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Mantella is an AI system that turns every single NPC in Skyrim (and Fallout 4) into AI agents driven by an LLM (like ChatGPT or the recently released, and comparable, Llama 3.1). In the previous part, my character, an Altmer mage, offered sexual favors to a powerful mob boss, insulted a beggar girl, threatened to murder a local in the middle of a bustling inn, and lured in a stabby woman with the promise of gold and blood.

Maven Black-Briar, the de facto ruler of Riften, sent an associate to meet us at the Bee and Barb, Riften’s main inn. Only Uthgerd, Alva, Bassianus and I were present at the time. The associate’s name was Brynjolf, a suave man with an easy smile.

Brynjolf: “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a bit about your group’s exploits.”
Jon: “Good rumors, I hope.”
Brynjolf: “Well, I’ve heard you lot have been making a name for yourselves, taking on all sorts of dangerous jobs and coming out on top. And working with the Black-Briars? That’s no small feat.”
Jon: “So, what sort of job does Maven have in mind for us to prove ourselves?”
Brynjolf: “One that requires a certain set of skills, and she seems to think you lot fit the bill.”
Uthgerd: “Is that so? Well, we’re listening. What’s the job?”
Bassianus: “Yeah, we’re ready for anything. Just give us the details.”
Brynjolf: “This one’s a bit of a sensitive matter. A certain individual has been causing some trouble for Maven’s business interests. Let’s just say he’s been sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, and it’s starting to become a problem. Maven wants you to take care of it. Quietly.”
Uthgerd: “Quietly, huh? So, what, we’re talking about a shiv in the dark, then?”
Bassianus: “Or maybe just a nice, stern talking-to. Depends on what kind of trouble this guy is causing, right?”
Jon: “Yes, Brynjolf, what conclusion to this individual was Maven looking for? The bleeding-out variety?”
Brynjolf: “Not necessarily. Maven’s not one to condone unnecessary violence. She just wants the problem dealt with, one way or another. If you can find a way to make this individual see the error of his ways and back off, that’s just as good. But if he proves to be particularly stubborn, well, let’s just say you have a license to be more persuasive.”
Alva: “In other words, we have some leeway to be creative with our methods. As long as the problem is solved, Maven will be satisfied, yes?”
Brynjolf: “Precisely. As long as this individual ceases to be a thorn in Maven’s side, she’ll consider the job a success.”
Jon: “Very well, we understand the conditions, who is the target then? Name, location, possible weaknesses?”
Brynjolf: “The man you’re looking for is named Mallus Maccius, a lowlife who’s been running a smuggling operation into Riften, undercutting Maven’s own business ventures. He’s employed at the Honningbrew Meadery, close to Whiterun. As for weaknesses, well, let’s just say Mallus fancies himself quite the ladies’ man. He’s been known to frequent the inns and taverns, looking for his next conquest. Might be something you could use to your advantage.”
Jon: “Most of my gorgeous associates, like the pale beauty Alva here, or the broad, sturdy Uthgerd the Unbroken, could work as bait for this Mallus character.”
Brynjolf: “That’s not a bad idea. Mallus has a reputation for going after all sorts of women, so either one might be able to catch his eye. The key is to make him believe he’s in control, that he’s got the upper hand. Once you’ve got him hooked, it’ll be easier to reel him in.”
Bassianus: “We could set up a meeting, make it seem like a casual encounter. When he’s got his guard down, that’s when we move in.”
Uthgerd: “Hmph. I don’t like the idea of using myself or Alva as bait, but if it’s necessary, I’m willing to do what it takes.”
Jon: “Alva, my night queen, is the most proficient at seduction of anybody I’ve come across, so I’d say she will make perfect bait for that man.”
Alva: “Why thank you, Jon, that’s very kind of you to say. I do have my ways with words, don’t I?”
Brynjolf: “Well, there you have it. Sounds like Alva has the right skills for the job. With her on the inside and the rest of you as backup, this Mallus Maccius won’t stand a chance.”
Bassianus: “Alva, when the time comes, just give us the signal, and we’ll be there to make sure this Mallus character gets what’s coming to him.”
Jon: “Brynjolf, we need more details about how Mallus is annoying our shared patron. Hard to intimidate someone about his deeds when we barely know anything about them.”
Brynjolf: “Fair point, let me give you the details. Mallus Maccius has been smuggling weapons and skooma into Riften, cutting into Maven Black-Briar’s profits and undermining her control over the city.”
Alva: “Skooma and weapons, hmm? Those are two things that Maven definitely wouldn’t want falling into the wrong hands, at least not without her say-so.”
Jon: “I think we understand all the moving parts of this operation. Does anybody have any questions?”
Brynjolf: “I’ve given you all the key information. The rest is up to you. Remember, discretion is paramount.”
Uthgerd: “We get it, no loose ends. We’ll make sure Mallus understands that he’s got no choice but to back off, one way or another. If there’s nothing else, I’d say it’s time to put this plan into action. The sooner we deal with this scum, the better.”

