Content of the article: "The Epic Tragedy of Brenuin the Beggar"
Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…
No wait. Wrong story. This is not a story of a hero. This is a story about truth, about justice, about…
Ok, I'll be honest. This is the story of Brenuin the Beggar, and why I killed that smarmy son of a bitch in cold blood.
It all started on a sunny day in Whiterun. There I was, charging my way through the Cloud District, and Nazeem was nowhere to be seen.
Today, there was a spring in my step. I had recently returned the Bloodstone Chalice, and my soul mate from so many past lives (play-throughs) was by my side to stay – Serana was her name. I had just gotten done equipping her with seriously overpowered equipment so that she'd be useful in combat. It was a good day.
Suddenly, I ran into this disgusting beggar. His name was Brenuin. Normally, I wouldn't have time for his like, but I was feeling, shall we say, particularly charitable. I had just given a little girl the coin she requested, and magical balls of light were still swirling round my head when I heard him speak.
"I ain't done nothin'," he sneered.
Oridinarily, I'd have just kept going. But fate had other plans. I stopped and talked to him. Amused, I asked him if he was always drunk.
"Only if I can help it," he said. Then he asked a favor. "In the Bannered Mare, there's this bottle of Argonian Ale. The good stuff. Get it for me."
You know what, I thought, why not? Somewhere in Skyrim, at that very moment, a butterfly flapped its wings.
It was no trouble to get the bottle. It was just over in the Bannered Mare, and had this really convenient white arrow floating above it. I quickly switched into sneak mode, grabbed the ale, and no one knew. Then I found Brenuin again, and gave it to him. Poor alcoholic. He doesn't know any better, right? I shouldn't have. But I did. I gave a drunk a drink.
Sometime later – days, weeks, who can say? – I emerged from a dungeon, taking great gasps of the fresh, clean Skyrim air. Suddenly, I noticed that there were three dudes, all kitted out in full sets of Nordic Carved Armor, standing right in front of me. They hadn't reacted to my presence yet, but my hairs on my neck stood on end. I knew immediately, instinctively that something wasn't right.
Sure enough they attacked me. They were here to teach me a lesson. Well, needless to say, I mastered that particular lesson long ago, and the student had long since become the master. In a heartbeat, they lay dead at my feet, my fetching companion not even having an opportunity to lay a finger on them. Immediately, I checked their corpses. I knew one of them would have it.
The third one had it. A note labeled Contract. Slowly I read it. I couldn't believe what I was reading. At first I thought I had misread it, so I read it again. It was from none other than Brenuin. Brenuin the Beggar, the very same smarmy son of a bitch alcoholic I had given a drink to. He had hired these three thugs to teach me a lesson – for stealing. For stealing that bottle of ale I had stolen for HIM.
I willed myself inside the gate of Whiterun immediately. I had completely forgotten everything else I had intended to do. I was on a one track mind. WHERE IS HE???
I stormed about Whiterun, like the devil on the prowl. I was a vampire in his full power, saturated and swollen with the blood of many victims. My fury was barely contained beneath my armor.
Then, suddenly, I saw him. There he was, strutting along the Streets of Whiterun, whistling a tune. The rage exploded within me. I passed a guard, bumping into him along my way. I stalked right up to Brenuin, and without even so much as considering the guard five feet away, I drew my sword, and cut Brenuin to pieces.
The guard immediately turned hostile. He and several others became red dots in my vision. But I sheathed my sword and surrendered. In the corner of my eye, I saw Serana's necromancy just beginning to raise Brenuin off the ground.
I chose to pay my fine. I could have claimed a Thane's privilege, but no, I would be HAPPY to pay this fine. I would be HAPPY to own this murder and its consequences.
Upon release from the guard, I returned to the scene of the crime, where justice had had its day. Brenuin's body lay flat on the ground, but it was highlighted with blue-gray spots, and a strange, necromantic mist rose from it. Ha! A fitting end for that miserable bastard: trapped between death and undeath forever.
Then I looked at Serana and said, "Now let's kill that fucking Heimskr!"
She laughed exultantly, blood still dripping from her mouth. Apparently she had fed along the way somewhere. "And Nazeem!" she said, cackling with glee as we raced toward the shrine of Talos, standing erect before Dragonsreach.
"Yes, the Streets of Whiterun ran red with blood that day," sang the Bard, "That fateful day the Dragonborn came to town, dark vengeance in his heart."
The sellswords in the Bannered Mare applauded the Bard upon the completion of his tale. But little did they know, the Dragonborn would return later that very same day…his fetching companion by his side.
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