Rosie! Pure beauty in this....I'm kinda speechless....mmm but I'm enjoying every word of this magnificent story!

haute ecole rider: That is pretty much an obligatory scene in nearly every war movie. It was nice to do it done from the opposite point of view than normal. I also felt it was important to show it, as that scene underscores the very personal cost that the Crisis has on the ordinary people of Cyrodiil (I hope!).

My big problems with names are that I am too anal to just take any one at random. It has to be perfect.


Remko: Thank you Remko.


Olen: Thank you Olen. This was meant to both give Morcant more depth, and to build more on the events of the ongoing Oblivion Crisis. We will be seeing much more darkness in this coming post...


Destri Melarg: Morcant can be a difficult character to write, because she keeps her feelings buried deep, and does not like to give away much about herself. So the only way I can reveal her motivations and feelings are by what she does not say, rather than what she does. Good practice for me though.


D.Foxy: Aww shucks...


minque: Thank you minque. I was heavily channeling my estrogen with that scene...


All: The following is the Celtic Cross, probably the most widely used tarot spread today. Because of that it has many variations. I am using the version I learned over twenty years ago, which is not very common these days. So do not be surprised if it looks different from what you may be used to seeing.


* * *

Chapter 8g - The Witch of Lake Trasimene

With that Morcant finally turned away. "Something is coming Teresa," she murmured as she stepped to the cottage. "A dark and terrible fire."

"Maybe that was just Kvatch you saw." Teresa followed the other woman. "There is good news now. There is a new Emperor! The legion is marching to join him."

"Kvatch was just the beginning," the other woman said grimly as she walked inside and sat by the fire. "Things are going to get worse, much worse."

Teresa felt her heart lurch at the other woman's words. She sounded so certain, as if it had already happened. Yet Teresa remembered what she had seen during her flight with the ravens. Julian of Anvil, Jauffre, and Martin Septim. She knew Baurus was somewhere out there as well. So were the legionaries she had met on the road, and the rest of the army. All were coming together to fight this strange menace. Things were changing now, weren't they?

"How can you be so sure?" Teresa asked, sitting down beside the Witch.

"Do you really want to see?" the other woman asked. Her voice sounded tired, as if she had not slept in days. Yet she rose and stepped to her bed. Kneeling down beside it, she drew forth a small chest from underneath the rattan mattress suspended between its pine timbers. A yellow light burst from her fingers as she ran them across the cask, and Teresa heard a lock click open. Raising the lid, the Witch lifted a stack of large cards from within, and turned to look at the young wood elf.

"I will show you, if you like." The older elf moved back to the hearth, and sat on the thick carpet before its crackling flames. Teresa nodded, and sat down across from her. Her heart quickened its pace as she stared at the wide sheets of pasteboard in the other woman's fingers. Their backs were painted with intricate knotwork designs, continuously wrapping around themselves with seemingly no beginning or ending.

The auburn-haired Bosmer closed her eyes and shuffled. When finally she seemed satisfied with her work, she opened her eyes again and set them upon Teresa. Laying the cards down in front of the young wood elf, the Witch spoke in a soft voice. "Cut them, as many times as you like, and think of the question you want answered."

Teresa had seen plenty of fortune-tellers in the Market District. Some used cards like these, others threw rocks or bones, some read palms, and even a few read tea leaves. She had never imagined that any were more than charlatans, always affecting strange accents and wearing outlandish clothing to get attention.

Yet Morcant was entirely different. She was plainly not trying to impress or fascinate Teresa. Her demeanor was no different from a laborer doing his work. Plain, economical, and to the point. Was Morcant the real thing then? Teresa wondered. Well if the Witch was, then she should take it seriously, shouldn't she?

Teresa breathed deep and closed her eyes. What is ahead of me? she wondered.

Reaching out with one hand, she took up the deck and let the cards gently slip through her fingers. Trying not to think about what she was doing, she instead let her intuition tell her when it was time to stop the cards from dropping and set aside the portion she was handling. Doing this, she divided the deck into three smaller stacks, before finally rearranging them all back into one.

Without saying a word, Morcant took the deck back into her hands and peeled off the top-most card, laying it down between the two of them. It pictured a young man wearing a garish outfit, striding headlong toward a cliff. His head was held high and a smile was etched across his face. Plainly he could not see the steep drop right in front of his feet.

"This surrounds you," Morcant now said quietly. "The Fool."

Teresa felt her cheeks grow warm, and looked away from the cards. Was the entire world determined to make her feel like an idiot!

"This is not necessarily a bad card," the other woman explained. "In fact, it often marks the beginning of many great deeds. It is only by forging ahead without flinching at the consequences that one can make a lasting effect upon the world."

The Witch laid another card across the first. This one showed the figure of a man wearing a black cape, his head cast down in defeat. Three overturned cups lay before him, their liquid spread across the ground. Yet behind him stood two more cups, upright and still filled with their precious contents.

