* INIGO Introduction :)

Who is Inigo?

Inigo is a fully voiced khajiit adventuring companion with thousands of lines of unique dialogue. He's essential. He’ll level alongside you. He’ll avoid most traps. If you’re sneaking he won’t chatter. If you talk to him while sneaking he’ll whisper. He can run out of arrows. He’s highly skilled in archery, one-handed, and sneak. He has unique, random combat dialogue for most enemies. Your morality is his morality. He tells stories, sings, and is influenced by your time together.

PLEASE NOTE: Although Smartbluecat is a member on this forum, he would GREATLY appreciate it if you could please report any issues you have with Inigo

on the relevant Oldrim/SE Nexus 'Posts' pages (after carefully checking the FAQ first). You will find support there. Redirect links below.

Issues reported via pm will possibly go unanswered due to how EXCEPTIONALLY busy he is.

The more people who don't read the documentation and ask SBC to personally solve their issues, the longer V3 will take ;)

Thank you all for your co-operation. :)

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Colin's Clips! / INIGO in FLAMES
« Last post by Colin Burton on Yesterday at 18:12:11 »
Colin's Clips! / Inigo & the Mammoth
« Last post by Colin Burton on Yesterday at 17:12:43 »
Branded With Fire, by Onichu / Chapter 51
« Last post by Onichu on Yesterday at 01:12:54 »
     “Mama, when can we go play in the river again?”
     “Not with all those soldiers all over the hold. Their horses can't see you, you know.”
     “I know, but...”
     “And you'll be trampled to death!”
     “No way. I'm quick!”
     “Well why don't you be quick about finding my book that you lost?”
     Trystan woke to the sound of Iddra trying to get a handle on her difficult son. Aside from Kjeld the Younger, Kynesgrove was a pleasant little place. Iddra had a good head on her shoulders, while Roggi was such a jolly old fellow.
     But alas, Trystan could not stay there for long, so he, Inigo, and Serana head out that very morning. The roars of a dragon greeted them from the volcanic tundra. Seeing the creature as another potential threat to Kynesgrove (given the two dragons that caused trouble there the night before), the group decided to put an end to it.
     And so it was that Trystan, Inigo, and Serana did battle with the fearsome creature at the base of a tall, jagged hill. Similarly to Sahloknir, this dragon did not last long against the group—especially given the fact that Trystan’s power was greatly augmented by the Staff of Magnus.
     Atop the hill, they found yet another Word Wall. The all-too-familiar rush of ancient knowledge filled Trystan’s mind as he approached the glowing runes; with the help of the dragon’s soul, Trystan learned the first word of Frost Breath!
. . . . .
     Trystan stood in the center of High Hrothgar’s main hall, Inigo and Serana standing some distance away. Surrounding him were the Greybeards; now that Trystan had passed the last of their trials, they deemed him worthy of their formal greeting.
     Waves of raw power battered Trystan as the Greybeards all spoke at once—it was all he could do to stay on his feet. The walls threatened to collapse; the fires threatened to go out. But as the last word was spoken, the braziers remained lit; the walls remained strong; and Trystan and his friends all remained unharmed.
     “Dovahkiin,” Arngeir addressed him. “You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you.”
. . . . .
     “Seeing the strength of King Wulfharth, Orkey summoned the ghost of Alduin Time-Eater again,” Trystan read aloud. Following the Greybeards’ formal greeting, Trystan found himself in High Hrothgar’s library. The book he was reading was titled The Five Songs of King Wulfharth; it gave the gist of the songs the Nords had written to honor this ancient king, and it enabled Trystan to make sense of things he had before been exposed to.
     As Trystan read that one sentence, Sahloknir’s first words upon resurrection rang in his mind: “Alduin, thuri!” So it’s Alduin the Time-Eater who is raising these dragons, Trystan realized. Straight out of Nordic legend! But then how did he come back himself?
     Without any immediate answer to this question, Trystan put it out of his mind. Upon further exploration, the three of them found that the library doubled as a living quarters for students of the Way of the Voice. The basic commodities were to be found—bed, chairs, washbasin—and a statue of Talos in a combat stance stood at the far end of one of the rooms.
     But, as Trystan found out, the library was not so much a library as a space for meditation. As he stepped into the largest room there, a feeling of supreme peace filled him; hawks flew in slow motion around him, and a statue of Kynareth covered the far wall. Between the statue and one of the meditation mats, Trystan found a book filled with notes; it was written by one Hodir Thunder-fang, and this monk noted how, just like in Cyrodiilic, words in the dragon tongue can have many meanings—in this case, meanings that can lead to entirely different effects! Therefore, through a combination of meditation and experimentation, Hodir had discovered and written down a number of Shouts that make use of these alternate meanings.
     Trystan was intrigued by this, and he knew that some meditation would do him good besides. Therefore, he rooted around in the nearby wardrobes until he found a set of robes that suited him, then went over to the mat to kneel.
     He knelt there for what felt like an age, letting peace fill his mind, letting his thoughts flee from it. The moment before he felt he had meditated long enough, however, a deluge of knowledge and understanding forced its way in.
