There's a goat lying dead, looking suspiciously not chargrilled despite the flaming fireball I hurled seconds earlier. Perhaps I'm not as strong a warmage as I believed. Anyhow, I killed a goat. Big deal. What's the worst that can happen?
A patrolling guard runs up the hill and declares he's going to arrest me.
A patrolling guard runs up the hill and declares he's going to arrest me.
"You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you?"
You have got to be kidding me. Well, I can either go to jail, pay an extortionate fine or put up a fight.
Sorry, I don't feel like jail and I've got to rush home to make this fashionable traveling bag. I grab the animal's dead hide and make a dash for the horse, arrows whizzing past my head as I run. Hi ho silver!
I have become an enemy of the goats. Gods help me.
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