Was thinking about doing this in the middle of playing the other day, nothing serious or with a plot, an overall theme and ending in mind, just allowing the randomity of the game dictate what happens. The character is based off my own (which I have written ff about before) whose details will eventually be revealed. Enjoy.

Should probably keep track of the things I've done. Some incidents might come back to bite me later.

I forget what day it is half the time. Spending most of your time on the tundra does that.

I came to a house in the middle of nowhere, midday, no one around but a number of skeevers out front. Scavengers. They're below me on a short ridge and I am still as a snake. I carry two quivers for such occasions; you can never have enough arrows out in the fields. The animals are stupid, weak beasts and two of them take quartering shots before the others even react. I breathe in, release, breath out, nock, breath in, release, breath out. Five of them are dead as I make my way down to the home.

It is small, rustic, a farm house. Nothing of value growing outside.

Inside there is a fire going and two more skeevers which almost get the jump on me. I literally throw my bow at them to buy myself the time to pull daggers. One takes a blade through the skull and other bites down on my shin guard. I hold it down and sever its spinal cord while looking around.

There's a body on the only bed in the house. Decomposing already, must have been a few days. Gnawed on by the skeevers, filthy things. There's plenty of food and drink laying about. It's a bit morbid but I'm famished and I eat the dead man's food on his table before continuing. In front of the fire place and roasting spit are three bowls with cut up chicken in them...have I made a mistake? Were the skeevers not coming to take over the dead man's plot but his pets...? Awkward. At least he's dead. I would hate to have an angry pet owner come for me because I shot his vermin thinking they were pests.

The far right corner I sit in is cobwebbed, a mess, long before he died. I stoop to collect a few books but have already read them. For no reason in particular I put them back on the shelf. It grows late as I rest and I think I'll stay the night here.

Dragging the bodies outside by the door I lock up and rest. My limbs are weary and the fire place once again provides warmth for a weary traveler. Azura knows he won't be needing it anymore.

Morning. I do a more thorough search of the home and find little bits of gold, some useful garments which I pack away. To my dismay there are a few furs in the lone chest in the room (my primary source of crafting practice and tertiary source of gold) and a carefully folded boy's tunic. It is green, well creased, well worn. It hasn't been removed from the chest in a long time judging from how well the smell of furs has soaked into it. I find myself pitying this poor soul. Did he have a family once? Were the skeevers some kind of surrogate kin he took up to replace his deceased ones? I must think on this more. There is enough food for a few days of rest, I will have decided what to do about this place long before then. Will scout the area this morning and relax with some mead afterward. Mead, what a delightful invention. Certainly beats what passed for drink in Black Marsh.