The Memoir of Arch-Mage Ra'jirra, Or, how the hell we got lumbered with this farmboy Options

[Cardboard Box]

This is a new game where I'm using an alternative start mod that actually works, offering you the chance to be dumped in Bravil before kicking off the Main Quest at your leisure. Ra'jirra, as arch-mage, is writing his memoir after an eventful rise to that respected title. His language has yet to catch up with him.

Prologue
I'm not a writing type, but this is special. It's my book, about me, and it's what really happened as opposed to them bard types. All singing about me being in shining armour and a zillion feet tall and riding the Imperial dragon and all that crap. This ain't crap. It's the real stuff. And I'm gonna tell it in my own words, even if they ain't all sweet and proper like. Why? Because sure, I have this fancy place now, and the fancy armour which I only wear on special occasions, and all the titles and crap. But I'm a farmer's boy and always have been. Like poor bloody Martin was.

So there's three people you should thank, not me. There's my ma, Hathor, and dad, Ra'Virra, who finally decided to let me go to Cyrodiil. And then there's that wandering mage, guy called Cornelius Othmar. He's the one, really, who saw what I could do.

So anyway, I remember more or less when it happened. It was market day, and now I think about it it's the only market day I can remember clearly. Maybe it's the Divines or something. But I remember I was standing next to a nice girl, I think her name was Merry or Mary or something like that. I was also on a high because dad and me had really pulled one over on some of those poncy sorts who come to buy our stuff – we have an orchard full of apples, oranges, berries and melons and stuff. Great for knocking up potions for getting your energy back. When we left that day, we had a few less pieces of fruit and some recipes for what they call preserves – it'd meant spending up on flour and sugar and all the jars, all on the quiet of course, but that's how merchanting works. Getting the better deal while letting the other dork think he's got it.

But anyway, me and Mary were watching this Cornelius bloke putting on a show – Mary was watching anyway, I was plotting a course for us to the most private haywain so's nobody would see, at first, but I found myself getting more interested in the mage's doings. Now a lot of what he was playing at was bloody flashing lights, I know, but I was beginning to figure it out somehow. Those of you who're real mages will know all this, and if you don't, you can bloody well ask. As Carahil once said to me, "there is no knowledge without power", and who doesn't want power?

Well, I was mulling the concepts over, and I must have been mumbling under my breath or something, because next thing I know I was literally glowing! Even Cornelius stopped and stared at me as I slowly went red. Easy for him, because everyone else had backed away from me as though I was deadly.

"Whoops!" he cried, "so sorry my boy! Come round the back, I'll fix you right up!" And down he came and pulled me away by the arm!

Anyway, round the back he had this caravan thing, and once inside he turned to me, said something that seemed to literally blow the spell off me. Then he just stared.

"Why did you cast that spell?" he asked me a bit angry like.

"I didn't mean to!" Did I sound like a kitten or what? "I was mulling over what you were doing, I guess I was muttering to myself, I've never cast it before!"

Well, his eyebrows went fair through the ceiling. "I find that hard to believe," say he, "And the dispel I cast on you now, how did that feel?"

"Um... like it blew a sort of... um, cobweb off me," I said. Then, "That's what an enchantment is like, eh? Like a sort of pattern or web that sits on top of your life, um..."

"That's enough," he says, and he's not so mad now. "I wasn't expecting that much wisdom from a farmer's boy. Ever had proper magickal training?"

"No sir, just a couple cantrips to light fires and heal small wounds, sir. And making potions."

So he just sits there and ponders. "You're a natural," says he, "a natural bloody mage. I better talk to your folks, it'd be a damn shame to let a talent like yours go to waste."

So after that I leave the caravan and there's my olds looking kinda relieved and scared and dad about ready to have a go at Cornelius. But he has a few words to my dad and next thing I remember clearly is ma and dad and me and Cornelius at home that evening, finished off a supper of bread and soup listening to Cornelius talk.

"Your son's a natural," he kicks off, "I'm doing my show and next thing I know, this boy, and I thought he's just planning a tryst with that girl next to him, casts Starlight on himself."