     Shakily, Trystan got to his feet; Serana, who had been standing close by, immediately steadied him and helped him to one of the stone benches. Trystan felt... strange, as if he had repeated his experience inside the Ancestor Glade. So much knowledge all at once... And yet it was only a mere fraction of the knowledge Kynareth could grant him. Though She spoke no words to him, Trystan knew what he had to do to earn Her trust—to make Her trust him with further insights concerning the Thu’um.
     He sat there for the better part of an hour, reflecting and resting. Finally, he stood up, saying, “Well, I suppose we should get going. Delphine might have had some insights of her own by now.”
Branded With Fire, by Onichu / Chapter 50
« Last post by Onichu on Fri, 08 Dec 2017 - 17:33:18 »
     “So you really are...”
     Sahloknir’s soul rushed into Trystan following the brief fight, proving to Delphine that he was indeed the Dragonborn she had been seeking. As promised, she answered without restraint the questions that Trystan had on his mind; from this, Trystan and his friends learned that Delphine was one of the last surviving Blades.
     But when he told Delphine about how the dragon that resurrected Sahloknir was the same one that attacked Helgen, she cursed. “We’re blundering around in the dark here! We need to figure out who’s behind it all!”
     “Who? Shouldn’t you be asking what?” Trystan immediately retorted, incredulous. “Unless you’re talking about a god or something, I don’t see how a being with a personified identity could be doing this.”
     “Um, Trystan...” Inigo whispered worriedly.
     Trystan caught himself before he could gather much more steam. “Sorry. So, um, what’s our next move?”
     “The first thing we need to do is figure out who's behind the dragons,” came Delphine’s reply (Again?! Trystan thought impatiently). “The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is.”
     Trystan drew a long, deep breath and let it out slowly to calm his sheer irritation somewhat, to keep himself from exploding. She’s looking at this the wrong way, he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, “Okay, look, Delphine. I have no love for the Thalmor myself, but what in Oblivion makes you think they are the ones bringing the dragons back?”
     “Nothing solid. Yet. But my gut tells me it can't be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?”
     “The Thalmor may just be the scavengers here,” Trystan pointed out. “They let these ‘outside events’ happen without causing any of them; the Thalmor sit on the sidelines like vultures, watching the combatants tear each other apart without interfering themselves; then—and only then—the Thalmor take real action and pick apart the remains.”
     “But,” Trystan relented, “let’s suppose the Thalmor at least know something about the dragons. How do we find out?”
     Relieved that the Dragonborn had finally become more cooperative, Delphine replied a tad excitedly, “If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy... it's the center of their operations in Skyrim...” But then, she grew uncertain. “Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia...”
     Trystan chuckled grimly. “I see... So, the Thalmor Embassy it is. How do we get in?”
     “I'm not sure yet,” came Delphine’s reply. “I have a few ideas, but I'll need some time to pull things together... Meet me back in Riverwood. If I'm not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn't be long.”
     Then, before she started back down the hill, Delphine warned Trystan and his companions: “Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse.”
     Once Delphine was out of earshot, Inigo remarked, “If I were a dragon, you would terrify me. Anyway, Delphine is a Blade, eh? She does not seem that sharp to me.”
     Trystan could not agree more.
Branded With Fire, by Onichu / Chapter 49
« Last post by Onichu on Fri, 08 Dec 2017 - 16:55:11 »
     Inigo grumbled all the way back to Ustengrav’s entrance. He, Trystan, and Serana had ventured inside that Nordic ruin to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller for the Greybeards, but to no avail. All they found was a note, which said to meet the anonymous writer in Riverwood.
     Trystan was tempted to tell Inigo that it was not all a waste of time (given the Word of Power and all the other loot inside Ustengrav), but he decided against it; Inigo had made it clear time and time again that he hates the undead with a most fearful passion—every venture involving draugr was a living nightmare for him.
     Perhaps I should have let Inigo have at it with those spiders instead of incinerating them myself, Trystan thought. That might have cheered him up more...
. . . . .
     “So, why are you looking for a Dragonborn?” Trystan asked the deceptively harmless innkeeper across from him in the Sleeping Giant’s secret basement.
     “We remember what most don't—that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul,” Delphine replied. “Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?”
     “I can, and I have on multiple occasions.”
     “Good. And you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough.”
     This last statement gave Trystan pause, and he wondered what exactly Delphine had in mind. After a moment, he broke out of his reverie. “Okay, Delphine. What’s the part you’re not telling me?”
     “Dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life,” Delphine declared. “They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it.”
     This took Trystan aback. “Now wait just a moment, Delphine. I’ve seen—and been involved in—a fair number of crazy things already, but this... This is definitely one of the stranger things that’s come my way of late. Have you any idea how any of this sounds?”
