Enjoyable as always!

The crap in the altar is an especially effective touch - it brings home just the kind of punks these necros really are.

The conversational style works very well for Ra'Jirra - it suits his purrsonality well the way Rales Serethi's narrative conversation fits his.

@HEC: Thanks for that. It's one of those last-minute ideas: "OK, I've bust into the shrine of our enemies, what can I do to spite them?"

Then I thought of having it land on the staff to be, but felt that would be overkill.

Next up, some unfinished business and Ra'Jirra forgets something.

Incidentally, the conversation between the apprentices reflects something I noticed when digging in the CS: Every single one of the lectures is about the damn runestones! Guess the apprentices have to teach themselves after all

Chapter 10. In Which Ra'Jirra Finishes Old Business and Forgets Something

Anyway, getting back to my epic life story, the following morning I decided that I needed a holiday. I also needed, I thought, a bit of a crash course in combat and using my new spells. After some thought I decided that the most sensible thing to do was head back to Anvil and locate Bjalfi the Contemptible – gods only know why Maeva got hitched to a dork with a name like that – and have a bit of a chat about his marital duties to his wife and knock his head off.

Along the way, and I wasn't really paying attention, I did find out Soul Freeze Burn works a treat on deer, wolves, skeletons and eventually ghosts. And so I made my way to Fort Strand again. And got the attention of the bastards standing watch again. And went in again.

Unlike last time, once inside I hooked a right, carefully felling felons as I went. A large double door led almost directly to the chamber in which Bjalfi and his buddies were milling about, just around a corner.

Now, consider this. You're in a stone chamber underground. Your mates are wandering about in earshot. And then one cries out in alarm and hares off to deal with an intruder. Then another hares off. And another. And they don't come back. A sensible bloke would lend a hand. And I'd not be here writing this.

Instead, it was a white-knuckle business of attracting the attention of one or two, dropping them, recovering, then luring more over to their deaths. Finally, eight corpses later, I got the attention of Bjalfi – it must have been him, he was waving a dwemer mace fair crackling with shock magicks.

“Bjalfi!” shouts I, “Your wife sent me!”

“Tell the...” starts he, and I refuse to repeat what he called Maeva, or what he suggested she do, or what else he said. Mainly because he started screaming and I lost track what with him swinging at my head and all.

So we fought. I backpedalled and slung spells and mace blows. He just charged and flailed away and screamed Nord curses until I finally wore him down enough that the kill spell finally did for him. I sank to my knees exhausted – trust me, casting the kill spell knackers me almost as much as the victim. I took a look at the battered visage of Bjalfi the Contemptible, a face that showed the marks of dissipation and no sense of responsibility. Not the sort of face you'd expect to see working in the farmyard.

Grimly, I looted the corpses, and even more grimly pulled out some feather potions before heading back to Anvil see Maeva – fortunately outside.

“I haven't seen you for over a month,” says she, “Well? Did you find my husband?”

I just look at her and wish I could have escorted Bjalfi back. With Rockshatter Maeve would have made his life pure, well-deserved hell.

Instead I silently handed her Rockshatter.

“Dead huh?” Not a question. “Well, good riddance I guess. Heh. He was so besotted with me, I thought I was gonna be the one to make an honest man outa him.”

No lady, thinks I, he was besotted with your tits. While I'm not that interested in smoothskins hers argued for an exemption, but that's not important right now.

“Well,” she goes on, “here's your reward – my damn dowry. Looks like my father was right when he said I was a fool to marry him...” And since then whenever I've seen her she's always had that mace by her side. Can't say I blame her for keeping it close.

So afterwards I took off as fast as I could for Morvayn's Peacemakers before the potions wore off, took a breath, and carefully stepped inside, trying to keep my guts reined in.

“Varel Morvayn,” he recited, “Been making weapons and arms here in Anvil for 30 years. People say I do good work, and I don't aim to argue with them.” Evidently he didn't recognise me from all that time ago.

“Good day sir,” I declare, “I have some salvage from Fort Strand.”

“The marauder base?” says he, “Many casualties?”

I think then say, “About a dozen. Uh, including Maeva's hubby,” while extracting as many of the cuirasses and weapons as I can.

“Bjalfi? Oh yes, I'd heard he'd been seen around there. Then again, I always knew he was a wastrel. Nobody good could be called 'the Contemptible',” and he just taps his nose and nods knowingly. “This is a good haul, hmm...”

And he dawdles over each item, and he's good, eyeing every ding and nick, and I can feel pressure building.

“I left some items outside, let me get them,” says I and shoot out the door, around the corner, and frankly I tried to keep it discreet but felt like half of Anvil learned why Mazoga calls me Trumpet-Tail.

What? Best to get it out in the open under my control.

That embarrassing nickname I mean.

And then I took a pair of silver maces out of my pack, went back inside, and acted as if nothing had happened while impoverishing poor old Varel.

“A pleasure to do serious business,” says he, “By the way, did you hear anything strange outside?”

I just shook my head and bolted.

* * *

With extra coin and filled-up soul gems I felt ready to get my staff done. So I returned home to the Imperial City and then to the Chironasium, where I checked the cost (still too high) of enchanting my staff.

“Whatever are you doing?” Delmar had snuck up behind me.

“Prepping my staff for enchanting,” says I.

Delmar just looks at me like I'm an idiot. “Well there's no need to bankrupt yourself! Give it here, didn't Raminus tell you you get your Mage's Staff for free?”

Yep, I'm an idiot. Sheepishly I removed my gem from the altar and handed the staff over to him.

“Right then,” says he, being very diplomatic I thought, “you'll need to decide what sort of staff you're looking for. Something that fits you, and your abilities. Enchanting staves can be a tricky business. Only certain spells will be truly useful to you, so I'll narrow it down some. Destruction, Illusion, or Mysticism?”

“Illusion,” says I, as my skills in that school were lacking. Destruction goes without saying, and I tended to cast life detection spells almost non-stop. Even Dagail, once she got her marbles back, complemented me on my skill in that school.

“Right then!” says he, “Since staves launch spells at people, your choices are Charm, Paralyze, and Silence. Which would you like?”

