Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Priapus, Marethyu, Old man of the mountain, Mike God of Lore, Beans
The Celestial Farmer
Chapter 01: The Return Home
– Jorgen –
Arriving at my home, I look over the frozen farm with a deep sigh. Ice and rock, that's my inheritance.
Whatever insanity pushed my great, great, great, great-grandfather to start a farm in the Winterhold plagues me to the day. Of course, that was before the great collapse when half the town fell into the sea when we were on better terms with the mages.
We grew their potion ingredients, and they enchanted the farm to allow it to grow even in the fiercest winters. This farm once fed the entirety of Winterhold, now? The ground is frozen solid, the animals are long gone, and not a single crop is growing.
It was stubbornness that kept my family here after our deal with the mages soured, and we lost their assistance. It's stubbornness that's brought me back. Nestled between the mountains, south of the Saarthal burial site, lies my slice of Skyrim.
I haven't been back here in years.
As I go to the house that I grew up in, I examine the front door with a deep sigh. Locks are broken, but then, what was I expecting? The place is frozen over, furniture askew, and the contents ransacked. As I'm righting everything, I pause as I'm fixing one of the chairs, seeing the cut and blood stains on the back of it.
Not sure whether it was my Mother or Father who died in it. Probably Mother, can't imagine the old man died sitting.
Their bodies have been taken care of already, so I don't have to clean them up, at least. Buried on the land and had their rites handled by a proper priest of Arkay. I'll have to thank Jarl Korir for taking care of that. He's never liked my family, since we used to do business with the mages, but he liked what little food we managed to grow in this frozen waste. I'm not surprised he sent someone up to investigate when they stopped receiving word from my parents.
Bandits, most likely. As this war rages on, the bandit problem has gotten far worse. Deserters turned to crime, people fleeing their Hold because the Jarl picked a side they didn't like. War always makes men a little crazy, and I suppose my parents seemed like easy prey. The poor bastards probably hoped to find some wealth or food, but there's been little of that since my grandfather's time.
It's why I left. I wish I could say I was seeking glory or fortune, but I just moved west to Dawnstar and worked in a mine to make some septims since the farm was only doing worse as the nights got colder. Sent the money back with a courier to keep my stubborn old mule of a father from freezing to death out here. Again, wish I could say that if I was here, I could have changed things, but it'd just have been three bodies being buried.
I can handle an axe. I'm a Nord who grew up on a farm in the ass-end of nowhere. I'd be dead if I couldn't. That said, I have little experience fighting men instead of wild beasts.
The place really has been ransacked, and it feels like hours until I'm done with the downstairs of the house. Most of the blood seems to be near the chair, some has gotten into the wooden floors, and there's a trail where the body was dragged out. Only one person died down here, I guess.
Moving upstairs, I continue to fix what I can. I'll have to replace a lot, won't be easy and won't be cheap. My old room is a mess, but… I think I kinda left it like that. Years later, and it barely looks changed. Guess the bandits realised there was nothing of value and left after a quick search.
My parent's bedroom makes me pause once again, seeing the blood on the furs and straw. Guess I've found where the other parent died. It's not easy to clean up after your parents' murders, but I'm a pragmatic man. The Jarl's men made an attempt, but there's still work to do.
As I fix the place up as best I can with my current supplies, something catches my eye, making my eyebrows furrow. On the bed's post, a frayed rope makes me blink in confusion for a moment before a sinking feeling hits me.
Examining the room more closely, I start to put together what happened in this room more and more, having to leave to sit down for a moment, holding a piece of material I found. The green material was under the bed, and I recognised it immediately as a torn piece of my mother's favourite dress.
I was wrong. It was my father who died downstairs. He was probably tied to the chair, as well.
Returning to the room, I find the bloody bed sheet and examine it with increasing rage and despair as I find other stains alongside the blood of my murdered mother. The Jarl's men must have wanted to hide the details from me, cleaning up the evidence, but… well, the Winterhold guards aren't exactly Skyrim's best.