I wished to know how my two main gals felt about this development.

Jon: “It seems we’re returning to Whiterun this soon. Quite the odd way to come back home, isn’t it, Uthgerd?”
Uthgerd: “Strange indeed, Jon. I never thought I’d be going back to Whiterun for this kind of work.”
Alva: “Well, at least it’s familiar territory for you, Uthgerd. You’ll have the upper hand there.”
Jon: “We better get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to travel there, and how many of us will go.”
Uthgerd: “Agreed, Jon. We need to be well-rested for this.”
Alva: “I’m looking forward to seeing Whiterun again.”

Upstairs, I knocked on the door to Jenassa’s rented room.

Jon: “Hey Jenny, we are heading back to Whiterun for an operation. We already met with Maven’s associate. Turns out we need to intimidate a smuggler who works at the Honningbrew Meadery. We’ll convince him one way or another to stop his side gig.”
Jenassa: “Sounds like it could lead to trouble. I’m in, of course. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll take care of any obstacles that stand in our way.”
Jon: “Apparently this man, our target, is one lustful fella, like someone else you know quite well. We’ll use our lovely Alva as bait to get him in the proper mood for our part.”
Jenassa: “Alva should be able to handle that well enough. Just make sure she doesn’t get too carried away with the act. We want him off balance, not dead… at least, not until we get what we want out of him.”
Jon: “Yeah, we shouldn’t kill him unless absolutely necessary. That would create undue trouble. And I know that you dislike getting into trouble unless warranted.”
Jenassa: “You’re right, I don’t. But if he tries anything funny with Alva, I won’t hesitate to put him in his place. Undue trouble or not.”
Jon: “You know, I’m a bit surprised, but glad, that you’d go out of your way to help Alva. That isn’t something a regular mercenary would do, right?”
Jenassa: “Don’t read too much into it. We’re a team, and we watch out for each other. That’s all there is to it.”

Next morning, we decided that we’d get to Whiterun via wagon, but it’d need to happen at night lest Alva scorch her precious skin, so I took a stroll around town to pass the time. Near Mistveil Keep, the jarl’s seat of power, I spotted a delightful sight: an orphanage. Such an establishment would help in my goal of furnishing my future home with children.

The kids I came across looked wary, even scared, although a couple of them glanced at me with hope. The two sole adults in charge of the orphanage were a kind-faced young woman and a mean-looking hag.

Jon: “Well met, women! I was in the neighborhood and noticed this orphanage. My name is Jon, and I have my own band of adventurers called Frostpeak Stalkers. I shall buy a house soon with the money we’re making, so I’m in the market for a child.”
Grelod the Kind: “A child? You think you can just waltz in here and buy a child like they’re a loaf of bread? This isn’t a marketplace, you fool.”