And I has another little think and decide that being able to slow down attackers some is a highly recommended thing, and so “Paralysis,” says I.

“Uh huh, so with your staff you'll be able to stop attackers in their tracks for a little while. And that's definitely what you want?”

Yes, that was definitely what I wanted.

“Right then,” says he, “come see me tomorrow and your staff will be ready.”

And so I thanked him very kindly for his time and went home.

Now by all rights I should have spent the time delving and having adventures. Well sorry to disappoint, but I spent my time doing some alchemy, housework and my laundry, and meditating on the fact that it had been over a month since I stepped off the Coy Carp in Anvil, three-and-forty days ago.

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Jun 24 2010, 10:37 PM

exactly my playing style!

Still:
That's something about the game mechanics I could never figure out, especially when my sneak skill is practically zero!

Aye, that she would have!

Yay, more Ra'jirra! I wonder if Julian will encounter him during her travels in the Mages Guild?

gods only know why Maeva got hitched to a dork with a name like that
To quote the movie Angelheart- "It's always the bad-asses who make a girl's heart beat faster."

I thought I was gonna be the one to make an honest man outa him.
And that is what they all think. And they are always wrong. Nice portrayal!

I usually go with the Paralysis staff as well. It works against most everything. Silence is only really useful against spellcasters, and Charm is easy enough to do on your own (I discovered that you can create a 50 point touch charm spell at Novice level of Illusion.)


nits:
“Tell the umbrella seller to...”
Zinged by the board's swear filter!

And since then whenever I've seen her she's always had that made by her side.
Looks like a typo on mace.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 24 2010, 05:19 PM

I'm afraid the way I've played him won't let that happen. Not without some incredibly hairy rewrites - or rewinding over twenty hours to a previous save!

[several hours later]

Looks like I could. My last full save was 8 Heartfire - before I took the plunge and visited the Dragonfires, which launches the main quest with Indigo's mod.

So in my mind, he _might_ do so, if the dates match. And of course he won't spot any Oblivion gates on his travels.

[several more hours later]

Right! Leave the Dragonfires alone and off we go the the Vati - Vahtacen!

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Jun 26 2010, 11:38 PM

[OK then! Thanks to "Bob"'s School of Time Control, I was able to prevent Ra'jirra from getting suckered into the MQ - definitely not on my todo list for him. Actually, I almost got quests out of sequence...]

Chapter 11. In Which Ra'Jirra Has a Nasty Surprise in Skingrad

I popped back into the lobby of good old AU and greeted Raminus, who was chirping on to one of those square-faced bosmers about the latest fights at the Arena. I can't understand the impulse to regularly risk one's neck for gold in front of a crowd. Mind you I tend to risk my neck going on quests, but usually those are private affairs.

“Journeyman Ra'Jirra!” says he, “I have a task for you!”

“Certainly, Raminus – hang on, what did you call me?” says I.

Raminus just grins at me. “The Council are no slouches with recognising those who go above and beyond for the Guild. Such as you.”

“Well, then,” says I slowly, “What's this about a task?”

“The Council is investigating what happened at Wellspring Cave,” he explains, “Many of our resources are devoted to the task, leaving our ranks spread thin. There is a related book that needs to be recovered. It was recently loaned to Janus Hassildor, the Count of Skingrad. I'd like you to retrieve it.”

“That's all?” says I, and here I am thinking it's a cushy number as long as I don't run into Glarthir again.

“I understand this may not seem the most important of tasks, but still...” shrugs Raminus, “It needs doing, and you are one of the few available to do it.”

“And while you're over there,” interrupts Mrs Square Face, “you can help me with the orrery.”

“Sorry Ra'Jirra,” says Raminus all embarrassed, “This is Bothiel. She maintains the Orrery here.”

“That's what I would do if it wasn't for bandits,” she jumps in irritably, “and they stole parts I was waiting for. Here,” and she hands me a paper, “this explains the situation. If you could get those parts back, you'll help get the Orrery working again.”

I looked at the paper and noted the location of Camp Ales on my map, more or less north of Kvatch.

But Ranimus clears his throat with an angry noise, and gets my attention again. “I think the issue of necromancers is a bit more important than retrieving parts...” Whoops! Bothiel's face goes all thunderous, but he charges on, “A note of caution: Skingrad is an... unusual place. Be prepared for the unexpected. The Count is a reclusive man, and sometimes difficult to see. Hopefully, your status as a representative of the Guild will aid you. Speak with the castle steward when you arrive.”

And I acknowledge that and am all yes sir and away I go before the fight gets underway.

Frankly, Skingrad was fairly strange. There was Glarthir, the crazy bosmer, Erthor, the crazy mage, and now I had to deal with a crazy count? “Fuggnell,” I muttered as I left my little home and started along the way.

It was late in the day of 6 Frost Fall when I arrived in Skingrad, gussied myself up in my Mage's Guild finery, presented myself at the castle, and spoke to his steward, one Mercator Hosidius.

I shouldn't have bothered.

“Yes? The Mages Guild, you say?” and he gives me a look like I'd come fresh from the hog pen. (Funny that, I've never seen pig farms anywhere.) “Oh, the Count is quite aware of your presence here. He simply has no interest in granting you an audience at this time.” And he looks me up and down in a way that sets my ears back. “Now that I've seen you myself, I can't say that I blame him.”

“Charming,” says I in my most sarcastic tone, “Does the Count know you make his decisions for him?”

There was an Argonian bird nearby and she looks at him and looks at me and slowly backs away.

Mercator just smirks. “Nevertheless,” says he most condescendingly, “I shall endeavour to change his mind on the subject. Return tomorrow - perhaps he will see you then.”

And he turns on his heel and stomps off.

“What the hell was his problem?” asks I of nobody in particular.

“No idea,” says the Argonian suddenly, “I've never seen him so rude to anyone from the Mage's Guild before, and he doesn't like the guild that much already. Tell the truth, I thought you two were about to start swinging. Um...”

And she looks to the door and I do too and see the guards putting their swords away. Bloody hell.

“I'd best leave,” says I and so I do. I didn't stop leaving until I was past the graveyard and accosted by a minotaur.

