Ker-clank!
Well, boys and girls, this is the end for old Alex. My wedding was canceled. My daughter hates me. They've closed the bars and thrown away the key. I'll rot in here for the rest of my days, no one will remember me. The chamber they've thrown me in is impossible to escape and certainly too small to grow out of, too deep underground. A hulking brute of a man is my only company. He walks toward my cell, staring down at me, disdain etched on his face.
"Now look what you've gotten yourself into. No worries, just sit tight. I'll find a release." Farkas says, eyes rolling. "What was that?"
Five warriors rush in from another room to surrounding Farkas. Their builds give them away, mighty and muscular, though none quite comparable to Farkas. Quite a mixed-race crew, though, three humans with an Orc and a Wood Elf. They should be the Silver Hand, werewolf hunters or something like that. They antagonize the Companions throughout their whole quest line, attempting to hunt down the Circle they know is tainted by beast blood.
"Which one is that?" A blond female Nord asks nervously.
"It doesn't matter; he wears that armor, he dies." The Orc growls, his teeth bared.
"Killing you will make for an excellent story." The Elf taunts from behind her drawn bow.
There's a pause as they wait for Farkas's response. He sighs before raising his head.
"None of you will be alive to tell it."
There's a rumbling growl deep inside Farkas as he begins the writhe, his already massive body expanding in all directions. Fur sprouts everywhere, overtaking his armor. It's surprisingly noisy; the only thing louder than the bassy growls are the sounds of his bones popping and stretching into place. When it stops, he takes a step and lets loose a roaring howl that shakes the dust off the ancient ceiling before launching onto the five would-be assailants.
We're supposed to be on a quest to retrieve a fragment of the mythical ax Wuthradd, a test to prove I'm honorable enough to join the Companions officially and not just a whelp. Which basically means no sneaking, no magic, and no running away. I'm not particularly worried about surviving the challenge since Farkas is with me. He's like a fuzzy Hulk, even when he's not a werewolf. I watch him leaning against the bars until I'm forced to leap back before one of the Silver Hand goons smashes into it at speed. Farkas's favorite sport is bitch tossing, and he's quite good at it; the Orc's body left a sizable dent in the gate.
Lucia and I had a small fight since I won't take her on a proper adventure like I did her mothers. She got jealous after Camilla and I raided an ivory poaching operation I was already very familiar with. Camilla was quite pleased with the small ivory hoard but even more impressed with the spell we found, Transmute. It turns iron into silver or gold, and possibly other metals, too, with some more study. My wedding was canceled, tis true, but it was for a good reason. The Gildergleams full revival has prompted a change of plans and we're going to have the ceremony here in Whiterun instead, so less of a cancelation and more of a reschedule. I was worried Nocturnal would have something to say on the matter but I haven't heard a peep from her since the contract was struck. Which just makes me worried to no end about the ceremony and the future. Then again, she could just not care about mortal marriages or perhaps a 'consort' means something different to a Deadric Prince. I can't stop my life waiting for her to bite me so I'll just pretend it doesn't matter until it does.
Farkas lets me know he's finished by grabbing the metal bars and pulling them open violently. I think I'm looking forward to becoming a werewolf.
-
It's a small ceremony behind the mead hall on the training ground. Nothing fancy but the whole of the Circle is present, shoulder to impressive shoulder. The rest of the Companions who are watching do so from the porch behind me, quietly for the most part.
"Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman has endured, has challenged, and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?" Kodlak says, adopting an air of gravitas.
Farkas takes a step forward. "I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us."
"Would you raise your shield in her defense?" Kodlak asks.
"I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us." He answers, sounding very practiced. They probably rehearsed this quite a bit.
"And would you raise your sword in her honor?"
"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."
"And would you raise a mug in her name?"
"I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories."
"Then the judgment of this Circle is complete." Kodlaks says, dropping the ceremonial tone for a more sentimental one. "Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, so the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."
"It shall be so." The Circle responds together.
Maybe it's the wall of imposing beef or the torchlight, but I can't help but feel… something. Pride maybe. I really didn't do a whole lot in Dustman's Carin, not compared to Farkas, but I have this weird sense of unearned accomplishment. As the Circle disperses, Alea walks past me and whispers, "Not a twig anymore, huh?". I take stock of myself and realize with a bit of a shock I'm now of a similar build to many of my compatriots. Everyone goes back to their business save for Kodlak, who stays behind to talk to me.
