Skyrim: It's An NPC's Life

(This series is inspired by The Elder Strolls blog series from way back in 2011).

Skyrim is a game that has been built for adventure. From moment one the player is thrust into an epic quest to save the world from unspeakable evil. Tamriel and Skyrim are places where no matter where you turn, excitement and danger will find you.

But what about the ordinary folk of Skyrim, those who are just trying to make it through the day? These people are never sung about or never remembered, but their role in the land is an intrinsically important one.

It’s with that mindset that I plan to join these brave, unremarkable people. I’ll live among them and try to make ends meet, avoiding all adventure, danger and global events. I will be an NPC.

As Skyrim is set in a pseudo-feudal land, I will start my journey as a peasant fresh off the boat, coach or pathway. I’ll arrive with nothing but the clothes on my back and some food and attempt to make my way in the world. These are my objectives:

1) Eat, sleep and drink regularly and walk (or run) everywhere – no fast travel allowed.

2) Avoid all forms of danger, adventure and deeds of daring do. Quests should only be taken when they involve normal actions

3) Try not to break the law, steal, murder or do any lollygagging

4) If I die, I die. It’s game over for NPCs and it’s game over for me.

5) Try to find a place to call home and a wife to live with.

Without further ado, it's time to jump into this anti-adventure as an NPC (as soon as my mod compatibilities are sorted out)…

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed

It’s cold. That’s the first thing down-on-his-luck Breton Flod Bumbleroot discovers when he wakes up in Skyrim. The rags he has on for clothes barely protect him from the cold and it’s my job to get him to safety. As the screen fades into view, Flod sits up and finds himself near a roaring fire. Not a bad place to start a journey.

Naturally, to stop from freezing to death, I head there immediately, only to discover that the fire is currently being used by a set of overly-aggressive giants. For some reason, these two storey-tall monsters rippling with muscle and carrying tree trunks see Flod as a threat. I spend my first few minutes in Skyrim running for my life. This bodes well.After evading the giants Flod finds himself deep in the wilderness. Wolves howl all around and I’m beginning to wonder if this will be the end of Flod before his non-adventure has even begun. Finding the corpse of a wolf, I bend down to grab some skin or meat from it when I’m attacked by a wall of angry blubber. A Horker seal jumps out of nowhere and gives poor Flod a smack in the face. For the second time in quick succession I’m running through snowy woods with no idea as to my bearings.

Finally I stumble upon an inn. Nightgate it’s called. Inside, there’s a fire (thankfully unoccupied by giants) and some ale. I find a man named Fultheim sat at a bench and cheerfully ask him if he comes here often. In return he asks me if I see any other inn around and then tells me to go away - so far Flod’s zero for one in the game of making friends.

Moving on from the inn, I come across a path and head along it before stumbling into a patrol of soldiers. They’re Stormcloaks and they aren’t happy to see me. One tells me that I’m in the wrong place and draws his sword. I’m not about to argue the legislature of the Public Highways Act so I respectfully back away, plucking a few snowberries for keeping.

Down the road I find a mill. Leifur, a man working on the wood, tells me to go see Aeri. I find Aeri and, despite the fact I’m wearing nothing but cloth wraps, she apparently mistakes me for one of the Jarl’s men. She asks me if I can deliver a message to him but I refuse it: I’m not walking to Dawnstar – Gods only know what dangers are out there. The mad millwoman gives me the note anyway so that I can hand it over if I’m ever passing by. I make a mental note to read it later - could be worth some money to the right person after all.

Aeri seems content to let me chop wood for her: I begin to gather a nice purse of gold for doing so. Hopefully this will mean I can buy some real clothes when I get to the nearest city. After a few hours (game time) there chopping wood, my hands get sore and splintered, so I lay down on a handy bedroll and get a few hours kip through the night.

Morndas, 18th of Last Seed

The next morning is delightfully cold and dreary, just like the day before. I decide to leave the mill behind and say my goodbyes to Aeri, who barely notices that I’ve gone. I wander down the road some ways and meet a pair of well-armed Redguards, who ask me if I’ve seen one of their kind on the run. I tell them no, and since they’re headed in the same direction as me, decide to walk with them.

It’s a lonely walk, as neither seems to want to talk to a peasant in rags who, by this point, probably smells like rotten wood and stale sweat. Down the road, my choice to follow them pays dividends when we’re attacked by a pack of wolves. Both Redguards slaughter the rabid animals and gracefully turn their heads when I skin the dead of their pelts to sell later.

Leaving my reluctant companions, I venture down the road and spend some time on a farm collecting wheat and eggs. A Dunmer attempts to tell me his life story and why he’s moved from the city, but I ignore him – no adventures here, please!

With 80 gold pieces clinking in my pocket, I make my way towards a city in the distance, tactfully avoiding eye-contact with any well-armed person on the way in. Once through the gates of the city, named Windhelm, I’m confronted with a group of Nords accosting a Dark Elf. When they pause to stare at me, I mumble my excuses and leave.

Windhelm is a strange place: as I wander around its streets everyone seems content to chat to me and charge me with quests. Within five minutes I’ve been told to find a murderer, confront a child trying to assassinate people and fetch an ancient sword from a tomb. I’ll be doing a grand total of none of those things - I’m only here for some clothes and some honest work.

I’m approached by a burly man in hide armour asking me if I believe Skyrim is “only for the Nords”. Unprepared to proclaim myself either a racist or a potential target for imminent stabbing, I ignore him and continue on to the shops.

My work on the farm and in the mill has given me enough cash to splash on a set of clothes and shoes. Flod is going up in the world! I’ve survived the first two days of life in Skyrim as an NPC – now it’s time to set about making my living (as much as it can be called that) in Windhelm.