TL;DR - for those who don't want to read my flowery prose, I believe I have had the worst luck with Skyrim companions. If anyone cares to put themselves forward against my record, how many followers have you gotten killed and in what stupid, stupid ways?
I am the Dragonborn. I have burned my way across the land, striking down any who stood before me. I have explored the depths of the world, I have looted priceless treasures, I have defeated mighty foes. I have risen to mastery of magic, combat and stealth. I have destroyed the taint of the Dark Brotherhood, brought the College to new heights, and taken command of the Companions. I have defeated the Stormcloaks and driven out the dragons!
I am also a terrible, terrible friend, lover and employer. Absolutely fucking awful at it. By the end of the game, as I basked in triumph and surveyed the world I had saved, I was feeling like John Constantine; every friend, every honest and true companion of my adventures, was dead and rotting. And it was pretty much all my fault.
This thread is, in a way, my shame-faced apology. In years to come, warriors will sit with a mug of mead and sing songs of the Dragonborn and her mighty deeds. The name Pissflaps McGee (yes, really) will be known far and wide. Who will remember those brave souls who gave their lives in her service? I will. I will remember and you, who read this, will hopefully remember too. If anyone can actually beat my tally of tragedy and stupidity, please, I'd love to hear it. Make me feel better about my own shitty track record!
Hero the first: Lydia, brave sword-wench of Whiterun
Oh, Lydia. We met early, and we fought well. Pressed into my service by the Jarl of Whiterun, we cut a bloody swathe through the land together. Of them all she was with me the longest, having adventures which should be famed in song forever. We were true companions, at least until one fateful day when we were called upon to empty a fort of vile bandits. A simple task, or so it seemed. In the courtyard of the fort we were surrounded, but we cared little. Into battle we dashed, blades swinging, back to back against the world. Naturally our victory was swift. Unfortunately, in my haste to finish them all off, I took to killing any and all wounded attempting to crawl away or beg mercy. Too late did I realise that the cringing bandit who I'd just shield-bashed into oblivion was my own dear friend, Lydia. A sad and meagre end to what ought to have been an epic saga.
Hero the second: Erandur, a priest of Mara
Erandur came to me after I helped him lay to rest the demons of his past. He was a strong fighter, but ever reckless, charging ahead to throw fireballs at literally everything that moved or even looked like it might move. Sadly, this was his undoing, as he ran screaming at two Dragr Deathlords just as I unleashed my fire breath. What the Draugr began, my flames finished, and so perished brave and possibly suicidal Erandur.
Hero the third: Stenvar, a mercenary
Unlike my first two companions, Stenvar was not with me out of duty or respect for my skills. His motivation was simple; gold, and plenty of it. Being somewhat mercenary myself, I could respect that, and so we journeyed out to find our fortune. On this list, Stenvar is something of an anomaly, as he is the only one who might still be alive, for all I know. We were trekking through an ancient Dwemer ruin when we encountered the vile Falmer. We leapt at the call, and battle was joined. I rushed ahead into the thick of the danger, as is my way, while Stenvar hung back on the high walkways we had descended by. That was the last I saw of him. I heard a cry - "Mercy!" - which sounded to be him, but when I returned to aid him there was no trace. Did he run? Did the Falmer take him? Did he simply fall down into darkness? I fear I shall never know.
Hero the fourth: Vigilance, a guard dog late of Markarth stables
Vigilance was, to put it mildy, braver than he was smart. His death came in Dawnstar, where as I was wandering through a dragon swooped down on the town. I nipped up a convenient tower to rain arrows on the creature from relative safety, while Vigilance made the not-entirely-logical decision to go head to head with the beast in a battle of tooth-and-claw. A very, very short battle, it must be said.
Hero the fifth: Jordis the sword-maiden, a warrior woman from the city of Solitude
Upon purchase of a second house (the first had so many painful memories of Lydia, and was coincidentally already bursting at the seams with loot), Jordis was gifted to me by the Jarl of Solitude. She was a tough woman, and was with me longer than anyone but Lydia. What shames me the most is that I don't even remember how she died; by this time, I already had a terrible case of survivors guilt and Jordis was just another drop in the bucket. Bandits? Rampaging giants? Vampires? I can't even recall her face. We journeyed together, and fought well, but she was just another walking corpse to me. It was simply too painful to care anymore.
