* 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

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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 ;)

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We're on a little escapade back into Bruma to find something I meant to go to earlier - and learn and watch the history of the end of the Blades, and the attack from the Thalmor! Episode 194 of Skyrim Modded. Enjoy!
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Inigo Specific Art / Re: Beautiful Drawings by J4H3AD
« Last post by Beowulf1976 on Mon, 21 Aug 2017 - 12:18:09 »
It only took me a month to get back on the Forum and actually find this. Thanks very much for sharing this!

I need to break down and actually do some more writing on this project, I've just been distracted by a lot of non-canon side stories and later chapters. There's a lot more to do! And Sahir and Inigo's stories are far from over!

If I can figure out how to post on the forums, I might begin publishing here first, and then linking to them on Facebook, especially since you can actually do formatting on here. Again, thanks for sharing!

Let me know if you decide to and I'll give you your own section to moderate :) (in the stories section you'll notice each member has their own board for their stories)
Gaeolin and Inigo's Adventures / Episode Eight
« Last post by James Mapes on Sun, 20 Aug 2017 - 20:19:45 »
Episode Eight

“I am master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards.” The speaker came closer, his wizened face finally coming into the light. “Tell me, dragonborn. Why are you here?”

Gaeolin frowned. “Master, you summoned me...”

“Perhaps, but that was quite some time ago.” Arngeir inspected him. “Had it merely been the initial eagerness of being called, you would have presented yourself much sooner. What stayed your travels? And more importantly, what was the final motivation to appear in our halls?”

“I... I wish to know what it means to be dragonborn, master.”

The monk looked past him, seeing the khajiit who sat near the wall. “We are here to guide you in that pursuit, as we have others of the dragon blood before you. But, your companion has the look of one concerned. Have you neglected something?”

Gaeolin looked behind him, scowling at being betrayed. “I also suffered... difficulties after I slayed Mirmulnir, and the drake near the lake.”

“He means to say that he's nearly died twice because of this power.” Inigo crossed his arms. “Last time, not only did he run a fever for six hours, it almost started a forest fire.”

“Okay fine!” The elf hissed. “I need to learn how to control this ability before it kills me. Satisfied?”

“For now.” The cat smirked. He made his way back to the bench, absently whistling to himself while his friend reddened.

“But before we begin,” Gaeolin looked back to Arngeir, “there have been others before me?”

“You are not the first. There have been many of the dragon blood since Akatosh first bestowed this gift on mortal kind. Whether you are the only dragonborn of this age...” The old man finally looked him in the eyes. “That is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say.”

Gaeolin felt a shiver of nervousness. “I'm ready to learn.”

Arngeir paced in front of him as he spoke. “You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen.” He paused. “Without training, you have already taken the first steps toward projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout. Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn. When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. However, as you've seen there can be danger in this knowledge. When you learn the word, there is no harm. The danger lies in the understanding. When you slay a dragon, you tap into it's life force, it's memories, to reveal the meaning of the Thu'um.” The old man tucked his hands into his robes for warmth. “Dragons do not die naturally. Only the defeat at the hands of a Dovahkiin, or dragonborn in the common tongue, will slay the drake. Therefore consider that you likely will absorb the knowledge of many centuries. To counter this, one must meditate on something to ground themselves. This focus prevents your mind from being overwhelmed by the dragons immense knowledge. It also allows the passing of the excess energies from the body. But, this we will discuss further along our lessons.” He gestured to one of his comrades who stood to the left of the room. “Master Einarth will now teach you 'Ro,' the second Word in Unrelenting Force. 'Ro' means 'balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus -- 'Force' -- to focus your Thu'um more sharply.”

Einarth made his way forward, never looking up. When he spoke, it was quiet, thought the air seemed to tremble at the word. “Ro.” The monastery shook, dust raining from the ceiling. The floor cracked, splitting into a formation of lines that resembled the script on the emblems he'd passed on the steps. A whispering sound filled his ears as a glow rose from the text.

'Ro Bo Wah Fin Balaan Hahdrim.' Gaeolin whispered subconsciously, somehow knowing in his heart, “Balance comes to the worthy mind...” The etching flared with fire, growing dark mere moments later.