"This crosses you," the Witch intoned. Her voice seemed far away, as if she were speaking from across a great distance. "You see only your shortcomings and failures, but not your strengths and accomplishments. No wonder you never smile."

Teresa squirmed as Morcant continued, laying another card on the floor above where the previous two sat. This one showed a man seated upon a throne and wearing a resplendent robe. A crown sat upon his white hair, and his eyes shone like beacons. A great red gem glowed from an amulet upon his chest, and the head of a dragon sat under his opened palm.

"This is above you, the Emperor," Morcant said. For a moment the Witch frowned, then went on. "Usually the cards are not meant to be taken literally. Seeing the Emperor does not necessarily mean the actual Emperor of Tamriel himself. Rather it means a strong figure of authority, a father-figure. Being above you, this man is always on your mind. A guiding star in your life."

Teresa stared at the card laying on the carpet. She knew that this card was indeed meant to be taken literally. Even now she could see the Emperor's face, feel his blue eyes filling her with their warmth. She swallowed hard around the lump that always formed in her throat when she thought of him. You are not going to cry, she told herself. Make him proud of you.

Seemingly oblivious to Teresa's stare, the Witch laid another card on the floor, this one beneath the other three. It showed a man hanging from one ankle. Yet a smile was on his face, and a glow seemed to emanate from his features.

"This is beneath you," the older Bosmer explained as Teresa winced at the sight. "The Hanged Man. This is not a bad card at all. Look closely. He should be miserable where he is, yet he is not troubled at all. In fact he is smiling, and he even has one leg crossed behind the other. He is having no problems at all. This is a card that reveals the ability to face adversity and prevail. No matter how bad things are, you take it all in stride. When you put this with The Fool, it becomes an especially powerful combination. Someone who can walk off a cliff, and still land on their feet."

Now Teresa squirmed again. Was this really supposed to be about her?

The Witch set down another card, this one to the right of the first pair. Now Teresa could see that she was creating a cross around those first two cards. This new card showed a youthful man holding a sword in his hand, eyes looking in the distance.

"This is before you," the Witch said, "The Page of Swords. An apprentice in the art of war, one who strives to learn and overcome. This is you indeed, my young warrior, who battles necromancers with no thought to the consequences."

Now Morcant laid a card to the other side of the first pair, completing the cross. This one showed a pair of ragged and destitute people, one shoeless and the other on crutches. Both were hobbling past the stained glass window of a chapel, which showed five pentacles etched upon its surface.

"This is behind you," the Witch said, "the Five of Coins. You are of the proletariat, the poorest of the poor, with not a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. Look, you even pass by the warm light of the temple. Even in spirituality have you been destitute."

Teresa nodded, that was certainly her alright. She had never had two coins to rub together for her entire life.

"These cards represent you," the Witch explained, waving a hand over the cards. "They are your basic nature, where you have come from, what you are thinking, and where you are going. Now we will see the outside forces that shape your fate."

Then the Witch quickly laid down four more cards, face down in a long line to the right of the cross formed by the first six. Her hand went to the bottom-most card and flipped it over.

"This aids you," she said, looking down upon the figure of an armored man astride a charging horse. He held a sword aloft in his hand, and his mouth was open in a battle-cry. "The Knight of Swords. This may not be an actual knight mind you. But certainly a military man, a soldier or mercenary. A powerful fighter, who will be at your side when you need him most."

Morcant flipped up the next card, revealing the figure of a man with warped features and a pair of horns growing from his forehead. A huge dog sat at his feet, lost souls dripping from its opened jaws. A naked man and woman flanked the horrific pair, shackled in chains that led to the hand of the horned man.

"The Daedric Prince," the Witch hissed. "This comes unbidden. Normally this card means things such as slavery, or addictions to drugs like skooma. Forces that constrain or pervert the hearts of mortals. Yet I believe we should take this literally. The Daedra are coming, and you cannot escape the effect they will have upon your life. This card has been in every reading I have done for the past two months."

Teresa shivered, staring at the horned figure. "The Daedra did it they say!" The voice of the carter at Urasek echoed in her mind. The words of the guardsman from Chorrol pursued them. "…people disappearing, and legionaries turning up dead on the road, torn to pieces. It's the Daedra they say!"

The Witch turned over the third card in the line. It showed a tower being struck by lightning and bursting into fragments. People fell from the wreckage, plummeting to the ground below with looks of terror etched upon their faces.

"The Tower. This answers your question." The Witch sighed and looked up to Teresa. "I won't lie to you. This is the worst card there is. Absolute calamity, disaster, destruction. A nightmare is waiting for you."

Morcant lowered her gaze to the last card, finally turning it over. It was of a skeletal knight riding a horse with glowing red eyes. Kings and paupers alike lay dead at his feet, and the sun was setting behind the cliffs in the background.

"This ends it, Death," the Witch murmured. Then her voice picked up a bit. "This card is never to be taken literally, not even now. Instead it means an ending. The end of a phase in your life. The end of an era. Nothing will ever be the same again."

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Nov 20 2010, 09:50 PM

And so we come to the end of the Third Era.