My nice new staff worked a treat, but you had to think fast because by the time I'd drawn a weapon the damn critter had got back up again. Eventually the beast fell, and I got some minotaur horn for my efforts.

I spent the night mooching in goblin caves, including the Derelict Mine on the road to the Imperial City, scoring, among other things, a nice silver axe. The following morning I went back to the castle – the tension wound up as soon as I entered and Hosidius saw me.

“You again!” He struts right up to me and gets in my face. “Has a day passed?”

“You said 'come back tomorrow',” says I, folding my arms, “Well – it's tomorrow.”

And we just look at each other.

“I have nothing new to tell you,” he says at last and turns and struts away.

“That's all right,” says I, and he stops and stares at me as I plonk myself in a handy chair and pull a couple of books out of my pack, “I'll wait.” And then I smiled at him and started reading The Collected Plays of Crassius Curio. Lovely fellow. Penned some of the lewdest and rudest farces ever to come out of Morrowind. Or anywhere else for that matter.

“Haven't you got some muck to brew?” says Hosidius about Act II Scene I of Dance of the Three-Legged Guar.

“You're unwelcome here,” adds he just as I'm about to turn the page and start on Act IV Scene IV of The Lusty Argonian Maid.

“Oh all right!” he finally says just as I'm getting to the good bit of The Real Nightmare of Castle Xyr, “The Count will meet you at 2am tonight, in the High Pasture west of town. Don't be late!”

“All right then,” says I, and I take my time plucking a leaf off a bunch of grapes for a bookmark. Then I put the books back in my pack. I didn't even need to start on Fool's Ebony.

I had several hours to kill, so I wandered over to the Mage's Guild, where nothing of interest happened. However I did notice a new altar I hadn't seen before, so I had a fiddle to pass the time. But you can only fiddle with an altar for so long, so I went off and had a look around the proposed meeting place.

The High Pasture is west of Skingrad, but east of the so-called Cursed Mine, where the road turns south towards Kvatch and Anvil – you know, where that little tree is in the middle of the road. I paid the Cursed Mine a visit and found some extra alchemical gear which the bandits inside didn't need for some reason.

And so I went back to the High Pasture about midnight, dropped off some of my loot in a handy byre, and waited a bit more. The longer I waited, the more disturbed I became. Why here? Did the Count fear a spy?

The moons were waning; I finally saw Hosidius walk past outside, accompanied by two figures in dark robes. My time sense said it was almost two; I loosened my mace in its sling, cast a detect life spell – nobody else in range – and followed them to a point outside, where they stopped. And stared at me.

I stared at them, until Mercator finally spoke up.

“Just in time, Mage. We've been waiting for you.” He looked disgusted, but that didn't surprise me, since we didn't exactly get on well. “I'm afraid I misled you. The Count won't be arriving - in fact, he doesn't even know you're here.”

“Don't tell me you're one of the corpse-humpers,” I said in contempt.

And that pretty much started the fight.

At first I wasn't doing very well. Against one, I can survive; two, it's a matter of fending one off while beating on the other. Three I was struggling with, until someone in some very fancy shining armour came charging in, grabbing a necromancer with one hand and smashing him in the face with another.

Mercator sort of lost his concentration then, gaping at the newcomer, and I took great pleasure in swinging my mace into his jaw. I could hear the bones break and watched his head snap back, then I finally loosed off a kill spell that stuck. Death wrapped him in red and black.

The other necro staggered back past me, glittering with ice, breath frozen in his lungs, dead before he hit the ground.

Then someone took my helmet off from behind. “Excuse me,” said a cultured voice, then a small mountain landed right on my noggin.

* * *

I returned to the Arcane University later that day – 8 Frost Fall I believe – and I was pissed.

“Hail Journeyman!” cries Bothiel, “Have you-”

Khajiit have this ability to hiss volumes. And I hissed an entire library's worth at her. I'm not happy about it, but maybe her ill-advised greeting let Raminus live.

I stalked over to where Raminus was slowly backing away from me.

“The Count Janus Hassildor,” I very carefully say, “says, and I quote, 'Tell your Council that the next time they want something from me, they come themselves. They don't send someone under false pretences.'”

Raminus started to splutter, but I didn't let him.

“Before he told me that, his steward, Mercator Hosidius, attempted to lead me to an ambush, claiming a secret meeting with the Count. If that worthy hadn't suspected, I would most likely be dead, and I would not be nursing this lump from where he knocked me down for 'my' stupidity afterwards.

“And he also added, and I quote, 'Despite what your Council may think, I've not thrown in with the Necromancers, and would never do so. You may pass along that message.' Well – I consider it passed on.”

By this time my blood was down a bit, and Raminus actually looked contrite.

“Ra'jirra, I... I must apologize. It was never the Council's intention to put you in harm's way.”

Either Raminus was a bloody good liar on a par with Marobar Sul, or he was being honest.

“Now, I know you've had a rotten time, but I can... I believe you deserve reward, Evoker Ra'jirra.”

“What?” was my intelligent response.

Raminus straightened up and rummaged under his robe. “As far as I am concerned, from this moment, you have gained the rank of Evoker. There'll be someone complaining about your meteoric rise in the ranks, I guess, but you've gone well above and beyond your duty to the Guild. And along with your new rank, please take this amulet. May it help keep you safe in times of danger.”

And he handed me this self same Spelldrinker Amulet I still wear to this day. All right, unless I've got a more suitable one.

“Did you find the missing parts for the orrery?” Bothiel asked then, killing the moment stone dead.

“No ma'am,” I said in a lofty tone, “I'm afraid I got distracted with necromancers trying to kill me and all.”

“Well, really!” She actually stamped her foot at me. “Don't you understand how important my work is? The orrery here is the only one in Cyrodiil. There's one more in Hammerfell... the old one at Stros M'Kai. Finding those parts is essential to unlock the secrets of the heavens – including, if my research is right, access to celestial powers! You get right back there and – men!”

Maybe Raminus and I shouldn't have burst out laughing. Mind you, the way she stormed out would have set us off anyway.

You should see the orrery, by the by. It's a truly amazing sight, and Bothiel's forgiven me for my lapse of memory there.