"Well lass, you're one of us. I trust you won't disappoint." He says pointedly.
"I hope not. I thought you should know hunters ambushed us inside the Carin. They are using the fragments as bait." I say.
"Those hunters have dogged us for some time but it seems they are becoming more bold as of late. I'll take care of it, don't you worry. But for now, you should enjoy yourself. This is a day to rejoice in your bravery. And speak to Eorlund for a better weapon than... whatever that is."
I know he means well, but I still feel a little insulted. My blade is a gift from a literal goddess, after all. I think it looks pretty cool it's the midnight black Gladius-style sword that Nightingales use, replete with a vampiric enchantment. I was quite confident with it at my side. It's not as powerful as my Chillrend blade, but come on, Chillrend is cheating. Still Skyforge steel is a bit of a status symbol and honor besides. I have something in mind that fits the bill.
"I was told to ask you for a weapon." I say to him.
"Yes, lass,". Eorlund replies, almost smiling. "you've been raised into the Companions, I hear. I can fashion whatever kind of weapon you want. Finest forge in Skyrim, right here before you."
"I'd like a battleaxe," I say. Just like my dusty ancient ax from before, its purpose will be the same; to impress and intimidate.
"Just like Ysgramor himself." He never looks up from the forge, but the ghost of a smile seems to creep across his face. It disappears quickly, making his stoic features harder.
"I wonder if you might do me the kindness of another favor."
-
It's not often that a legendary blacksmith and his family send you on a quest to rescue their lost son from Altmer Nazis, but when they do, I really think you should go all out. Grow a few stories tall, enchant your boots with some shrinking magic, and really go to town stomping those fuckers. Walk right up to their hidden fort prison and smash up the main gate to send a message. Then you should calmly walk to the back and drop a rock on their backdoor to trap them inside the courtyard. After that, you should hike a leg over their short wooden walls cuz you're not quite tall enough for the still-intact stone ones, but you're a determined giantess who won't let some short fence posts stop you from having a good time. Then just squish and smash Thalmor to your heart's content and revel in every inch of size you squeeze out of them. Don't forget to chase the survivors; you should easily be able to step over the wooden fence that's about shin height now. Catch all the survivors however you wish, but remember that voring them, while tempting to try, would probably give you a stomachache. Don't forget to take a break after all that hard work. There's no excuse since all the walls in the fort are chair-sized after that battle. Just be careful not to crush the structure too much; the term 'prison break' can be a little misleading to someone of your size and power. You'll sadly have to shrink down to safely extract your target, but before that, remember to smash all but one of the doors so you can kill every last Thamlor with peace of mind, knowing they can't escape.
And that's what I did.
Thorald is the spitting image of Eorlund, although much younger. He was apparently a high-profile prisoner, kept not in a cell but chained to the wall of the chief inquisitor's torture chamber. He refuses to wear any of the abundant Elven armor, but after some searching, we find the corpse of a bandit tribesman with some simple furs. It's good enough and the Elves do have a few normal steel weapons sourced from Skyrim. I'll have to remember to carry extra armor since I have the space for it now. Thorald must have been in there a long time because the first thing he does when we get outside is stare at the sky.
"I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me from this place." He says, tearing his eyes away from the atmosphere. "I suspect I'd never again see the light of day otherwise. But why would you risk your life for me, a stranger?"
"I got to be friends with your family. It's only natural they'd tell me about you eventually, so here I am. Stuff like this is kind of my job." I say, surprised at how natural it feels to admit being an adventurer these days.
"Of course. I should've known. Is Avulstein alright? I was worried he might join me here sooner or later." Thorald says worriedly.
"He's fine. He's still in Whiterun waiting for you."
"A wise decision, but I fear he may not be safe there anymore. They'll go looking for me, and Whiterun will be the first place they search." He says.
"How were you captured? Avulstein is afraid of even leaving the house. I thought Balgruff was neutral in the war." I ask, curious.