Constance Michel: “Now, now, Grelod, we don’t get many visitors interested in the children. At least let’s hear him out.”
Grelod the Kind: “Don’t now, now me, Constance. I’m not running a damned charity here. These brats are more trouble than they’re worth.”
Constance Michel: “Please, ignore her. I’m Constance, and I help run this orphanage. You said your name was Jon, right?”
Jon: “That’s right, yes, and if you say that these brats are more trouble than they’re worth, then surely I can take some off your hands. By the way, Constance, your figure is perfect for bearing children. Thank you for defending me against your employer.”
Constance Michel: “I appreciate the compliment, Jon, but we’re here to talk about the children. I understand Grelod’s hesitations, but I do think they deserve a chance at a good home. I’ve been trying to convince her to allow adoptions.”
Grelod the Kind: “And you see how far it’s gotten us, don’t you? Jon, was it? She’s the softhearted one. If you want a straight answer, you’ll deal with me. And I’m not just giving these little runts away.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, please. Let’s not be hasty. Jon seems to have good intentions. Why don’t we give him a chance?”
Jon: “Yes, I am trustworthy individual. My purpose here is to get myself a child or two to brighten the mood of my future home. Watching them running around, as well as hearing their laughter, will probably improve the mood and serve as good decoration.”
Grelod the Kind: “You make them sound like furniture. You think a child is just some decoration for your fantasy of a happy home? They’re not dolls.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod is right, Jon. Children are not decorations. They’re people with needs and feelings. Are you prepared to provide for those needs?”
Grelod the Kind: “He doesn’t look like he can provide for a rock, let alone a child. What are you, some kind of sellsword? You think that’s a stable life for a child?”
Jon: “I guess I must defend my chosen career. I am an adventurer. I do not sell my services. I delve into ancient barrows, archeological wonders. I kill monsters and collect lots of loot. I’m currently in possession of 5,500 septims, enough money to buy a house in certain holds of Skyrim. So I’m no bum.”
Constance Michel: “Jon, your wealth is not the issue here. What Grelod and I are concerned about is whether you’re able to provide a stable, loving environment. If your main interest in a child is for them to be a decoration, that’s not a sufficient reason.”
Grelod the Kind: “And traipsing around old ruins and fighting monsters isn’t exactly a family-friendly occupation. What are you going to do, bring a child along while you’re out tomb raiding?”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, Jon, let’s not argue. We’re getting nowhere here. I think what we need is a calm discussion about what’s best for the children. Jon, perhaps you could tell us more about your background and your life. We want to make sure that any child we place with you will be well cared for.”
Jon: “I am an Altmer, a High Elf from overseas. I came to Skyrim to learn and research magic, but due to the the vicissitudes of fate, I ended up founding a band of adventurers that is currently composed of seven members, some of them very powerful warriors capable of protecting me as well as any children we may buy.”
Grelod the Kind: “So you’re some high and mighty elf who thinks he can swoop in here and take one of these brats off our hands so they can be your little magic apprentice or something? I’ve heard enough. Constance, tell him to get out.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, please, let’s remain civil. Jon, what Grelod is trying to say is that a life filled with danger and instability is not ideal for a child. You may have protections in place, but children need stability, safety, and above all, love.”
Grelod the Kind: “And discipline, don’t forget that. But this one doesn’t look like he knows the meaning of the word.”
Jon: “First of all, I shall clarify that I wouldn’t bring children along on our adventures. When some of us set off in search of thrills and loot, the children would stay at home with at least one of my female companions, who would shower them with love. If that doesn’t sound good enough, maybe you yourself, Constance, should leave this drab life of yours in an orphanage and come live with me. Become the mother of the children I will adopt, or become a mother the old-fashioned way. I’m sure you’d shower our children with love, and perhaps me as well, for giving you a better life.”
Constance Michel: “You’re suggesting I leave my post here to come live with you and… care for the children you adopt? While I’m flattered by the offer, I must decline. My duty is to all the children here, not just one or two.”
Grelod the Kind: “Hah! As if she’d go with you anyway. What sort of person asks someone they just met to come live with them? You’re not right in the head.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, that’s uncalled for. Jon, I appreciate your interest in the children. It’s clear you have resources and a unique living situation.”
Jon: “Old broad, I’m growing tired of you. I can see in your eyes that you’re incapable of loving anybody. You’re full of disdain. I heard you refer to these children as ‘guttersnipes.’ How dare you? You’re the one who has no clue how to take care of children.”
Grelod the Kind: “You think I don’t know how to take care of children? I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive, boy. These brats need a firm hand, not coddling.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, please. Jon, I understand your concerns, but Grelod has her own methods. It may not be what you or I would choose, but… It’s complicated.”
