A Draugr! A Draugr in the inn!
Hold on skeever bait. I ain’t no Draugr. Not a real one anyway.

I’m not convinced. How about I cut you, and see if you bleed?
How about I piss in your flagon and you tell me it’s honey?

No thanks, I’m trying to cut down.
Ha, that’s a good one. You’re alright stranger. Sit down, have a drink. On second thought, you better not.
Hadring’s swill isn’t all that different going in as it is coming out, if you get my meaning.

How about we step outside and I turn you into a real Draugr?
Go bark at Fultheim, mutt. You ain’t worth the time it’ll take to clean Ebony.

Who’s Ebony?
You blind, or just slow? Ebony’s my sword. My girl. She always has my back, and I mean that literally.

Who are you?
The Nords used to call me Moris the Living Draugr, because of my prowess on the battlefield and the fear I struck in my enemies.

(Let him continue)
Now they just call me Moris the Draugr on account I should be dead.

(Interrupt) Are you sure it isn’t because of your armor?
Well, that came after. I figured if these sodding ice blondies were going to start calling me a Draugr, I might as well look the part.
Now where was I?

You were saying they called you “The Living Draugr.”
Right, on account I ain’t dead. Only now I’ve gotten to that age where they don’t bother to make a distinction.
I mean I get it.  Maybe I can’t swing Ebony the way she likes it.
Maybe some days I wake up and my knees burn, or my back starts barking like my old lady used to when I forgot to burn the trash.
But I’m hardly an old man, even for a warrior.
Some say I’m still worth the swords of twenty men. I’ve been saying it for years!

Only the cowardly and the strong grow old. I think we know which one you are.
Listen you horker’s uncle, at some point tonight, I’m going to walk outside, find “The Lover” constellation, and pray a Dremora beds your mother.
Then I’m going to come back and knock your teeth in. But first, I need another drink.

They mock your age, when it represents the level of your strength.
I suspect you’re right. None of these bed-wetters would dare mock Moris the Living Draugr to his face.

You mentioned your old lady. There’s a…Mrs. Draugr?
Like I said, used to be. I reckon I wouldn’t be here in this Sload belly of an inn if she still was.
We met in one of them forts.  I was feeding Ebony a nice plate of bandit breakfast, when I found one of them still in her bedroll.
Now I ain’t no softy, I’ll kill a man in his sleep.
This one though, she rolls over and looks at me with those big doe eyes just as I was about to take her head.
So I took her maidenhead instead.

That was fast.
Yeah, in truth she probably was no maiden. Finding a real maiden in Skyrim is like finding a chicken that craps diamonds.
These Nord women, I tell you, they’re hungry as sabrecats, and strong as ’em too. Sometimes they even bite like them, so watch where you stick it.

You Nord women, I tell you, you’re as hungry as sabrecats, and strong as ’em too. Sometimes you even bite like them.

Then what happened?
Next day we went to the chapel in Riften and got Mara’s blessing.
The priest asked me if I’d love her “Now and Forever,” and I was too much of a coward to run.

If you already sampled the goods, there’s no need to buy.
Well put. Truth be told the second we get to the temple in Riften, my feet were colder than a necromancer’s girlfriend.
I was just about to turn my ass around and run straight for Cheydinhal, but then I met the priest.  Real skeptic, that one.
When he said the line “Now and Forever,” I could hear the doubt in his voice.
Now me being the stubborn type, I decided to Oblivion with this priest. So I said the words. Now and Forever.
I figured, hey, we already had the “Now” part down. How hard was “forever?”

And you lived unhappily ever after?
Not quite. The old lady got on me, like any big Nord cow, but it wasn’t all scars and prison bars. Not like some of these fur huggers make it seem.
I don’t know about you, but I find a lot of these Talos lovers like to boast about the strength of their women as much as the power of their god.
Then first chance they get, they go out and marry some Breton girl they can fit in their palm.

Why did you and your wife split up?
In a word, it was her father.

