* 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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~Gather Strength, Join a Werewolf Cult~

     I'm staring down at my cracked and hardened claws. I can see bruises under my fur and my knuckles are swelling. I make a fist and ignore the pain, trying not to wince. The sounds in the hall come back to me. There is much laughing and chatter, the fire crackles in front of me, one of my shield brothers had just returns from chopping wood. The fire was now swallowing those fresh logs. I look up from my hands, to my right is a the red headed huntress, to her right is the scarred and bald older man, I can glimpse see their knees tenderly pressed against each other, but I do not bring attention to this. To my left is the grump dark elf. He is grunting as a young shield sister talks about bears to his left. The fire continues to crackle as the U shaped table is full of conversation. This is a fine feast indeed. I pick up my tankard and drink deep of the Nord Mead that rests on the bottom. It warms my throat as it travels down. The chunk of horker meat I take a bite out of next accompanies it well.

    It has been several months since joining this group of warriors. I now have simple Iron armor, it is not what I'd prefer, but it offers far more protection than the robes the priestess had given me. I often wonder what I was wearing when the guards brought in me. I was never told of my blood soaked garbs. I take another drink of Mead and laugh at the joke I catch at the last moment. My ears had improved since loosing sight in my eye and my only good eye was much better.

     I have been going to see the priestess at the temple weekly. She works on my eye and then my hands, scolding me for being so reckless. I only smile and say they are getting stronger. She complains and says I should have a weapons, it's not like I have a shortage of them. I still only smile. My fellow shield brothers and sisters also find it odd and a bit frustrating that I only fight with my fists. I tell them, every time, that the Divines gave me power in my firsts and a terror inducing battle cry. No man stood a chance against me in a fight. They tested this often. And I won just as often as they threw up their fists. Many of them would only ask to brawl when drunk now.

     I look toward the end of the table. Our white haired leader sits there. Proud and so very tired looking. I often hear whispers of him being done with things. I do not know what they mean, and I do not ask. I merely take jobs, kill bandits and train. There is so much training....I look at my hands again, a small bead of blood pools at my claw base. I lick it up and go back to my meal. The feast will go late into the night. We had a good haul from our hunt. I make sure to check my eye patch, I know they wont say anything, but many of my shield mates don't want to see my scarred and mist colored eye while they eat. Besides, the light from the fire hurts my head when my eye is uncovered. 
Chronicles of Ishmael / Chronicles of Ishmael, Part 11
« Last post by Onichu on Yesterday at 01:49:16 »
Hyperion Notes

The Hyperion exoskeleton is designed to fit comfortably over a suit of standard dwemer armor. The exoskeleton itself is heavy, but when worn, it offsets the weight of both it and the armor beneath.

Newly forged, the Hyperion strengthens the back and legs, allowing for the carrying of much heavier loads, for much faster running speeds, and for drastically high jumps. Note: One should be especially careful when jumping indoors, since I hit my head quite hard a couple times on the pipes running along the Work Room’s ceiling.

Also note: Wearing the Hyperion is quite uncomfortable. My hunch is that this uncomfortability is of a nature that lends to a decreased resistance to hostile magic. Should be careful around mages if this is the case. I should also be careful around dragons.

A regulator of sorts can be made using a cog and a gear, with some minor modifications as necessary. When hooked up to the power core of the exoskeleton, the regulator can be used to adjust how much strength the exoskeleton gives the wearer. The higher the strength it gives, the noisier and more uncomfortable it is. The jump boost can be adjusted separately. Note: At the very highest power setting, the exoskeleton begins to overheat, making running and sprinting painful. Walking is perfectly safe.

It might be possible to attach weapons to the exoskeleton’s arms. I should look into this.

