So, if Fort Greymoor used to be Black Moor in the past, I wonder why the name was changed? "Reduced intensity" comes to mind... currently occupied by wizards far less talented than Arkasis...

3:15 in the morning. Can't sleep, so might as well get the next LPD story up.

@SubRosa: Why thank you, it's good to be back. Indeed, Red Rokkr's back as well. Best of Both Worlds.

That's what we're all thinking: bad idea to just run toward every battle. See, what would've happened if that battle spawned within running distance of the party? There are ways to make NPCs stay out of trouble (Skyrim has better AI technology in this regard than earlier games), there is literally an "Ignore Combat" flag available for travel-type AI packages. But what fun would that be?

Fighting generally overrides any "Follow" or "Lead" AI in most cases, assuming the party gets near some enemies; which is why you prefer not to gather followers in the first place. Anyway, I listened to my character, and my character's followers listened to her, thank the Gods. It felt pretty epic not getting involved for once. And watching the entire drama unfold from a safe distance.

In a way it's good they stopped at Honningbrew. It's been months since I've played this game, and I'm not totally aware of what goes on at night. LPD is Level 5, which means vampires could be about (pretty sure DG kicks in somewhere near 5). Not that we can't kick some vampire @$$, but fighting in the dark can get way too chaotic.


@Acadian: Graci, have some coffee. ☕

She was indeed wise to hold up her band and keep them out of the bloody battle ahead

I'll tell y'all a little secret. I began writing the opening chapter way back in December, but I didn't actually game until last Saturday. Originally in that chapter, nothing exciting happened. It was just them walking along, telling silly jokes and etc. I figured I'd write in any encounters, a sabre cat, a group of bandits, whatever.

But I Didn't expect that epic battling! I was actually torn whether to include those scuffles, but in the end decided they had to go in. Which means I had to rewrite about 80% of what was on paper last Sunday, which took about 4 hours. Ditched it all, except the Greymoor history part and when they actually get near Honningbrew. Better this way! The rewrite is much more tense.

Oh yeah, that video shows it all. That's what we wanted to avoid last week!

Hey, Arkasis the Mad Alchemist seems to appear in ESO, has Buffy ever done any quests associated with him?


@Lopov: But I'm still two or three episodes behind! But yeah, was able to keep the entire party intact, thankfully because I was able to find that backup .esp.

Have you ever been looking for something, maybe your wallet or keys, and you look in some spot where they should be, yet they're not there? You freak out. Double-check, triple-check. Maybe ask your wife "Have you seen my keys?" and she says "They're right where you usually put them." You look again, and *Bam* they're right where they should be. They were not there 5 minutes ago, now they are. That's exactly what happened (minus the wife) with the Laprima's World.esp backup.

Yah I love her hair, too. Pretty sure that's Apachii.


@Lena Wolf: Probably Black Moor Keep was what Arkasis preferred to call it. Sounds much more sinister!


I think I'm going back to bed, so the story should be up in a few hours.

.
____________

.Whiterun

____________

. Loredas, 27th of Sun’s Dusk, near midnight


No Stormcloaks in the brewhouse, thank the Gods.

A couple minutes of milk and mead (milk for Laprima, the "best mead in Skyrim!" for her travelling mates), and everyone was doomed to fall into the Honningbrew's warm bedrolls. Sabjorn, the owner, did not charge them room and board, which was blessed because money was getting tight. He also did not make a fuss about their Imperial gear. Business is coin, that is all.

Despite the late hour, Laprima had wanted to press onwards to Riverwood...

But since they were not doing so, since they were now tucked in a tavern instead of making time toward their next destination, now would be as good as ever to take a few moments to confer with the soldiers on the subject of attire. Her suggestion: Draper and Red and Tårn should consider swapping their Legion outfits for armors nonspecific, once everyone is in Riverwood. Coin was getting tight, but new pieces could surely be crafted in a few hours from whatever materials; certainly Riverwood has its own smithy?

"We need to discuss this now?" Red's eyes rolled.

"Right now," was their lady's answer. "Walking the roads as you are, we shall become targets of besiegement by the rebels."

Surely this was true, the guards acknowledged their danger with zero doubt. But Draper and Red otherwise disagreed, regarding her solution.

"I am perplexed." Laprima sipped some milk. Every few seconds she'd take a cautious glance at Honningbrew's entry door, as though it was about to burst open at any moment, Stormcloaks flooding the place. "Is it absolutely necessary, your militant garb?"

"As soldiers of the Empire, we duly represent its cause at all times," Draper explained. "As such, we embody Emperor Titus Mead's position with every step we take; that Skyrim should remain under the Empire's control. Even as things get rough, we cannot just step out of rank."

"In short, we know what we signed up for," Red halfway-grinned.

Laprima said nothing. Not much one can say, amongst such fearless fellows.

"Plus," Draper continued in his Heartlander's accent, an accent which reminded of her so much of home, "when we get to Falkreath and you're explaining Elisif's directive in front of his court, they might laugh us right out of there if they don't know of your heritage. Falkreath is not Solitude," he wagged his finger. "They haven't a clue whether you're Elisif's delegate or not, see?"