Oh! Oh! Oh1 I loved this version of the quest for that damned invisible book!

You have portrayed Assidius so well! (And no, that's not an inadvertent typo).

And Bothiel the Square-Faced Breton? Does that mean she's a blockhead?

You had me rolling with the Collected Plays of Crassius Curio! I've never played Morrowind, but I"m familiar with the character from several stories set in MW!

It's a good thing I had already had my beer, or it'll be all over my keyboard! You have the kind of warped humor I enjoy so much. Kudos for another hysterical installment of Ra'Jirra!

Whoehahahahahah ROFL

Ra'jirra is back! Tons of fun. I loved "Mrs Square Face"

“Don't tell me you're one of the corpse-humpers,”
I love this line!


h.e.r.: Bothiel is a wood elf. For some reason Bethesda gave them all lantern jaws, making them all look square-headed.

[Finally! I had enormous trouble writing this quest up. At one point I delved into the secret files of the Mage's Guild, of which WORM FARM pretty much covers Ra'jirra's career. However WORM FARM and other influences from Charles Stross were successfully repelled, so...]

12. In Which Ra'jirra is Bored in Vahtacen

“Anyway, Evoker,” Raminus then said to me, “I'd like you to meet Irlav Jarol. He's got a task for you, and just so you know, no necromancers.”

“Sounds fair,” says I, “Now where would he be?”

Raminus just points upwards. “I'll go up and let them know you're Evoker now, then I'll bring him down.”

And so I waited. Two hours later, Raminus and an older man in white quilted clothing popped into existence on the little dais that Raminus told me led to the council chambers and Arch-Mage's quarters.

“Councillor Jarol,” Raminus says respectfully, “Here is Evoker Ra'jirra.”

“Evoker?” says Irlav, eyeing him and me suspiciously, “I was under the impression that this cat was a Journeyman.”

“Councillor,” Raminus says carefully, “Ra'jirra did risk his life in Skingrad for the Guild. As I told the council, I declare him to be Evoker now in recognition of his services to the Guild against the necromancers.”

Irlav just looks at me as though I brought the corpse-jockeys in myself.

“I don't know he's that trustworthy. Or,” and suddenly I realise I'm still in full armour and look nothing like – “that much of a mage. What good is he going to be?”

I can feel a hiss coming on, probably followed by expulsion, so I try to put a lid on it.

“Councillor.” Raminus looks like I feel. “Ra'jirra is a member in good standing of the Guild and--”

“May I point out that we did not have this necromancy problem until this cat turned up?” My jaw near falls off and Raminus tries to speak but on goes Jarol. “Now, all of a sudden we have necromancers in our most venerated shrine, necromancers uncovered in our guildhalls, and necromancers in Skingrad! What next? Will we discover a secret shrine on the University grounds?”

“Well put him to the test and find out yourself!” Raminus snaps.

“What?” is again my intelligent response.

“Very well,” says Jarol, who then turns to me. “Journeyman Ra'jirra, I want you to go to the workings at Vahtacen at once. The last report I received from Skaleel indicated there was some sort of problem. A blocked passage, or something, that they couldn't get past. I'd investigate it further, but I'm needed here with the Council. Raminus says you've got a good head on your shoulders.”

“Right then,” says I, “Tell me where it is and I'll be off. Councillor Jarol.” (I almost called him a smoothskin but thought better of it.)

“Southwest of Cheydinhal, at the mouth of the Reed River,” snaps he, “Look for it almost due west of Swampy Cave. I expect your report at the earliest.” And with that he stomps off.

“Ra'jirra,” starts Raminus uncomfortably.

“What?”

“I'm sorry, I... I wasn't expecting that. Irlav is a bit... intense... and I think he's torn between keeping on top of the necromancer problem and his Ayleid studies.”

“Don't make excuses for the honoured user,” says I, “He's probably been a racist all his life and now it's come out. Well – I'll show him what us cats can do.”

And out I stalk.

My trek took me to a local landmark known as Longman's Barrow, which unfortunately was blocked off by Imperial orders. Actually it's probably a good thing as I really didn't need the distractions, besides I ran into goblins on the way there and once more at the ruins of Arkved's Tower. From there I had a brainstorm and swam the rest of the way up the Reed River to its mouth. Swampy Cave was easily spotted, but Vahtacen had me flummoxed. It looked just like a regular cave, not an Ayleid ruin.

But in I went, expecting some sort of resistance, but instead to my relief found a hole leading to an Ayleid chamber containing an Argonian woman who turned out to be Skaleel, and mightily grumpy and frustrated.

“Don't tell me Jarol sent you,” she starts.

“He bloody did,” says I, “and called me a cat to boot.”

At this her eyes go all wide and she actually softened a bit. “I'm not surprised,” says she, “In fact I think he deliberately sent me here to fail. That damn pillar will be the end of me!”

“What pillar?” asks I.

“Through that gate,” and she hands me a key, “There's a room with a huge pillar in the middle. Denel and I have almost been killed trying to solve it. I don't know, you have a look and let us know if you have any bright ideas.”

Through the gate a hallway dipped to the left and down. Halfway along I got a nasty feeling; casting a detect life spell revealed ghosts to my right. However if there was a secret entrance I couldn't find it, so I ignored the spectres and approached the bosmer who was around the next corner.

“I'm Ra'jirra, Evoker of the Mage's Guild,” says I, “You're Denel, if Skaleel tells me right?”

“That I am,” says he, “and it's great to meet you. Let me guess, Jarol wants a progress report?”

“Looks like it,” says I.

“Well, the only progress we're making is staying alive, and the only reason we're doing that – follow me, I'll show you.”

And so he leads me through the gate and off to the right is a chamber with an immense pillar in the middle, about twenty feet wide.

“The pillar responds to magic,” says he, “but so do the black crystals,” and he points to a corner of the room, where there's a black crystal above a sort of stone and metal stand. Then I look closer and realise the crystal is actually hovering in place. Beside it, a small plaque I couldn't read.

“When I cast this spell,” Denel says, “run!”

So Denel casts a lightning spell at the pillar. The pillar seems to shiver slightly, then the black crystals glow with a red light. I know all this because I'd followed Denel through the gateway and was watching.