This is good - I'm not much for fortune-telling - it's mostly telling folks what they want to hear ("you will meet a tall, dark and handsome stranger --"), but every now and then there's the real thing. Once in the bluest of a blue moon, if you ask me.

This has the ring of the real thing. Well written! Excellent job with the foreshadowing.

Nice use of the tarot cards! It's a great way to foreshadow the story

Agreed, it's an interesting technique telling the reader what's going to happen, but one which is most effective in laying hooks and building tension... I suspect there might be more to some of the cards than you've let on too.

You caught the mild discomfort of having fortunes read well, I can't say I go in for it (I'm too firm a believer in causality) but the few times I have had it done I can't say I much like it.


New character promised, most fascinating.

Ending with the tower and death probably isn't the best of omens... I want to know more.

Great stuff.

I really liked the laying of cards. Very well written

I think that this chapter could have served as a tutorial for the laying of Tarot cards. I was riveted the entire way . . . as you said in the chapter, ‘plain, economical, and to the point’, much like this comment.

8f - Wonderfully poignant interaction between Morcant and Attius. Perfectly done!

8g - Fascinating view into Morcant's world and abilities. You own passion for this shines through brilliantly!

haute ecole rider: Yep, tons of foreshadowing. I have been using Chekov's Gun a lot in these last few chapters. I promise it will go off soon!


Jacki Dice: Thank you. I was originally thinking of having Morcant use either bones or gemstones, but I am not personally familiar with the use of either. So in the end I went with Tarot, which I know well enough.


Olen: We have actually met the Knight of Swords already. He had a small part, with only a few lines. But we will see more of him in the future. Those who have read on the Beth forums should be able to guess who he is.


Remko: Thank you Remko. It is one of those cases of writing what you know. It always comes out richer when it is something you are familiar with.


Destri Melarg: There are some things I left out to be simple. The biggest thing was reversed cards. But like you said: plain and to the point. I did not want to confuse people with over-complications.


Acadian: You slipped that in while I was posting! Thank you A.


All: Now for the blessedly final post of chapter 8. This has been one of my longest ever chapters in the TF.

* * *

Chapter 8h - The Witch of Lake Trasimene

That night Teresa dreamed. Not of the undead, or of the Daedra, as she had feared she would. Rather it was Raven that came to her once more. Or was it she that went to him? Did it really matter? There were no great revelations this time. No strange sights. Merely herself and her spirit guide, flying through the darkness.

When she woke, she found that she had left her fears and doubts behind her in her sleep. What would come, would come, she knew. She would face it, as she had always faced whatever life threw at her. This time however, she would not be alone. Somehow, she knew that Raven would always be at her side. No matter what.

She found that Morcant was already awake as well, and the two had a simple breakfast of leftover cornbread and water.

"So how do you enchant things anyway?" Teresa asked through a mouthful of the bread. She knew it tasted good from when she had eaten it the day before. Yet it felt like eating dirt. No matter what she ate, it was always like after she first woke up, she thought glumly. "You don't seem to have any fancy magical tools or anything."

"That is because the only tools you need are in here." The Witch tapped her finger against her forehead, and then her heart. "And in here. It is really not much different from casting a spell. You create a symbol, channel your magicka into it, and will it to take effect."

"If it's that easy, then how come everyone doesn't do it?" Teresa rolled her eyes as she took a sip of water.

"I never said it was easy!" the Witch laughed. "I just said it was like casting a spell. When you get right down to it, all magic works that way. When you are enchanting however, the hard part is forming the symbol within an object rather than in yourself. It must be prepared first of course, otherwise it won't hold the symbol. Then of course you must gently pass magicka into it and bind it there. It takes a great deal of skill in the art of manipulating magic itself, what most mages call Mysticism. Of course the better one is, the more powerful enchantments one can create. Having a varla stone helps too…"

"So how good are you?" Teresa asked with a faint smile. She felt stuffed, even though she had only eaten a few bites, and pushed the rest of the bread away from her.

"Oh you scamp!" the Witch chuckled. Rising to her feet, she walked across the room and lifted the pile of hide and leather from where it sat near her bed. Carrying it back to the table, she set the armor down in front of the forester. "See for yourself. It has been ready since the day before yesterday."

"Why didn't you mention it sooner?" Teresa asked, her fingers running over the enchanted cuirass on top of the pile. "I would have been on my way and left you in peace."

The Witch said nothing, only looked out the window to the west. The same direction that Attius had gone the night before. That is when Teresa realized that the other woman had not wanted her to leave, had not wanted to be alone. The young wood elf felt like slapping her palm against her forehead. Nocturnal! what an oaf she could be, the forester thought, and now she as much as threw it in the other woman's face.