According to that particular exhibit in the Dwemer Museum, a Hyperion Master could be made. It requires a more potent power source, which might be hidden away in Blackreach. Finding this power source is not particularly urgent at this time.
Chronicles of Ishmael / Chronicles of Ishmael, Part 10
« Last post by Onichu on Sun, 22 Oct 2017 - 17:52:52 »
Dear Diary,
     I raced Vilja from Riften to Markarth today, since we had stuff to do over there anyway. I learned two things: 1) Vilja is indeed faster than I am, and 2) on the road or off of it, there will ALWAYS be something or someone that’ll want you dead!
     Markarth itself is quite a magnificent city, even if it does have its own share of troubles. Markarth has the look of a dwemer city: all the stone and metalwork is dwemer, and there are even some expansive dwemer ruins underneath the city! I haven’t gotten a very good look at those yet, but I definitely plan to one of these days!
     In terms of the troubles that I mentioned, there is some stuff going on with the Forsworn, the natives of the Reach. One of them—wearing standard miner’s clothing—tried to stab a woman in the back at the market! Luckily for the woman, I stabbed the would-be murderer in HIS back just before he could stab hers!
     In other news, it would seem that Molag Bal has a place of residence in Markarth as well. I helped a Vigilant of Stendarr investigate this abandoned house, since this Vigilant thought it was being used for Daedra worship. Long story short, Molag Bal forced me to kill the Vigilant and offered me a rusty old mace as a reward for helping him get revenge on a priest of Boethiah for desecrating his altar.
     Needless to say, I refused and got the Oblivion out of there!
     The rest of the day went well enough, though. Vilja and I got to visit the Dwemer Museum inside the jarl’s keep after we killed the giant spider that was hindering excavation of Nchuand-Zel! My goodness, that place is neat! I admit that my time in Nurndural gave me plenty of exposure to dwemer ruins, so not everything in the Museum was novel in my eyes. Still, I did see something there that caught my eye: a mechanical exoskeleton, supposedly the very first animonculus to ever be invented by the dwemer! It’s called the Hyperion, and it looks to be made to fit over a person’s own body like a suit of armor. If I had to guess, it was designed to give the wearer greater physical capabilities.
     Now that I’ve been able to learn how to work with dwemer metal (thanks to that smithing guide I bought from Calcelmo, the court wizard and famed expert on the dwemer), that exoskeleton is getting me excited! Put one together at the forge, make a suit of dwemer armor to go with it...
     It is settled. I will see if Bothela has a sabercat’s eye for Vilja in the morning, and then I’ll go to work on that armor and exoskeleton!
     I just hope I have enough of the right parts for it all...