Grelod the Kind: “Complicated? Hah! There’s nothing complicated about it. You’re either tough on them or they walk all over you.”
Jon: “Is that the way to raise children? The little I’ve seen of their faces, most of them seem terrified.”
Grelod the Kind: “They should be! Fear is the only thing that keeps them in line. You clearly don’t know what it takes to raise a child.”
Constance Michel: “Jon, I understand your concerns, truly. But you have to understand, we have many children here and limited resources. It’s not an ideal situation for anyone, but we do our best.”
Grelod the Kind: “Her ‘best’ involves being soft. My ‘best’ involves making sure they survive in this world. You wouldn’t understand.”
Jon: “If you grow up to become a bitter, angry and resentful creature burdened by trauma, is it worth surviving in this world?”
Grelod the Kind: “Aye, it’s worth it. Better angry and resentful than dead, or worse.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, please. Jon, it’s a difficult situation. To keep these children alive and give them a chance at life.”
Grelod the Kind: “A chance at life they wouldn’t have if I wasn’t hard on them. The world isn’t kind to the weak.”
Jon: “That’s right, but my companions and I have made ourselves strong. I’m a powerful mage, and most of my companions are trained warriors. Perhaps what these kids need is some martial training, to learn how to defend themselves and do some damage.”
Constance Michel: “Training in magic and combat can certainly be valuable skills, Jon, but there’s more to raising a child than just making them strong.”
Grelod the Kind: “Aye, like keeping them from getting killed. How many of your companions have died in your little adventures? Probably more than a few.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, that’s not fair. Jon, I understand your perspective, but we have to consider the whole child, their emotional needs, their safety, their development.”
Grelod the Kind: “And if all they learn is magic and how to swing a sword, they won’t develop much at all.”
Jon: “Well, let me tell you, Grelod: I lost one person. Her name was Ange the Song-Bearer, a traveling bard. She sang with the grace of a songbird. Even though she was aware of the world’s dangers, she always had a smile on her face, as well as compassionate words to say to most people. But she wasn’t a carefree individual: she had strong morals. She wasn’t resentful nor mean, and most of the people she met were happier for having known her.”
Grelod the Kind: “And look where it got her. Dead. Just like everyone else in this forsaken world. Having a kind heart doesn’t mean you’ll survive.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, that’s not necessarily true. Ange sounds like she was a wonderful person. Jon, losing someone like that is hard. But it also shows that there’s more to life than just survival. Companionship, kindness, joy… these things matter too.”
Jon: “My point is, Ange lived a happy life, a brave life, one full of adventures and songs, and in a way, she died happy. As for you, Grelod, I can tell you’ve always been miserable. It’s etched in your face. You’re going to die miserable. And afterwards, when people remember you, they’ll wish they had never met you.”
Grelod the Kind: “People remember me? Hah! That’s a laugh. No one will remember me, boy. And if they do, it’ll be with respect.”
Constance Michel: “Jon, I understand your point about Ange, and it’s a good one. A life filled with joy and companionship is a life well-lived.”
Grelod the Kind: “Respect and fear are the only things that matter in this world, boy. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
Jon: “Clearly I can’t get anywhere with you, Grelod. As for you, Constance: your beauty and shapely ass are wasted in this place. My offer still stands. One day I shall return to this orphanage and repeat my offer. Then, you may say no, or you may say yes. And if you agree to come live with me in my opulent mansion, you’ll get to sleep in my warm, boundless bed, and enjoy a happy life surrounded by children.”
Grelod the Kind: “Constance isn’t going anywhere with you, you lecherous fool. She’s staying right here where she belongs. Constance, tell him!”
Constance Michel: “Jon… I appreciate your interest in my wellbeing, but my place is here, with the children. Grelod is right, in her own way. I’m needed here.”
Grelod the Kind: “Hah! As if there was any doubt.”
Jon: “That’s a sad thing to hear, Constance. With your gorgeous, motherly figure, you could easily bear eight, ten children. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live in a big mansion, surrounded by your large family, supported by a charming Altmer man named Jon?”
Grelod the Kind: “What sort of life is that? Pumping out child after child like some broodmare?”
Constance Michel: “Grelod! That’s not… Jon, I’m flattered you think so highly of me, but my life is here. I have a duty to these children. They need me.”
Grelod the Kind: “And you need to stay in your place. Which is here, not off with some elf who thinks with his… Well, I don’t need to say it. We all know what he’s thinking with.”
Jon: “Yes, Grelod, and it’s big enough to clobber you across the face.”
Grelod the Kind: “Ha! As if I’d let you anywhere near me. I’ve had quite enough of this. Constance, deal with him. I’m done.”
Constance Michel: “Grelod, wait! Jon, I… I don’t know what to say. This has been a confusing conversation, to say the least. I appreciate your interest in the children, but I have to put their needs first. And right now, their needs are for me to be here.”