"The Imperials ambushed me outside of Whiterun, I think thanks in part to our clan enemies the Battle-Borns. They support the Imperials as much as the Grey-Manes support the Stormcloaks. Since Jarl Balgruff only stops Stormcloaks from operating in the Hold, it was easy for the Imperials to catch me outside the city. I was foolish for believing I was safe in Whitrun. We've long feared Balgruff is only pretending to be neutral to stave off Ulfic's fury."
"Got it." I say with a nod. "But why did the Thalmor want you? They can't want every Stormcloak that the Imperials catch."
"I'm not sure. At first, they accused me of being a Stormcloak, a secret Talos worshipper but that didn't really make sense." Thorald says, slightly confused. "I think they just wanted a confession. To what didn't matter, they simply wanted me to admit to something. I think they wanted to break me. Use me as a way to get to the rest of the Gray-Mane family. I gave them no such pleasure."
They're probably after the Skyforge. The Thalmor don't care about the Stormcloaks, not right now at least, so the only other thing the Grey-Manes have worth anything is the forge. Given that it was here before men came to Tamriel, it's most likely of some ancient Elvish design; either Snow or Ayleid. They may feel they have some kind of ancestral claim to it. It does have a giant eagle overshadowing it, which is the symbol of the Dominion, so they might be partially right.
"I cannot stay." He says while I think. "Not here, not in Whiterun. It likely won't be safe for Avulstein, either. Our best hope now is to fall in within the ranks of the Stormcloaks."
"Ah, yeah… if you wanna go, that's fine. I just need a moment to clear the place out of all this valuable loot. My wife's a merchant but she'd slay me faster than any warrior if she knew I left a small hoard of Elvish goods unplundered."
-
I couldn't convince Thorald to take a small detour to Markarth or Solitude for a carriage ride (who's honestly gonna recognize him?) so we slogged it through the wilds of northern Haafingar for quite a while. As much as I think I can trust Thorald, I don't know him well enough to trust him with my big secret. That and the path to Whiterun from this angle is fairly devoid of the cover necessary to hide my movements. Luckily, we managed to sync up with a carriage in Rorikstead, and I convinced him to take it. The hamlet had healed nicely but its inhabitants were in a somber mood, mourning the passing of someone important to them. A black dragon had come and killed their giantess protector.
We arrive in Whiterun the next day, and I say goodbye to Thorald. I don't stay long, just enough to squeeze my family and drop off some of my Elven hoard. The rest I'll deliver to Lucan on my way to Winterhold, per Camilla's instructions.
-
One of the benefits to being really tall is you walk much faster. I'd imagine my gigantic excursions through Skyrim may have already generated rumors, but the path to Winterhold has much better terrain for concealment, so maybe not just yet. This particular trek is just a one-off to check on the College expedition in Saarthal. I suspect that the cold snap that was hindering it earlier was generated by the dragon I defeated not too long ago. They'll probably have cleaned it up by now. I really want to get ahead of the curve the way I have previously, but to do that I'll need to be involved in discovering the Eye of Magnus in Saarthal. Without the fame that'll come with it I'll likely be ignored by senior College staff and be unable to steer the investigation in my favor. If worse comes to worse, I can always kill Ancano and be done with it.
Magnus was the supreme architect of Nirn who abandoned the project partway after realizing he had been tricked into sacrificing his being into the world, his departure punching a literal hole in the sky, creating the "sun" that exists in this world. It functions as a rough portal to Atherieaus, a magical super realm of the gods. The light that pours through is Magikca that leaks from that realm. The Eye is definitely related to him, not sure how (it could actually be his eyeball, idk) but what's really important is that it's still tapped into that original power of creation Magnus was known for. Ancano, Thalmor posing as an advisor for the College, attempts to hijack the Eye for his own ends. I'm kinda on a kill streak with High Elves, so he doesn't really scare me, but I don't know what will happen if I deal with him early. In the game, some super monks magic it away at the end of the questline for safekeeping. I don't know why they don't just do that from the beginning, but I am worried that they might not show up if I deal with the threat too quickly. It might accidentally pave the way for something else to happen with the Eye I can't predict.
As I guessed, Saarthal has been cleaned up significantly since my last visit. There's no one on the outside of the site so I let myself in. It's another old Nord ruin, differentiated only by the mage's excavation and study. I head further inside only to find absolutely no one, though I can't yet tell if that's good or bad. It's definitely spooky. I step gingerly along, illuminating the space with the white light from Candlelight, trying to find the end of the expedition and the beginning of the unexplored Saarthal.