My mother died in this room, but it almost certainly wasn't a quick death. When the bandits didn't find what they were looking for, they probably took their frustrations out on her. She always was beautiful.
I can't say I'm truly surprised. They were already criminals, they weren't going to let my parents live to identify them and they'd probably not seen a woman in weeks, hiding out in the wastes. Probably in one of the caves or ruins around the mountains, got hungry and hoped to rob the farm and found far less than they expected.
Despite my best efforts to just get on with it, the master bedroom remains in its state as I leave it. I don't want to be in that room, not right now.
Why did I come back here? What did I think was waiting for me?
Heading out to get some firewood, I ignore the pre-cut wood my father obviously cut before his death. I need to hit something with an axe right now.
Few trees grow out here, but I grew up in this place. I know where to find wood.
After taking my rage out on some unsuspecting trees and spending what felt like hours staring into the firepit back home, I finally get the balls to do what I came here for. Heading out again, I find the spot easily enough. It's nothing special, two somewhat freshly filled holes in the ground marked with some wood with two names crudely etched onto it.
Frida and Bjorn.
Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad… I'm home.
Frida means beautiful, and she truly was. Everyone thought she was mad for leaving Whiterun behind to come and live on a failing farm with some stubborn, hairy hermit. Jarl Balgruuf himself once tried to woo her and failed. Long blonde hair, always in a braid, fierce blue eyes. I once broke a drunken man's jaw in Winterhold for saying she had the fattest ass this side of Cyrodil.
She once knocked a man's tooth out for saying that she had tits that put Dibella's to shame. She never was one to take shit from anyone, not my father, certainly not strangers. Her father was a Companion. She knew how to defend herself. Not well enough, it seems.
Bjorn, the Bear. He got that name because he was born with more hair than any baby should rightly have. He never cut it, had a beard down to his chest that he was so damn proud of. Built like a bear as well.
The Jarl's men said they found three dead men out in the fields when they came here. I guess he was working when they came; they attacked, and he killed some before he was taken down and dragged inside so they could try to find out where the wealth was hidden.
I think my grandparents should have called him Mule; he was stubborn enough for it, the old Jackass. I told him to leave the farm. It wasn't making any money, and barely anything grew anymore. I had a house in Dawnstar. They could have moved in and been safe, at least while the war raged… but no.
This was his father's land and his grandfather's before him. He'd rather die than leave. The storms that caused the Great Collapse didn't drive our family out, and neither did the Oblivion Crisis after one of the gates opened in the mountains and spewed daedra at my ancestors. We've been on this land for hundreds of years, and he wouldn't let anyone change that. Neither war nor disaster would see this place abandoned. How did that go for you, huh?
As for me? Jorgen… farmer. The old man had grand ambitions for me, clearly.
As I kneel on the snow-coated ground, I pray to the Nine to look after their souls. It is not easy to dig up this frozen dirt. I really do owe Jarl Korir for the effort he put in, or his men, at least. As I continue my prayers, I feel something enter me, a gasp leaving me as my vision darkens and my head swims.
My face hits the ground and despite me knowing the dangers of sleeping outside, I can't stop myself from losing consciousness.
– Later –
Celestial Grimoire, Online.
Waking with a shout, I look around in a mixture of anger and confusion. I've been laid here long enough to have snow covering my body, but I don't feel cold as I rise.
My head swims as I feel something working, the mystical nature of it baffling me.
[Artificier] - 0cp (Free roll, rerolling)
Source: Baldur's Gate 3
Your kind didn't make the cut in the original game, but the artificers of the realms certainly exist. You combine technology and magic in perfect harmony. Being a master of invention, you can use magic and ingenuity to unlock the potential within objects. You are not as strong as a pure wizard, but you are just as (if not more) versatile in your abilities. You are a talented combatant and a decent spellcaster who uses their tools as focus.
My mind races as what feels like years of memories pass my mind. I see myself working in some strange workshop, tinkering and working on gadgets that I slowly come to understand. Despite never having cast a spell in my life, I feel the magic within me come alive.