Colin's Clips! / Snowball
« Last post by Colin Burton on Sun, 22 Oct 2017 - 03:05:34 »
Colin's Clips! / Nothing to see here yet Inigo.
« Last post by Colin Burton on Sun, 22 Oct 2017 - 00:54:17 »
Chronicles of Ishmael / Chronicles of Ishmael, Part 9
« Last post by Onichu on Sat, 21 Oct 2017 - 22:53:29 »
     Ishmael and Lamashtu stepped back inside Clockwork Castle late into the evening. Just recently, they had gone back down into Nurndural and confronted her Shadow: the ghost who followed Ishmael in the tunnels and kept him from leaving the castle through the Travel Machine. In reality, this ghost was really a copy of Lamashtu’s soul. Given the two copies’ separation from each other, Shadow merely wanted Lamashtu’s—and Ishmael’s—company.
     But as Ishmael and Lamashtu entered the main hall, she stopped him for a moment, making a point to let him know that he was welcome to call Clockwork Castle his home. Moreover, she taught him a spell that both marks an extra location for the Travel Machine to send him to and transports him to the Travel Room at the same time.
     Ishmael watched Lamashtu as she then head up the stairs to her usual place on the roof. He deliberated for a bit, taking in the grandeur of his new home.
     But as he made up his mind to catch up with the Gilded woman and pose a few questions for Shadow (who now resided alongside Lamashtu’s soul within the same heart gem), he felt someone smack him hard in the face—and then pull him into a fierce hug a second later.
     “How DARE you make me worry like that! I thought something happened to you! Don’t you EVER do that again!” Vilja cried, her voice muffled slightly in Ishmael’s fur cloak and collar.
     She withdrew a few seconds later. Ishmael, overcome with shock, then managed to stammer out, “H—how did you get here?!”
     “Me?” Vilja replied, a sheepish expression growing on her face. “Oh, I met your metal friend while he was at the market in Whiterun yesterday. I thought he was wearing armor under his robes at first, but then I noticed the gaps in it and his red eyes, and I realized he wasn’t exactly human at all.”
     “Ah, so you’ve met Lahar, then!” Ishmael exclaimed delightedly. “But... how did you know to talk to him to find out where I was?”
     “Well, I remembered how that note of yours said something about ‘fresh ruins’, and I had a feeling that someone like Lahar might have come from them. So, I asked him if he had seen you at all, and he said that he had. Then, I followed him out of the city when he finished his shopping, and he went through a strange blue portal.”
      “Okay, that makes sense,” Ishmael replied, nodding. “Well, I suppose now that you’ve found where I’ve been hiding all this time, I get to show you around our new home! Welcome to Clockwork Castle, my friend!”
Chronicles of Ishmael / Chronicles of Ishmael, Part 8
« Last post by Onichu on Sat, 21 Oct 2017 - 19:25:29 »
Dear Diary,
     I’m tired, so I’ll try to keep this short. I did manage to repair the steam pipeline, even with all the crazed Gilded down in Nurndural. Clockwork Castle is now fully functional because of this. Lahar has also outdone himself in taking advantage of this fact.
     Here’s the bad news: I myself am unable to go through the Travel Machine. Some outside force is keeping me from using it, even though Lahar was able to bring supplies in through it just fine.
     It gets worse: Lamashtu, the female Gilded living here, is starting to go crazy like the rest of them; she was about to tell me about the force that’s keeping me here when she started speaking nonsense. Lahar says that she needs a new soul gem heart, since hers is degrading.
     Tomorrow, I’m going back down into Nurndural to find a certain Gilded named Amalgam. He constructed a new body for himself after he went mad, and he collected the hearts of the other Gilded to power it. Lahar thinks that Amalgam might have an empty heart we can use.
     I wonder where Vilja is now. She probably went back to Whiterun. No sense in sticking around a blocked tunnel entrance for three days.

Gaeolin and Inigo's Adventures / Episode Ten: Part Two
« Last post by James Mapes on Sat, 21 Oct 2017 - 12:41:53 »
Episode Ten: Part Two:

The Hall of Stories was growing darker, the fires he had lit earlier now casting only the minimal amount of light on Gaeolin as he approached the door. He held his lantern out ahead, it’s small flame casting a comforting glow at his feet. His sword was ready, despite the barrow thus far being barren. He shuddered to himself. The hairs on the back of his neck stood like barbs. The claw door stood before him like a challenge.

Setting down his blade and lantern, he produced the claw from his bag. He turned the ornament over to inspect it’s palm. “Okay… A moth at the top, an owl in the middle ring, and a howling wolf near the center of the door.” He muttered. For lack of a better place, he hooked the talons into the receptacle. The outermost ring resisted the most, the effort of turning it causing the elf to grunt and strain. Slowly it rotated around. The grinding of the stone irritated the ears, and the dust that fell from the wheel’s edge billowed into his face.

Gaeolin coughed, staggering back once he heard the giant tumbler click into place. He unstoppered his waterskin, drinking deeply to rinse the dirt from his mouth. Pushing up his sleeves, he tackled the next disc. This went smoother, rolling more freely with the rubble out from between the outer track. Two emblems passed before the lock clicked into place. The bosmer hooked his fingers into the groove of the last one. It came around, with a satisfying thud. He checked once again, sighing in relief when he found the positions correct. Finally, he pressed in the claw, rotating it to the right first, then coming back to the left.