I take it he didn’t approve?
I know that’s how it usually is, but approval was one thing this bootlicker didn’t lack.  Nah, if anything, he approved too much.
Thing is, before I came riding in on my white horse, him and the old lady weren’t exactly on speaking terms.  Us tying the knot changed that.
As far as he was concerned, I was some dashing milk-drinker who came and rescued his princess like in them stories.

He was grateful to you.
Yeah, only now the poor old fool wet his pants if I so much left the house, scared his little girl will go back to being a bandit again.
‘Course,that meant I was dragging around two ball and chains instead of one. But one of ’em ain’t exactly my type, and the other one’s a man.

What else did he do?
He started hiring mercenaries to accompany me. Which ain’t my thing. Moris the Living Draugr doesn’t work with hired thugs.
Not to mention sellswords ain’t exactly brimming with honor.  But I didn’t have the heart to tell the old man “No.”

What happened with the sellswords?
It didn’t take them long to figure out it was easier to kill the man with the gold than take on a nest of angry Draugrs.
When we got inside the barrow, I charged on ahead like a dumb beast.
It wasn’t until I was halfway through the dungeon that I realized the yellow bellies had locked the door behind me.
I ain’t no good with locks, so it took me all night to get out the back way. By the time I got home, both the old lady and her father were dead.

That’s awful.
Yeah, but it gets worse. I can’t even get my revenge on that sellsword trash. I never even bothered to look at their faces. Or get their names.
Ah, it’s probably for the best. I hope the fiends live until they’re old and gray. There’s nothing more pathetic than a warrior who dies in bed.

Nothing good can ever come from marriage.
Yeah, I’ll drink to that. I should probably thank the bloody sellswords for saving me the trouble.
Now let’s get some more ale, before Fultheim hogs it all to himself.

Look on the bright side. You still have Ebony.
No, I reckon I’ll be the one to leave her first. Just as well. I can’t bear the thought of some filthy grave robber putting his hands on her waist.
Enough of this somber talk. It’s a big world, and there are still plenty of ladies to bed and caves to raid.

Something must have given people reason to doubt you.
Not something, someone.
It all started when I was exploring the Forsaken Cave in Eastmarch. I was being chased by Draugr and like a dumb mule I stepped on a pressure plate.
Next thing I know I’m taking a battering ram to the gut. Shattered just about every rib I own, and other parts I didn’t know I had.

What did you do?
I crawled back to Windhelm. Lay in bed at Candlehearth Hall for two straight days. Couldn’t even breathe without pain.
Then I get this message from an urchin. Said Orthus Endario wanted to see me about a job. I told him to go screw.
Then the next day Orthus himself graces me with his presence. I tell him again to go screw. Said I’m too tired to be running his errands.

What did Orthus want?
Orthus says it’s a milk run. A training exercise for new Legion recruits. They were escorting a minimum security shipment to Solitude.
All I had to do was show the little cave rats what to look out for. There’d even be another senior soldier from the…what do you call it? Pennius Ocularium?

It’s Penitus Oculatus, mammoth brain.
Hey, my ancestors were Colovian. We founded the Legion. It’s the Nibenese that made up all these weird titles and rituals.

Wait. Isn’t Colovia populated with people of Nordic descent?
So what. You saying I can’t call a Nord a bloody snow bard because we’re family? Seems like that gives me all the more right.

Close enough.
Yeah, my ancestors were Colovian. We founded the Empire. It’s the Nibenese who made up all these weird names and rituals.

Why didn’t you just tell him you were injured?
A warrior doesn’t go advertising his injuries. Let’s the bad guys know where to stick it.

So I take it you went?
You bet your sweet roll I did. A man in my position doesn’t pass up easy coin, even if it means dealing with Nibenese worms.
The trouble was this senior Legion officer took exception to my reputation. Didn’t like that the recruits looked up to an outsider.
Especially a Colovian Imperial dressed in the armor of a frost-hugger.