My heart sinks when I discover there might not be an unexplored part; the seal that separated it has been broken and in its place, a dark hole. I could just turn back and ask my fellows at the College, but I know that further exploration will probably yield a more thorough answer. I step quietly for a while but soon I find I needn't have bothered; slain draugr litter the ground in front of me. I find myself wishing they were okay for once. I sidestep a few old traps and find my greatest fear. Nothing. They already found the Eye. The socket it hovered above is bereft of its once large glowing contents. The only sign that it was once there is the alien material it once hovered above. A figure steps from the shadows in front of me, making me jump to defend myself, but the voice is familiar. A tabby Khajiit dressed in mage's robes steps forward, a cat person I am well acquainted with.
"Can you…. Can you possibly help J'zargo?"
-
J'zargo can hardly believe his luck. J'zargo not only found someone who would help him but a powerful someone as well. A fellow mage from the College who found J'zargo while he was contemplating on how best to save his friends from their own mistakes. J'zargo was definitely not hiding. When J'zargo found the Orb here, it was mostly thanks to J'zargo's brilliance, but the others were also in the vicinity. That is why they were chosen to accompany J'zargo on a mission to retrieve stolen research materials pertaining to Saarthal and its mysterious Orb. But the others were not as good as J'zargo, and so were captured by the same mages who stole the books.
J'zargo believes that he alone would have been more than enough to take on this den of would-be mages but did not want to risk the lives of his fellows on the off chance he was mistaken. The one called Alex would at least have served as a distraction should things have taken a turn. When we approached their lair, a ruined fort with the name of Fellglow, I was surprised when my new companion pulled out a bow. Before I had time to question if she was truly a mage from the College, she shot one of their sentries through the head. J'zargo then felt it an inappropriate time to question her authenticity. She also wore a strange black armor J'zargo was very taken by, but she was unwilling to reveal to J'zargo how she acquired it.
J'zargo was right not to question his newest and best friend as she, with my help of course, picked apart this would-be college with a variety of strategies and techniques unknown as of yet to J'zargo. The most interesting of such happened when Alex released a small hoard of vampires against their foolish captors. J'zargo has never seen so much blood. In no time at all, we had rescued our friends and slain their Arch-Mage to recover the books.
J'zargo is overall pleased but can't help but feel he has been overshadowed somewhat in this latest venture. But J'zargo knows this was not Alex's fault in particular and believes her to be too valuable a friend to waste time on such grievances. J'zargo is a good and prudent friend and as such has already forgotten them.
-
The Eye of Magnus is as terribly beautiful as I'd imagine it would be in person. A floating orb comprised of some turquois, frankly alien-looking material with curved geometries fitting together like a three-dimensional puzzle with sharp edges, if you could pull it apart that is. I, along with a small number of fellows are here in the Hall of the Elements, studying its features. The hall is more of a circular auditorium than a hall, but that helps the Eye fit geometrically in the center. I note with no small amount of pride that my chest is no longer the smallest in most rooms by default anymore, a thought that unconsciously makes me push them out a little further nowadays. Never thought I'd take pride in my tits, but here we are.
"Good to see Skyrim has such fine young people." the voice of an elderly but spry voice says behind me.
"I don't know about that, sir I haven't done anything that hasn't benefited myself since I got here." I answer Tolfdir.
Tolfdir is in charge of new apprentices for this year. Another spry old man that Skyrim seems to be full of; he's by far my favorite. Esbern and the Greybeards are a bit too formal, their personalities moth-eaten a bit by their harsher dogma. Tolfdir may have some memory problems, but he's a genuine master of the arcane who has somehow kept a positive attitude, particularly toward magic and learning. And his students.
"Nonsense. You, along with your fellow apprentices, have helped make some of the most exciting discoveries ever made at the College. I've re-read 'Night of Tears' since you all recovered it, and if it's even remotely accurate, then this Orb may be responsible for the downfall of the Falmer before they live in caves. Whatever this is, its beauty is like nothing I've ever seen before. If you allow me to indulge myself for a moment, I thought I might make a few observations..." he says, circling the focal point, a shallow well that pools arcane energies. "I'm sure you've already noticed the markings. They're quite unlike anything we've seen before. Ayleid, Dwemer, Daedric... Not even Falmer. None of them are a match. Quite curious indeed…"
"Have you tried Aedric?" I offer. It's not my idea, I don't even remember where I read the theory, but it's been bouncing around uselessly in my brain until now.