"But the missive I am to deliver is wax-stamped with Solitude's seal, and has been inked by a half-dozen crests. Those crests cannot be forged; they have magical properties. Falkreath's court wizard can legitimize those, assuming they have a wizard. The court of Falkreath shall then have no choice but to respond to Elisif's requests. Whether they agree to sign our charter or not, they'll have no recourse but to at least consider Solitude's offer."

Tårn the Nordic remained watchful and silent.

"Still, it'll help if the lot of us are standing by your side," Red countered, his voice a soft-spoken wheeze, "wearing the Empire's armor. Picture the moment, Lady Donnaugh. There's a regalness to that moment, isn't there?"

"Regality..." Draper corrected.

"Regality, what-ever. There's a regality to the moment. There we are, standing at your side, making it obvious from where we hail, since we're donned in the expected attire."

Lady Donnaugh swallowed the dregs of warm milk. "Alright." Red had a point.

"Now picture it again, this time we're wearing a mishmash, like some common travellers you'd picked up. --- From Siddgeir's perspective, and the perspective of Falkreath's court..." he gulped a mouthful of mead. Didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to, really.

Laprima nodded, too ready for bed to continue the fuss. She had spoken her piece, they had spoken theirs.

Men and women separated: Pierre Draper and Rokkr Van Haggar chose a room in the cellar, Tårn and Laprima found a couple bedrolls tucked in the upstairs loft. A large metal boiler was directly below their floor, which still emitted warmth despite its fires being extinguished hours ago.





Sundas, 28th of Sun’s Dusk, early morning


The traveling ambassador slept like a stone a few hours, awoke with a jolt near dawn. A sudden idea (the remnants of a dream) overwhelming her mind. She decided to wake her statuesque mate.

"Tårn!" she scream-whispered.

"Laprima?" the Nordic responded, bleary-eyed. "What is?" Laprima noticed Tårn had slept by her giant sword. Her hands were already grabbing the weapon's hilt.

"I..." Laprima pointed at herself, "have a thought." She pointed at her head.

"A thought?"

"Aye."

Laprima did her best to explain. She'd been having some dream, one of those sorts which become inspiration upon awaking. Using both hands, (as well as a few words the Nordic woman could understand), she communicated that Tårn should remain in the loft, while Laprima would head into Whiterun. Chances are, Draper and Red would sleep a grand portion of the morning away.

"You," Laprima said, pointing at Tårn, "need different clothings," she used hand-motions to indicate apparel. "Different armor. Is not safe....on the road."

The Nordic nodded. "Jeg vet det... I know."

Thing is, even though she'd been unable understand the entirety of their argument the night before, Tårn certainly caught the gist of it. Was Laprima's sudden, developing idea, an idea Tårn now seemed to intuit, bordering on manipulation?

"You find for me, armor?"

"Aye, I shall try to find armor," Laprima thought for a moment. "And if no armor, clothing." -- Armor might be difficult to locate for a semi-giant on such short notice, let us be honest.

Laprima used tiptoe motions with her fingers to indicate heading into Whiterun and back.

"Måtte Gudene lede din vei," the warrior replied. May the Gods guide thy path. Tårn slapped palms with the Imperial. Seventeen seconds later, she was already asleep.






"Need goods and supplies, go see Belethor at his shop," one of the guards suggested as Laprima dismounted her horse outside of Whiterun. "Sleazy little man, but he has good stock."

"Many thanks."

Whiterun's homes and businesses were a mixture of sturdy timber and rugged shingles, the former architecture student noted. A-frame designs a common theme. A lot more lumber, a bit less stone than seen up north (not including the town's walls). Whiterun's smithy was located just inside the town's gate, but as expected: your ladyfriend is very tall, you say, taller than most. How tall, exactly? Oh, she ain't here? How're we to measure for materials if she ain't here, miss?

She was told to head up the street to where the town's equivalent of a market district is, and make a right. Belethor's General Goods is the place to go. But isn't this the shop owned by that 'sleazy little man'?

"Everything's for sale my friend, everything!" the dark-haired merchant behind the counter of Whiterun's main trading shop, Belethor's General Goods, hawked as she walked in.

Sleazy or not, Laprima's first impression: the man's eagerness is infectious. Immediately, she felt a lift of her overcautious spirit. She'd been worried about Ulfric's side (that entire contingent from the day before) suddenly crowding into the Whiterun area for the past ten hours, dozens of bluesuits suddenly everywhere. So it was nice to drop this concern, if only for the moment.

"Well, splendid. So I am here in regards of--"

"If I had a sister, I'd sell her in a second!" Belethor interrupted. "Ah-ha-ha hrr... Um, that there's a little joke."

Huh? "Mmm. Am glad am not thy sister, then."

"Um...just a joke," Belethor backpedaled.

"Right." Sleazy little man. "As was saying, I am new in town, and am wondering, if I might be so fortunate to purchase clothings, or perhaps armor, for a woman who is of taller stature than most?"

Belethor pointed to his right where racks of garments were on display. Hmm. No armor here at all, only common farm and townclothes, she quickly realized. Which might be okay.

"I'll give ya the best deeeals, or die trying..."

Chances are, Tårn would be able to fashion her own armor from cheaply-bought leather and ingots once they were in Riverwood. She just has that sort of look to her; like she'd grown up working with forges and tanning racks.

"You just let me know what you need. I am at your beck and call," Belethor elaborated, eager for coinage.