"What's that?" dad asks. I was turning red, but then dad adds, "Starlight I mean."

"It makes you glow for a time," Cornelius explains, "so you don't need to carry a torch. Well, I thought he'd done it on purpose, so I hustled him into my caravan to dispel it and give him a piece of my mind, but that's when I found out he's a natural. He should be in the Guild."

Well, dad just looks at him. "Why?"

"Why? Because he worked out how to cast a spell without training! When I dispelled it, he told me what it felt like to him as though he's already learned about the school of Mysticism! I tell you, this boy's a natural – put him in the Guild and he'll make you proud!" And he looks at me as if to say you better bloody do so too.

Dad's about to say something, but then the door bangs open and in bursts the priest. Let me describe him. Julius Maro, old, boozy, fat, thick as three short planks and up himself so far he can see daylight again.

"What is this man doing here!" Like I said, up himself. Nothing he likes better than to bang on about the Nine as though they're a pack of marauders who can only be held off by doing what he says. And woe betide you if he sees you dozing, or being bored, in his chapel. I hated his guts obviously.

"He has been invited here." Dad didn't like him either. Especially not after that business about tithes. "You weren't."

"This man is a menace to your souls! A traitor to the Nine! A dabbler in the dark arts! He should be shunned by all right-thinking men!" Maro was wobbling with rage. He was good at that.

"Says you," dad replies, "But he's not after our souls. He's told us our son's a natural mage."

Now Maro turns purple, so it looks like he's got a big wobbly blackberry for a head.

"Monster!" Looking back I think he was trying to bellow really impressive like, but all he did was squeak from the top end and trumpet from the lower one and his guts rose about three inches. No really. I couldn't hold a snort, and then Cornelius giggled, and then my parents broke up. And all the bloody priest could do was sputter about necromancers and daedra worshipers and other phrases.

And then he pulls his copy of "One Command, Nine Divines" out of his robe and bangs me on the head with it!

"I invoke the mercy of the Nine!" he starts going off, "Of Akatosh, of Dibella, of Stendarr, of-"

Now Maro didn't like us and we didn't like him. If you're an Imperial, you got to understand a lot of you are real bastards to us beastfolk. Knock it off. You're beholden to one now, remember?

Anyway back then he got my dad's fist in the mush and then his boot in the bum and off they go with dad yelling that good folks don't go around bashing sons on the head in front of their parents and Maro sputtering back that we were all something or other as he wobbled off.

"You'll have to excuse our priest," he explained to Cornelius, "he's stupid and a saleswoman."

"I guessed that," Cornelius replied, "anyway, as I was saying, he's got a brain on him that it'd be a shame to waste. Now," and he pulls out his purse and takes out about fifty bloody septims. "I'll put that toward getting him to the guildhalls in Cyrodiil. They're the bloody best."

Well, ma and dad look at him, at the coins on the table, and then at me.

And I look back and think that if I go, I'll be leaving everything I know behind. And if I stay, Maro at least will make my life a misery, and I'll never know what I missed out on. But the fact that dad was willing to have a go at a priest about this pretty much settled the deal.

"I can come back if it doesn't work out, right?" I asked.

"Of course, son," dad says, and I can't remember right what happened after that except there was a lot of drinking and a lot of tears. Whenever dad called me 'son', it was always when he was really proud of me or being kind. 'Boy' was what he used when I was in the poo.

And then a few weeks later I was sailing on the Coy Carp to Anvil.

[Cardboard Box]

Chapter 1: In which Our Hero Arrives in Anvil and Joins the Mage's Guild

It was a nice evening in Anvil when the ship docked. The captain told me he'd be off as soon as his cargo was unloaded, so I made sure I had everything, which was pretty much a few coins in my purse and the clothes on my back. To get passage on the Coy Carp had required me to sell bloody everything else.

"It were good to have ye on board," says the captain, and who could blame him? I'd been able to fling a few fireballs and swing a decent axe when those pirates had attempted to board us, and then the potions I'd made afterwards were pretty well received. "Ye sure ye don' wanna set sail wi' us?"

"Sorry," says I, "I'm after the Mage's Guild."