Not knowing what to say, Teresa did the only thing that was left. She put on the armor. She found that it was a lighter shade of brown than her previous suit of leather. The cuirass was made of thick hide, and had an open neckline that plunged deeply into the valley between her breasts, showing them off quite dramatically. Scales of hard leather were sewn onto the outside, falling to her lower ribs. Similarly hard pieces of leather wrapped about her shoulders and upper arms, while more supple hide sheathed her stomach, hips, and legs. A short skirt of scales hung around her hips and fell down in front of her legs, and hard pieces of leather reinforced her knees. Fur-lined boots rose to the middle of her calves, and similar gauntlets covered her hands to half-way down her forearms.

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Looking down at herself, Teresa wondered how practical the armor really was. It not only showed off all the curves she never even imagined she had, but it also left quite a bit of skin visible. The open V plunging down her chest most especially so.

"This is armor?" she could not help but to think aloud.

"The bandits love this stuff," Morcant smiled as faintly as Teresa ever did. "They make it themselves. As you can probably tell, this was done by a man. Don't worry though, I have enchanted it with a Fire Shield. It is as strong as legion plate, and will give you some protection from flames as well."

"Really?" Teresa wondered, twisting around to try to get a good look at herself. It was only out of the corner of her eye that she saw the heavy iron skillet in Morcant's hand. Off-balance, she could not escape the blow that crashed directly into her chest.

The forester gritted her teeth for the pain she knew was just an instant away. Yet rather than crumpling to the floor as the pan slammed into her, she found herself just standing there. The heavy implement simply bounced off her chest with a flash of yellow light. She felt it, but it did not hurt a bit. It was more like a playful slap than the heavy blow she had expected.

"See?" the Witch said, putting the skillet down and shaking the fingers that had held it, as if they were numbed by the impact. "When I make something, I do it right!"

"I'm sorry I doubted you," Teresa said. The next thing she knew she had her arms around the older elf and was holding her tightly. "Thank you," she breathed, "not just for the armor, for everything."

"Don't thank me," the Witch grumbled. Yet she made no effort to release herself from Teresa's grip either. "It was just a trade. You gave me a varla stone after all."

When Teresa finally did pull away, the other woman looked her in the eyes. "It's time for you to go my dear," she said quietly. "You have places you need to be. So do I."

Teresa nodded and gathered her things. She noticed that the Witch was doing something similar as well. When she was finally ready the forester stood in the door and looked back into the cottage.

"You're going after Attius," Teresa asked, "aren't you?"

"Whatever would make you think that?" the Witch responded evenly. "I am just tidying things up is all. I've had a messy guest."

Teresa could not restrain the faint smile that slipped from her lips. The Witch was definitely going after him, she thought. He was a lucky man indeed. Not wanting to slow the other woman down, the forester opened the door and made her way outside.

"Wait," Morcant said from inside. Turning, the young Bosmer saw her walking to the doorway, the small tube of a scroll in her hand, tied together by a simple rawhide cord. She handed it to Teresa a moment later. "Take this," she said. "Use it when all seems lost. Do not waste it. The ally it summons will only remain for about ten minutes."

"I don't know what to say." Teresa looked down at the scroll in her fingers. She could feel the magic within it. Hot and powerful, it seemed eager to be released. "Thank you again, you're a good friend Morcant. I'll be back when it's all over."

"You've been a good friend too Teresa," the other woman breathed softly. "More than you imagine. You take care of yourself now."

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This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 20 2010, 01:03 AM

Yup, that armor was def designed by a man. Oh well.

Good ending to this chapter. I enjoyed the whole thing!

I love how you bring NPC's to life
For a moment I thought Teresa was gonna go after Morcant. I have a dark premanition about the outcome of that expedition.

I find it interesting that, in her exasperation, Teresa does not invoke the name of one of the Nine Divines or a god of the Aldmeri pantheon. She seems more at home taking the name of a Daedric Princess (Nocturnal) in vain. That along with another appearance by Raven (another creature of darkness) makes me wonder if it is a vestige of her upbringing on the Waterfront, or is there something else at play?


This reminds me of The Fellowship of the Ring, when Galadriel gives Frodo the Phial of Galadriel “to be a light when all others fail.”

I hope we are only bidding Morcant ‘farewell’ as opposed to ‘goodbye’.

- As for the armor being designed by a man:

Speaking as a man (and I believe that, in this case, I can speak for most of us), our favorite thing about lingerie is how easy it is to remove! If women are so dead set against the clothing that men design then please, by all means, disrobe and walk around naked. We won’t mind a bit!

haute ecole rider: Thank you h.e.r. At least it is nowhere near as bad as most of the "armor" mods for female characters.


Remko: Thank you Rem.


Destri Melarg: You are right, it does kind of seem like that scene with Galadriel. Now Morcant will have to be played by Cate Blanchett. Not a bad proposition at all!

Teresa does not have a clue who any of the Aldmeri gods are. She barely knows who any of the Nine are either. She only knows what she hears people talk about in the streets, and from missionaries out to save the souls of of the poor. It is not like she has ever gone to chapel even once in her life. Being a street urchin, Nocturnal is pretty much her deity by default. But Teresa is rather ambivalent about Nocturnal too, the same way the Thieves Guild are. Everyone she knows uses Nocturnal's name in vain, and says "Shadow Hide You/Me". Other than that, she really does not really know or think much about Nocturnal either.