"Superb." Does this vulgar oaf ever cease with the jawing?

She spent several quick seconds browsing through articles hanging from the rack, clack, clak, click! like a psychopathic bargain-hunter. Mauve topcoat ... taupe trousers... dirty beige corset... pink dress...goodness, someone dares to wear pink in this land... Found an outfit with a skirt so long, its lower hem touched the floor. "I shall purchase this." She paid for the frock, seventeen gold, hoping it would fit her herculean comrade.

"Goodness, your friend must be the size of an ogre!"

Sigh.

"I'd even buy one of your relatives, if you're looking to sell, a-ha ha!"

Oh no. No, no, no. Did the man really just...?

No.

"Well that's a ghastly thing to say!"

Despite the situation with Tårn (Laprima's goal was to return to Honningbrew before Draper and Red awoke), she could now not help herself. "Sir. Are these the manners purported to patrons other than myself? All day long, ye ramble with these insults..."

"But it was just a..."

"No, not a joke. An offense is more like it." Her eyes were like daggars into the sleaze's skull. "A lady should never find herself enduring such crassness from a fellow. And a merchant-fellow, at that!"

Laprima's voice was rising. She became conscious of the scene she was making; conscious of the fact that she was about to draw attention, just as a couple new customers dawdled in. "Of this I can promise, merchant: I shalt not ever return to this shop of yours."

"You tell 'im, lady," one of the customers, a svelte blonde with sad eyes and a wicked bow upon her back, goaded. "Man deserves an arrow."

"But..."

"Back home," Laprima continued, "within the city's Market District that is, we've got our Society of Concerned Merchants to complain to, for subordinate proprietors as thyself. Due to such measures, OUR shop owners have no choice but to conduct their commerce while providing exemplary service, without crass language."

"Um, hey now...that's not necess--"

"If any such organization exists in Whiterun, you can be sure I'll be lodging my complaint."

Belethor deflated like a leaking betty netch. Whiterun did not have anything close to a 'Concerned Society' within its walls, but simple word-of-mouth could be such a powerful thing!

As she stomped away, Lady Donnaugh noticed the low table in the middle of the shop's lobby, which supported a small selection of vases and knickknacks. She made sure to walk right through this collection of miscellaneous junk, knocking and scattering its items all over the floor.

"Be CAREFUL!"

Quest accomplished. Laprima strode quickly out of Whiterun, down the hill, past a couple of small farms. Back to Honningbrew Meadery.

"For you," she presented the garment to Tårn. "I do hope it fits."

She allowed Tårn some privacy as the woman swapped armor for clothes. After two minutes, the Nordic rounded the corner, seemed pleased: the frock/skirt combination actually fit. "Is good!"

"Splendid. Let us go to Riverwood, then."

But hmm, a surprise. Tårn rounded the corner a second time, returned to the bedroll, and changed out of her new clothes. Stuffed the outfit into her rucksack. After two minutes she revealed herself again, "to Riverwood," redressed within the Empire's armor.

"But ... ehm.... so Tårn...." Laprima stammered, befuddled.

"We go Riverwood," the tall Nordic repeated with a dour expression. "I, for Empire," she pointed at herself, drawing the line, making it clear. And for whatever reason, Lady Donnaugh had no recourse but to honor her mate's decision.


-------------------------------------------------------------

Glugging mead

Sleazy little man who has Good Stock

"Watch what you're doing!" -- (all my characters walk through the items on that low table! It's not even me roleplaying, more like an Easter egg moment. A passive-aggressive attempt, since none of mine (so far) have ever gone as far as to ultimately shut the man up.

Really, I just love hearing him get all pissed! Man deserves some angst.

So much work to get proper clothing, even in size, for Tårn and then she swaps her outfit immediately. This was probably an unexpected event in the game, right?

It was wise that Laprima went 'shopping' alone instead of with her entire party.

Laprima uses hands a lot when talking to Tårn, nicely written.

Well, one of my characters did ultimately shut Belethor up, and I guess you're referencing her when you wrote about the blonde woman with sad eyes - Sybil.

Laprima’s a milk drinker!

It’s too bad the two soldiers didn’t listen to Laprima. Subtle traveling attire in hostile lands when on a diplomatic escort mission is simply wise. That is, assuming the group has someplace (like a bag of holding?) to store their redcoats until needed. Had the soldiers cooperated, I expect Tårn might have as well. Should the band be confronted by a force of bluecoats, the best Laprima can do now is to claim to be a prisoner and gush her appreciation to the Stormcloaks for rescuing her. Of course, our Laprima Donnaugh would consider no such thing so the risks while traveling remain high. Oh well, she tried.

Nice how LPD reviewed her ability to verify her credentials if/when required as she travels for court to court.

Finding clothing to fit odd sized women – a challenge we know well but at the other end of the size spectrum.

Though it’s been many years, I do recall the slimy skeever Belethor. I’ve no doubt if he a had sister for sale, LPD would have bought said sister just to set her free.

Funny thing, Lena actually liked Belethor... The first thing he told her when she entered his shop (after that famous phrase about selling his sister) was this: "Among all these people, you and I are the only ones who aren't complete fools..." (Bretons among themselves. )

Emperor Titus Mead
I think the emperor might have drank too much Mead himself, given that his name changed from Mede to Mead!