Father always said that one of my ancestors was one of the College types, but I'm no mage. Or, I wasn't, at least. Now, I'm sure I could make magical items, like those… what do you call them? Enchanters?
[Dragon Communion] - 200cp
Source: Elden Ring
The practice of dragon communion is a primal practice, founded in the sacrificial devouring of dragon hearts in order to create the likeness of the dragons as elemental breath attacks, claw swipes and tail slashes-with an eye for greater transformations later on. Marika herself decreed that the worship of the Erdtree did not conflict with idolising the ancient dragons, and so it is the difficulty of hunting and slaying dragons rather than persecution that has mainly hindered its spread.
You are no mere neophyte. For years, you have followed the path of Dragon Communion and can be considered experienced in it. Not only are you better versed at challenging the mighty dragons than most warriors, but you also have a wide arsenal of basic dragon-summoning based techniques and a handful of some truly unique dragon's breath attacks. In future worlds, even the hearts of dragons alien to this world will confer similar benefits proportionate to their overall power.
Again, my mind is lost in a world I do not recognise. I see myself travelling strange lands in the pursuit of dragons, like the Ancient Nord Tongues of old. I see myself and my fellow Dragon Hunters slaying and consuming dragons as my body burns, the cold melting away before the heat within my chest.
That isn't a metaphor, as I watch the snow around me melt in an instant before the heat retracts. It still awaits within, the fire burning inside me as I feel their fire raging through my veins. I can taste their blood on my tongue, memories of consuming my first dragon heart in a secret temple, but I shake the memories away as I make my way into the house once more.
It's bigger than most. Building out in the middle of nowhere means you can build as big as you like, and it's been expanded over the years. At times, this place was bustling with dozens of workers, but the collapse changed that. Parts of the house have been sealed off since two people couldn't maintain the entire place by themselves.
With my new… knowledge, I get back to work. As an Artificer, I can easily fix most broken furniture with a little magic-bizarre as that sentence is- and some know-how. The only thing I don't try to fix is my parent's bed, which gets dragged outside. I stare at it for a moment before I let out a roar.
From my mouth, flames rage and engulf the bed and stained sheets, turning them to ash in an instant.
Turning back to go inside, I freeze as something stares back at me. Around my size, the figure is shaped like a man, but with no features. The blank face looks in my direction, unmoving. It seems to be made of rock, and as my fires prepare to burn it to pieces, my head swims once more.
Celestial Forge, Online.
[Golem Formula] - 200cp
Source: Generic Isekai
This is a set of instructions on creating and controlling simple humanoid golems made from earth, stone, or wood. The golems it describes are weaker than human adults but tireless and mindlessly obedient to their creator. Though casting the creation spell is costly for a beginner, it is not impossible and will become easier with practice. It comes with one premade golem.
Today keeps getting weirder.
"Go and shovel the fields," I order with a sigh, watching my golem move to obey. What the hell is going on? Some daedric trickery? No, this feels right, and I can't explain why.
I have no experience with magic. I don't know how to handle any of this-
Celestial Menagerie, Online.
[Monster Hunter: Popo] - 100cp (Noncombat, rolling again).
Herd-forming herbivores. Covered in thick fur to endure the cold, Popo are gentle but known to use their massive tusks bravely when defending their young. Popo meat is very nutritious; the tongue is said to be especially palatable. You gain a breeding pair.
Staring into the face of the strange mammoth-like creature that just appeared in front of me, I sigh again. It's not the size of a regular mammoth, around half the size, but it's still a big fur-covered beast. The second is smaller, but not by much, as I run my hand through the thick fur with curiosity.
Today isn't making much sense.
[Monster Hunter: Barioth] - 300cp
The snow-white flying wyvern with huge tusks that rule the eternally frozen tundra. It uses its forelegs and tail to traverse ice with ease.