The hall shook, the once stubborn rings of stone spinning rapidly in their tracks as the anchors holding the slab in place released. A cloud of dust poured forth from the seams of the portal. The fires flickered as dirt cascaded passed him and settled to the floor. Snatching the claw back, Gaeolin retrieved his sword and light. The smell of musty, stale air assaulted his senses. He stepped over the last few inches of the coverstone as it nestled into the floor.

The hallway ahead was even darker than the previous one. To make matters worse, the lantern he carried began to fade, it’s oil running out only a few feet into the darkness. The wood elf hooked the useless lamp onto his belt. He also slid his sword into its sheath, instead opting to swing his bow into use. He knocked an arrow as he sneaked around a bend in the tunnel. He held his breath when a sound fell on his ears.

A guttural growl echoed from up a flight of stairs. Through the darkness shone a pair of ghoulish, blue eyes. The creaking of bones and cracking of ancient skin heralded what he feared. The Wight shambled from side to side, dragging the tip of it’s sword along the floor with a menacing scraping sound. It wandered to the door, dead eyes staring into the void. Gaeolin drew his bow, breath held to steady the shot.

He released the string with a twang. His arrow whisked through the air to impale the draugr’s abdomen. It gasped, the force of the shot spinning it before crumpling to the floor. The eyes grew dark as the unlife fled it’s shell. Gaeolin stepped lightly, careful to avoid rushing into the room. Something wasn’t right… Candles burned in their holders. They cast an eerie light on the bleak corridors of the tomb. He reached the once mobile corpse, prodding it with the end of his bow. It remained motionless. Setting down the weapon, he searched the creature’s ragged armor. A few, silver Haralds were in a pouch on its waist. He pocketed the coin before making his way onward.

The air grew closer the farther he went into the catacombs. From the depths he heard a mournful howl. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow. He could hear his heart urging him to turn and flee. But the drive to seek out the source of the whispers proved stronger. He pressed on, coming to an open portcullis.

This room held six sarcophagi, sealed by iron lids. Again, defying reason, the braziers burned with faint fires. A pedestal stood in the center of the room, atop a platform of stone which housed two of the coffins. A book was barely visible on the stand in the dim lighting. The elf picked it up, opening it to read the title. ‘2920, Vol. 11 - Sun’s Dusk’. He tucked the tome into his shirt to head on. He was just about to the next doorway, when the gates slid shut, both forward and behind. He turned to the room, his back pinned to the wall.

The lids burst from the sarcophagi, clattering to the floor as their tenants began to rise. Gaeolin was paralyzed in fear. The dead shuffled about, malevolent eyes searching for the fool who disturbed their ward. For a moment nothing happened. Suddenly, one of the monsters turned to him.
“Faaz! Paak! Dinok!” It roared, gesturing with it’s war axe. ‘Pain! Shame! Death!’ Gaeolin drew his sword, knowing his bow would not be useful in these conditions. He blocked the first blow, diverting the greatsword to chip the stone of the floor. As the sparks flew, he rolled away. Another of the corpses followed him. Its features twisted into a grotesque grin.

“Bolog Aaz, Mal lir!” It lunged with a shield strike, raising its sword. Gaeolin began to panic as the other five closed in. He took a breath and shouted.
“Wuld!” He rushed passed, but misjudged when to stop. He hit his head on a step as he tripped.

The room began to spin. Gaeolin blinked away the blood that trickled from his forehead. He pushed himself further up the steps. The dead walked slowly, their laughs gurgling in their decomposing throats. He gripped his sword tighter. Raising a hand, he wove his fingers in a last ditch spell. He silently hoped it would work again. “Inigo!”

From a flash of blue fire, the Khajiit slashed with his swords. The draugr grunted in alarm as his blades danced across their dusty flesh. Gaeolin staggered upright. He drove his sword through the back of one of the fiends that made for Inigo.

