Really I just wanted to share a delightful tale from Skyrim with someone, but feel free to throw your own in! I know it's long but it'll only take like 3 minutes of your time to read.

Our tale begins with me merrily wandering a snowy forest on some inane errand or somesuch thing. There is a very thick snowstorm and visibility is difficult, but through the swirling snow I spy a figure standing there - and whoever it is has not seen me. Now, with bandits, necromancers and all manner of unfriendly fellows roaming the wilds of Skyrim, normally I operate a "shoot first, discover their identity from their corpse" policy. This has led to a few... tragedies, lately, with innocent travellers or peddlers having fiery death rained down upon them for no apparent reason, and I decided I would discover this person's identity first.

Now, I'm pretty good at Sneaking. Actually, that's an understatement... I am smurfing amazing at Sneaking. I am Solid Snake wearing active camo. I can be crouching next to you and you can't actually see me. So I sneak up and identify who this person is... their name is "Thief". Now... another thing I am particularly good at is picking people's pockets, and as Mr Thief still hasn't noticed me despite my face literally being an inch away from his ass, I decide it would be a little bit ironic to steal from him. So I do. I steal... everything. I mean it. His knives? Mine. His boots? I'll have those. His clothes? Thank you very much. Picture, if you will, a bald man wearing only his underpants standing in the middle of a blizzard, cheerfully minding his own business. I thought then that it would only be polite to say hello and introduce myself after his kind donations.

He wasn't as friendly as you might expect. Now, I wear full Daedric Plate. I look like an ungodly demon from Hell. Of all the people you would want to try to hold up, I think I wouldn't be very high on that list. Conversely, though, I am probably the richest person in all of Skyrim, and this guy has been standing out in the middle of a snowy forest all day and I'm probably the first person he's seen, so I have to respect his dedication to his craft when he gives me the choice of my money or my life.

Admiring his pluck, I choose neither and instead just walk away. Again, I have to give credit where credit is due, he followed through with his threats against my life. Well... sort of. He doesn't have any armour or weapons so he stands there sheepishly looking at me for a few seconds, not sure of what to do. And then it hits him! Or rather, he hits me, and he launches a right hook into my face. Now, if you've seen the picture of my armour, you'll probably guess how much damage his little fist did to me. I think it did negative damage and I actually gained hit points.

"Well, that was amusing!" I thought, and wandered off. And the Thief decided to follow me. So off we went - he was the Sam to my Frodo! Well, if Sam was a naked bald man repeatedly hurling insults at Frodo while punching him in the back of the head. And Frodo was a demonic death God with the power to destroy the very fabric of reality. Actually, now that I think about it, it was nothing like Frodo and Sam, excluding the homosexual subtext of course. With the Thief, who I named George, in tow, I had many adventures. I climbed mountains, I forded streams, I found treasure. As I crouched down to pick some rare herbs, WHAM, another blow rained down on the back of my skull, we both laughed (well, I did, he yelled out "It'll be so much easier to rob you when you're dead!") and carried on.

He's quite the conversationalist, as it turns out.
"I'll have your head!" screams George.
"That's nice, George, it's good to have a goal, I guess. Do you want to help me pick mushrooms?" I say to my TV.
"Just die already so I can take your stuff!" he responds gruffly, swinging a fist at my face.
"Well, if you wanted the mushrooms that bad you could stop punching me for a second and help me. My skull will still be there when we're done."

There almost seemed to be a breakthrough at one point. A deer breaks into a clearing in the woods, and George chases after it and punches it (it seemed about as bothered as I am) and I notch an arrow and fire it into the beast's skull. "You're dead! Dead!" yells George, triumphantly, and I felt so close to him in that moment. Then he had to go and ruin it all when night fell and a wonderous sight appeared in the sky.

"Look George, the Northern Lights!" I cheerily called out.
"Never should have come here!" he snarled, aiming a blow at my ribs.
"Well, look George, I'm trying to take you out and show you the world so you could at least be a little bit grateful." I said - his words had very much hurt me.

It was then, at that moment, a dragon burst down from the sky and blasted us both in the face with its deadly frost breath. George, being a naked bald man, was destroyed instantly, and I felt sick - his death was bad enough, but that our relationship had ended on such a sour note... I couldn't take it. Let me tell you, I murdered the smurf out of that bastard dragon.