"Aedric? I'd have to double check but I don't think such writings exist… what you're suggesting is that this writing pre-dates the Merethic Era. Still, it's a curious idea. I'll have to bring it up to Arch-Mage Aren later. For now-"
"Pardon me, but has anyone seen Ancano? He seems to have gone missing." Nyria interjects, chest swaying as she approaches.
"What? Ah no, can't say that I have. He's supposed to be an advisor to the Arch-Mage, have you tried there?" Tolfdir replies.
"Yes, I have. He seems to have vanished." She says, crossing her arms under her bust.
"Well, perhaps his duties as a Thalmor agent pulled him away? I wouldn't worry too much, dear."
"Yes, perhaps." Nyria says thoughtfully. As Tolfdir turns his attention back to the Eye, she steps close to me in a hushed tone, pressing her massive chest into mine. "I see that you continue to grow here. Keep up the good work, and let me know if you find anything interesting, especially about this Eye of Magnus. You owe me, remember? I'll make it worth your while~" She says with a wink before walking off, breasts just as visible from the back as the front.
It was me, I ate Ancano. Or rather, shrunk him quietly in his sleep. Seeing that events had moved forward without me I decided to deal with him almost as soon as I returned to the College. It should buy me time, at least for my wedding, but the problem remains that we still have a massively powerful pre-historic artifact floating around in the world's most famous community college. It's just not safe here. Most of the mages here are nerds, wildly powerful nerds, but nerds to their core, interested only in their nerdy pursuits. Their survival beyond the long ages of Shalidor is due in part to their constant neutrality and the undisputed fact no great power wants much to do with northern Skyrim, generally speaking. Now we've got a giant beacon just radiating Magicka waiting to be pillaged. This place isn't Hogwarts either; as far as I can tell, there are no magical defenses in place whatsoever beyond any personal wards an individual mage might use.
The Eye is supposed to be carried off by those stupid super monks, but no one's seen hide nor hair of them from what I can tell. They should have come in a vision to one of the apprentices who broke the seal but none of them admit to anything like that happening. At this point in the story, one of them should even visit the College to call on their chosen agent, but nothing's happened yet. That could mean either the monks are too busy to bother or they are wary of making direct contact, likely because of me and my actions. Which means I may very well have to work out a solution on my own.
-
I've done all the research I can do without risking missing my wedding, which is to say I've spent a shit ton of time in the Arcanium reading. Ancanos's absence was noted but he was not particularly missed, as all eyes are on the Eye for now. I've also managed to secure some magical undergarments to store my junk, connected via enchantment to my inventory. It feels a little strange, but its not unpleasant, especially compared to stuffing my junk in ever tighter armor. My shlong's grown to at least a solid foot with two apples hanging underneath. The armor rune only adjusts so much. I've already made basic modifications to my Blade armor for my bust, and I'll need to do the same soon from my Dwarven set. The Nightingale armor seems relatively immune to this problem, delightfully form-fitting, if a little stimulating. Most mages, male and female, prefer to do without such garments and instead allow their orbs to hang freely, partly for display, partly for comfort, but mostly because they might forget and stash something dangerous next to their sensitive bits.
There's only one more person I could talk to about the Eye, but I'm not really ready to meet him yet. He's likely not to tell me anything useful if I ask the wrong questions. I'll wait a bit before tapping him and all my thoughts to condense. For now I've already taken steps to contain the Eye should it become necessary by stealing a certain key from the Arch-Mages quarters. Normally I'd be deathly afraid of stealing from the number one wizard, but Aren is not exactly Dumbledore. I don't have time to visit the ruins it corresponds to, but I will come for it soon. My recent fame, thanks to my grateful fellow apprentices, has granted me access to the College's teleportation system. It allows for transportation in and out of the major Holds to the College, which is great. I'm even thinking of bringing the family up for a visit after the wedding before fall starts getting cold, since I won't have to worry about their safety.