Yet another woman I had hoped to turn into the mother of my children, another woman from whom I found myself walking away. But as I turned a corner, I ran into four timid, fearful kids, who were about to scatter when I approached them for a secretive meeting.

Jon: “Hey, quick, now that the hag isn’t looking this way. Are you kids happy in this gods-forsaken orphanage?”
Samuel: “Well, it’s not exactly a fun place to live, but at least we have each other.”
Francois Beaufort: “I miss my parents. I hope they come back for me someday.”
Hroar: “I want to be adopted and have a real family. But Grelod won’t let us.”
Runa Fair-Shield: “It’s miserable here. Grelod is so mean and cruel to us. I wish we could leave this place.”

Jon: “What is the worst thing about living here?”
Runa Fair-Shield: “The worst part is definitely Grelod. She’s always yelling at us, calling us names, and sometimes even hitting us for no reason.”
Hroar: “Yeah, Grelod is the absolute worst! I’d rather fight a dragon than deal with her meanness.”
Samuel: “It’s not just the abuse. We barely get enough to eat. Just one measly meal a day. I’m always hungry.”
Francois Beaufort: “The constant fear and sadness is really hard to live with day after day. It wears you down.”

I hadn’t felt heroic in a good while, but against such injustice, I was happy to don the armor of righteousness again.

Jon: “Let me tell you something, children: my name is Jon, and I am a powerful High Elf mage from overseas. I’m also the leader of a renowned band of adventurers called Frostpeak Stalkers. We make our living by raiding ancient barrows and claiming their treasure. We have killed many, many monsters out there, including those of the human variety.”
Hroar: “Wow, you sound like a real hero! I wish I could go on adventures like that someday.”
Runa Fair-Shield: “Do you think… maybe… you might be able to help us get out of this awful place? Pretty please?”
Samuel: “Life with you would be much, much better than this miserable orphanage. Anything would be.”
Francois Beaufort: “Jon, monsieur, are you offering to adopt one of us, by chance? If so, I hope you pick me to join your adventurous life!”
Jon: “Well, I came here with such an intention, yes. In the near future, I shall buy a mansion and live in luxury. I considered that getting a child would be a nice thing to add to a home. It would improve the mood, and look good as well. So, one day I intend to return here and snatch one of you.”
Samuel: “Really? You’d actually do that for one of us? That would be a dream come true!”
Francois Beaufort: “Oh, I do hope you’ll consider adopting me, monsieur. I’d be ever so grateful to live in a real home again.”
Hroar: “I’ve always wanted a dad who goes on adventures. Pick me, pick me!”
Runa Fair-Shield: “Please, Jon, come back for one of us. We’ll be the best child you could ask for, I promise. Anything is better than staying here with awful Grelod.”
Jon: “First of all, for when we are apart, I must teach you a trick of the strong: this Grelod bitch, this ugly hag close to death, she’s only able to beat you because she’s dealing with just one of you at the time. But together, you are strong. Do you understand?”
Samuel: “You mean… team up against Grelod? I never thought of that. We’ve always been too scared to fight back.”
Hroar: “Are you saying we should all attack her at once? I like the sound of that! She deserves some payback.”
Francois Beaufort: “I’m not sure… Grelod is awfully big and strong. She might overpower us even if we work together.”
Runa Fair-Shield: “But if we succeeded, we’d finally be free of her cruelty! Maybe it’s worth a try…”
Jon: “Listen, even if she were stronger than all of you, which I doubt, the goal consists in striking her weak points: her eyes, her neck, the back of her head. You can cripple her by destroying her kneecaps. When she gets close, pretend to be subdued, and when she least expects it, drive your thumbs into her eyeballs. That will give you a good chance to finish her off.”
Samuel: “Wow, I never thought of fighting dirty like that before. But against Grelod, I think it’s justified.”
Hroar: “Poke her eyes out? I can do that! Take that, you mean old hag!”
Francois Beaufort: “I don’t know if I have the stomach for eye-gouging… But maybe I could trip her or something.”
Runa Fair-Shield: “You’re right, Jon. We have to be strategic about this. Aim for her weak points and don’t hold back. This is our chance to be free!”
Jon: “Otherwise, when she’s preparing you some awful meal in front of the fire, just shove her in face-first.”
Samuel: “Into the fire? That’s brilliant! She’ll be so busy putting out her flaming hair, she won’t be able to stop us!”
Hroar: “Hee hee, I’d love to see Grelod’s mean face all burnt up! Serves her right.”
Francois Beaufort: “Oh dear, burning someone seems rather extreme… But I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Runa Fair-Shield: “I like the way you think, Jon. Hit her hard and fast when she least expects it. We can do this!”
Jon: “Keep this in mind, children: only the strong can be good-natured, merciful, or humble. The weak cannot choose.”
Samuel: “You’re right, Jon. We’ve been acting weak because that’s how Grelod treats us. But together, we can be strong!”
Hroar: “Yeah, no more being pushovers! From now on, we stand up for ourselves!”
Francois Beaufort: “I never thought of it that way before. You’re saying we have to be strong to have the luxury of being kind?”
Runa Fair-Shield: “Thank you, Jon. You’ve given us courage and hope. We won’t forget this. Next time Grelod tries to hurt us, she’ll regret it!”
Jon: “For now, I shall return to my thrilling life as an adventurer, but I wish for you children to retain in your young minds beautiful dreams of homicide.”
Samuel: “We’ll remember your words, Jon. Dreaming of a better life will keep us going until we can make it a reality.”
Hroar: “I’m gonna dream of all the ways we can smash Grelod! Pow, pow!”
Francois Beaufort: “I may not be able to hurt Grelod myself, but I can certainly dream of her getting her just desserts.”
Runa Fair-Shield: “Every night, I’ll imagine a life without Grelod’s cruelty. Someday, it won’t just be a dream anymore. Thank you, Jon.”
Jon: “You bring a tear to my eyes, beautiful children. I hope you succeed and prosper.”
Samuel: “Thank you, Jon. You’ve given us hope when we had none. We’ll make you proud, just you wait and see.”
Francois Beaufort: “Perhaps the gods led you here today, monsieur. You may have changed the course of our destinies.”
Hroar: “Yeah, thanks Jon! Come back and visit us when we’re free and living the good life!”
Runa Fair-Shield: “We won’t let you down, Jon. Someday, we’ll be strong and free, just like you said. We’ll never forget your kindness.”