“You leave him alone!” The cat hissed. His eyes flashed almost as sharply as the ebony and steel edges he brandished about. He grinned, jabbing under his arm to take down the last of the attackers. “You do not have to worry about being ugly anymore!” The zombie uttered a final phrase as it fell.

“Sovngarde saraan…” It slowly eased to the ground, eyes going black in death once more. Gaeolin dropped his sword. His blood dripped to his shoulder, temple throbbing in pain. Inigo knelt beside him, offering a potion. The elf took it in silence.

“Why?” Inigo glared at him. His ears were pinned to his skull, eyebrows furled in anger.

“I don’t know what you…”

“You know damned well what I mean.” He growled. “It was a fool’s errand to come here alone. Why didn’t you wake me? I would have watched your back.”

“You hate these places.” Gaeolin muttered. “I kept dragging you into these crypts, wearing on your last bits of sanity, and for what? My own need for exploration? The mystery? It’s not fair to you. You have been a loyal companion to me, and deserve the consideration of your fears.” He looked to his feet, hating that this conversation was even happening.

Inigo stood, looking down at him. “How long have we been friends, and you still don’t get it?” He put his off-hand sword away, offering his hand. “The truth about loyalty is…” He pulled his friend to his feet. “No matter what you face, or the fears in your path, you’ll still risk it for each other.”

After a few minutes, the pair were delving further into the barrow. Inigo had his swords ready, preferring to let Gaeolin hold up the ranged combat. They passed through an area with a roaring waterfall, running what could only be lake water along a system of canals that cut through the tomb. Another denizen roamed the platform above them. Gaeolin, now fully recovered, placed an arrow in the creature’s eye. It tumbled to the water with a satisfying splash.

“Oh shit…” Gaeolin cursed the set of rotating pillars they found at the end of the stairs. “These must control the bridge.” The drawbridge was raised, cutting them off from the rest of the ruins.

Inigo inspected the pillars. “How are we supposed to find the combination?”

His friend pointed to the doors in the center of the wall. “There might be something in there to help.” They pushed them open, being greeted by a screeching draugr. They both buried their swords in its chest, bringing it down in only a second. It fell onto a pressure plate which sent the room into a rumbling chorus. Four sections of the walls began to spin, each revealing a symbol behind openings that were cut in them. “I see a whale, and a Hawk over here.” Gaeolin called.

“Snake and whale over here…”

Gaeolin rushed back out, spinning the pillar farthest to the right. It locked into place with a rumbling thud. The other three followed, the fourth pillar causing the sound of chains to be heard in the distance. With a crash, the wooden bridge slammed into position. “Okay…” He muttered, “Let’s continue.”

Through more tunnels, down spirals, through pools of spilt oil they journeyed. The pair encountered skeletons and draugr at every obstacle. Just when they were sure they’d cleared out the last of them, the duo entered a vast room. Water filled the majority, with a path leading forward lined with coffins. Inigo yelped as the portcullis screamed closed mere inches after his tail had cleared it.

Skeletal archers rained shots on them as they darted for cover. Their swordsman counterparts roared with unholy voices as they taunted the intruders. The elf fired shot after shot, each blow landing on target. The bone constructs scattered to bits with the impacts. But for each one downed, a draugr rose from its sarcophagus. Inigo slashed with his blade, bashing with his bow in his left hand. When not cutting, he would quickly grab an arrow, shooting of a round before again resorting to swordplay. The battle seemed to be turning in their favor, when at last the final coffin erupted.

A hulking zombie clambered from the tomb, an ebony battle axe in its hands. Flames rolled off of the weapon like the waters of Oblivion. It ground what teeth were still in its head. Taking in a rattling breath, it spoke in a voice of pure hate. “Zun Haal Viik!”