The crystals let go of their energy – straight for us! If it wasn't for the metal grating and the wall we'd have been hit!

“See what I mean?” says he, “Come here and listen.” He walks back to the pillar without a qualm, picks up a pickaxe and raps it against the pillar. “Hollow,” he explains, “so there's something in there. But how you get it out has us stumped.”

“No levers, no buttons?” asks I.

“No, as far as we can tell, it's magic, maybe a series of spells. But we've no idea what spells, and frankly we're too scared to risk our lives experimenting.”

“What about these plaques?”

“Well... I think Skaleel might have a reference... Yes, ask her, see if she has one.”

“Why don't you?”

And I look at him and he looks at me and I realise that he's afraid. Maybe he's afraid of the pillar, or of Skaleel, or what might be waiting inside the pillar. I don't care. Back up the hall I go.

Skaleel didn't hear me return, as she was hunched over the desk nibbling on a quill and staring at a blank sheet of paper. I tapped her on the shoulder and she spun round and punched me in the guts.

“Oh!” She goes to help me up. “I'm so sorry, I thought – um – oh hells.”

I say nothing, I'm too busy trying to start breathing again. But Denel had best keep his hands to himself in future or I'll pass that punch on.

“Do you have a reference for the Ayleid tongue?” asks I – eventually. And painfully.

“What for?” asks she.

“To stick it to bloody Jarol,” says I, “show him what we beastfolk can do.”

And she just stands there with this look on her face.

“Oh, all right!” And into my hands comes a book entitled Ayleid Inscriptions and Translations. “Here. Denel can knock himself out with it. I wish he would. And when he does, you can–“ well, let's not go there, but it was an entertaining thought involving Jarol as a bookshelf.

Ayleid ruins are great for light, so I had a read. One phrase – Garlas Agea – jumped out at me. I'd been to Garlas Agea when I first set foot in Cyrodiil – the Caverns of Lore. But for now I parked up next to Denel. “Care for some reading?”

“Oh, you got it did you?” says he as he takes the book and opens it, “Good for you. I've given up trying to deal with her for now. I'll tell you what. If you can read me the inscriptions, I'll see if I can find translations for them.”

Sounded fair to me, so into the chamber I went, warily eyeing the black crystals of death. I decided the best thing to do was turn left and work my way around. “The first one's av molag anyammis,” calls I.

“According to this, it translates to 'From Fire, Life.',” calls he back, “Fire it is, then. What's next?”

“Av mafre nagaia, looks like,” calls I.

“What's that?” calls he.

“Get in here! I'm not throwing spells around!” yells I.

And in he comes, looking like he expects the pillar to sprout teeth and bite him.

“Oh, stop that,” says I, “I said, the inscription on this one's av mafre nagaia.”

“'mafre'...” and away he goes flicking through the pages, “...seems to translate to frost. So a spell with frost damage should work for it. Anything else?”

I walk across the room to the facing plaque. “Says magicka loria.”

“Aha!” Denel cries, he's getting excited, “It means 'Magicka Darkens.' Or 'magicka wanes'... a spell to damage magicka would fit the bill there! Last one!”

I'm already heading over to it. “I'll bet anything magicka sila means a magicka restoring spell mate!”

Denel makes a rude noise. “You can't restore magicka with a spell! On the right track though. The plaque translates to 'Magicka Shines.' Sounds like a fortification spell to me!”

It all made sense. Heating up the pillar and cooling it down; reducing the magicka levels and building them up.

“Right then, Denel,” says I heading back around the corner, “All I need are spells to reduce and build up magicka.”

“Let me have a look,” says he, and he goes to a chest and starts a-rummaging and out come two scrolls, and a copy of Observations on the Love for Nature. As I have a copy of this work I can well understand why Skaleel's fist and Denel's guts can't be friends.

“Here we are,” cries he, “scrolls to damage and fortify magicka. Right then! Time to start flinging spells eh?”

You know who had to risk his neck, right?

I launched that fireball with butterflies the size of the Imperial Dragon in my stomach. What happened was that the black crystals did nothing and the pillar's sections began to slide, some up, some downward.

Swallowed hard – snowball this time. Another success! The pillar was definitely unravelling now. If I continued to follow the sequence around the walls like I had when translating...

“Skaleel!” The bosmer's yell nearly made me jump through the ceiling. “The pillar's opening!”

I didn't hear what Skaleel said as I was trying to remember what came next. Oh, yeah, damage magicka – which was a touchy-feely one. Imagine trying to read a scroll while in arm's length of something trying to take your head off. Now imagine trying to read a scroll surrounded by objects which will trash you with magickal energy if you choose the wrong scroll.

I chose the right one. I know that because Skaleel walked past me and stood on tiptoe to peer into the now very large opening in the obviously hollow pillar.

“There's a doorway down there,” she notes. “One more spell?”

One more spell. Magicka fortified, the pillar finally opened up to reveal a stair descending to a door with luminous leafy patterns on it.

“Vahtacen Lorasel,” Skaleel read. “This place was a tomb.” She looks at me. “Be my guest.”

“What?” I was being intelligent again.

“You solved the pillar,” she said patiently, “You get to have a look around first. There must be something really important to be locked away like this.”

And I look at her and she looks at me and I finally say “all right,” go down the stairs, through the door, which closes behind me, then listen at the gap where the door meets the jamb.

“Why him?” Denel.

“Because he's too damn smart, that's why! He'll probably get eaten on the way back.” Skaleel.

“You'd want that, wouldn't you?”

“Of course I would, you little pervert! We've been here a week and making no progress – how's that going to look to fargnaxing Jarol?”

I decide to ruin Skaleel's day.

In front of me, a gate, in front of a ghost. Open the gate. Bow of Jolts does that to the ghost, then a spark spell finishes it off. Along. Chamber. Trap in the middle. Blackies, four, near the ceiling. Put away the bow and book it for the far side. No hits. Floor pad. Detect life shows two ghosts either side. Sneak forward enough to trip the pad – side walls open, then forward. Jolt and spark one ghostie then the other. Can't touch me. Yay. Another death chamber, but the trap drops, not rises to ceiling. Beyond, swinging axe trap. How in hell did I get through it?

