Beggar Bob will be on the road again soon.

Hello!

Beggar Bob has in fact not died in his sleep after necking several bottles of room temperature booze and will be back to his old (really really old) self (really ugly self) in the next few days. I’ve not had the time to keep up with the blog in the last couple of months for a number of reasons that I won’t bore you with, but hopefully it should be plain sailing after the Christmas season.

If you are still watching and waiting, give a shout in the comments. It’s nice to know that you’re still there. 🙂

Regards and Merry Christmas, Urby and Bob.

Day 3 – The open road

I wake up with a jolt at around 7am. Despite not requesting a wake up call, my room is filled with music and frankly awful singing. Seems the downside of sleeping in a pantry in a pub is that there is no sound proofing. Frustrated, I stagger up the stairs to find the source of the din. It’s a dark elf with a lute, standing in the corner and bellowing her lungs out. The song ends and a few people applaud. I stand and judge silently and perhaps a little too obviously.

Day 2 – “Honest” work

I wake up on my feet in the pantry I rented for 10G. I don’t waste any time in getting started. I wolf down an apple and the spring water I bought, then I’m up and out into the streets. I really want to get a wood axe so I can make a bow, but nobody seems to be selling them. Perhaps I could just buy a bow instead. Nope, seems they’re not in stock anywhere either. Maybe I came at a bad time. Is it nearly Christmas? Have all the good axes and bows already gone to wealthier children? Frustrated, I decide to head back out into the wilderness and simply head in the other direction, away from the wolves and past Brandy-Mug farm

Day 1 – Beggars and Berries

It’s a cold, icy morning in the city of Windhelm and I, Bob Robertson, have just awoken in a small dank corner behind an abandoned house. I am quite a sight to behold. I am an old, scrawny, penniless coot with nothing to my name but a set of tattered linens and the cloth wrapped around my feet. I am, for all intents and purposes, a beggar. Not only that, I am a beggar with quite a crippling disability. I cannot beg. No matter how rich a person I approach, I simply cannot bring myself to ask them for any money. It simply is not an option. I really mean that. There is literally no option to ask anyone for money in Skyrim.

My past is irrelevant, other than the fact that whatever I WAS doing clearly didn’t work out. How I ended up where I am has no meaning, and the reason for my looking like some kind of caveman-potato cross breed will be forever shrouded in mystery.