Morcant ought to figure into at least one more chapter in the near future. But beyond that I am not certain.

Since you want to see naked women, let me dig up those nude photos of Rosie O'Donnell and Rosanne Barr and start posting them. I am sure that is what every man wants to see...


* * *

Chapter 9a – On The Road

17th - 26th Midyear, 3E433

Teresa made her way east from Morcant's cottage, her pale features slathered with the Witch's sun cream. The wood elf felt strange traveling in full daylight. Yet she could not deny how much easier it was to pick out plants with alchemical properties in the gloom beneath the thick canopy of tree-tops. She imagined that she would have missed half of them if she had traveled at night, unless she wore her Night Eye goggles of course.

Even more importantly, traveling in the day made finding her meals simple, as she was now living completely off the land. What surprised her was how tasty many of the wild plants were. The sedge reminded her of leeks, and were quite good. Sheep sorrel was very tangy, creating an explosion of flavor on her tongue. Purslane was a bit sour, but otherwise pleasant as well. Other plants, such as chickory, did not do much for her at all. She found herself making mental notes of which ones she would save to use with regular food in the future. She could not wait until Simplicia could taste some of it!

She was making her way up the eastern slopes of the valley when the sound of a crow caught her attention. Its guttural cries came from somewhere ahead of her, and something about it put her on edge. Drawing the bow stave from her back and fishing out a string from the pouch across her chest, she quickly set to readying the weapon.

By the time she was finished stringing the bow, the forester heard footsteps crackling in the leaves upslope from her. Then came harsh, screeching tones that might have been a form of speech. Something about the sound was familiar, as if she had heard it before, yet Teresa could not quite place it.

Scuttling behind the wide trunk of an oak, she crouched down and waited, one eye peering from around its concealing bark. Then she remembered where she had heard the noise. It had been in the sewer beneath the Imperial Prison. Goblins!

Slowly the forester drew an arrow from the at bag her right hip and set it to the nock of her bow. A moment later the authors of the sounds came into view through the trunks of the trees. It was a group of goblins, at least half-a-dozen, if not more. The body of a wild boar was suspended from a long wooden pole hoisted onto the shoulders of several of the short, grey creatures. Most of them carried spears with roughly-chipped flint heads, and wore nothing but simple loincloths of hide. A few had axes of crude iron tucked into their belts and sported grisly armor of leg and arm bones sewn together into vests.

Cacat! the forester cursed inwardly. It was the Bone Eater tribe, just as Morcant had warned her about. Leaning her head back behind the tree, the wood elf remained as still and silent as she could. Shadow hide me, she prayed.

She knew that goblins were not that strong individually. But the last thing she wanted was to get into a fight with so many of them. She knew that they would simply overwhelm her with numbers. Then one of them would get in a lucky blow and it would be all over for her, regardless of her new magical armor.

So Teresa hid, and held her breath as the short, lanky creatures made their way down the sloping ground in front of her. The creatures hauling the boar made frequent grunts as they toiled under the burden. The others talked loudly among themselves in that screeching language of theirs.

Well, at least they were not making any effort to conceal their movements, the wood elf ruminated as the goblins vanished into the trees down the ridge. They had gotten their kill already, so Teresa imagined that they no longer felt the need to be stealthy. If she had encountered them while they were still on the hunt however, it probably would have been another matter entirely.

Thank you Raven, she thought, waiting until at last the forest was silent and still once more. Then she waited a little longer, just in case a straggler came along. When finally she was satisfied that the goblins were long gone, Teresa rose to her feet again and scampered up the hillside in the opposite direction.

* * *

Three days later she came to a crude path of two wagon-wheel ruts worn deeply into the ground, her first sign that she had returned to civilization. Following the track south, she found that the forests of oak and pine had given way to farms and orchards. The wood elf came to the wide pavestones of the Blue Road not long after. By now the mountains not only loomed high to the north, but directly ahead to the east as well.

After passing several small villages, the grey walls of Cheydinhal rose before her eyes. Its many round towers ended in tall, slender peaks, rather than the flat, open-topped battlements that she had seen all around Chorrol's walls. These looked more graceful, she thought as she made her way to the city gates. Yet her archer's eye still picked out numerous slits in the tower walls that would allow one to fire down at the ground below.

As at Chorrol, she found that two men clad in mail and carrying arming swords waited at the gate. They wore dark brown surcoats whose chests were a lighter shade of tan and decorated with the image of numerous green vines wrapping about one another in a regular, geometric pattern. The oval body shields they carried bore a similar knotwork emblem in two shades of green on a brown background.

Screenshot

Teresa fell in behind a farmer and what Teresa took to be his two sons leading a cart laden with huge bundles of hay into the city. The guards waved them through without pausing to examine the cargo. When Teresa came next they looked her up and down with narrowed eyes however, and she found herself wondering how good an idea it was to be wearing armor favored by bandits.