I had done a good deed today. I was sauntering back to the Bee and Barb when I noticed a dirty child sitting on a half-wall along the river: the beggar girl who had stolen a precious septim of mine. When she noticed me, she nearly bolted, but it was too late for her. She frowned up at me as she narrowed her shoulders.

Jon: “Well, well, if it isn’t the dirty beggar girl, gracing the market with her presence. Let me tell you: I haven’t forgotten about the septim you swiped from me.”
Olette: “Look, Cap’n, I don’t have your damn septim anymore. Maybe if you kept a better eye on your purse instead of chattin’ up every skirt in Riften, you wouldn’t have this problem.”
Jon: “Kid, I know I’ve said plenty of shit to you. I’m quite angry still, because I can’t abide by you wasting your life as a nasty little shit. You won’t have a future if you keep living like this.”
Olette: “How touching. But I don’t need your pity, Cap’n. I do just fine on my own, without anyone telling me how to live my life. So why don’t you take your righteous indignation and shove it up your arse?”

I stuck my finger up one of her nostrils.

Jon: “Bad idea to suggest to others that things should be shoved up their orifices. They may reciprocate.”
Olette: “Get your finger out of my nose, you bastard! Try that again, and I’ll bite it off! You think you’re so high and mighty, but you’re no better than me. You’re just a thief with a fancy name, stealing from the dead.”
Jon: “Yes, we already went through that. Compared to you, I’m the thief emperor. A single run of thieving grants me thousands of septims. What about you, huh? How much do you earn a day at the most? Three, four septims if you’re extra shitty?”
Olette: “La-di-da, look at you, the big shot thief! You may have your thousands, but I have my freedom. I don’t answer to anyone, and I sure as hell don’t need some jumped-up adventurer telling me what to do.”
Jon: “You know, kid, I see that dagger dangling at your hip. I can tell by your gaze that you’ve used it before. Why not just join a band of adventurers and make some coin the honest way, looting corpses and desecrating graves?”
Olette: “You want me to join your little band of do-gooders? Ha! You must be joking. I’m not about to go traipsing around Skyrim. And as for stealing things worth stealing, I’ll stick to what I know, thanks very much.”
Jon: “Alright, your choice. Keep being a nasty little brat. As a parting gift, here’s a smell you’re used to.”

I turned around and ripped a loud fart in her face.