Uh-oh. Those things are relentless.
Uh-oh is right. Instead of trying to show me up, this Legionnaire coward gives way, forcing me to take the lead.
I swear this bear came at me like I killed its sister, and I couldn’t even lift Ebony over my head. The weight and the pain dropped me to ground.
Now I ain’t no lily-liver, but sometimes a man has to swallow his pride and ask for help. If only I asked. Instead I look backed and screamed.
Funny thing is, the officer, even the recruits, they were all laughing. I was so hysterical I didn’t even notice the stupid bear was licking my face.

That explains things.
Yeah, my ribs hurt so bad they had to carry me here to Nightgate Inn.  All the while this Legionnaire has a grin on his face like an open wound.
Not a week later and there isn’t a bard in Skyrim who isn’t telling the tale of Moris the Draugr and the bear who pitied him.

What happened next?
Well, my ribs hurt so bad they had to carry me here to Nightgate Inn.

Hadring says there’s an Orc living in the cellar.
And there’s a pine tree living in my trousers, but you don’t see me bothering you about it.

I’m just saying something could’ve happened to him. Something sharp and pointy.
What’s that mean, one less Orc in the world? Excuse me if I don’t go to my room and sob to death.
I’m sure he’s down in the cellar just like Hadring says, or out on the pier. And if he ain’t, well, nobody’s gonna miss him.

You haven’t met him though?
There’s a cellar door that leads to the back of the inn. And if he passed through here, I was probably too drunk to notice.

I’m done with questions.
About time.

Anything new at the inn?
I never see this Orc everyone keeps muttering on about. Maybe he opened his trap once too often and got himself killed. Or worse…he’s sober.

Still no comely women, if that’s what you’re talking about.  I don’t know why Fultheim doesn’t find some other tavern.
Unless he’s one of “those” people.

I keep telling Hadring there ain’t no ore in his nose, but that don’t stop him from mining it.

They call the area west of here the White Shore. I call it the place with trees and snow.

Not unless you brought some real ale with you.

Hellos/Goodbyes
See ya.
All right then.
About time.
Make it quick.
Need something?
What is it now?
Speak up already.

Scenes with Callen 1

Hey Hadring, tell your tavern wench to fetch some more ale.

Hey Hadring, tell your dog to do his business outside.  

Scenes with Callen 2

Have you seen Fultheim’s sword?  It’s one of them Akaviri things. You don’t think…

Think what? Fultheim could take you in a fight? I already thought that. And I didn’t have to think very long.

Scenes with Callen 3

Hey Moris, why don’t you take off that stupid armor and wear something that suits you.

Like what?  A dress?  Yeah, that’s right, you wood-hugger, I can see your jokes coming from an ocean away.
Sad thing is, a dress would look better on me than on that troll carcass you call a body.

Scenes with Callen 4

You know what Moris, no one ever comes to this tavern.  If we wanted to, we could kill the old man and the drunk and throw the bodies in the lake.

And then what, sell the ale to horkers?  You’re out of your mind, Elf.

So you finally left that inn.
Damn straight. You think I like those people? I was just waiting for my injuries to heal.
When I got better, the first thing I did was wring Hadring’s neck until all the bounties fell out of his pockets.
Then I had one of the other idiots find me the most expensive and dangerous one. Robber’s Refuge.

You’re too late, and too slow. Just retire already.
I ain’t late for nothing. I’m sure there’s still plenty of killers and thieves here.
Just have to figure out which ones are which. Don’t want Ebony’s first meal to be a some skooma addict.

If I knew you were coming, I would have saved you a few thugs.
Ah hell. So you cleaned this place up already? Figures. But I bet there’s still some rotten apples in this bunch.
I’ll just bide my time until Ebony tells me she’s hungry.

Well, go ahead. Kill all the bandits in here.
I’m about to. I just…didn’t expect there to be so many of them.

Yeah, about that. This place has undergone a change in management.
So who’s running things now? You? Don’t make me laugh. You’re a fighter, not a barkeep.
I’ll bet this place still has its fair share of crooks. Just need to figure out who to let Ebony taste first. Been a long time since she last ate.

Well, good luck with that then.
I’m Moris the Living Draugr. I don’t need luck.

You could reclaim your name fighting alongside me.
And live in your shadow? Not a chance.