     “Ha. A few years ago, I said almost the same thing to a colleague of mine. Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong.”
. . . . .
     A flash-blizzard whipped up as the four of them approached Kynesgrove, Delphine now in her traveling gear and carrying a peculiar sword with a serpentine disc guard. But as they neared the Braidwood Inn, Iddra, the innkeep, ran up to them in a panic. She warned them of the dragon that had just arrived at the burial mound, and ran off.
     “Come on!” Delphine exclaimed. “Hurry! It might be too late!”
     A most peculiar sight greeted the group’s eyes as they crowded behind a boulder at the top of the hill. A column of dark yet highly translucent energy rose up from the burial mound, and the dragon that Iddra had warned them of flew overhead. And unless Trystan was mistaken, he could have sworn that it was the same dragon that unleashed the firestorm upon Helgen!
     Shortly thereafter, the black dragon Shouted at the mound, and Delphine’s eyes in particular grew wide. The skeleton of the dragon once buried there broke through the earth; within seconds, the creature’s flesh and scales were restored!
     “Alduin, thuri!” the risen dragon cried out to its master. “Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?”
     “Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir.”
. . . . .
Colin's Clips! / Mr Dragonfly’s Story
« Last post by Colin Burton on Wed, 06 Dec 2017 - 03:29:43 »
Frequently Asked Questions, and their answers. / Re: Mister Dragonfly's story
« Last post by Colin Burton on Wed, 06 Dec 2017 - 03:24:11 »
Colin's Clips! / Visiting Langley
« Last post by Colin Burton on Tue, 05 Dec 2017 - 02:10:48 »
Branded With Fire, by Onichu / Chapter 48
« Last post by Onichu on Mon, 04 Dec 2017 - 03:37:53 »
     Trystan contemplated the robes, boots, and gloves on the floor before him the following morning. In his hands was a scroll unlike any other: it was made of dragon skin without the scales, with runes in the dragon tongue written upon it.
     He found this garb among the ashes of the dragon priest known as Morokei, previous wielder of the Staff of Magnus. And no matter how hard he tried, Trystan could not don the priest’s garment.
     Now though, as he readied the magic contained within the scroll, Trystan had a feeling this was about to change. A blast of white light issued forth from his hand and engulfed the gloves he was aiming at. Unsure of whether the spell did anything, Trystan tentatively picked the gloves up and slipped them on; the curse that was once upon them had been dispelled!
     Encouraged by this minor victory, he pulled two more scrolls out of his satchel and cast their magic upon the robes and boots before him. Before long, Trystan looked as though he were a dragon priest himself—aside from the addition of his fur cloak, backpack, and belt pouches, of course!
. . . . .
     Langley’s cabin came into view not far from Snowpoint Beacon. Trystan regretted not spending very much time there during his first visit, when he, Serana, and Inigo were searching out the source of Inigo’s mind vibrations. Langley did seem an interesting fellow after all, and Trystan wished to learn a little more about the man.
     And so it was that late into the afternoon, the threesome were greeted by Langley Longseer into his humble, art-covered abode. Immediately, Inigo’s gaze was drawn to the indoor balcony above the hermit’s bed; he ran up the makeshift stairs, Trystan at his heels. It was quite crowded even with just two people up there, but the bedroll besides the bed was evidence that Langley put an appreciable amount of thought and consideration into his renovations.
     Once the old seer laid plain the rules of the house to Inigo, the visitors made themselves at home. In the course of the remainder of the day, Trystan was able to chat with Langley for a fair bit, learning about his paintings and of his tutelage under a certain Barton Barrius (a pyromancer and pyromaniac, incidentally). Inigo, meanwhile, wrote a number of long-overdue entries in his diary; the khajiit, purposefully or not, spoke aloud to himself as he wrote, and what Inigo said reminded Trystan that he was not the only one in the partnership who was impacted positively because of it—Trystan was not the only one who needed healing.
. . . . .
     “Inigo! It’s for you!” Langley announced as Trystan and Serana stepped back into the cabin that night.
     Inigo got up from his seat at the table. “So, how did it go?” he asked his companions.
     “Productively,” Trystan replied as he warmed himself by the fireplace. “Serana thinks I’m now more than ready for Adept Conjuration spells.”
     “Already?!” Inigo exclaimed. “I tell you, I can see you becoming a Master within a month if you keep this up!”
     Trystan smiled. “Perhaps. It’ll probably depend on how often we have days like this, when I can practice for hours on end. Then again, I still might be able to get it all in on the road if I make it a point to do so every single time something wants to kill us!”
     Inigo roared with laughter at this, and Trystan and Serana followed suit—seldom it is that a single day will go by without the group running into something or someone that takes offense at their presence.
     “Quiet down, you lot!” Langley shouted from in front of the fireplace, cutting off the group’s boisterous laughter. Still chuckling, Inigo sat himself down at Langley’s desk to write, leaving Trystan and Serana to relax as the night drew on.
Gaeolin and Inigo's Adventures / Episode Eleven
« Last post by James Mapes on Sat, 02 Dec 2017 - 06:44:44 »
Episode Eleven:

