Belethor,
I shall not abide another broken mug! ‘Twas last evening, when the clouds blocked out the starry sky and darkness perpetuated an unseen twilight across the landscape, that another one of your lovely products deceived me. I should have known that such ill-fated weather brought with it a dastardly premonition. Aye. The second mug I have purchased from your pitiful shop has broken within my meaty hands, and I hold you, the purveyor of such an atrocious crime, personally responsible.
Were it not for my consideration and respect toward all living things, I would have you slain where you stand without a moment’s hesitation. A smoldering pile of ash behind the counter. Yes. Your insolence would be the least of your worries, foul buffoon.
Your faulty mug, with an improperly constructed bottom, burst upon me last night whilst I was attending to company in Breezehome. A young maiden, fair, true, and kindling with vigor giggled most heartily at your clever prank. Sitting on my left, her gaping mouth brought forth a resounding crescendo of operatic laughter as all of my mead dumped into my lap. Not since I awoke to find I committed the beast with two backs with a Hagraven (after a night drinking in the company of Sanguine) have I been so embarrassed!
“Cornelius hath wet thyself it would seem,” this fair maiden snickered, bringing her hands together in a cynical slow-clap. “Were you just enthralled to see me, or didst thou have an accident? Couldst wee Cornelius not make it to the bucket near the door?”
I’ll be the first to tell you, for her accursed words, her dessert was not the sweetness of honey treat or any other glazed pastry. Neither was it death. No, this fair maiden now resides somewhere in between, awakening within these very moments in a den of Draugr with no weapon to improve her chances. She’ll certainly think twice before sullying the name of a hero again, should she survive the swords of vengeful corpses.
And you, Belethor, what shall be done with you? The first mug I thought was merely a fluke, but this second one – are you toying with me, sleazy clerk? Be this a game to you?
Being a Breton myself, I certainly carry favor for my racial brethren. Similar to the kinship of the Dark Elves, when they pound clenched fists against each other while passing one another on the streets, I feel a similar brotherly bond with you. Though your demeanor is typically one of sarcasm and snarky comment, I wage you feel the same, knowing full well that in a land of prissy Nords we need to band together. Breton power.
This is where the sword now dangles above your head. Provide me another drinking vessel, free of charge, and pray it does not break. I can forgo the previous two, but should it prove a false mug, that sword above your head will come striking down, splitting you in twine. Your life dangles by a spider’s thread, my friend. Are we brothers, or are you just another notch upon my belt, another clump of matted organs clinging tenaciously to my scummy boot heel?
It’s your funeral,
Cornelius G. Thundercock
Found in Belethor’s General Goods
Belethor,
I shall not abide another broken mug! ‘Twas last evening, when the clouds blocked out the starry sky and darkness perpetuated an unseen twilight across the landscape, that another one of your lovely products deceived me. I should have known that such ill-fated weather brought with it a dastardly premonition. Aye. The second mug I have purchased from your pitiful shop has broken within my meaty hands, and I hold you, the purveyor of such an atrocious crime, personally responsible.
Were it not for my consideration and respect toward all living things, I would have you slain where you stand without a moment’s hesitation. A smoldering pile of ash behind the counter. Yes. Your insolence would be the least of your worries, foul buffoon.
Your faulty mug, with an improperly constructed bottom, burst upon me last night whilst I was attending to company in Breezehome. A young maiden, fair, true, and kindling with vigor giggled most heartily at your clever prank. Sitting on my left, her gaping mouth brought forth a resounding crescendo of operatic laughter as all of my mead dumped into my lap. Not since I awoke to find I committed the beast with two backs with a Hagraven (after a night drinking in the company of Sanguine) have I been so embarrassed!
“Cornelius hath wet thyself it would seem,” this fair maiden snickered, bringing her hands together in a cynical slow-clap. “Were you just enthralled to see me, or didst thou have an accident? Couldst wee Cornelius not make it to the bucket near the door?”
I’ll be the first to tell you, for her accursed words, her dessert was not the sweetness of honey treat or any other glazed pastry. Neither was it death. No, this fair maiden now resides somewhere in between, awakening within these very moments in a den of Draugr with no weapon to improve her chances. She’ll certainly think twice before sullying the name of a hero again, should she survive the swords of vengeful corpses.
And you, Belethor, what shall be done with you? The first mug I thought was merely a fluke, but this second one – are you toying with me, sleazy clerk? Be this a game to you?
Being a Breton myself, I certainly carry favor for my racial brethren. Similar to the kinship of the Dark Elves, when they pound clenched fists against each other while passing one another on the streets, I feel a similar brotherly bond with you. Though your demeanor is typically one of sarcasm and snarky comment, I wage you feel the same, knowing full well that in a land of prissy Nords we need to band together. Breton power.
This is where the sword now dangles above your head. Provide me another drinking vessel, free of charge, and pray it does not break. I can forgo the previous two, but should it prove a false mug, that sword above your head will come striking down, splitting you in twine. Your life dangles by a spider’s thread, my friend. Are we brothers, or are you just another notch upon my belt, another clump of matted organs clinging tenaciously to my scummy boot heel?
It’s your funeral,
Cornelius G. Thundercock
Categories: Proposition, Threat
Tags: Belethor, Belethor's General Goods, Breezehome, Cornelius G Thundercock, Hagraven, Letters From Skyrim, Sanguine, Skyrim, Whiterun
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