Uh oh, the soldiers assigned to their stealthy diplomatic mission don't seem to understand the importance of stealth. They want to plainly identify themselves for every Stormcloak to see, and fight. That is only going to end one way.

They do have a point that appearing in front of the Jarl of Falls Church Falkreath dressed as common travelers would be less than resplendent. But they seem to forget that it is possible to change clothes before doing so.

I see Belethor continues to live up to his reputation. Never stop being sleazy...

I see they have Miss Vicious' pink dress!

Oh boy, Laprima is losing her cool. Diplomatic mission Miss Donnaugh, remember your diplomatic mission. She's gone full Karen! She is definitely not going to be leaving a positive Yelp review! I love that she walked through the table when she left!

I'm so sorry. Yeah, that's embarrassing. I just was watching The Rifleman at my ma's place (she loves Westerns for some reason) and out of the blue I'm like ... wait....

Maybe next time Laprima would have more luck finding appropriate clothing for Tarn in one of the giant camps.

Don't be embarrassed. Remember what Bob Ross said: "Mistakes are just happy accidents." Just enjoy the humor. I love the idea that there is in fact a guy out there calling himself Titus Mead. Maybe he is a comedian. Maybe he is a spokesperson for a liquor company. Maybe he is a bard. Maybe all three!

Hey, maybe that's how Van Hagar thinks Mede spells his name. Nah, still embarrassing. Ten hours or so of writing + editing... ah well, worse stuff can happen. Bob Ross rules though! Him and his happy fro.

The whole idea of changing uniforms is a theme in some of my stories, and goes back to Miss Carey, my middle school history teacher, a lovely redheaded non-nun at the Catholic school my parents forced us kids into. (Well, it was called Social Studies by the '80s, not History.) Carey was such an awesome teacher, actually sort of a mentor; I got As in her class, competing with Michelle Bishop for Teacher's Pet. I remember her teaching us about the Revolutionary War, during which the Colonists began adopting Native American policies in regards to attire. Americans began ditching their assigned blue uniforms, using subterfuge and ambush techniques while the Imperials continued as redcoats, which became mighty obvious on battlefields. Silent bows & arrows which could be quickly notched rather than loud + messy muskets which took a while to clean & reload.

So yeah, think of Vicious changing into raider armor, and Buck Norris following suit. Difference is, Laprima's team isn't on board. They'd rather die for the cause. Hmm, Falls Church? Does that mean I'm remembering Carey's teaching correctly?

The pink dress is more a reference to another story on this forum. “Certainly, after all, my partner needs something more practical than a prissy pink dress or even a tailored robe.”


Some of my characters don't mind Belethor, Lena. An insight I had this week is perhaps Belethor's attitude has flourished in Whiterun because nobody local minds his comments and antics. They all just sort of know, sometimes tolerate him, like that dude (sometimes lady, even) we've all known at some point. Maybe a coworker, maybe our brother, etc. If this story was about my Dovahkiin Sir Vyvoor for instance, Belethor would barely be mentioned. But clearly, the man seems almost placed into Whiterun to draw a certain reaction from us roleplayers.

Whether or not they get offended by the man, all my characters walk through his low table. "WATCH WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" ..... never gets old.


We shall see what'll happen Acadian, in regards to their continuation as obvious Imperialists. As mentioned, I've got a Civil War mod in my Skyrim called Immersive Patrols which comes in three flavors: No Battles / Unaggressive (Impies & Stormies don't fight, and don't interfere with our character), Battles / Aggressive (they fight each other, but don't care about us until we've picked a side), and the third, which in LPD's game, Aggressive. Though she herself is not aligned with either side, her party definitely is. However, a 'solution' to this problem shall occur during these next couple chapters, as we'll see.

Nope, no Bags of Holding in Renee Roleplays! Appreciate your taking the time to spell Tårn. Whether that's your keyboard or a copy/paste (I can't make an å without copy-pasting), appreciated.


Lopov, the entire end of chapter II, like the pilot episode with the battles going on, had to be mostly rewritten again. Originally, Tårn decided to wear the dress, ditching her armor, which was an actual Creation Kit moment with a script and so on (me and my scripting, right?). This initially worked in game but Tårn kept changing back into armor every time she walked out of Honningbrew.

So why not go with the flow? My opinion is sometimes surprises are better than original writeups. I like the rewrite better. Her hand-gestures are partially inspired by Silence, your mute Redguard fellow.

Correct: that is Sybil being referenced: the "svelte blonde with sad eyes and a wicked bow", that is one of Lopov's past characters, everyone. *PIC*

It's 3:22 AM once again, this late-night final editing is becoming a habit.

.
___________________

. Elisif's Directive

___________________







Location: Solitude's Blue Palace

"Steward, have we received the latest account, regarding our delegate's location?"

"Aye, milady." Falk Firebeard unfurled the parchment which had just been delivered. He cleared his throat. "Our ambassador, as you know, was able to convince Lord Rorik to remain on our side, and a roster of standby troops has been sent to Rorikstead, despite Tullius's objections."

"As expected," Elisif replied impatiently. Old news. "Go on."

"As for Laprima's detail itself, there's been some confusion, concerning their location."

"Confusion?"