The clucking of chickens welcomed Gaeolin and Inigo to Riverwood. The wind freed some pine needles from the trees, making them skitter over the pavement. Dorthe emerged from a side street, waving at the pair of them before running to greet Gaeolin.

“Hi, Gaeolin! How was your trip?”

The elf smiled, kneeling down to be at her level. “It was quite an adventure, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to hear the story.” He looked down the street. “Is Faendal in town?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Papa and I haven’t seen him today. But you could ask Orgnar.”

Inigo grumbled to himself. He still hadn't forgiven the bartender for insulting his choice in beverage during their last stay. “We could also ask Lucan. Faendal visits the Trader all the time.” He adopted a sly grin. “Camilla may know.”

“You really like making fun of them, don't you?”

“Young love enjoys a little teasing.” The Khajiit replied. Gaeolin had half a mind to point out that Faendal was older than he was, but decided against it.

“Let's stop by the store first. I need to get rid of some of this junk..” Gaeolin nodded to the little girl. “Tell your father I said hello.” She nodded, running off to the forge to do so.

The Riverwood Trader was delightfully warm. The fire danced about in an uplifting way, welcoming the patrons with the smell of roasting rabbit. Lucan turned to them, his face turning upwards at the sight. “Ah, my two favorite adventurers! How have things been Gaeolin? Inigo?”

“Turbulent,” the elf remarked, “as usual. How is business?”

The Imperial shook his head. “Slow… But that’s to be expected so far out in the sticks. Since the attack on Helgen, I rarely see shipments from the south. When I do, they charge me outlandishly.” He waved the thought away. “But, I do have everything you would need to restock on. Are you two staying in town for a while?”

Inigo answered. “Not this time. We’re just stopping in to resupply, and get our horses back.”

“Which brings me to the reason I stopped in. Have you seen Faendal today?” Gaeolin eyed the golden claw that sat in front of him. “We left Beast and Nephenee with him about a week ago.”

Lucan scratched his chin. “Let me think… He said something about scouting the road to the south this morning. He usually comes in around mid-afternoon. If you head to the gate, you might catch him on the way in.”

“Thanks, now…” Gaeolin swung his bag around, digging in the depths for some of his loot. “What can you give me for this?”