He just shook his head and tried to convince me a life on the ocean wave was what I wanted a bit more, but sod him. He had my gear and most of my coin, didn't he?

Anyway, there I was standing on the dock wondering where to go, looking at the castle, and thinking about the Temple of the One for some reason. Maybe it was because Maro once mentioned it when he was in a halfway sane state. The guff was that people had life-changing experiences there sometimes, but my dad just said afterwards it was "just silly buggers getting all worked up."

Anyway, I'm thinking about all this, and let's be honest, Anvil's a nice little town. All white stone, red tile roofs and blue-green doors, I think they're faced with bronze or copper or something. Like I said, quite pretty. Not like Bravil. That was a longdrop then and it still was last time I was there.

So this guard comes up to me. "Don't see many new faces these days. Anyway, can I help you?"

Now, I'd have some not so nice experiences with guards later on, so this bloke was a bit unusual for his sort. Anyhow, I'm not one of those writer clowns who then fills pages with boring conversations. Let's just say that I got him to tell me where the nearest Mage's Guildhall was (they had one right in Anvil!), learned a bit about the local scenery – which basically boils down to "stay above ground", and then there was the business with the chapel.

"What's this about the chapel being attacked anyway?" I ask, "Some drunk bugger go nuts in there?"
"Don't be an idiot!" Looks like he was about to pop me one, but pulled himself together. "We don't know who or what slaughtered everyone in the chapel and desecrated the altars. Then next thing we know, that man calling himself the Prophet turns up railing on about Pelinal Whitestrake and who knows what else. Load of tosh if you ask me, but..."

"Ah," says I, "Whatever bastards did it, they'll be found out. Magic leaves trails, right? Like footprints."
Guard just shrugs and says, "Well, not even the castle and guild mages found anything. You sure you want to join those layabouts?"

So of course I ask him what he means. To make a long story short, the guild wasn't a hundred percent, even after successfully ousting most of the conjurers and necromancer types. Worked out why later. But anyway necromancy's a nasty business, and conjuration seems to involve daedra most of the time, and they're dangerous bastards. I'd find just out how much later.

Anyway after that he went off on his rounds, and I went looking about. Nothing much happened at first, except I fell in the harbour trying to work out if it was a rock or a sunken chest I was looking at. It was a rock. Bugger.

Now being wet as a shag, and with only a few coins in my pocket, I was dead certain that I wouldn't get a place to sleep that night. Nobody wants a wet Khajiit anywhere near them. Hell, I was a wet Khajiit and I didn't want to be near me. So after squelching past one of the doomstones – it's on a hill beside the harbour and has an engraving of The Lady on it, and saying a little prayer at the nearby shrine of Mara, I found myself chasing deer up to Hrota Cave. Now I was still damp and wanted a bit of shelter and went in.

I've no idea who was inside the cave, but they sure as hell weren't there any more. Either that or they left in a damn hurry, there were still fires and torches burning. Now deciding that whoever lived here was a) probably up to no good and wasn't coming back, I burgled the place and beat it.

Put yourself in my shoes. I had just the wet, peasanty clothes on my back and a few septims. That was all. The caves were, I was told, either full of bandits or unfriendly critters. So of course I looted the place. Salvage!

So anyway the next day I fronted up to Carahil at the guild looking flash in burgundy and with a heavier purse!

If Carahil were a horse, she'd have the bit in her teeth most of the time. For a high elf she was a looker too, young, but those eyes were too big. Anyhow, we fell to talking about magic for a bit, and let me tell you, she was good at getting info out of me. She raised her eyebrows when I mentioned Cornelius, and had me go over the market incident a couple of times. And we really hit it off regarding Maro. We both agreed he was an arsehole and Carahil went off on how people like Maro the Moron and someone called Alessia Ottus were the reason she'd really gone to town about getting the necromancers out.

Anyway, she says she'd be pleased to have me join and I says I'm happy to accept, and then I make my mark and now I'm an Associate.

"Now, in order for you to gain access to the Arcane University," she says, "you'll need to perform a task at each of the guildhalls to receive a letter of recommendation. Only once you have gained a letter of recommendation from all the guildhalls will you be admitted into the University."

