Besides escaping my own execution and going on to kill six other people, my first day in Skyrim was a fairly mediocre affair. Hopefully times will be more interesting in Falkreath, and Waaarg the Beserker Orc arrives there just as the sun disappears behind the crest if mountains towering over the small town.
I try and spark up a friendly conversation with the guard of the gates, but he grunts and orders me to “stop lollygagging”, whatever than means. I push him for further clarification, but he just blurts the word ‘citizen’. He might be having a stroke.
I ignore him and march into Falkreath in a manner which hopefully won’t be construed as either lollying or gagging. Trying to find someone nice to talk to is like getting pulling teeth, and Waaarg knows a thing or two about teeth. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with the people in Falkreath… they just seem really abrupt, like they’re angry with me or something.
In fact, if I didn’t know any better I’d say the people here are a little bit… racist? Nobody has come outright and said it, but I’m definitely getting the impression that there’re separate drinking fountains for Orcs in this town.
Even this goat is giving me stink-eye.
It seems that the goat was sacred, and its life is worth more than that of a human being (orc, whatever). Everyone in Falkreath is instantly hell-bent on putting more holes in me than a sieve. Within seconds, my health is down to about 10% and the next arrow has got ‘end of blog’ written all over it. It’s all the motivation I need to move at approximately the speed of sound towards the city limits.
So I do that. I turn and run.
Straight into a tree, which impedes my escape somewhat.
As I flail around in the shrubbery, a guard realizes I’m about as threatening as a mentally-impaired puppy and puts his bow away long enough to read me the riot act. “You have committed offences against Skyrim and her people,” he bellows. I want to contest the accuracy of that statement – I just tickled a goat with my sword – but before I can do this he demands to know what my defence is. I don’t have one.
I agree to pay the 45 gold bounty, and he informs me that they’ll take me to jail after they ‘confiscate any stolen goods’… woah Woah WOAH. Stolen goods? Oh what, just because I’m an Orc you think I’ve got a plasma TV stuffed under my iron breast plate? Sheesh! This has been a disastrous goat-based escapade, but at least it has helped me grow as a person. I now feel like I can relate to every black male who has been discriminated by the police. Seriously.
But the Man continues to put me down. Following my arrest, every citizen here mumbles trash talk at me when I walk past. “Strangers like you bring trouble”. “I can’t believe they let people like you walk around Skyrim”. “If you want a good deal on enchanted axes, head to Corpselight Farm.” I cannot believe the audacity of these people.
I’m resigned to the fact that I’m not welcome here, and as such I might as well move on but will bed down for the night and set off at first light.
And it’s in the Dead Man’s Drink inn which I find the only person in Falkreath which actually likes me. And she really likes me:
I get up early. I see that wounded goat wandering around town. I look around to make sure nobody is watching, stab it to death, then scurry out of Falkreath.
I’m keen to find somewhere more welcoming. Perhaps with my own people, in fact? Yeah, that might be a good idea – if intolerance rules the hearts of Skyrim’s people, maybe there is no better option than to go and live in harmony with my fellow Orc kind.