It was evening before Faendal arrived. He waved weakly as they greeted him.

“Divines smile on you, friends.” He leaned against a boulder to relax. “Did you make it to Ivarstead alright?”

“The trip was less eventful than the time in the village…” Inigo huffed.

“Everything went well.” Gaeolin countered, rolling his eyes at his companions theatric response. “We’re headed to Markarth next, but thought we would relieve you of our steeds.”

At this, Faendal seemed conflicted. “Well… That’s actually a matter which we should talk about.” Inigo’s ears rose in alarm.

“What happened? Is Beast okay?” He nearly ran off to find her without waiting for the answer.

“Nothing! She’s fine, Inigo. It’s Nephenee.”

Gaeolin shared his friend’s anxious expression. “Well, what’s wrong with her?”

Faendal grinned. “Truthfully, she’s fine. She’s the healthiest mother to be I’ve seen in a long time.”

Gaeolin blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“She’s pregnant. I’m not sure when she… got around. But it’s pretty obvious. I’d say she’s about four weeks along.”

Inigo looked at Gaeolin’s face, covering his mouth to hide the smirk that set in. Gaeolin sighed. “I was really hoping to be able to ride to Markarth…”

Inigo looked horrified. “But what about the baby?”

Gaeolin shot him a reproaching glare. “I said I was ‘hoping’ to… I obviously won’t take her in this condition. Is she in your pasture?” He received a nod. “I’ll go see her before we go. Can I possibly inconvenience you to take care of her through this?”

Faendal reassured him. “Of course. Besides, it’s nice to have her around. Such a sweetheart, she is. See you later.” He left them, shaking his head as he made for the Trader.

The pair walked down the main road, turning off to go behind the store. Faendal’s house sat recessed against what little bit of wall Riverwood possessed. At least on one side… On the other, the ground sloped up, turning into the foothills of the mountains. Faendal had built up a small pasture and garden. There was no gate to the fence, which held the two horses. Beast, who had been uprooting some of her host’s leeks, knickered excitedly at her master. Inigo quickly rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her neck with glee. Gaeolin walked past the scene, more interested in his own horse.

Nephenee turned her head away from him at first, as if knowing he wasn’t pleased already.

“So… Care to explain?” He crossed his arms, waiting. The horse let out a bellow of air. “Who was he? That shady carriage driver’s horse? When did you even find time for this?” Nephenee whined, pawing the turf. “Look… I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed, okay?” A low neigh followed this.

“She has a point you know…” Inigo chimed in.

“You stay out of this… And Mr. Dragonfly too!”

“Okay, okay… I’ll be at Alvor’s if you need me. I need my sword sharpened. My weystone isn’t getting the edge right.”

“I’ll be there in a second.” Gaeolin took his horse by the bridle. “I love you… You know that right?” A gust of warm breath ruffled his hair, giving him cause to smile. “You’re a good girl. Behave for Faendal, alright?” With a parting pat to her shoulder, the bosmer left her to graze.

When they approached the forge, Alvor was busy raking his knife across an elk hide. He nodded to them. “Hello there! What can I do for you men today?”

Inigo produced his sword. “Could you please remake the edge for me? It’s been a while since I’ve had it to a smith.”

Alvor took it, eyes gleaming. “Aye, now there’s a beautiful sword! Like a sliver of midnight… I can work this over for you in a flash.” He sat at the grindstone, turning it with his foot as he continued. “Anything you need, Gaeolin? I think I have some good arrows if you’re running low.”

“I’ll just take some shafts and heads, if it’s all the same. I prefer to fletch my own.”

The smith nodded approvingly. “Sure, I’ll get them for you after this.”

Blade sharp, and a knapsack of materials later, they walked out of the gate to the west. A carriage sat there, the driver waving to them. “Hail, masters. Need a ride? I can take you to any of the hold capitals.”

Inigo looked to his friend. “It would be faster.” Gaeolin agreed, nodding to the driver.

“Where would you like to go?”

Gaeolin swung his bag into the cart. “Markarth please…”

He nodded. “Every been to Markarth? Some say it was built by the Dwarves. I don’t believe a word of it, though.” The pair listened as the wagon started to move. Gaeolin turned back, waving to Dorthe and Frodnar as they saw them off. Ahead lay the road, taking them to uncertainty.
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