In the last entry, Nordrick was faced with a question we’ve all struggled with at one point in our lives: “Should I marry a filthy homeless man?” After a great amount of heated internal debate, hours upon hours of soul-searching, and the thoughtful splitting of many cords of wood, I have finally reached a decision. I’m not going to marry Angrenor Once-Honored.
It all boils down to this: deep inside his thick, ugly head, Nordrick has a dream: a place to call home. Angrenor Once-Honored can give me a lot: companionship, happiness, comfort, a variety of social diseases brought on by unprotected hobosex in an unsanitary public thoroughfare… but he can’t give me a home. And so, I have to turn my back on the one man to ever love me. I’m off to Whiterun.
Before I leave, though, I feel like I should try to do something for poor Angrenor, who walks endlessly through the frigid, snowy streets of Windhelm without a penny to his name or a pair of sleeves to his, uh, arms. I buy some fine clothes and boots at the general store, and drop them in his path, hoping he’ll pick them up. He sees this, and runs over to ask if he can have them. Aw. He’s so nice, you guys! I give him permission and he picks them up, though I’m a little disappointed that he doesn’t actually put them on. I was hoping to leave Windhelm with the image of Angrenor strutting about in some classy duds. Alas.
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