Inigo’s bow was thrown from his hand. Gaeolin had only just dodged the shout, rolling almost over the edge and into the pools below. The elf fired three arrows at once, two striking his target in the shoulder and chest. Inigo hissed in rage, drawing his swords in a flurry. The draugr parried the blows with ease, chuckling through the holes in its jugular. It swung the battle axe with one arm, the fire missing Inigo by less than three inches.

“Roasted Inigo is not going to be served!” He plunged the basket hilt upward, breaking the creature’s balance. With his other blade, he came beneath it’s ribcage. The ebony shredded through the remains of the beast’s heart. It glowered, ready to gouge the cats eyes with it’s bony fingers.

An arrow struck through its throat, causing it to stumble backwards up the stairs. Another ripped across the face, and a third and fourth in the haunch and stomach. With a final gurgling groan, the overlord collapsed into true death. Behind it’s sarcophagus, a second drawbridge fell into place, leading them to a shining treasure chest. Inigo dove into the water, surfacing with his bow held high.

“And he thought he could keep us apart!” He cheered to the weapon, obviously delighted to have it back in his hands. Gaeolin could not help but laugh. The sound of the squishing in his boots would preclude any chance of being silent from here on. They opened the chest, dividing the loot between themselves with glee. When he stood, Gaeolin froze.

There, below them across a bridge stood a curved monument. It’s surface was etched in the dragon tongue, the light from the moon shining down through a hole in the roof. He could hear the whisperings again, tendrils of light oozing from the stone like smoke. One set of glyphs began to glow with flames. A strange, wild magic filled the air.

Gaeolin walked down the stairs, eyes fixed on the monolith. A warm breeze blew from the script, his clothes fluttering in response to the power here. He reached out with his mind, eyes suddenly glowing in the same light. He didn’t sense Inigo following close behind. His mind was fixated on the text.

‘Het nok Kopraan Do HELA, Fahdon wah pah Sivaas aar do Kaan. Aal rek siiv Unahzaal praan ko Feykro do Hahnu.’ Here lies the body of Hela, friend to all beasts, servant of Kyne. May she find eternal rest in the Forest of Dreams.

Gaeolin felt Kaan resonating in his soul. Kyne… Not just meaning the goddess, but also nature and all who were a part of it. Though never one for religion, the concept of this word seemed to instill a tranquility in him. He sank to his knees. His heart felt lighter than it had in years. The air tasted a bit sweeter to him.

Inigo waited, unsure of what had just happened. “My friend… Is everything okay?”

Gaeolin nodded, standing up. “Yeah, I’m fine…” He smiled to his comrade. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ve found all there is to see.”
Colin's Clips! / Whistling fun. Harry Potter.
« Last post by Colin Burton on Sat, 21 Oct 2017 - 04:23:34 »
« Last post by oyyo on Sat, 21 Oct 2017 - 01:22:28 »
to just woke up from a nap, and had a neat dream about skyrim I thought might be interesting.

I was chopping wood for someone, and this guy was mocking my character as I did it, commenting on how I was useless/he'd get such a good deal out of the wood before going back inside, leaving me chopping wood in the rain.

I ran out of wood, and went to go get more from the pile, when I saw something glimmering in the forest. I went after it and found something glowing a deep purple. It was almost like a gemstone, but it looked more like petrified wood.

Something rustled in the distance and I looked, seeing a faintly humanoid figure. I started following it, and as I did it led me to more of these glowing purple pieces of petrified wood, which I kept collecting and putting in my pockets. With every one I could see the figure in greater detail, and realized she was a spriggan, just as she led me into an old, torn down castle made from dark stone, darker than I'd ever seen in skyrim. More glowing caught my attention, and I turned to look at it...

And realized I was the one glowing, the purple color showing from under my skin.

Then I woke up. :(

But it was neat. I'm imagining it to be like, the spriggan version of the fae leading the player character off into fae world. If I ever learn how to code, it could be a fun quest to make.
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