a distance away I can smell the alcohol. “Go away, you’re drunk. Take a nap and drink some water, it’ll clear your head.” I remark, not looking at the bard, who suddenly seizes forward and grabs my wrist “Who are you to tell me what to do?! I’m an author and a bard who’s played from here to Cyrodiil!” The lanky man screeches. “Let me go please.” I ask, remaining calm, and silently telling Farkas to not go for his sword however much he might like to. “No, I don’t think I will, actually, a nap does sound nice...but I think I’ll take you with me.” Slowly I slip a knife into my sleeve, just in case- however, I don’t end up needing it as while the three of us are distracted, the bard spewing nonsense and Farkas and I trying to safely diffuse the situation there’s a metallic thud and the bard releases me and falls to the ground, Aela stands behind him holding a frying pan. “You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that for.” She says flipping the frying pan up in the air, catching it, and handing it off to Saadia who had come to see what the fuss was about.

Pulling up a chair, Aela sits down “So how was the job?” She asks in a singsong voice, breaking off a piece of bread, Farkas shrugs “The usual.” I hold up my pouch of gold proudly “I got paid to beat up the annoying bard who was harassing Camilla Valarius!” Aela sighs “What is it with male bards and sexual harassment?” To be honest, I have no idea. It is an odd thing, really, you’d expect more courteous behavior from people trained in the arts. Farkas goes to say something to Aela, pauses, and then finally asks the question of where did she get the frying pan? The answer: came down here for dinner, saw the bard being well...himself, saw the two of us, grabbed a frying pan from the cupboard by the entryway to the smaller room and whacked him with it, as one does when witnessing harassment, apparently.

Once the meal is done and paid for the three of us head back home for the night. According to Aela when we walk inside Vilkas is in the same spot he was in when she left, sitting on the floor curled up in the corner with a pile of books while Tilma sweeps nearby, everyone else seems to have already gone to bed. I have a feeling he may stay there all night, after all, he along with Farkas and Aela do not have any actual need for sleep, even if it might be welcome when they can get it in an uninterrupted fashion. Oh well, he seems content enough, nobody is bothering him and he’s not arguing with anyone, I suppose that’s all one can ask for, and so we leave him be with his pile of books. Having left Vilkas to his reading and Tilma to her cleaning the three of us part ways once downstairs for the night, it was a long day and so it’s time for me to go to sleep, Aela to most likely do some upkeep on her arrows, and Farkas to do whatever he does at odd hours of the night…sometimes I find him doing the dishes at three in the morning if I go to get a drink, so that’s…something. After cleaning up and changing into my night clothes I yawn and blow out the candle before falling quite literally into bed and soon after drift off to sleep. I’m still not entirely sure why I had to punch that guy…but I suppose there are stranger things going on in this strange country. Dragons, for example…that’s new.

In the end I fall into a deep sleep, dreaming of dragons and brawls and other events until the light of day rises over the mountains and sets in motion another days work. There’s always more people to punch and pests or animals to exterminate I guess. For now though I remain comfortable in my little bed curled up, dreaming as the stars pass overhead. Goodnight Jorrvaskr, goodnight Whiterun, goodnight giants roaming the tundra. Goodnight dragons, goodnight Draugr, goodnight Daggerfall and goodnight Skyrim. Goodnight to one and all and goodnight Tamriel. Goodnight to everyone…except those who don’t deserve it, because sometimes some people simply need to be punched in the face.