The boots were troubling his feet again. Walking through the snow-capped peaks and windswept forests of the unforgiving North was starting to take it's toll on the crude boots fashioned hastily from melted down chamber-pots. Thankfully, the accumulated shit of a thousand polar bears was latched to them now, so any stench left over from their past life pressed up against some Helgen lord's arse had long since been masked. He'd been running for a good few miles now, and after a fire breathing death-lizard interrupts your execution it's easy to think you've seen everything. That is, until your first rest-stop in a day and a half is interrupted by a half-naked Argonian chasing his armor down a hillside.