"Sounds fair," I say, "And according to the book here, each hall specialises in a school of magic, so I'll be learning as I go, right?" I haven't changed that and I'm not going to. Travel broadens the mind.

"Exactly," says she, "We can start now, if you wish. But I warn you, this isn't a frivolous task like, oh, those fools in Bruma might give you, this is a matter of life and death."

She looks at me and I look at her. Like I said, bit in the teeth. And here I am just signed up barely five minutes ago, fresh off the boat, no gear, no bearings, no clue (really.)

"Sorry," says I, "Don't think I'm up to it yet."

"Wise of you," says an old dunmer in the next room over. Carahil didn't like that. She didn't seem to like me piking either.

"That's... disappointing, Associate." ("Sensible" says the dunmer quietly.) "Perhaps you're right... take a day or two to prepare and see me again."

And she turns away but I'm sure she muttered "coward" under her breath. Bit in the teeth, or did I already say that?

So anyway I went next room over and spoke to the dunmer bloke, name of Selas. Turns out he's the alchemy master in the guild, and I was able to buy a mortar, pestle and alembic from him. "You were a sensible one there," he says, "Carahil tends to be, um, let's just say she likes getting her way."

"Well, she'll get it," says I, "once I'm good enough to give it to her."

He just grins at me and there's this rattling noise from Carahil's direction and about then I decide to beat it because what I said goes two ways and I don't think she likes either of 'em.

I still remember those first days. But I'll try keeping this short. Now some people write their memoirs way to long about what hole they popped into, and they went this way then that way and killed this and offed that and it's incredibly boring. I've been in and out of heaps of holes and I hope the detail-obsessive types don't mind if I skip all but the most interesting bits.

So anyway I bugger off up the main road that leads to Kvatch and Skingrad, and at first amused myself by setting some highwayman on fire and nabbing his gear. He had a decent iron axe, which came in handy because I startled a bloody boar which didn't take to me at all. I continued towards an old fort, dropping a couple deer, and then froze, because I could see a skeleton.

Turns out there were three of the bastards wandering around outside, and two more in the fort walls, and one was an archer. So now I had some axes to flog and a bow. I'd learn later that Carahil thinks weapons are a sign of incompetence, but she might like to change her mind on that. It's basic sense. Either you cook up heaps of restoration potions, or you have something to fall back on. Magic runs out, and if you're silenced, well, like I said. Fallback.

After knocking around inside the fort, which I learned was called Crowhaven, and being attacked by wolves and rats, I ran across something that I decided not to mess with and got the hell out of there.

After that, I headed shoreward, towards the huge ruin known as Garlas Matatar. It was raining, and I have to say I was creeping carefully around. And it was just as well. There was something down there.

At first, I thought it was someone, since it looked like a man in armour of a sort I didn't recognise. He seemed to be guarding some sort of altar with stuff on it, and here I was with just some toasted fur crap and a bow and arrow. And, OK, an axe. Against a guy so heavily armoured I couldn't see any skin?

Well, I crept up until I could see the bugger's head, arrow nocked. He didn't even notice. The arrow went straight in from about ten feet off. Dented the "armour" like paper, and the thing dropped like a stone. Later I'd learn the bastards were summonings called Aurorans, but hey, I was a mere kitten, right?

Another one fronted up and had much the same happen to it. I tried pulling the armour off but no joy there – that's when I realised what the buggers were. Nevertheless I scored a magical axe and some other goodies, like welkynd stones. Great things – you can use them to replenish your magic. Just remember what's knocking around in those Ayleid ruins but.

Anyway, after that I went half-walking and half-swimming back to Anvil, and the wierdest thing happened. I'd fallen in the water again and next thing I know, there's a scamp floundering at me. I have an idea where it and its conjurer came from though, and frankly the guy was bowled fairly quickly. In his gear was that Robe of Deflection I have in the display case next to the main door, between the mage's robe (yeah, same guy's) and the necromancer's. Saved my hide plenty of times.

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Jul 11 2010, 09:45 AM