Hero the fifth: Jenessa, an Elven mercenary
This, truly, is my most shameful tale. As eluded to in the above entry, by this time I had come to view my friends and companions as expendable. Pack mules, combat aids, but ultimately just someone who travelled with me. I think it was the shattering of my bond with Lydia, and the emotional fallout from such, that made me cynical and loveless. I hid behind a wall and shared little with my companions, so as to be less affected by their inevitable death. That is the only excuse I can muster for what I did to Jenessa.
I had discovered a shrine to the daedra Boethe. She called upon me for a sacrafice, in exchange for great power and the honour of being her champion. And I...I gave her Jenessa. I pushed Jenessa into a trap, and then I stabbed her in the back myself, feeling nothing. My lowest ebb. I hope she looks down from Sovngarde and can forgive me for my callous ending of her life.
Hero the sixth: Uthgerd the Unbroken, bloodthirsty warrior maid
We met in an inn. She cajoled me into a fistfight, and when I defeated her she offered her services. I shrugged, and allowed it. She died quickly, and not well; in a cave of giants, as we battled she wandered between me and my enemy, and was hit with a blast of ice. The giants made short work of her. In a sad parallel of our first meeting, I simply shrugged and moved on
Hero the seventh and final: Aela the Huntress, member of the Companions and wife to the Dragonborn
Aela. Oh, sweet Aela. I was wandering the world still, empty of emotion, when I met her. We met in Jorrvaskar, and hit it off right away; we both enjoyed archery, and she offered me lessons. I gladly took her up on them. I happened to be wearing an Amulet of Mara, and she flirted with me. I flirted back. All of a sudden I was caring again! A friend and companion who made me feel the way I had with Lydia! We married quickly, before an assortment (read: three) of totally random acquaintances, and set off about our adventures.
Not half an hour later, as I crouched and drew my bow, she wandered between me and the unsuspecting Falmer just as I loosed. The arrow took her in the back, killing her instantly. Was this fair? WAS THIS FAIR?! It was then I decided, no more. Never again. I may be a hero, the Dragonborn, saviour of Skyrim, but I was also a colossal murderous prick who destroyed everything she cared about.
They say the Dragonborn is favoured of the gods themselves. This Dragonborn says that, if that is true, the gods are massive cunts who could really do with a slap!
I am the Dragonborn. I have burned my way across the land, striking down any who stood before me. I have explored the depths of the world, I have looted priceless treasures, I have defeated mighty foes. I have risen to mastery of magic, combat and stealth. I have destroyed the taint of the Dark Brotherhood, brought the College to new heights, and taken command of the Companions. I have defeated the Stormcloaks and driven out the dragons!
I am also a terrible, terrible friend, lover and employer. Absolutely fucking awful at it. By the end of the game, as I basked in triumph and surveyed the world I had saved, I was feeling like John Constantine; every friend, every honest and true companion of my adventures, was dead and rotting. And it was pretty much all my fault.
This thread is, in a way, my shame-faced apology. In years to come, warriors will sit with a mug of mead and sing songs of the Dragonborn and her mighty deeds. The name Pissflaps McGee (yes, really) will be known far and wide. Who will remember those brave souls who gave their lives in her service? I will. I will remember and you, who read this, will hopefully remember too. If anyone can actually beat my tally of tragedy and stupidity, please, I'd love to hear it. Make me feel better about my own shitty track record!
Hero the first: Lydia, brave sword-wench of Whiterun
Oh, Lydia. We met early, and we fought well. Pressed into my service by the Jarl of Whiterun, we cut a bloody swathe through the land together. Of them all she was with me the longest, having adventures which should be famed in song forever. We were true companions, at least until one fateful day when we were called upon to empty a fort of vile bandits. A simple task, or so it seemed. In the courtyard of the fort we were surrounded, but we cared little. Into battle we dashed, blades swinging, back to back against the world. Naturally our victory was swift. Unfortunately, in my haste to finish them all off, I took to killing any and all wounded attempting to crawl away or beg mercy. Too late did I realise that the cringing bandit who I'd just shield-bashed into oblivion was my own dear friend, Lydia. A sad and meagre end to what ought to have been an epic saga.