Arngeir nodded. “You learn a new word like a master.... You truly do have the gift. But learning a word of power is only the first step.” He barely looked to his pupil, now staring into the fire that lit the hall. “You must unlock it's meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a shout. At least,” he chuckled, “that is how the rest of us learn shouts. You have other methods, dragonborn. For your initiation, master Einarth will allow you to absorb his knowledge of 'Ro.' Now remember, when you accept it, try to let it flow in the back of your thoughts, don't face it directly with your mind. This is how you will avoid the hardships you felt before.”

Einarth stood patiently, ancient eyes shining behind his hood. Gaeolin stood before him, closing his eyes while trying to focus. But on what? Silence slammed inside his head, his shoulders growing tense.

“Peace, child.” Arngeir whispered. “Don't fear the experience. Let your mind find solace in a place of comfort.”

The wood elf let out his breath. He thought of the Rift, of aspens and deer. He could hear the sound of the waves as they lapped the shores of Lake Honrich. “I'm ready.”

The monk bowed. A rush of warmth bombarded Gaeolin's chest, his bangs parting with the breeze. Tendrils of light sprung from Einarth to weave around him. Unlike with Mirmulnir, or with the dragon near Falkreath, this seemed serene. He could feel the word ring in his mind, it's colors, meanings, and power unfolding. He smiled as the sensation waned. Einarth nodded, receding into his former place.

Arngeir roused him from his thoughts. “Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um. Use Unrelenting Force to strike the targets as they appear.”

A monk stepped forward. “Fiik Lo Sah!” His shout bore a ghostly fog, coalescing into an echo of himself. Gaeolin felt within, reaching for the words.

“Fus, Ro!” A wave of force battered the apparition into mere wisps of smoke. The vases and pottery sitting against the walls shattered, shards flying across the floor.

“Well done. Again...” The monks repeated the test twice more. Each time, Gaeolin felt the Thu'um grow easier to call forth. By the end, Arngeir seemed pleased. “Impressive. Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn. We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow master Borri.” He motioned to a third monk, standing at the foot of the stairs. Borri turned in silence toward another set of great doors. Gaeolin followed closely, exhilarated by the knowledge he'd gained. Inigo stood, keeping far enough behind to avoid interrupting.

The wind still howled across the mountainside, tiny shards of ice battering them. The bosmer winced as a snowflake hit his eye. It was much colder now, or so it seemed in the shadow of the stone wall. He shivered, cursing the lack of warmer attire.

“We will now see how you learn a completely new shout.” Arngeir cried. His voice was almost lost amid the gale. “Master Borri will teach you 'Wuld', which means 'whirlwind'.”

Borri looked to the snow bound earth. “Wuld...” This time, the the snow began to melt, sizzling as the dragon script glowed from beneath. Gaeolin stared at the markings, hoping to feel enlightened.

But nothing came. No sensation, no sense of understanding. Only the wind fell on his ears. Arngeir watched him, seeming to know his thoughts.
“You must hear the word within yourself before you can project it into a Thu'um.”

Gaeolin refocused his attention. He glared at the flames, willing the markings to yield the knowledge. As if from afar, he heard in his mind, 'Fod fin Sil los aan Wuld, Drem ni Kos.' He mouthed to himself, “When the soul is a whirlwind, peace cannot be.” It felt natural. The word was a part of him now, a piece of his soul. He looked to Borri with eyes alight in excitement.

“Prepare, master Borri will now gift you with his knowledge of 'Wuld'.”

The bosmer bowed his head, letting his mind come to ease as before. The power flowed from Borri like a spring breeze. This time, he felt the urge to travel, to cross distance. His body twitched with the sense of adventure.

Arngeir led them to a stone monument. “Now, we shall see if you have mastered the Shout. Master Wulfgar will demonstrate Whirlwind Sprint. Then it will be your turn.” He looked down a worn path n the snow. Borri stood there, next to a large wrought iron gate. “Master Borri...”

“Bex!” Borri's voice caused the gates to snap open. Master Wulfgar faced into the wind, taking in his breath.

“Wuld Nah Kest!” He seemed to vanish, only a rush of power betraying his presence. Gaeolin hadn't even the chance to blink. He looked past the gate, seeing Wulfgar kneeling at the edge of the cliff. He looked as though he'd expended no effort at all.

“That was amazing!” The elf exclaimed.

“Now, stand next to me.” Arngeir's beard now looked like it was made of frost. “Master Borri will open the gate. Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes.”

Borri once more shouted. The iron swung apart. Gaeolin braced himself.