Beyond the rigged chambers, evidently designed to distract and destroy tomb robbers, was a huge chamber, in which was a raised platform. Beyond it was a set of stairs leading to a ledge which hid a switch that raised steps towards it. Back down, up the newly raised steps – how did those Ayleids make them? – and I hear things summoned. Zombies. Tough buggers. Sensibly I break off and drop the bastards.

Back to the dais. There's a cage thing on a central pillar. One of the four pillars around it has a switch that raises to reveal – an Ayleid helm? Look at it – seems safe – just incredibly old and engraved. Take it – nothing happens – time to piss off.

Up the steps. Woah! Skeleton. One silver arrow drops the filthy thing. A secret gate hath opened. Go through – caskets offer nice things. Ghost at the top of the stairs – arrow. Again. Spark and there it goes for some ectoplasm. I keep moving. Another secret door opens and I now know how the builders got out of here.

I emerged from the Lorasel and Skaleel was nowhere to be seen. Turned out she was in the entry chamber, and looked surprised to see me.

“Oh, Evoker! Uh... did you find anything?”

“Just this helmet,” says I, “but it was at the end of three – no, four traps.”

And Skaleel peers at it. “Never seen markings like that. I think you've really found something!”

“I have?”

Skaleel looks at me doubtfully. “Is something wrong?”

“Well,” says I, looking her in the eyes, “Just after I went in, I heard some Argonian saying I'd get eaten on the way back. Makes a man leery.”

And she jumps and looks guilty.

“Evoker...”

“Skaleel... I don't have time for this. I've already had necromancers on my tail and I don't need members of the Guild joining in as well.” She jumps again. “Or maybe you're thinking of heading east and joining the Telvanni?”

Oh, you should have seen her face! She flaps her jaw a bit and nothing comes out and her eyeballs almost fall out of their sockets and do laps around the room.

“Can you keep a secret?” Very quiet, very panicked.

“All right,” very quiet, very measured.

“I'm... I'm out of my depth here. I thought this would be a doddle, just poke around, find some nice bits and I'd become an Evoker too. I don't know enough about Ayleid lore to do anything, all I could do was throw spells at that pillar, I didn't know what the hell was going on. Denel suspects, but he's just an Apprentice, he can't make any accusations stick – except that... well, you know?”

“Oh, I know all right,” says I, “and here's what I'll do. I'll take this helmet to Jarol and tell him that I found it with your help. Because that's pretty much the truth.” I grin evilly. “Besides, that way he'll be beholden to not one, but two beastfolk. See how he likes that!”

And Skaleel has a think and likes the idea and grins. “Oh, the poor baby.” She starts chuckling. “That poor man... beholden to a lizard and a cat.” She starts laughing evilly. “He dumped me here to fail you know! And I'd be out! How's he like how things turned out now?”

I don't answer. I'm off to find out.

By the time I returned to the Arcane University it was the morning of 10 Frost Fall. I was lucky enough to find Jarol heading for the teleport platform.

“Master Jarol,” says I, bringing forth the helm, “We appear to have found something.”

“Well where is it?” snaps he, “All I see is an Ayleid helm! If I wanted a damn helm I'd go molest marauders!”

“Sir,” says I, ever so patiently, “This particular helm was under a cage past no less that four trapped corridors and rooms. Whatever those markings represent they really didn't want looters to sieze it.”

“Markings?” And I find myself being pulled by the arm towards a candelabra. “Let me see,” and he takes the helm and turns it this way and that. “Now then... If my suspicions are right these... yes...”

I wait patiently as he gets more and more excited about this old helm.

“Well done,” he says at last, “Raminus was right–”

Unfortunately, I can tell–

“Suggesting you to me,” he finishes.

“I couldn't have cracked it without Skaleel's help,” says I truthfully.

He just looks at me, and I can see volumes in his gaze. Volumes I don't want to open.

“Well, I'll put in a good word for you,” says he, then ruins it by glancing at me and saying, “Evoker” grudgingly.

I go all amen and thankee and get the hells out.

Later, I was to find out that there was a pattern of racism in Jarol's activities, but that's neither here nor there given what happened.

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Jul 9 2010, 11:21 AM

Another enjoyable take on an otherwise dull, scholarly quest.

Never occurred to me to wonder why those two (Skaleel and Denel) were so fed up with each other! Thanks for clearing things up for me! Poor Ra'jirra - he had to find out the hard way. Ouch!

I liked the cat's description of the lower levels. No need to go into grisly detail since he'd seen it all before!

Ahh, revenge is sweet, indeed! Thanks to Ra'jirra for putting that "honored user" in his place! That was the finishing touch Irlav needed after all the pranks Maxical played on him!

Very fun segment! You really added depth to a simple puzzle-solving and monster-bashing quest by delving into Jarol's prejudices, Skaleel's insecurity, and Denel being a perv. I especially liked that the last two were specifically chosen to fail by Jarol so he could get rid of them (or at least get rid of Skaleel). That not only explained why they were unable to solve the puzzle, it also added an extra layer of conflict at the same time.

Thanks for that. When I started writing Jarol, his panicky monologue must have snagged his prejudices and out they came! Originally I almost had Ra'jirra coming to blows with Jarol right there in the lobby, but pulled back and let Raminus handle me out of a corner.

It was also fun to engineer reasons why Skaleel and Denel hadn't cracked the pillar puzzle as well. Incidentally, if you have OOO installed, you can pick up the mentioned book at First Edition. Just imagine finding that in your chest of scrolls.

It also makes the Arcane University more realistic, not one big happy family of finite state machines.

13. In Which Ra'jirra Learns the Secrets of Black Soul Gems

Well as I say, off I went to cool off. Next thing I know, Raminus is tugging on my cuff.

“Hold on there, Conjurer,” says he, “Can you do me a favour?”

I just stare at him. “I'm promoted again?”

Raminus just grins and hands me a conjurer's robe. I could feel the magic in it, much better than the one I'd pulled off that sodden corpse near Anvil.

“We're in strange times now,” says he, “and we need good men, mer, and beastfolk like yourselves. Besides, you've heaps for the guild, starting with unmasking Falcar, stopping Kunthar, offing the spies in Skingrad... which brings me back to your recommendations.”