Staring into the eyes of the bigger creature that just appeared, sending the two Popo running behind me in terror, I sigh. Icy blue eyes lock with mine, and any other day, I'd have run in terror at the giant, scaly sabertooth from hell, but today? I'm tired.
"Are you going to eat me?" I ask simply, and the beast shakes its massive white head. The spiked tail swishes behind it as it sits on its hind paws patiently. Its forearms are winged, and the idea of this thing flying briefly makes me wonder if Sheogorath moved into the farm when I wasn't watching. "That's nice."
[Material Extraction] - 100cp
Once per day, you can summon a body part of each of your summons, such as bone, hide or blood. These materials remain permanently, and the process does not harm the summon.
It's waiting for orders, tilting its feline head expectantly.
"I- go patrol the edge of the grounds, make sure no predators get in," I say, making it purr as it dashes off with frightening speed. The Popo stopped hiding behind me (which wasn't exactly working since they were both taller than me and certainly wider as well. I suppose they're beasts of burden? This weather certainly isn't bothering them.
Celestial Reliquary, Online
[Crate of Weirwood, or Black-Barked Saplings] - 200cp
Source: ASOIAF
You gain a crate of twenty, choosing either Weirwood or Black-Barked saplings. They grow to full maturity within a month. Every month, you gain another crate of twenty and can change your decision. Weirwoods are sacred trees grown by the Children of the Forest, used as places of worship for those who follow the Old Gods. They have white bark, red sap and red leaves. The children often carve elaborate faces into the trunks as well, which the sap will swell up from, giving the appearance of tears. Black-Barked trees, on the other hand, are the trees Qarthian Warlocks use the leaves from to make the Shade of Evening. Black-Barked trees have black bark and inky blue leaves. Both may have magical properties yet undiscovered, but will most likely relate to the two's mystical significance. Both types of trees will create a mystical connection to trees of their fellow species and can be used as a network to divine anything that has happened in their presence in the past or present. They can even be used to communicate over vast distances, as long as you have skills in divination.
My mind races for a moment before I find myself looking at the large box of Weirwood saplings. This might all be a dream, but even if it is, an idea is forming as I open the box and take out one of them. I know exactly where it is being planted.
I've never planted a sapling before, as I dig close to my parent's graves, but I know I am doing this right. The rest of the crate goes into storage, for now, until I know what I want to do with them.
Celestial Dojo, Online
[Spirit Farm] - 100cp
Source: A Will Eternal
What every good sect needs is an area where they can grow and raise the more domestic variety of spiritual fauna and flora. Adventuring to gain rare resources is all well and good, but they also need a stable income from cultivation material. This is yours. A moderately large area of farmland. There is space for farming crops, though do try to look after the soil for the best results. There is also land for animals, complete with a chicken pen filled with a plethora of spirit-tailed chickens which are delicious to eat, help with your cultivation, and whose feathers can be burned to produce two-colour flames.
…I really am going to be stuck as a farmer forever, aren't I?
The grounds shift, and in this moment, I get a glimpse of what the farm looked like in better times. The frozen ground is replaced with fertile soil, strange herbs planted and growing despite the winter, the broken pens are repaired, and the area seems to… expand? It's like the world itself was stretched out.
In one of the pens, perfectly… normal chickens are gathered around their coop. I ignore the way one of them breathes a small spout of fire, being entirely too tired for this. The other pens are currently empty, including the one that my family used for Horkers. It's one of the biggest sources of food we had, breeding those unruly beasts. Their meat and tusks sold well. We also had goats, which are also missing.
Growing anything this far north was not easy. It took constant work just to keep even the more resilient crops alive, and while the grounds have been enriched by the new spiritual energies, it's still going to be a bitch to keep a farm this large running.
But… I am Jorgen. I was made for this, wasn't I?
And more importantly, the bandits will be around here, somewhere. My eyes go to where Barioth is prowling, barely visible against the white snow, then to the burnt ground, which is all that remains of the bed, and I smile.
It is not a happy smile.
Taking in the surroundings, the insanity of it all, I think to myself before I nod, my mind made up.