“Wuld!” His body sprung forward, the world rushing past him in a blur. He felt a bit sick, but did not release the power. He could see the gates closing. He barely made it through them, his cloak nearly getting caught as he skidded to a stop.

Inigo's cheers could be heard from the group of monks, making him grin. Wulfgar, Borri, and Einarth dispersed, leaving only Master Arngeir behind waiting. Gaeolin wrapped his cloak tighter around him, standing before the man. “Master, what is next?”

Arngeir actually smiled at him. His aged face looked years younger with the pride upon it. “Your mastery of a new Thu'um is... Astonishing. I'd heard the stories f the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see them for myself...”

Gaeolin shirked from the words. He may be glad to learn from Arngeir, but he did not feel praise was deserved. “I-I don't know... How I do it. It just happens.”

“You were given this gift by the gods for a reason. It's up to you to figure out how best to use it. You are now ready, for the last trial.” Arngeir led him to the out-cropping. Below sprawled the plains of Whiterun. They could see the Borgas Cliffs, the mountain range that shielded Hjaalmarch from view, and even solitude, far on the horizon. “Retrieve the horn of Urgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb. It lies in the marshes,” he pointed to the north west, “in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the way of the voice, and you will return.”

Gaeolin turned to him. “The Way of the Voice?”

Arngeir looked across the land as he explained. “The Voice was a gift from the goddess Kynareth, at the dawn of time. She gave mortals the ability to speak as dragons do.” Gaeolin bit back his skepticism at the truth behind divine intervention out of respect. “Although this gift has often been misused, the only true use of the voice is for the worship and glory of the gods. True mastery of the voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions.” He turned back to his student. “In the contemplation of the sky, Kynareth's domain, and the practice of the Voice, we strive to achieve this balance.”

Gaeolin felt a strange sense of guilt at this. “I... I'll try to follow the Way of the Voice, Master.”

“That is commendable. But remember this, the Dragon Blood itself is a gift from Akatosh. Do not try to deny that gift. Your destiny requires you to use your Voice. Why else would Akatosh have bestowed the gift upon you?” He nodded to himself. “If you remember to use your Voice in service to the purpose of Akatosh, you will remain true to the way. Before you set out, I suggest you stay long enough to reflect on your lessons here. But for now, no more questions. All knowledge comes in time.” Arngeir bowed to him, speaking a parting phrase. “Lok ko, Zul Kosil.” 'Sky above, Voice within.'

He made his way back inside, leaving Gaeolin with more questions than he'd had before their meeting. Inigo approached him, smiling in his cheerful manner. “The Greybeards have taught you well and you are a quick learner.” He laughed. “Now you are louder and faster than ever. Let us go get that horn, my friend.”

“Soon, Inigo. But first... I need to think. A lot has happened... A lot has changed.” He walked back to the pillars, kneeling down in the snow. Inigo watched, then joined him in silence.

A lot had changed... But in his heart, the khajiit knew it was just beginning.
Welcome to the Blacksmith's Basement mod, which is a neat little mod that does stuff... anywhere you need stuff  Completely forgot about it! So we do some shuffling around and... guess what? We need to go back to Bruma for a bit since there's something I forgot about ;-)  Episode 193 of Skyrim Modded. Enjoy!
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Inigo Specific Art / Re: Beautiful Drawings by J4H3AD
« Last post by J4H3AD on Sat, 19 Aug 2017 - 03:51:56 »
It only took me a month to get back on the Forum and actually find this. Thanks very much for sharing this!

I need to break down and actually do some more writing on this project, I've just been distracted by a lot of non-canon side stories and later chapters. There's a lot more to do! And Sahir and Inigo's stories are far from over!

If I can figure out how to post on the forums, I might begin publishing here first, and then linking to them on Facebook, especially since you can actually do formatting on here. Again, thanks for sharing!
Deadlinux - Let's Play / Warm Welcome Back to Skyrim - Skyrim Modded Ep 192
« Last post by deadlinux on Thu, 17 Aug 2017 - 20:19:24 »

We finish up the chunk by finally finding the location for the Hjaalmarch Hearthfire home. Pretty short episode in preparation for the next chunk of videos! Episode 192 of Skyrim Modded. Mods are listed below. Enjoy!
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Gaeolin and Inigo's Adventures / Episode Seven: Part Two
« Last post by James Mapes on Thu, 17 Aug 2017 - 12:41:59 »
Episode Seven: Part Two

The lake stretched out to the north of the village, the barrow entrance snug between them. An ocean of gold and green splayed at Gaeolin's feet as he looked down into the valley. Inigo stood with him, breathing in the crisp air. The pine needles rang like a natural wind chime with the breeze. Clearing from his reverie, the wood elf turned back to the path up the mountain.