Firebeard nodded grimly. Best to be laconic, yeah? He'd been fated to be the deliverer of bad news plenty times before, yet it never got any easier. "They was expected to appear within Falkreath, on the late afternoon of Loredas the twenty-seventh, err, so yesterday at the very latest, yet they have not shown. A watchful sentry at Half-Moons Mill also confirms our ambassador's troupe has not passed by."

Nobody replied at first, as the unexpected update sank in. Only the palace's magical music devices kept the moment from becoming utterly silent. "Well what are we to make of this sodden turn of events?" Elisif stated, eager to press blame, yet unable to point fingers since she, herself, had been the originator of the whole 'ambassador' idea.

Nobody said anything, nobody wanted their head on the block. Yet it was at this very minute when an unexpected voice spoke abruptly.

"Although my input has not been sought," Sybille Stentor, the court's dedicated wizard spoke with a bit of edge, "I have been performing my very own scrying from within my chambers at night. For it is my concern, you see, that Lady Donnaugh, performing such delicate tasks while traveling Skyrim's dangerous roads, have eyes watching with omnipresence and from afar."

The wizard, as usual, hadn't been a part of the initial discussion, which was partially her fault, and partially the court's. As was typical, she'd 'slept' most of the morning away. Truthfully though, her words, her supposed intuitions, had usually been ignored up until lately. Up until one of her predictions had recently come true.

A pause followed Sybille's preamble. Everyone's attention now turned.

"Please, by all means," Elisif allowed.

"I can tell you exactly where they are, or were," the wizard stated smartly. "Lady Donnaugh and her posse were last within a meadhouse just outside Whiterun..."

"Ah, Honningbrew Meadery," Bolgeir Bearclaw spoke fondly, a bit out of turn. "Very best mead in all Skyrim."

"Nay," Firebeard disagreed. "That honor goes to Black Briar Mead of Rift--"

"Silence!" the jarl quelled their expected argument. The palace's housecarl and its steward knew this was coming, of course. Gravity of moment almost didn't matter; such interruptive insertions were to be expected from the pair. On and on went their comparisons of 'Best Mead', 'Best Tavern', and so on; perhaps to lighten moments like these. And according to their recently-esteemed court mage, Laprima and her guard were still alive. Why not have a little fun?

"Sybille?" Elisif continued gently. "As you were?"

"Many thanks, jarl," the wizard replied. "So, here is what I gathered as I gazed within my crystal and focused assiduity: our ambassador Laprima, lodged within Honningbrew with a party of three..."

"Party of three? Those are all who accompany niece Laprima, just three?"

"Just three," Stentor confirmed. "Two male soldiers and a third, a very tall shieldmaiden of sorts."

"Well, this is unprecedented," the jarl fidgeted upon her throne, a sure sign of her dismay. "I thought they would've picked up additional recruits along their path. Anything else?"

Oooh, how the tables have turned! the wizard suppressed a smirk. In the past, as mentioned, Stentor had mostly been ignored. This had recently changed after a couple adventurers had discovered that the frightened words of a few Dragon Bridge peasants about a series of unusual lights near the Shrine of Meridia were indeed something to fret about. Place had become infested with undead, due to the invasion of a necromancer named Malkoran! And if the adventuring pair (a Mages College Altmer and a royal heir to the Caro name, who'd recently moved from Cyrodiil to Skyrim) hadn't proactively followed through on Stentor's insights, as well as the demands of those peasants, there could've been more than the war to worry about.

"Although I cannot predict of which way they shall ultimately course, not until I am able to set aside the necessary amount of fortitude to perform another scry, it seems they are indeed headed toward Falkreath, although taking a longer way there. For whatever reason, I cannot say. But it does seem their next likely destination shall be Riverwood, which is the next village south of Whiterun."

After another silence, the Blue Palace court burst into applause for several sweet moments: Firebeard, Bearclaw, several appointed guards and even a servant, clapping with deference. Solitude's court wizard, finally gaining proper recognition for her efforts.

"Riverwood does seem likely," Elisif agreed. "Firebeard!" She grabbed her ornamental sceptre and raised it from the throne, the way a judge wields a gavel. "Send a redirective for as many troops as can be spared, from Rorikstead to Riverwood; Tullius can feast upon my garters if he disagrees."

"Aye, milady."

"Use one of the birds," she ordered (referring to our Earthly equivalent of a homing pigeon, though the Tamriellic version was imbued with magical properties). "We need to get word to our delegate of our concerns. That she is not alone upon her endeavors, for bloody sakes!"

"It shall be done."

"It's an abomination, that our representative is traveling dangerous countryside with just three guards. Their numbers shall increase."

"So it shall be done!" Falk repeated.

"And Sybille!"

"Yes, my jarl?"

"You shall keep us posted upon any newly-perceived observations you are able to glean, concerning the travels and travails of my niece and her detachment."

"As you wish," the court wizard performed a rare curtsy. Though nobody in the palace knew the true source of her oddities, her yellowish eyes, and her habit of sleeping most days, even years after Torygg had appointed her, Sybille Stentor did rise to occasion at times. And such times were to be regarded.

Solitude's court adjourned. Jarl Elisif had become flustered yet again. She retired to her chamber with a lass, who applied fresh cosmetics.

A most welcome update from a remote perspective as Elisif tries to glean the status of her ambassador niece – last known to be at a meadhouse.