Hero the second: Erandur, a priest of Mara
Erandur came to me after I helped him lay to rest the demons of his past. He was a strong fighter, but ever reckless, charging ahead to throw fireballs at literally everything that moved or even looked like it might move. Sadly, this was his undoing, as he ran screaming at two Dragr Deathlords just as I unleashed my fire breath. What the Draugr began, my flames finished, and so perished brave and possibly suicidal Erandur.
Hero the third: Stenvar, a mercenary
Unlike my first two companions, Stenvar was not with me out of duty or respect for my skills. His motivation was simple; gold, and plenty of it. Being somewhat mercenary myself, I could respect that, and so we journeyed out to find our fortune. On this list, Stenvar is something of an anomaly, as he is the only one who might still be alive, for all I know. We were trekking through an ancient Dwemer ruin when we encountered the vile Falmer. We leapt at the call, and battle was joined. I rushed ahead into the thick of the danger, as is my way, while Stenvar hung back on the high walkways we had descended by. That was the last I saw of him. I heard a cry - "Mercy!" - which sounded to be him, but when I returned to aid him there was no trace. Did he run? Did the Falmer take him? Did he simply fall down into darkness? I fear I shall never know.
Hero the fourth: Vigilance, a guard dog late of Markarth stables
Vigilance was, to put it mildy, braver than he was smart. His death came in Dawnstar, where as I was wandering through a dragon swooped down on the town. I nipped up a convenient tower to rain arrows on the creature from relative safety, while Vigilance made the not-entirely-logical decision to go head to head with the beast in a battle of tooth-and-claw. A very, very short battle, it must be said.
Hero the fifth: Jordis the sword-maiden, a warrior woman from the city of Solitude
Upon purchase of a second house (the first had so many painful memories of Lydia, and was coincidentally already bursting at the seams with loot), Jordis was gifted to me by the Jarl of Solitude. She was a tough woman, and was with me longer than anyone but Lydia. What shames me the most is that I don't even remember how she died; by this time, I already had a terrible case of survivors guilt and Jordis was just another drop in the bucket. Bandits? Rampaging giants? Vampires? I can't even recall her face. We journeyed together, and fought well, but she was just another walking corpse to me. It was simply too painful to care anymore.
Hero the fifth: Jenessa, an Elven mercenary
This, truly, is my most shameful tale. As eluded to in the above entry, by this time I had come to view my friends and companions as expendable. Pack mules, combat aids, but ultimately just someone who travelled with me. I think it was the shattering of my bond with Lydia, and the emotional fallout from such, that made me cynical and loveless. I hid behind a wall and shared little with my companions, so as to be less affected by their inevitable death. That is the only excuse I can muster for what I did to Jenessa.
I had discovered a shrine to the daedra Boethe. She called upon me for a sacrafice, in exchange for great power and the honour of being her champion. And I...I gave her Jenessa. I pushed Jenessa into a trap, and then I stabbed her in the back myself, feeling nothing. My lowest ebb. I hope she looks down from Sovngarde and can forgive me for my callous ending of her life.
Hero the sixth: Uthgerd the Unbroken, bloodthirsty warrior maid
We met in an inn. She cajoled me into a fistfight, and when I defeated her she offered her services. I shrugged, and allowed it. She died quickly, and not well; in a cave of giants, as we battled she wandered between me and my enemy, and was hit with a blast of ice. The giants made short work of her. In a sad parallel of our first meeting, I simply shrugged and moved on
Hero the seventh and final: Aela the Huntress, member of the Companions and wife to the Dragonborn
Aela. Oh, sweet Aela. I was wandering the world still, empty of emotion, when I met her. We met in Jorrvaskar, and hit it off right away; we both enjoyed archery, and she offered me lessons. I gladly took her up on them. I happened to be wearing an Amulet of Mara, and she flirted with me. I flirted back. All of a sudden I was caring again! A friend and companion who made me feel the way I had with Lydia! We married quickly, before an assortment (read: three) of totally random acquaintances, and set off about our adventures.
Not half an hour later, as I crouched and drew my bow, she wandered between me and the unsuspecting Falmer just as I loosed. The arrow took her in the back, killing her instantly. Was this fair? WAS THIS FAIR?! It was then I decided, no more. Never again. I may be a hero, the Dragonborn, saviour of Skyrim, but I was also a colossal murderous prick who destroyed everything she cared about.
They say the Dragonborn is favoured of the gods themselves. This Dragonborn says that, if that is true, the gods are massive cunts who could really do with a slap!