They had, in truth, made very little progress in their upward trek. The weather was still mild, there was no snow on the ground. Apart from one lone goat, the steps seemed devoid of habitation. “Have you seen any tracks?” Gaeolin hated to dismiss Klimmek's warnings out of hand.

“Nothing at the moment.” Inigo crouched, inspecting the earth. “There are boots, probably a few hours old. We may meet another traveler farther up. As for beasts, I can't say.”

Gaeolin chanced a look up. Not far above, the trees wore a light shawl of powdery snow. He couldn't explain, but the sight filled him with discomfort. “In that case, keep your weapons ready. Something doesn't feel right...”

Higher they wound along the uneven stone steps. Despite his own caution, Gaeolin noticed that, though they seemed at first to be individual slabs, the steps were in reality part of the mountain. A master stone worker had chiseled the very face. It was hard to tell now though. Centuries of weather had battered and broken the path. Soil now filled the crevasses. The bosmer's fingers rested on the hilt of his new sword.
The sound of falling rocks made him jump. Inigo too, came to be more alert. They looked ahead, seeing nothing. “What was that?”
The answer came with a series of grunts. Snow scattered from above as a troll leaped from the cliffs. Gaeolin drew the sword, the midday's light glinting off of the steel. The brightness dazzled the beast, causing it to back off for a moment.

In that instant, Inigo loosed an arrow past his friend. The troll howled in pain as the ebony projectile tore through it's chest. Gaeolin cried out, rushing forward with a slash. He caught the monster in the neck, blood spilling forth as the khajiit's second shot landed. With another roar, the frost troll tried to flee. Inigo threw his bow on his back, drawing his swords to make chase. He jumped, coming down on the beasts back. His blades sank into the thick hide, the monster letting out a mournful groan as it fell.

Gaeolin wiped the blood from his blade, coming to stand beside the corpse. “Nice work, old friend.”

Inigo's tail twitched. “I wasn't going to let it escape so easily.” He put the weapons away, light snow beginning to swirl down from above. “Let us continue. We need to get higher before the weather shuts us out.”

Despite staying clear, the weather did indeed seem to be against them. They soon began trudging through ever deepening drifts. Inigo wore a thick fur cloak, making his elven friend only a little jealous. The monuments of stacked stones along the path revealed their purpose in the form of marking the edge of the hidden path.

Gaeolin shivered as they climbed down into a slight dip in the steps. He mused at the paradoxical situation, going down on their way up, when they finally saw their fellow traveler. It was a woman, sitting in silent contemplation. She nodded to them in greeting. “Keep an eye out for wolves, if you're heading up the path.” She spoke. “I've heard howling the past few days up here.”

“We just took care of a frost troll. The way behind us is clear whenever you head back to the village.” Gaeolin turned to the monument that held her focus. “What is this?”

“Another of the emblems strewn along the steps. Most pilgrims who climb, do so to meditate on their messages. You didn't see the others on your way up?”

Inigo shook his head. “To be honest, I think we were too busy worrying about being attacked.”

“Such strange writing.” Gaeolin inspected the stone. The markings were jagged, reminiscent of claws or teeth. “I've seen this language before... In Bleak Falls Barrow, and in Sunderstone Gorge.”

“It is the dragon script,” she explained, “few these days know the translations. Here take this.” She produced a worn book. “If you truly want to gain the most from your journey up the slopes, study the shrines.”

“What is your name?”

She smiled. “I'd prefer not to say. Let's just say I'm a pilgrim and leave it at that.”

The elf nodded, looking to Inigo. “Let's keep moving.”

Inigo sighed. “Legs, stop complaining! Only another three and a half thousand steps to go...”

The climbed higher and higher. The path narrowed, and snow deepened, wind howling against them all the while. Inigo began to stagger a bit. His eyes began to water as the tiny particles of ice bombarded them. Gaeolin struggled as well, his skin burning with how frigged the air was. The pair rounded a bend, the path only six feet wide at this point. Gaeolin hugged the face of the cliff, not daring to look. Inigo however, took the time to gaze out across the expansive landscape.