"What brings you to Cheydinhal?" one of the soldiers asked in a somewhat guarded tone. Teresa noted that he had the dark eyes and complexion of an Imperial as he eyed the sack of loot she had slung over her shoulder.

"I have things to sell that I took off some bandits, and the necromancer that killed them." Teresa decided that she might as well try honesty. She was doing enough other new things lately that it seemed worth giving it a go as well. "I've got some potions to brew up and sell too. Is there a good inn I could stay at for the night?"

"Ah one of those foresters are ye?" said the other guard. At the first sound of his voice Teresa knew he was a Breton. They all seemed to have that soft, sing-song quality to their speech. Then she noticed that his eyes were not looking at her own, but rather wandered lower on her leather-clad frame.

"Try the Newlands Lodge, you'd probably fit in there," said the Imperial. At least his eyes remained on her own, Teresa thought as she moved on into the city. Morcant had been right, her armor had definitely been made by a man!

She found that Cheydinhal was much like Chorrol on the inside. The main avenues were of solid cobblestone, giving way to side streets and alleys of hard-packed dirt. Two and even a few three-storied buildings rose up everywhere she looked. With ground floors of carefully mortared stones, their upper reaches were of lighter daub and wattle. All grew to narrow, high-peaked roofs like those of the watchtowers spaced along the outer walls.

The streets were busy with people moving to and fro. Farmers in scruffy flax, artisans in finer linen, and finally patricians in their velvet. Some of the wealthy rode on horses, and many of the peasants led carts laden with hay and other produce of the first harvest. While most were Imperials as she expected, Teresa's eye spotted many ashen-skinned Dunmer among them as well. More than she usually saw in a city. She had heard that Morrowind was over the mountains to the east, and wondered if many had come from there?

Teresa imagined that the crowds were large by local standards, yet to her Imperial City dweller's eye the streets seemed half-empty. Anytime she could walk without nearly bumping into someone else it felt that way. Teresa found that she much preferred this to the stifling throngs of the Market District. At least here there was elbow-room, she thought.

The wood elf saw that the Newlands Lodge was on her left as soon as she entered the city, and made a mental note to stop back later when she was finished making her rounds. Following the main road deeper into the settlement, she came to a narrow river that cut through its center. A covered wooden bridge spanned the waterway directly ahead of her, and the high peak of a chapel rose into the sky beyond. To her left she could see the towers and walls of the castle, and the main road turned to her right to follow the course of the river.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jul 30 2020, 01:38 AM

I loved your description of Cheydinhal. It is one of the most fascinating places in the game - it is beautiful to look at, with charming architecture, wonderful willows by the river, and picturesque bridges, yet it has a dark, seedy side to it when you get to know some of the locals. You have the Orum gang doing their best to pick a fight with you, corrupt guardsmen fining people for littering, and a hidden Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. It's this dichotomy that makes the place so fascinating for me. Rich story material here!

I found the difference in the guards' reaction to Teresa's armor interesting. Imperials don't look at our stringy Bosmer because she is a wood elf? But Breton men are less discriminating? Hmm?

If Teresa is uncomfortable with those kinds of stares, may I suggest a cloak? I know there aren't any in Oblivion, but there were some in Morrowind, I believe, so it stands to reason that cloaks exist in Oblivion the way bathtubs and toilets do.

I did see one nit: May I suggest that worn would be better here.

I'm not a big fan of fiction revolving around young girls/women, as too often they are flighty and too bimbo-ish for my taste, but I really enjoy Teresa. She's got a good head on her shoulders, and is a very quick study. An essential quality if she's going to survive on her own as a forester. You've done well with this, and I'm coming to like this better than the original. Keep it up!

I agree with haute. One of the things I like most about this is the realism you give to the dangers of the forest. From just minding your own business and tasting the edible plants to hiding behind the trunk of a tree while a group of goblins happens by, and all in a manner of seconds. I imagine there must be a visceral thrill to living one’s life in such communion with nature, and you seem to capture it in a way that makes it real to all of us.

Remembering how well you did Through a Nightmare, Darkly on the other board, I can’t help but wonder if Teresa will get involved in a sidequest or two during her stay in Cheydinhal. I would be interested in seeing her take on A Brush with Death, or Corruption and Conscience.

ohhhh.....I read the last three chapters with great pleasure. Hmmm you really know how to describe a witch...no wonder I'd say but it brings a shiver down my spine. You also have a "way with words", I love it it's as simple as that.

And rest assure I'll follow this beautiful woodie to the bitter end!



Oh....great screenies!

I've caught up now and, as ever, I'm loving it. Her leaving Morcant was nicely done and left me wanting to see more fo the witch. It also offered a chance to reflect on how much she has changed, and the development is really huge - great stuff.

I too like your description of Chedynhal which is my favourite city in Oblivion. The differences she noticed between it and Chorro were spot on. You also gave it a better degree of realism with the small villages surrounding it.

Brilliant line.