Nothing is going to see this farm abandoned. Not war, disaster, bandits or whatever else the world throws at it. What can I say? I'm stubborn, too.
– Weeks Later –
Replacing the feed in the goat pen, I hop back over the fence with a small frown. Several stone golems work on the crops as I head back inside. My pickaxe came in useful, and finding a source of good stone out here wasn't particularly hard.
It's safe to say this wasn't all a mad dream. The strangeness didn't go away after I slept for the night. As insane as it seems, this is my life now. I've thought about going to the College, but for what? They broke off their agreement with my grandfather, leading to the farm falling into disrepair. I'm not going to go pleading for them to help me with whatever is going on.
I haven't gone searching for bandits yet, either. Honestly, I've been busy getting the farm set up. Golems are the farmer's dream, especially out in this frozen land. They are the only reason I can handle this, replacing workers with mindless, never-tiring men of stone.
Entering the house, I smile at the gentle heat coming from the firepit. It isn't lit, but it doesn't need to be. I don't know how I gained these strange memories and knowledge, but I'm not so stubborn or short-sighted as to refuse to use them. Creating a runestone that could produce heat was not difficult, given my new skills.
Many in the Winterhold dislike magic and distrust mages, but my opinion is best described as indifference. I have no love for the College, but I have no real hate for them, either. I have magic, so I'll use it. Living out here gives you a certain pragmatism when it comes to these things.
I remember another school, of sorts, where I learnt the ways of the Artificer. The names and faces are blurred, but I remember enough as I head into my workshop. As I said before, the house is bigger than most, and I have the room to set aside one room for my tinkering.
Gods, I have to wonder what my old man would think if he could see the place now. I genuinely can't tell if he'd be proud or not. Who am I kidding? He'd probably just give me a gruff grunt before he got back to work, golems be damned.
The Winterhold village residents were baffled to realise that I planned to pick up where he left off, but this place is so remote that nobody comes up here without a reason. The bizarreness that is the new and improved Chillbloom farm remains secret. It won't last forever, but I don't need it to.
I've been working on trying to recreate the magic that once enchanted these lands, allowing the farm to grow crops even in the coldest winters. My little stone in the firepit was just the start, and with the golems handling the more menial labour, I have time to experiment.
It's not quite breaking rocks for twelve hours straight in the mines, but I've fallen into my new schedule easily enough. Capturing some goats was probably the hardest thing I've done so far. I've not tried for the Horkers yet.
The ones we had had been bred to be docile over generations. I can't just run out and grab the first Horker I find and expect it to replace my lost livestock. I don't know if the bandits killed and ate them or if they simply broke free after being left without food, but the Winterhold is large. If they're still alive, they could be anywhere.
…that's assuming my Barioth hasn't eaten them. He's rapidly settled into his new home and seems to take a special kind of joy from bullying the local sabre cats, who have quickly learnt that this part of the Winterhold is off-limits to them.
Last week, I woke up to find three dead sabre cats on my porch. He brings his kills back to me, both to show off and because he knows I can harvest them for parts. I've also been using my strange power to create parts from my creatures to get myself a nice stock of Popo meat and hide, as well as Barioth hide and scales.
One of my creations was the cold house, a new building my golems helped me throw up on the grounds to store and freeze all the meat. It's more than I can eat, but I'm not ready to start selling it yet.
It's damn good meat, even if I wouldn't mind a little variety.
I've set up two fields to grow potatoes and wheat. The potatoes are growing nicely, but it's still too damn cold for the wheat to grow properly, even with my attempts. I'll keep at it.
I've also managed to get some snowberry bushes growing. This soil is damn good, and there's more to it than I first thought. The very ground is imbued with a kind of energy that I can't identify. The same energy that is within my chickens.
The rest of the farm are plants I simply cannot identify. All share that same energy, but I can't begin to work out what the hell they're used for. It's not ideal, but I'm working on it, all the same.