The system works via a series of corresponding orbs that consume a soul gem upon activation; the size of the gem varies based on the distance you need to travel. Whiterun just needs a lesser soul gem, though I have a feeling I might break the market for them with all the visits I'll be doing soon. I place the gem in the receptacle next to the correct orb, and before I can blink find myself somewhere different. The smell of lavender, hay, and smoke hits my nose; as well as a subtle hint of vanilla that comes only from the Gildergleam. I make my way out from a hidden nook by the Skyforge baths and make my way to my home.
"Papa!" Lucia says excitedly when she sees me. I pick her up in a big hug. She's grown a bit since last we bought her clothes, but before I can comment on it she accuses me of something similar.
"You're home! Did you get bigger again?" She says, prodding my chest.
"A bit. You've gotten bigger too. And are those muscles?" I say, squishing her tiny bicep.
"Uh hun, mama Lydia's been training me so I can go with you on your adventures." She says, flexing her adorable might.
"And where are your mothers now?"
"They went to the market. I'm supposed to be studying right now." She says glumly.
"That's a good thing." I say, patting her on the head. "You need to study so you can read these spell books I brought for you."
"Really?!"
"Yes, really, but you need to be able to understand them yourself. Your mothers would never forgive me if you blew yourself up trying to light a candle." I reply seriously.
"Right."
"I'll be visiting Jorrvaskr for a while, but I should be home for supper. If you're good I'll sneak us some rolls while I'm there."
"Yes!" she says while pumping her fist. "Hurry back!"
I leave, having barely just returned. Sweetrolls are a bit hard to make anyway without the right equipment, and Jorrvaskr has the best rolls anyway. I've neglected them a little, so I'll need to check up on the Companions, maybe pick up a job, and say hi to a few people while I'm there. I should also check to make sure everything went alright with Thorald. Fralia, Eorlunds wife and Thoralds mother, should be in the market square this time of day, and maybe I'll spot my brides-to-be while I'm at it.
"Shiny trinkets for your good lady! All crafted by the great Eorlund Gray-Mane himself!"
"Hello miss Fralia. How is everyone?" I say, stepping up to her stall.
"Oh, it's you. Thank you so much for all you've done. Thorald came back some nights ago singing your praises. They've already left, him and his brother Avulstein both. I just hope they'll be safe as Stormcloaks now. Safer than bein' a citizen of Whiterun, that's for sure. But you don't need to worry about all that dear. You should have a gift waiting at home for you. I sent it with your two wives not long ago. I was sure surprised when I discovered you three were related, but fate has a funny way of working out. I hope you enjoy your gift, I know I did."
"I'm sure I will. Take care of yourself, okay?"
"You too, dear. Come visit me with that little girl of yours sometime, I've got something for her when she comes round next."
"How can I say no to that?'
I don't find my girls in the market after my conversation so I press on to the mead hall. I'm not particularly worried about missing them, Whiterun is much bigger than it was in-game; missing people is normal in a large city. The Gildergleam is lush and beautiful but I notice that a few leaves are starting to turn for fall. Apparently, even a magical tree yields to a Skyrim winter. Camilla had the idea to get married just as the turning leaves mix with the last of the blossoms. Lydia and I agreed as it sounded wonderful. As I turn right, I see Alea waiting for me on the steps to Jorrvaskr.
"I thought you might be around. Skjor wants to see you. He's got something planned for you."
"Got it." I say with a thumbs up.
This must be where they plan to turn me into a werewolf and I am excited~ Sure, going giant is great and all, but I can't really use it indoors much. That and the ability to absolutely cut loose is fantastic. Don't get me wrong, I'm getting better at killing people all the time, but it's so much brain-thinky work. Block that swing, summon this Daedra, always watch your footing and on and on the concerns of mortal combat go. Sometimes you just wanna fuck people up, cause a few fatalities without stressing about logistics, which you can do when you can tear a person in half barehanded. Skjor is waiting for me on the porch.
"Yes, we have something a little different planned for you this time. But it's not for everyone to hear. Meet me at the Underforge tomorrow night. We'll speak there." He says cryptically, motioning me to move on.
I bounce around the hall to see a few friends and chat a bit before absconding with an ax and a few Sweetrolls.