Olette: “Augh, you disgusting pig! That’s it, I’m out of here. You and your lot can keep your adventurer’s life. I’ll take my chances on the streets, where the air is fresher and the company less flatulent.”

As she scrambled away from my presence, I flicked a couple of septims at her.

Jon: “There you go. Buy yourself a noseplug, will you?”
Olette: “I don’t want your damn septims, Cap’n! I make my own way, and I don’t need handouts from the likes of you. Keep your money and your noseplugs, and leave me be.”
Jon: “You know, those words would have carried more weight if you hadn’t pocketed the septims immediately.”
Olette: “It’s not my fault you’re an easy mark, Cap’n. I’m just doing what I do best.”
Jon: “Alright then. See you around, little turd.”
Olette: “Not if I see you first, Cap’n.”

In the evening, back at the inn, I decided who would join our shady operation in Whiterun. As much as I loved Ria, she was too principled for this mission. Regarding the happy couple we rescued from Ivarstead, I wanted to give them a choice.

Jon: “Bassianus, Fastred, I need to have a strategy meeting with just the two of you lovebirds.”
Fastred: “Oh, a strategy meeting? Just for us? What’s this about, Jon?”
Bassianus : “I’m curious too. What’s on your mind?”
Jon: “As you know, our target is located in the Whiterun hold, which means that we’ll need to travel there. And our task consists on intimidating and possibly harming someone in charge of a smuggling operation, which could result in a dangerous situation.”
Fastred: “We’re just scaring him, right? Not actually hurting him?”
Jon: “Listen, Fastred, let me be honest: I don’t think you’re ready for a mission about intimidating a man and possibly having to beat him up real good. I want you to sit this one out, remain here at the Bee and Barb, until we can go out adventuring properly.”
Fastred: “Jon, I can handle myself. I’m not some delicate flower that needs constant protection. If we’re going to be part of this group, Bassianus and I, we need to pull our weight, just like everyone else. Isn’t that right, Bassianus?”
Bassianus: “Fastred’s got a point, Jon. We didn’t join your crew to sit on the sidelines. Fastred might be young, but she’s tougher than she looks. And I’m not about to let her go into danger alone. Where she goes, I go. That’s the deal.”
Jon: “Yes, Bassianus, but the deal that I’m proposing is for your girlfriend to remain here in Riften, in relative safety, and for you to come with the rest of the crew on this operation.”
Fastred: “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself. I want to come along, even if it might be dangerous.”
Bassianus: “Jon, Fastred and I are a package deal. You can’t just expect me to leave her behind while I go off on missions. We’re a team, her and I. And frankly, I think you might be underestimating her. Just give her a chance to prove herself.”

Jon: “Very well, Bassianus. I was testing your masculine instinct of protection. Perhaps at the last moment, right before a mission that might turn out dangerous, you would have wanted to protect Fastred at all costs, even if that meant shackling her to a bed here at the Barb so she wouldn’t expose herself to danger. This is your choice as a man then, as Fastred’s boyfriend.”
Bassianus: “Testing me? My protective instincts aren’t a joke.”
Fastred: “Jon, I’m not some damsel in distress that needs to be kept locked away. I’m an adventurer. But… if Bassianus thinks it’s too dangerous…”
Jon: “Well, do you, Bassianus? Do you think that this mission of ours that’ll have us traveling to Whiterun is too dangerous for Fastred to accompany us?”
Bassianus: “Honestly, Jon, I think Fastred can handle it. She’s tougher than she looks, and I’ll be right there beside her. If things get too hairy, I’ll make sure she gets out safe. You have my word on that.”
Fastred: “See, Jon? Bassianus believes in me. And I believe in him. We’ll watch out for each other. Together, we can handle whatever this mission throws at us.”

I put my hands on their shoulders.

Jon: “Very well, Fastred, Bassianus. The two of you will come with the rest of the crew. Tonight we’re hiring a wagon that’ll drive us straight to Whiterun.”
Fastred: “A wagon ride to Whiterun? This is so exciting! I’ve never been on such a long journey before.”
Bassianus: “Just stay close to me, Fastred. Whiterun’s supposed to be a big city, bigger than Riften. It’ll be easy to get lost if you’re not careful.”
Fastred: “I’ll stick by your side, Bassianus. I promise. Oh, I can’t wait to see what adventures await us in Whiterun!”