Jordis the Sword-Maiden,
Do my eyes deceive me, or are you the fair-faced snake-handler that comes with purchase of my new home? They breed you life-sized companions well these days, don’t they? Tall. Strong. High cheekbones. Longing eyes. Pray tell me, sidekick, are you prepared for what’s to come? Have you fully realized your duties as Cornelius G. Thundercock’s dainty-wristed hand in the blood-soaked night? Are you prepared to stare into Death’s perilous eyes without fearful reproach, barreling into tombs that have not been violently penetrated with such treasure-hunting ferocity in centuries?
Aye. Sizing you up upon my grand entrance to this manor, my good eye speaks volumes of your strength, dexterity, and endurance. You will be broken in successfully, my apprentice.
Still, I feel I should outline some ground rules for your employment:
- I take my meals promptly at Dawn’s first chirping of our feathered friends. Two Rock Warbler eggs fried with nirnroot, five links of horker sausage, a chalice of mead, and the morning’s paper are required on the table before I traipse down the stairs. Flowers resting within a vase are optional.
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Before I have eaten, cast not your gaze upon my face. I desire not to look another in the eye when my belly pains with the ravaging of emptiness’ cursed occupation. Should I stumble down the steps wearing only the stained undergarments of the night previous, drenched in mead and bile from my own drunken and ill-fated regurgitations, make no notice. However, you may salaciously admire my bulge. While I eat, you are to sit quietly, occasionally chewing on your daily allotted loaf of bread and nothing more. DO NOT EVEN THINK about stealing nibbles of food here and there. I shall notice.
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Should I be in a grim mood, remove thy armor and jump on the bed. Your bouncing should cast out the unwelcome mood that has embedded itself betwixt my skull.
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When we enter various caverns and dwellings throughout Skyrim, you need not speak. I care not for incessant chatter reminding me that the rock crevice before me is, indeed, a cave. My vision does not deceive me, and you should not take presumption that it does. My name is known throughout Tamriel for a reason, my dearest.
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Do not stand before doorways, lest you desire to be charged into the floor.
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Should I vanquish a foe, you will applaud and commend my efforts, be it skeever or dragon.
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Any sweets you are asked to carry are not to be mistaken for gifts you are welcome to eat. Ask permission should your tummy rumble with the ravenous desire to gobble my sweet rolls. I simply cannot afford to repeatedly spend the coin on your munching habits. Property taxes are fast approaching, and I own four homes already as it is.
- Lastly, always remember that we are heroes. Would it appear that I am brutally torturing a poor, defenseless old woman in a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary near Dawnstar, know simply that it must have been a kooky dream or figment of your imagination. Cornelius G. Thundercock would never repeatedly beat an elder with a rusted mace simply for pleasure (or money). He’s a man of grace that brings warmth and the blossoming of flowers whichever way he walks. The sun shines happily upon him, and rainbows ride across the sky in his wake. Elders, no matter how frail and slow, are his friends. Always. Even if they appear to flee with hands flailing in the wind.