The jarl decides to boost Laprima’s security detail and:
”Tullius can feast upon my garters if he disagrees."

Elisif and Sybille both shine here. You really bring both to life as Elisef frets and Sybille uses her abilities to increase her sway within the Solitude court.

It will be interesting to see if a larger contingency helps or hinders Laprima's efforts to travel.

Wow! I didn't realise that Jarl Elisif preferred the company of ladies... Although Skyrim does not discriminate.

That's a brilliant episode, Renee!

So it is a council of the bosses back in Solitude. I loved how the bros got sidetracked arguing about who makes the best mead!

I must confess that I do not recognize the Altmer and Caro who appear to have saved the day at Meridia's Temple. Were they characters of yours? They don't register in my brain cells.

In any case, Sybille seems quite smug and full of herself. Which is of course how she always behaves whenever my characters meet her in the game.

I know the reason for Sybille's yellowish eyes, and why perhaps she prefers the night time hours to the sunlit ones...

So Laprima will have more guards. Is that good or bad though? The more swords she has traipsing around at her back, the more notice she will receive. Especially if they are all wearing Imperial uniforms.

It's a unique episode because Laprima is a mentioned-only character.

A nice touch, how thanks to her "night scyring" Sybille divulged Laprima's whereabouts to Elisif.

I loved the short-lasting change of opinions between Firebeard and Bearclaw. For a few seconds it felt, like the matter of the best mead would get more urgency than Laprima.

A noble from the Caro family can only be Lucius.

Just one question; how often does Tullius object?

I am three weeks ahead of the story so far as writing goes, and this includes most of the quest stuff as well. It's nice to get this stuff done and everything's moving along.

@Acadian: Last week's entire chapter was based on a series of late thoughts, me trying to plug some plot holes for once. But yah, it just makes sense that Solitude is worried. Elisif hasn't got contact with her guest family member, who was originally brought to Solitude partially because she was getting in trouble down in Cyrodiil, partially because she followed her fiance. So Elisif's got all sorts of worries on her mind. I can't write it all up (impact, ya know?), but at least some of that got addressed.

Elisif and Sybille do shine, I hope. They're portrayed as buffoons mostly in the base game, from what I recall. So I am glad they 'come to life" as you say. They aren't just figureheads.



It'll also be interesting to see if my computer can keep up with all the extra processing! Knock on plastic.


@Lena: Aw, why thank you. I'd say last chapter was closer to clever; the more brilliant stuff is coming, ye shall see.

Oops, no cake! My fault. Such a bad habit...


@Florens:

The Altmer was Crystal Beth, my fourth character from 2012, and Lucius Caro (one of Lopov's) was the other. Both of them definitely did the Meridia quest, that's why I selected those two.

I've thought about her increased guard detail too; and I'm not sure what'll happen in the long run. But sure, less people means easier maneuverability, evading any Stormies.

Maybe I should go back to a previous save from 3 weeks ago, and take some pictures from those massive battles. ⚔ Then the greater numbers will maybe make more sense. I was actually frightened as I was gaming. Because if LPD's party happens to come across one of those battles.... So it could become a safety in numbers thing.

In any event, YOU are going to be surprised... hee hee hee hee!!!


@Lopov: Thanks, man! Last week was me filling in plot holes, it's a good thing I even thought of those glaring lacks.

I really don't know fully what the male perspective is like, I just gather what I've seen IRL.

Oh yes, Lucius gets his due. 🍷




Mm, see, another plot hole. I can't fill 'em all, unfortunately; this story is about Laprima most of all, and I've only got until May to get a bunch of chapters done. As usual, there's going to be a lot of content coming, and I have to focus on what's most ... intense & to-the-point, I guess.

But in my imagination there is frequent feuding between Solitude's dual leaders, most of it is passive-aggressive. They communicate by sending pages and servants back and forth, and so on. Neither of them can get rid of the other, see?


Cool, comments are done! Gonna have dessert and get some sleep. Hopefully next chapter will be up before daybreak.

This post has been edited by Renee: Mar 1 2025, 03:02 PM

.
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. Riverwood

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The band of travellers vacates Honningbrew and treks towards Riverwood: wary, dour, and watchful. The day could evolve to their very last, these are the stakes which each of them fosters, of which they wite and taketh.

Droplets and snowflakes. Discs in the sky, obscured by cirrus and cumulus.

Furthermore, for Laprima Anne Donnaugh there are forces unseen to consider, forces portending from the otherworld. Forces which beckon, and in no way could she ever perceive she is forsooth being drawn toward Riverwood, called toward its locale by essences which cannot be sensed, or discerned by middling means. Our lady a facet, our lady a pawn, hath wandering about, colossal hands which choose her coming fate, it doth seem.

Arrangements, portending, portending, becoming.

Pierre and Rokkr are also affected, also oblivious. Heedless of their previous day's misdirection, unwittingly they have prolonged the journey toward Falkreath. Soon they shall uncover their blunder, a blunder which only the most novice of excursionists might be wont to contrive as they travel the roads.

Let us glean.






Location: Honningbrew Meadery, Whiterun

Sundas, 28th of Sun’s Dusk, mid-afternoon


Such a mystery, this decision of Tårn's.