“Go on,” says I, “What do you need doing?”

“I need you to find out about black soul gems, like the ones you found in Skingrad. Delmar's had a look at them, and he told me they can swallow a person's soul entire! Can you imagine the enchantments you could make with a soul like that?”

I can't because it's only here in the sunlight that I notice a huge bruise on Raminus' temple that wasn't there two days ago.

“What the hell happened to you?” asks I.

Raminus points to the Mystic Archives. “Tar-Meena.”

Even as he speaks an Altmer shoots out the door like Molag Bal made advances at her.

“What the hell?” is my intelligent response to this sight.

“Um...” Raminus looks embarrassed, “The Council's in an uproar over the necromancer threat and they've all demanded everything she has on them. Even I went to ask her, and she just screamed and threw a book at me.”

Now I've heard everything.

“Look, Tar-Meena's going crazy because up until now we've just asked for everything and anything she has. Those black soul gems from Skingrad are the only really concrete thing we have to research. How are they made? How are they used? That sort of thing. But I'm keeping my distance from Tar-Meena until she calms down.”

So off I go and enter the Mystic Archives.

Inside was full with apprentices and other sorts mumbling as quietly as possible over books and parchments, shooting fearful looks at Tar-Meena, who was slumped in front of a desk staring unseeing at some paperwork. Her colour didn't look too good, all dull and flat, and there were dark bags under her eyes.

“Ma'am?” asks I.

“What?” she snaps, hackles shooting up and tilting her head just enough to glare at me, “Don't tell me you're looking for information on farging necromancers as well!”

I start to speak, but away she goes, “I've had every fargnaxing councillor and their flunkies in here demanding information on fargnaxing necromancers and can they have it yester-farging-day! What do they think I am, a miracle worker? I can't produce results if I can't get the time!” She sags a bit and groans, “I'm not used to working like this.”

“Well I don't give a damn about the corpse-jockeys,” says I, “I'm after information on black soul gems.”

Well, that takes her by surprise. “Not necromancers?”

“Well,” admits I, “When I went to Cheydinhal, Falcar turned out to be one, and he had a couple, and Raminus asked me to find out more.”

“Well, finally! Something solid I can respond to!” She straightens up and then looks at me slyly. “How's his head?”

“Never seen it that colour before,” says I, “Don't think he likes it.”

Tar-Meena just snorts with amusement. “Lemme think... Yes... I think we still have a copy of Necromancer's Moon around here. Unfortunately I've no idea where it is,” and she glowers at the assembled parishioners, “Thanks to all these overly vague requests, I've lost track of most everything. It's very distressing.”

I didn't thank her, because everyone had downed tools at the same time and started scouring the shelves. Precious volumes were dumped unceremoniously on tables, desks and even the floor, where they got kicked or stood on in the scuffle as Tar-Meena and I stared on, stunned. The poor librarian flinched every time a book got dropped or banged or kicked.

Then a struggle broke out between a disgracefully fat dunmer and a young nord over one book, which only stopped when the unfortunate volume broke apart with a terrible noise.

Everyone froze at that instant, then an equally terrible hissing sound began to fill the silence.

It took me a while to realise it was coming from Tar-Meena, who was now beginning to look like a mad dog. All bared fangs and bulging, enraged eyes, stalking towards the two now very scared idiots with hands twitching.

I fled – along with everyone else, just as Tar-Meena screamed like a skeleton. A couple of battlemagi, probably alerted by the exodus, charged in, and I'm guessing they managed to calm the angry argonian since about ten explosion-free, if not screeching-free, minutes later they emerged, struggling with a somewhat scratched and burnt fat dunmer and young nord.

“The Mystic Archives are closed until further notice,” one of them announced, “and if you love living for the gods' sake don't go in there.”

Great. I still didn't have the book and it looked like asking for it would be asking for it. The Mage's League of Silly Buggers drifted away arguing what to do, while I braced myself and gingerly peered in. Tar-Meena was looking utterly deflated as she surveyed the mess the library had become.

“Can I help you clean up?” I asked.

Tar-Meena just looked at me dully. “Get out.”

“Look,” says I, “This was partly my fault, asking for that–”

And a book hit me square in the face.

“There's your fargnaxing book!” she screams at me. “Get OUT!!”

I get out.

I sat down in the lobby and started reading. Raminus joined me.

“They say there was a fight in the Mystic Archives,” says he, “what happened?”

“This did,” says I, “as soon as Tar-Meena told me the title everyone began tearing the place apart for it. Then two morons snapped a book in half and...”

Raminus winced. “Oh, gods. That is not good. What're you reading anyway?”

“Necromancer's Moon,” says I, and then I stop. “This could mean something. Listen:

“The Revenant, the Necromancer's Moon, watches over us all. His Form, ascended to Godhood, has taken its rightful place in the sky, and hides the enemy Arkay from us so that we may serve Him. Watch for the signs: when the heavenly light descends from above, hasten to His altars and make your offering, so that He may bless you with but a taste of His true power. Grand Soul Gems offered to Him will be darkened, and can be used to trap the souls of the unwitting; a feat even the great N'Gasta would marvel at.”

I found a loose reed on the floor and used it as a bookmark.

Raminus looked thoughtful. “So, it involves altars and a ceremony that takes place when a celestial event occurs... Bothiel!”

The bosmer had come in while we were talking and was ear-farming. Raminus filled her in, and she starts.

“Shade of the Revenant? Falcar was here some time ago, asking about just such a thing. Said it was for research. He had a large sheaf of notes with him about it.” And she frowns at me. “I'm afraid I didn't have any more advice for him than I do for you. With the Orrery in such a state of disrepair, I have no point of reference.”

I can feel my face burning or maybe it's the stinging from the impact of the book.

“Falcar did leave this behind; I think it fell from his notes as he left. I didn't pay it much attention, but perhaps it will be of use to you.”

She hands me the note and Raminus looks over my shoulder.

Primary sites:

The Dark Fissure

Fort Istirius

Fort Linchal

Wendelbek

Altars have been raised; Anchorites have been called. Watch the skies; once a week His Grace shines down on us.