Winter is getting closer. I've picked a hell of a time to start this little project of mine because each night feels a little colder than the last. This far north? That means blizzards are coming, and there's nothing I can do to change that. What I can do is to try and prepare for the inevitable. In the past, that meant hunkering down, preparing to lose all the crops, and hoping to save some livestock.
Now? I think I can do a little better than that.
I basically have a checklist of tasks to complete before winter truly begins. Luckily, as I said, the golems have given me a lot more time to work on improving the farm instead of having to spend my days handling the day-to-day duties.
I also need to fix the carriage and make a harness for the male Popo to pull it. Probably going to need to make a new set of wheels. The current ones aren't suited for the deep snow that we'll be getting, and the 'road' can only be called that if you really squint.
I need to make contact with the inn and general trader in Winterhold as well. They won't be expecting any goods from me so soon, but I should re-establish the business relationship sooner rather than later. I may have become a miner, but I do still remember my lessons on managing a farm.
I want to start scouring the place for the bandits, but honestly? I don't have the time. They raided all the supplies the farm had from the old man's ledger, which means they probably plan to hunker down for the winter. I have time. They won't be setting out to move camp anytime soon.
Plus, there's definitely more than one set of bandits around here. They have always been a problem for the farm, but most knew it wasn't worth the effort or risk. Before the war, guards from Winterhold occasionally patrolled the road to the farm, but they stopped thanks to being needed for the war efforts. I don't know which group attacked my home, and frankly? I don't know how to find out beyond going around capturing random bandits and trying to get answers out of them.
It may be worth making some money and then hiring the Companions to do the hunting for me. Dragon Communion gave me some powers, but they're far from subtle. The last thing I want to do is get pulled into this war. We're deep in Stormcloak territory, with Winterhold to the east, Dawnstar to the west and Windhelm to the south, all held by the Stormcloaks.
If I start showing combat skills, they'll come knocking, expecting me to fight in their war. They will, anyway, once the farm starts becoming more successful. They'll want donations for the war effort, no doubt. They left Father alone because he was barely making enough to sell to Winterhold, the smallest town in Skyrim, but with my new techniques?
I suppose it'll only get worse when I get my smithy set up. I need some finer tools for my artificing that I just can't create with my current workshop. I'll also need ore, but I know people in Dawnstar for that. The issue is that it will attract attention when I start buying ore. I suppose once I have enough golems to run the farm, I can send more out into the mountains to look for veins, but they're poor fighters and would die to any threats they come across.
I can take down one of them with my pickaxe. Any actual fighter is going to tear them apart and start to wonder where these weird creatures are coming from.
I also need an Alchemy set, which is definitely going to get some questions thrown my way. I'm going to need to think of a reason why the guy who has spent the last few years hitting rocks with a pickaxe all day can suddenly do so much more. I need to test my new herbs to work out what the fuck I am currently growing.
My first question was simple. Can I make alcohol from them?
Currently, inconclusive.
Hearing a thud outside, I pause my work to go and investigate, axe at my waist as I open the door.
Sitting in front of the door, my Barioth swishes its large, spiked tail back and forth as it presents its latest kill. The troll is missing its head, the body discarded in front of my house. At least he's stopped trying to bring them inside or trying to get inside himself. No matter how he tries, he just does not fit, and I didn't appreciate having to repair the window.
"Thank you, boy," I say, reaching up and stroking his scaled face. His purring grows more intense before he darts off again. I do have to wonder what he is doing to the local ecosystem because, so far, it seems like there is no local wildlife capable of challenging him.
My artificer memories have given me a more scientific mind, but I can't begin to guess how the big ice cat is changing things. For now, I grab the troll and drag it into the room I've set up for butchering and harvesting his prey. This is a daily occurrence, after all.
…Gods above, my life has gotten weird.
And yet, despite everything, I like it. There's a lot to do, and a war going on, but it's home.
– ??? –
"Hey, you. You're finally awake."
Groaning, she tried to shake the cobwebs out of her brain, trying to work out what was going on.