“The air is so clear up here!” He pointed down. “Look, there's Whiterun!” A sudden gust of wind tore along their perch. It unbalanced the khajiit, causing him to lose his footing. Gaeolin lunged forward, grabbing his friend by the arm just in time. “Pull me up! Pull me up!”

Gaeolin strained, feet sliding slowly in the snow as he tugged. Inigo found a foothold and scrambled back onto the ledge. They collapsed there, panting an freezing as their hearts slammed in the wake of he adrenal rush. “So...” The wood elf turned to his friend, somewhat irritated. “What have we learned?”

Inigo laughed. “Leave the sight seeing for level ground?”

Gaeolin shook his head. “No, you do not, under any circumstances...” He leaned closer. “Need to eat more sweetrolls...”

Their mirth echoed off of the stone, carrying on the wind to places unknown. Setting off again, the adventurers were glad of an expanding of the path. The roughly piled stone markers gave way to carved pillars.
 They appeared every twelve to twenty meters, signaling their approach to the temple. Another shrine appeared, inspiring Gaeolin to stop and read.

Even with the book open, inspecting as much as he could, he was lost. It was apparent that if he wanted to know their story, it would require a separate journey all on it's own. As he closed the book, he looked to the west. The entirety of Whiterun hold splayed before them. He could see Bleak Falls Barrow, Dragons Reach, and the Borgas Cliffs. It all seemed so small up here. Perhaps in some way, his Lord was correct. It would be easy to lose sight of what troubles the holds when all you see of them are landscapes.

At last, they could see the walls of the monastery looming ahead. Just as Klimmek had described it. The chest for the offerings stood between the stairs. Gaeolin opened it, swinging the bag into the void of the container. Behind him he heard his companion celebrating.

“Congratulations, legs! You did it! You too feet, you performed well.”

“You're penchant for talking to your own body never ceases to amuse.” Gaeolin grinned. “Shall we?” Inigo nodded, following him up the final steps. The khajiit turned briefly, thinking he heard another fight. A goat rushed along the path, but nothing more.

The door was imposing. A large carving stood above it, almost inspiring thoughts of the ancient Akavir architecture. The doors themselves were plated with aged bronze. For a moment Gaeolin couldn't make sense of the etching on the surface. Standing closer, he realized that the lines wove into a bearded figure. He wore a judging expression. Perhaps an omen of the scrutiny to come? Swallowing his anxiety, he pushed he door open.

The hall was dark, save for the burning of a few candles, brazers, and a sky light in the center. Gaeolin moved forward, hearing the shuffling of feet and cloth. From the shadows came four men. Their robes were worn, dull gray. Silver beards hung down from their jaws. The faces, while mainly shrouded by hoods, were lined nearly as coarsely as the mountain on which they lived. One of them approached, looking him in the eye.

“So,” the voice cracked as if long unused, “a Dragonborn appears at this moment, in the turning of the age.”

Gaeolin bowed. “I am answering your summons.”

The man held up a hand. “First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice.”

“Um... Won't that, you know? Hurt you?” Gaeolin thought of all of the times (though accidental) he had tapped into the strange powers. Destruction seemed unavoidable when dealing with them.

“We are not so feeble as we appear.”

Hearing the certainty in the elder's words, Gaeolin prepared himself. The word was there, the energy, the force of it flashed to his mind. “FUS!” A wave of energy sprung from his lips, crashing into the sage, ringing from the stone with a shudder. The robed monk staggered, but recovered quickly. The others nodded as they observed. Inigo watched from the wall, careful not to interrupt.

“Dragonborn, it is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar.”
Oh geez I forgot how to do this - Every Wednesday Skyrim SE Modded Livestream! 6 - 8 p.m. CST (oh man... which is 12 a.m. BST??)
You can connect via Youtube or Twitch
General Members' Art / Re: Scribbles
« Last post by Beowulf1976 on Wed, 16 Aug 2017 - 15:43:26 »
Hey @Beowulf1976  I am starting a draw-once-a-day routine. I remembered your Fallout 4 thread so I brought you a puppy.

Your pup is amazing! :D
Thank you! :D
Gaeolin and Inigo's Adventures / Re: Episode Seven: Part One
« Last post by James Mapes on Wed, 16 Aug 2017 - 11:30:43 »
Nice to know it has re-reading value. :)
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