It's something which intrigued Laprima as the Solitudians left Honningbrew, and began walking east. She started to dwell on the matter; that a countryside dweller from Skyrim itself would choose to side with the faction which wanted to keep the province from seceding. Displaying her position to the Sons all the while, just as Draper and Red were doing. Like them, she does not wish for Ulfric to prevail. Why could this be?

If only there wasn't a language barrier between them, perhaps this topic could be discussed.... On the other hand, now was not time for chatter!

It'd been a long, fruitless morning, all that running to Whiterun and back. After what seemed a too-lazy breakfast (lunch, really) the afternoon was already halfpast. The sky was cloudy, the sun its typical Skyrim silvery, half-hidden self, when their trek finally began. Laprima lagged somewhat behind Draper and Van Hagar as they walked; idea being that she'd be able to aim her bow from the flanks if enemies appeared.

Tårn, as usual, varied her position. Being so long-legged, she could easily walk twice as fast as everyone else, find herself dozens of yards ahead. Abruptly, she'd then reverse position. Eyes forward, and then eyes behind; a rather unique strategy.

The road started to climb and the sky was getting dark. Then it began getting really dark. Rokkr gazed upwards. "Ow blast. Is it gonna bloody rain?"

"You know something?" Draper mumbled, striding closer to Rokkr, voice hushed. He took a quick glance behind, making sure Lady Donnaugh would not be able to overhear. Alright, she's distracted at the moment, fetching something from her still-unnamed horse.

"Uh-oh. I know this tone of voice of yours, Draper..."

"We could've halved our trip to Falkreath if we'd heeded the other direction at that fork in the road yesterday."

"Halved our trip?!"

"Shh," Pierre Draper shushed. "Don't want her to overhear. But yea, there was that fork in the road, remember? If we'd made the right up the hill, pretty sure we would've been in Falkreath by now, or close enough to it. Instead we forged straight."

"Because---" Red started putting it together.

"Because we was all watchful of those battles in the foreground. Keepin' to ourselves, yah, but also we was distracted by the tussles up ahead. Yet still. There are signposts everywhere on these roads. We even looked at the one which would've steered us right, remember?"

Rokkr scoffed, bumping Draper's arm a little too forcefully. "You sure about this?" --- But then, he took a moment to visualize a map of Skyrim in his head. And came to the same conclusion. "Yep, there was that turn...and right goes south."

"Thing is, ach!" Draper spat. Because there was no 'thing is'. Distracted or not, they'd made an error, a rather foolish one.

"Nothing we can do now," Rokkr shrugged. "Cannot just backtrek without adding an extra day or two. But I wouldn't--"

"Oh no..."

"Bring it up with--"

"Oh no. We're not going to bring the matter up with her." Draper glanced behind again. Their lady was now done her fussing. "But for sure, let us take the time to study our maps with greater care once we're in Riverwood. We must make haste toward Falkreath on the morrow, eh?"

"That we shall."

Little did either of them know the real cause of their frivolous mistake.





They strode past a group of travelers wearing robes, and continued roughly south. The road threaded its way between a low-lying mountain on the right and a much taller mountain to their left (this taller mountain was purported to contain seven-thousand steps, carved into the mountain itself. Laprima was pretty sure she'd read that in some textbook). Also on their left was a roaring river. Large fish were somehow swimming against the river's current, leaping occasionally up the waterfalls.

"Salmon," Draper informed Laprima. "Persistent, strong swimmers, and their meat is rather tasty."

The road bent gently upwards past a series of tall trees, then twisted sharply left. Switchbacks sent them from one side of the valley to the other a couple times before Tårn suddenly grabbed her giant sword. -- -"Jeg skal beseire deg!" -- Draper and Red had also brandished, and were running toward whatever's ahead like maniacs! "The Legion's always looking for strong, capable, AGH!!!" the sounds of weaponry up ahead... Laprima nocked an arrow of iron. Though she'd looted a staff which blasted balls of fire after the fight with Sixpenny's goons, she felt more comfortable with the bow.

She peered ahead, straining to see...straining to aim...

But the fight was over seconds after it began!

"Just a pair of wolves, Lady Donnaugh," the soldiers were already cleaning their weapons by the time she caught up. And yep, two furry monstrous canines lay bleeding into some grass, already eradicated.

"A'right." The pinewood longbow returned to her back. Unexpected adrenaline rushed within her veins. Despite the fact she hadn't been able to get involved it took several long seconds for her to catch her breath. "A'right, well, they are gone, then," she blurted, unsure of what to say.

"Mm hmm, they are."

The three of them began loitering a bit. Always, there's that series of moments after a fight when awkwardness prevails (if mistakes were made), or congratulations are in order, or some final speech gets made over the deceased about how we're the victors; how we've prevailed while others have fallen. But this time, there was none of that. The three of them became surprised when--

"C'mon!" Tårn bellowed from the road above, apparently impatient. "Wolf. Kill. We walk!"

"We walk," the men agreed, laughing a bit. Everyone began walking.

"Ehm, many thanks!" Laprima called after them, grateful of her protectors. She hadn't been thanking them enough, she realized.

"'Tis a bother of naught."

The road's ascent soon leveled off; the valley now deeper between the two mountains. To the left, the river ran flat. To the right, a series of trees. The party moved forward four-dozen paces, everyone striding along, when Laprima noticed her hooved beast had come to a halt.