And haute - compared to the Imperial City Chedynhal is a rural place - of course the blokes are less picky there ;P

haute ecole rider: Thank you h.e.r. I like the look of Cheydinhal best of all the cities. My only real disappointment is the lack of many good alchemical plants in the nearby area. It is not a good place to start the with an alchemy-minded character, which most of mine are.

I would not judge the two races based on the reactions of only two men. Perhaps that particular Breton has a thing for Wood Nymphs, and maybe that Imperial prefers women with a little more meat on their bones? Or he simply has the professionalism not to openly stare...

A cloak would be a good idea. But it is midsummer in the TF, so she would not think of putting one on, at least yet. I have not had the chance to work in the date anywhere. I might be able to do that later in this chapter however, when Teresa reads a copy of the Black Horse Courier.

Quite right about worn too, fixed.


Destri Melarg: Thank you Dest. I am afraid the end of the world is on a rather tight deadline though, so Teresa will not have time for side-quests in Cheydinhal this time around. However, I am taking the time to lay the foundations for several of them while she is there. Hopefully sometime in the future she will get back and do some of them. (Or perhaps a certain Orisimer raised by two Altmer in the Mages Guild will...)


minque: Thank you minque. I am afraid what Foxy might say about your woodie comment though...


Olen: Thank you Olen. Morcant was a lot of fun to write, so I hope I can do more with her. She brings a great deal of hard-earned maturity to the table.

All the little farming villages are something I am working to emphasize in this chapter. Actually, most of this chapter is about world-building, and showing what life is like outside of the Imp City.

What game designers do not think about is where all the food comes from (well I guess in Oblivion food does not really matter, since people do not need to eat it for sustenance, it is merely an ingredient for Restore Fatigue potions.). Civilization (i.e. living in cities) is only made possible by agriculture. The bigger a city is, the more farms are required to support it. Without an encricling web of wheat and cornfields, and pastures for livestock, everyone in the cities would die in short order. They have a few small farms in the game, but they do not seem even large enough to support the people working them. More like little gardens really.

All: In this next post, Teresa explores Cheydinhal, meets some of its good and bad denizens, and eavesdrops on a conversation about a person whom she will one day come to know very well.

* * *

Chapter 9b – On The Road

A shop with a sign reading Borba's Goods and Stores rose up to her left, just before the bridge. On impulse Teresa turned and made her way inside. The air was cool and only dimly illuminated by light filtering in through the windows. She found all manner of goods arranged on shelves or jutting from barrels within, from shovels and picks, to crockery, to fine clothing of velvet and simple tunics of flax. Even a sword hung from one wall, along with an axe and a suit of heavy orcish armor.

Making her way past the other shoppers, Teresa found an Orisimer behind a counter near the back of the store. She wore an outfit of felt and linen that told Teresa that while she was not rich, neither was she poor. Her hair was bound up tightly behind her head in a long braid that fell down her back. Just as Claudette Perrick from the Gilded Carafe wore her own hair, Teresa thought off-handedly, and many other Breton women.

Screenshot

"Good day stranger," the woman greeted Teresa as the forester set her bag of loot upon the counter. The merchant looked at the canvas sack with a rather unimpressed eye. "You must be new in town. I'm Borba gra-Uzgash, welcome to my store."

"Hello Borba, I'm Teresa," the forester forced a faint smile to her lips as she began drawing the welkynd stones from her pack. "I have some things I took from an Ayleid ruin that I'd like to sell."

"Oh a free adventurer are you?" the other woman said, her dark eyes showing more interest now. "I used to be one myself, back when I was your age. That's where I got the money to open up this shop."

After dickering with the orc over prices, Teresa finally let go of her loot for much less than she had hoped for. She was not sure if it was because the welkynd stones were not worth that much, or simply because her own haggling skills were so poor. She imagined it was the latter. People did not barter much in the Imperial City. Everyone was in such a hurry that there was never time. You laid down your money and got out of the way before the next person ran you over.

The only thing she kept was the book on Daedra, which she had not finished reading. Given the way things were, she planned to keep it even when she was done, although she had no idea where she would put it. It was not like she had a home after all. She would have to leave it with Simplicia, or maybe Methredhel.

Teresa found a smithy just beyond where the road bent at the river, and bought more arrows from the short, squat Imperial woman inside. With steel heads that were slender and leaf-shaped, she knew they would do well against armored opponents, although not as well as the style with the needle-like points did. The woman had tried to sell her much wider ones for hunting, but since the wood elf would never think of shooting a wild animal, she passed on those.

They might have been good against goblins though, she found herself thinking as she set her feet back into the street outside and made her way past the Fighters Guild. With their broad heads, they would be very effective against an unarmored enemy like them. Yet how would she tell them from her other arrows when they were in her bag? she wondered. Even if she had the fletching dyed a different color, she would not be able to tell the difference in the dark, even with her Night Eye goggles on.

A tall orc with a shaven head and dressed in red linen shoved his way past Teresa, even though there was plenty of room in the street around her. The forester immediately felt for her purse, and when she found it was still there, turned to stare at the thug's receding back. She was opening her mouth to call out something rude when a hand clapped on her shoulder and brought her around.

