The Cyrodiil Look: Cahmel’s New Travels (Let’s Play Oblivion, Part 18)

When we last left our dedicated hero, he was waddling around in Bravil trying to find something in this crapsack village worth doing. See, on the surface, this is the most singularly low-rent and gobsmackingly hideous place I’ve stuck my nose in since Mournhold, but on the other hand, it has about enough quests to distract a puppy while you put a pill in its food dish. Rarely has anything been this useless while looking this ugly.

As much out of boredom as anything else, I rob the Fighter’s Guild, which yields a couple of potatoes and a display breastplate that’s somehow worth less than my actual shirt. Even the Fighter’s Guild out here is depressingly poor. What gives? Is there some sort of terrible violence famine, or have all the beasties wandered off to more pleasant climates? Either way, this is pretty ridiculous.

I wander over to the blacksmith to indulge in my favorite hobby, punting things across the room and then snatching them before the shopkeeper’s reptile brain has caught up. Never gets old, often profitable. Except it’s not a proper blacksmith, it’s a bowyer place called “The Archer’s Paradox.” Archer’s Paradox, huh? That sounds like a fascinating hipster koan that you thought was so damn clever that you named your store after it just so you’d have an excuse to bore all your customers explaining it, totally unsolicited. Am I wrong?

I am not wrong.

Except that’s not a paradox, is it. At best it’s a thorny engineering problem, and at worst, it’s a bit of execrable stoner philosophy that you should be slapped for repeating stone sober. If this bullsponkey is wisdom, let’s look at some other thought-provoking examples!

The Chef’s Paradox: because the perfect dish is the one that feeds an infinite amount of people, and that’s impossible.

Cahmel’s Paradox; because the perfect country is the one that pays people for streaking, and that’s improbable.

The Archer’s Paradox Paradox: because the perfect Archer’s Paradox is one that’s actually a paradox, and that would be a paradox.

How about the inn? Anything touristy to do in there? Oh, hey, check it out, some guy’s doing caricatures! Oh, no, that’s just the staff.

Tell you what, spanky, you hear any good scuttlebutt? Somebody’s house get raided by goblins? Somebody’s horse develop communist sympathies? Somebody just sort of pissing everybody off until they’re like “What the hell,” and finally they just got to do something about it before they blow up? Look, let me break this down for you: do you have a lead on any violence?

No, but somebody’s husband apparently vanished. I’ll stick a pin in that one, but I feel like I want to get into something a little more on the murder side of the street. Those tombs have whetted my appetite for singularly unsportsmanlike conduct; besides, around here it seems like the only respectable work is the kind that involves the butchering of at least three or four sapient races.

And hey, speaking of murder, Random Hobo #24 hit me with some interesting advice.

The Dark Brotherhood? Where have I heard that name before? Oh, that’s right, the terrifying shadow organization everyone’s absolutely terrified of. It’s not like the Thieves’ Guild, where the whole operation is one slick PR guy and a couple billboards away from least-subtle organization ever founded. People in the DB don’t wander around metropolitan areas shouting at other members all, “Hello, fellow money-killer! How is the going of the killing for money?” No, they’ve got the sense they were born with. And hey, unlike the Guild, they recruit based on actual aptitude for their core skill.

So, question is, should I join? On the one hand, morals. On the other hand, something to do on weekends. Yeah, tell you what, I’ll only stick with the brutal and inscrutable assassination squad up until Bravil buys a scrabble board.