"You... um, horse! Come hither, horse!" she called. Really need to think of a name for him, thought she. But the animal seemed hesitant, all the sudden. Was just standing there, staring at her defiantly. As if happy to finally disobey his master, after an entire week of compliance. So she turned more fully, shoulders squared. Attempted to put more command in her voice. "Oi! Lad! Canter towards!" she shouted half-merrily, half-sharply. Gotta let 'im know when I'm serious. Though nowhere close to being an expert equestrian, she'd been riding ever since she was seven down in Cyrodiil. It was important for riders to be in command, yet also maintain friendship with their mounts. Worst thing was when horses began to mistrust their riders, after too many harsh words.

"Horse! Neigh-he-he-he-he!" she tried to whinny, but the animal continued to ignore. It then trampled a bit on the ground. Made sort of a sideways motion with its head, its mane shirking a bit.

And that was when Laprima happened to glance up the hill to her left.

There (half-hidden at the top of a briar-filled hillock) was a residence; was what looked to be an oddly-placed, foreboding manor... A path which wandered and wound.... the phrase 'oddly-placed' being used only because the abode happened to be standing at a location all its own. No pleasantries nearby, no mums or daffodils, no sense of welcome (not in a neighborly way), which was fine, of course. Not everybody in the world wants to dwell within pleasant, welcoming places. And yet, Laprima did feel something which seemed like welcome. Almost like a beckoning.

Pfft! Come now.

There was a definite sense of seclusion; of being away, yet also not so far away. "Loom" is another way to put it. The place loomed over her in an inanimate way, and yet was there also a sense of sentience? It was as though the house sensed that she was somewhere below, standing upon the well-tamped road in well-crafted minkskin boots. ...Far away, distance high upon rockface... And she somehow was able to sense the house's awareness.

But all of that was beside the point. No lights blazed from within the home, no smoke sifted from its chimney. There was what looked to be a gathering of birds upon its roofs and gables... but the feel of the place, the contrariety of its locale, the sense of eerie attraction which--

Bah! Being a former apprentice of architecture, Laprima turned away from these silly thoughts; her architect's mind taking over, gaining rationality. Hmm, a definite attempt at reclusiveness. Here stands a home which was constructed away from the common path down below, away from its travellers, as if the home's draftsmen and carpenters had been given instructions to erect its position hidden from the eyes of typical road-walkers, yet overlooking them as well. And wasn't there also....


"Laprima! C'mon!"

It was Tårn, experimenting with the newest word she'd picked up from the soldiers (two words mashed into one, really): 'C'mon!'

"Apologies!" she responded. "I am here."

She began catching up to the others, clip clop clip clop, shifting attention back to the travel at hand. Within seconds she was forgetting about the house. -- A bridge crossed the river ahead and to their left, and the party turned toward it. Laprima glimpsed a series of low-lying shapes across the water, the sounds of a sawmill, the low-lying haze of chimney smoke.

"Looks like Riverwood."

"Aye, we've made it."

Again, she reverted back to the person she'd been several months ago: just another architectural student from the Imperial City's Aristocratic District: taking notice, forming opinions. Sturdy timber, probably a steady local supply of metal from nearby mines and ore veins. The village itself contained and kempt, all nicely nestled into the woods. They hadn't clearcut the entire forest nearby (like some negligent burgs down in Cyrodiil) instead, Riverwood's residents were living in closer harmony with their land. Taking full advantage of both wood and river, hence the place's name.

The sawmill was going full-blast, even at this later hour; sign of a thriving economy. Unlike Rorikstead or Dragon Bridge, Laprima noticed Riverwood also possessed a more suitable attempt at protection: a one-storey overpass made from local timber, staffed by guards, had been erected exactly over the road which led into the hamlet. She'd later learn a second overpass stood at the south side as well.

Their journey had lasted maybe three hours. Other than the wolves and the group of robed walkers, there hadn't been anyone else on the road; thankfully not any Stormcloaks.

"Looks like there's an inn to the left," Van Hagar wheezed.

"And a smith to the right," Draper added. "We'll be headed there. Feel free to join us, Donnaugh."

"Nay. Shall head within the... Sleeping Giant Inn," she replied. "I shall pay our stay for the night."

"Wonderful. We sha'n't be long."

The group split in two: Pierre, Rokkr, and Tårn strode to the smith, eager to adjust their armor and fastenings, Laprima entered the inn. The Sleeping Giant's interior was dominated by a massive central hearth similar to the middle of Dragon Bridge's Four Shields Tavern, and Rorikstead's Frostfruit Inn, which was surrounded by chairs and benches.

A dark-haired man stood behind the counter to her left. Ah, here we are. Laprima began striding toward him, coinpurse in hand...
... but then came to a sudden halt. Nearly dropped her purse. Because standing right across the inn's fiery pit....

"Laprima?... By glory, is that really you?"

----------------------------------------------

"Is that really you?"

An ominous opening involving unseen forces.

Nice description of their travel. I recall the river on the way to Riverwood with the salmon jumping upstream. A mysterious house you say.

They do indeed make it to Riverwood unmolested.

A woman who clearly seems to know Laprima within the tavern? The only woman that comes to mind is perhaps Posh Lady’s pal Sirdasa? Or perhaps someone not yet introduced to us.