I created an Instagram page and posted screenshots of my adventures in the game, and I soon found a unique community of gamers and content creators who enjoyed following along with the Poison Widow’s journey. I wanted to highlight the story and journey of my playthrough as the Poison Widow, a character I created to challenge myself by focusing purely on alchemy (initially). In another, you play as an ice mage arriving at the College of Winterhold to unlock Skyrim’s many magical secrets, while in another, you’re a Khajiit merchant trying to survive the harsh and cold land of the Nords. In one playthrough, you might work as assassin for the Dark Brotherhood who dual-wields daggers dipped in poison. Skyrim is the type of game you can play over and over again, and while the dungeons and bosses might feel redundant after the 200th playthrough, there’s something deeply alluring and inviting about creating your own character and playing your by your own set of rules and moral codes. Her exciting journey plays out in the open-world game of Skyrim, Bethesda’s fifth title in the Elder Scrolls series. The excerpt above comes from the early adventures of my Skyrim character called the Poison Widow, an alchemy focused assassin who rose through the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood to the coveted position of Listener to the Night Mother became a vampire and member of the Volkihar Clan trained in the arts of poison magic at the College of Winterhold thwarted an ancient prophecy to provent the Vampire Lord Harkon from blotting out the sun forever claimed the title of Dragonborn and slayed Alduin the World-Eater fought in the civil war plaguing Skyrim and journeyed to the Island of Solsteim to face off against Miraak, the First Dragonborn. Skyrim-of Assassins, Vampires, and Dragons With nary of thought of the man’s ill-fate, the Poison Widow offers a small quiet prayer to her Master before resuming her journey home. He was a contract, nothing more a death required by the Black Sacrament and by the Sithis, the Dread Lord himself. She casts one glance behind her at the lights of the city before she vanishes into the forests. A completed contract meant more pay, and the woman was running low on coin. She was to report immediately to Astrid at the Halls of the Dark Brotherhood. As she leaves the city behind, she slips a small vial of poison into the pouch hanging from her belt. The watchmen allow her to pass through the gates, chatting amongst themselves and blissfully unaware of the woman’s true nature. While she’s short in stature, she’s beautiful, with slightly bronzed skin and yellow eyes which shine even under her hood. I think someone collapsed in the market,” she answers, and the guard eyes her somewhat suspiciously. “What happened?” One of the watchmen calls to her as another guard sprints by. The flame-haired woman pauses as she reaches the city gate and pulls her black cloak over her tangled red tussles, hiding the sharp pointed ears of her people, the Wood Elves of Skyrim. This man’s been poisoned!” As guards shove their way into the crowd, mass pandemonium sets in and the man dies, confused and in pain, unable to move his arms or legs. A crowd forms around the fallen man as his body convulses and mouth foams. Every fiber of his body screames in pain, and as he feels his knees go numb, his vision blurs and he topples over, knocking into a few startled people behind him. Suddenly a great pain seizes him and he gives an unearthly cry of anguish as something cold grips his heart. Frowning, he examines the trace of blood on his fingertips and gingerly touches the small wound on the back of his neck. He turns, only to see a flamed-haired woman vanishing into the throngs of people crowding the market. “Ow!” he grumbles as he swats at the spot and feels a drip of blood on his fingertips. Suddenly he feels a small prick on the back of his neck. He’s excited of the thought of battles to come, and many nights drinking mead with his Brothers and Sisters of Skyrim. A young man passes among the merchants stalls, eyeing their wares and lost in thoughts of his upcoming recruitment into the Stormcloak ranks. The many voices of the merchants selling their wares mingle with loud clangs of metal against iron as the blacksmith works his craft, and the endless chatter of the townsfolk as they go to and fro, sharing rumors of dragon attacks in nearby Holds and tales of battles between the honor-driven Stormcloaks and the cruel and spineless soldiers of the Imperial Legion. Soft white snowflakes dance lazily through the grey sky, falling gently on the frozen mounds of snow blanketing the city grounds. It’s a noisy and frigid morning in the market square of Windhelm, the City of Kings.
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