"Best to leave that one alone." Teresa found a dark elf standing before her, wearing the threadbare linen of either a workman or struggling artisan. His short, dark hair was combed back flat over his forehead, and his red eyes betrayed nothing but generosity. "He's one of the Orums. Bad business, mixing it up with them. Things are bad enough these days without making it worse."

"Local gangsters then?" Teresa asked. She realized that her heart was racing, and willed it to slow down as she breathed deeply. "I'm Teresa. I'm new in town. Thanks for the warning."

"Oh think nothing of it," the man said. "I'm Aldos, Aldos Othran. My wife and I make fine footwear. If you need a new pair of boots to go out hiking in the mountains, I'm your man. My shop's just down the road and to the right, past the Mages Guild. Now I'm off to pick up our lunch though."

"Thank you Aldos," Teresa said as the man vanished around the corner.

Continuing along the river, Teresa came to a circular plaza with the statue of a man she did not recognize in its center. She wondered if it might be some ancient leader of the city? Or even one of the Nine Divines? Either way, it completely slipped her mind when her eyes fell upon the familiar eye symbol of the Mages Guild. It was painted onto a sign in front of a towering three story building along the edge of the plaza. Making her way to the guild hall, she found the front door was open and let herself in.

Within she found a wide foyer with a long glass display case across from her. Inside were several welkynd stones, what she imagined were magicka gems, scrolls, and a staff. Tapestries depicting the opened eye of the guild decorated the walls, as did others with what she took for arcane symbols. The room was flanked by gently curving staircases rising to balconies on either side. She could also see chambers set slightly lower than the ground floor next to each, with a handful of steps leading down into them.

Looking at the glowing crystals in the display case, the wood elf had to fight the urge to slap her palm against forehead. She should have sold her loot here! the forester realized, the mages would have probably given her a better price for the magic crystals than Borba!

She heard the sound of voices emanating from one of the side chambers, and still shaking her head at her own foolishness, the forester stepped to the entryway of the room. Within she saw a glass counter filled with potions. The walls were lined with shelves containing more, as well as alchemical gear such as the alembic and retort that had broken in her bag.

A pair of high elves stood within the room. Both had blond hair and the characteristic amber eyes of their race. One was a woman clad in soft green velvet, her hair tied up behind her head in a bun. The man wore his hair swept back in the leonine mane that many elven men seemed to prefer. His frame was draped in red velvet decorated with intricate designs in purple and gold.

"He is miserable there," Teresa heard the woman say. "We never should have sent him to the University!"

"Nonsense, he never said that in his letter," the man replied. He spoke in that tone that most Altmer described as sophisticated, Teresa thought, yet everyone else called snooty. The wood elf saw him point down to a piece of parchment on the counter between the two of them. "Look here, he only says that he is trying his best."

"Oh you have to read between the lines Orintur," the woman went on, clearly sounding distressed. "Ancondil always says that when he hates something, and is only trying because he thinks it will please us. He is just not meant to be a magician as we are."

"He is only a late-bloomer is all," the man - Orintur - retorted. "He just needs the proper environment to build his focus and discipline, and then his abilities will come out. He has too many distractions here. The Arcane University will straighten him out in no time."

Teresa found herself feeling sorry for this Ancondil, whom she imagined was their son, and wondered if she should leave and come back some other time. She was turning back to the entryway when she heard one of the mages clear their throat behind her.

"You have a customer I see, and I really must finish enchanting those scrolls, or I'll never hear the end of it from that bounder Falcar. The world is going to Oblivion and all he cares about is the profit margin!" The man's voice now dripped with venom. Turning back, Teresa saw him brush past her with barely a nod, climbing the stairs beside the chamber to the second floor above.

"Good afternoon, I am Eilonwy," the woman now said, looking expectantly at the forester. Her voice betrayed none of the distress that the wood elf had detected just moments before. If Teresa had not overheard the conversation, she would have never imagined there was anything amiss at all.

Screenshot

Teresa bought some empty potion bottles from the woman, and when she asked about Feather scrolls and potions, the Altmer sold her a copy of Patvir's Guide to Alchemical Ingredients. Within its voluminous pages she learned that she could use flax seeds to create Feather potions.

It would have been much simpler if the other woman had just told her that, the forester thought as she left the hall. But the guild would not have made any money that way, would it? Still, Teresa did not begrudge the book. Like the one on Daedra, she was certain it would come in handy in the future.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jul 30 2020, 01:39 AM

Ah, I remember Ancondil!

And did you change Borba's appearance? She looks nothing like the one in my game (stupid Xbox)!

No nits this time, just an enjoyable interlude, and a glimpse of a certain Dunmer before we are introduced to his drunken singing. Cliffracer, flies so hiiiiiiigh . . . This adds a certain note of tragedy to the upcoming quest. I like it!

minque: Thank you minque. I am afraid what Foxy might say about your woodie comment though...


I never comment about things I own.