“Bothiel,” Raminus says, showing great restraint, “why didn't you turn this in before now? We could have captured Falcar alive.”

“I didn't know!” Bothiel says indignantly, “I didn't think it important, and besides I just wanted the snot out of my face. I was rebuilding the main actuator mechanism at the time, or don't you remember?”

Raminus just gives her a look, then turns to me.

“The only one of these I can identify is Dark Fissure. It's a cave in the Valus Mountains near Cheydinhal, almost due east of Vahtacen. So, go there, see if there's an altar, and watch what happens when this 'shade' occurs, then report back to me.”

Bothiel is looking over my other shoulder at the note. “Damnit,” says she, “I don't recognise any of these names.”

“Why's that important?” Raminus asks irritably.

“Because one of these altars may be near Camp Ales,” she explains, “So our Conjurer here could retrieve my orrery parts at the same time!”

Which I take as my cue to flee.

I have a think at home and decide to head out to Dark Fissure, mainly because it's in an area I know. So, after some stiff travel and stiffer climbing, I crouch, armoured up and trying to be as still as a mouse, on a ledge above the entrance to Dark Fissure. In front of it, as expected, an altar, draped in the banners of necromancy, on Turdas 11 Frost Fall.

Nothing happened that night, except I got very cold and stiff.

I went to Cheydinhal the next day, did some exploring of local caves, found some nice bits, then high-tailed it back to Dark Fissure for another midnight watch. Magic ceremonies, especially dark ones, tend to be more effective, or only effective, at midnight.

Fredas became Loredas with the exact same lack of warmth and drama.

I went back to Cheydinhal, sold some salvage, then went and explored Fort Farragut. After avoiding deadly traps and deadlier than usual undead, I realised I had stumbled across the redoubt of worshippers of Sithis, none of whom were in attendance, thank heavens. I burgled the place and got out. Further on, I fended off an ogre and a pack of wolves near Rickety Mine. At least now I had some meat to munch on tonight.

Loredas became Sundas with a column of pale light, shining down directly on the altar in front of Dark Fissure. I watched the beam fascinated, then froze as the door opened and one of the corpse-jockeys emerged and strode to the altar.

He placed something on the altar, cried, “The Order of the Black Worm will feast on your soul,” referred to a piece of paper, “mortal.” Then he referred to the paper again and cast a Mysticism spell on the altar, and I watched as the gem blotched and darkened to an ugly black I had seen before.

I was aiming for his head, but the damn arrow went low. I jumped down and spelled and skewered him dead, then looted his pockets. A note and grand soul gems. I went back to the altar.

Thoughtfully, I picked up the gem, and equally thoughtfully put the other two gems on it, then looked at the note. Evidently the fool's speech was a sop to his need for theatrics.

I looked at the altar, swallowed hard, and cast soul trap on the altar, and again. Two black gems winked in the pale light beam like malevolent eyes.

I knew how they made black soul gems.

You couldn't see my tail for dust as I rocketed back to the University, Raminus, and warmer climes.

“Bloody hell,” was Raminus' response to my report, “I shall pass the news on to the Council. Most troubling, indeed, to know that these are not merely myths, but there's more of the ever-so-honoured users than we thought.”

“Oh hooray,” says I, “so there's a right punch-up brewing.”

“I'm afraid so, all joking aside. As such, you're being kicked upstairs. Arch-Mage Traven wants to give you your next set of marching orders, so you're allowed to use the teleport to speak with him, and you're being promoted again. Conjurer no more, Ra'jirra – you're a Magician now!”

All I could think of to say was, “Make sure Jarol knows won't you?”

Raminus just laughed.

“I...” then I trailed off, “I need to get used to this. I'd best deal to... um... Bothiel's bandits.”

“And about time too,” says the bosmer in question from where she'd been standing in the shadows.

“Give Traven my excuses,” says I, “I need a break.”

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Jul 15 2010, 04:56 AM

First off, I think you have Skingrad mixed up with Cheydinhal, unless your map did the watusi in spike heels and swapped cities on you. Falcar was the head of the Cheydinhal chapter and had black soul gems in his dresser, while Skingrad's chapter head lost one of her mages because she couldn't be bothered to babysit his experiments (when she wasn't busy playing musical beds).

That aside, this chapter was sooooo enjoyable, mainly because of Ra'jirra's perspective on otherwise mundane NPC's

I remember thinking what the hell did I do to get promoted??


Gotta love Tar-Meena!

Creative use of language there! I loved it! Sounds like me when I'm having a bad day at work!

I totally sympathize with Tar-Meena there - don't mess with my books!

Ohh, that sounds like the first time I did this quest! The view from there is awesome, but that's all I got to say for the wait!

Tee hee!


Yeah! Rub it in!

Again, this was a chapter that made me laugh out loud more than once. Good job!

Uh, obviously I had a writing fail. For one thing, it was Camp Ales [fixed]. But the confusion comes from Bothiel whinging that Ra'jirra's heading in the opposite direction from her precious orrery parts. Again.

EDIT: Argh! How could I have made THAT mistake!? F1XX0r3D.

With regards to same, I've tried to mod the DLC for the orrery so that it isn't reliant on the MQ starting. However it looks like I'll have to redo the patch before I can continue with the story. Ra'jirra needs some time whacking nothing but bandits before he can get up the gumption before reporting to Traven.

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Jul 15 2010, 04:58 AM

Several lines had me chuckling
Like this one
Stating the obvious is sometimes funny as hell. And you made an art out of that

Poor, harried Tar-Meena. I always liked her. The observation of he color being flat was an excellent touch at world-building. Little things like that bring the races to life.

Even I went to ask her, and she just screamed and threw a book at me.
Priceless!

“Never seen it that colour before,” says I, “Don't think he likes it.”


Lots of fun all around. You have a real gift for writing comedy.

Thanks guys. I found out where the semicolon had to go; so now all that remains is the writeup. Why the coders thought they had to wait until the main quest spat you out of the sewers is beyond me.

Incidentally, I passed a couple of chapters through this thing, and it said I write like Ursula K LeGuin. Hoodathunkit?