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]

[FINALLY! The quest for staffs almost comes to an end. The scenes in Wellspring were an absolute pain, but I've also realised some exploration of old AU is a bit out of sync. Also, I was caning myself about how exactly one used the spellmaking altars, but had to drop it. Oh, who cares?]

9.2. In Which Ra'Jirra Has a Rotten Time Becoming Apprentice in the Mage's Guild

The Praxographical Centre wasn't particularly interesting inside except for two unusual things which at first glance appeared to be lecterns.

“Can I help you, Apprentice?” At my left shoulder was a hood. There was a face in it claiming to belong to Gaspar Stegine. “Master Spellmaker Gaspar Stegine, at your service. New spells. Old spells. Good spells. Bad spells. They're all fun for me!”

Slimy prick.

“So, how do these work?” asks I, pointing to the lectern things.

“Ah, those are spellmaking altars!” cries Gaspar, “They look simple, but! My goodness, the effort required to wrest a concept into an actual, workable spell...” And he leans in and goes on, “These altars allow adepts to perceive the threads of magicka themselves – and wrest them into submisson! Of course,” he goes well on, “that work requires reparations...”

“I see,” says I neutrally, “So let's start with... oh... how about a spell of soul trap that you cast from a distance? You know, like you want to soul trap a wolf but don't want to drop your guard when it's biting you?”

Gaspar just looks at me. “For enchantments. I see.” So did I – Gaspar was a snob as well as slimy – but to be fair he did a good job of showing me how to use all the bits on the altar. Let's just leave it at that. Trade secrets.

With my ranged soul trap spell, I then had a brainwave, and ignoring the all too close presence of Gaspar I mixed together fire and frost damage spells along with a short-lived soul trap. It nearly went to custard when Gaspar twigged, jumped for joy and hugged me out of the blue!

“Oh, gorgeous!” cries he, as I try to extract myself from his slighty too low grasp, “Such genius! Frost and fire to capture soul energy – a double-whammy! What will you call this marvellous spell?”

I just stand there and stammer, “Uh... uh... Soul... Freeze.... Burn... I suppose.”

And I look at him and he looks at me and then he, honest to gods, squeals and hugs me again!

“Oh perfect! Soul Freeze Burn – does exactly what it says on the bottle! Magnificent Apprentice, and such modesty as well. I get tired of fools coming in and creating So-And-So's Spell or High-And-Mighty's Wonder Witchery, but you –“ oh thank the Nine, he let go of me – “Oh, no, you have style!”

I thanked him very kindly for his patience and help and fled. No wonder Raminus had told me to watch my back. Other parts might have needed guarding too.

* * *

As I recovered my composure outside and began heading to the Chironasium, I saw the apprentices getting up from a lecture and drifting off, muttering amongst each other.

“Bloody rune stones again,” a Breton girl says.

“It's always those things,” grumbles a Dunmer boy, “I swear, Elena, these damn...” and he stops as the lecturer walks on by, “...these damn scholars don't care about anything but one-upping each other. You know when I left for Chorrol with Bosco three weeks ago?”

“Chorrol? I'd have thought Cheydinhal. And whatever happened to Bosco anyway?”

“No idea, bandits I guess. Anyway, I learned more from that guild in a week than I have here in a month! And no Grasper either!”

Whatever happened to that associate you sent for it last time?

I kiboshed that line of thought and popped into the Chironasium. Nice place, and Delmar is a wise Redguard who showed me how to enchant things in a dummy run.

“Now, put the item you wish to enchant on one pan.” I pulled out a small green cloak acquired from a slightly dead marauder and put it in place.

“Now, a filled soul gem in the other pan.” I didn't have one so Delmar helpfully picked a petty one out of a bowl and put it on the altar.

“Now, Apprentice,” says Delmar, “choose wisely your effect. Remember this will be a constant effect enchantment, so it will affect you.”

I thought of shielding, then decided against it. My new robe fortified willpower, and I had learned how to fortify strength, so I tossed a mental coin and chose the fortification of intelligence.

“Good thinking!” Delmar says impressed, “Now, see the scale here?” In the middle of the altar was a sort of tube and needle arrangement. When I had chosen my effect, the needle had risen to the number 8 mark.

“I see it,” says I, “I guess that's the strength of the effect?”

“Yes, and the cost in thousands of gold.”

Eight thousand drakes! I took the cloak off the altar. “So,” says I, “when I want to enchant something I need a thousand drakes per mark, right?”

Delmar just grins. “'Fraid so mate. Just remember though, you get your staff enchanted for free. When you get the staff,” he adds. “Our sacred grove is that islet over east, which you can reach through Wellspring. It goes down and right under the lake.”

I got the hint and made my apologies and headed for home, where I changed into my work gear and set off for Wellspring.

The ride over there was uneventful except for a pack of wolves outside the entrance.

* * *

Inside the cave I saw the tunnel went down to a chamber with some cots and a fellow in robes walking around. So thinking that he was a fellow Guild member, I strolled down and called, “Hail fellow Mage!”

“Fresh flesh is here!” he cried in response and summoned a ghost. honoured user was a necromancer!

The bugger took refuge in a hollow while I launched spells at his pet ghost in between shooting arrows at any part of him I could target. It was pretty unevenly matched – as soon as his ghostie summons ended, he'd whistle up another. Eventually I had enough. Pulling out my mace, I rushed him with several blows and followed up with a kill spell. He and I sank to the floor. Kill spells take it out of you.

It took me several minutes to collect all the arrows I hadn't broken in the cave walls, and I found the corpse of one of the resident mages, her throat sliced open in a way that suggested either extreme sadism or the use of a wooden spoon. Either way I didn't like either option. The path turned right and down, the air becoming colder and damper as the cave went underneath Lake Rumare.

There was another chamber now, and I could hear lapping water. I could also see figures moving around – more necros most likely. Carefully I crept towards the chamber entrance, hugging the side. Now I could see a body of water, off to the left – I pulled off my gauntlet. The Jewel of the Rumare was there. On with the gauntlet again – a prayer – I drew my mace and ran.

The plan was to lurk underwater and wait for the necros to join me – where their spells wouldn't work and my mace and I would be waiting to either smash or drown them. The gods were with me – the channel was plenty deep enough for that. I then steeled myself for the pain that comes from sucking in water instead of air and greeted my fellow bathers.

The first necromancer was a Nord who jumped in right on top of me with a wooden mauler in hand. My response was to swing my mace into his manhood, which while not doing as much damage as I would have liked, did cause him to lose most of his breath. Forsaking my shield I grabbed a foot and pulled him down with me, attempting swings at his hips and frantically kicking leg. He managed a couple of panicky blows to my helm before he finally drowned.

A blow to my back nearly sent me into the wall and I saw two more: a woman with a dagger and another man with a two-handed club. I swung at Mr Club – more accurately, at his hand. I missed however and hit his elbow instead. Out came a howl of bubbles and his next swing went wild – unlike Miss Dagger, who found a weakpoint where my elven cuirass met my chainmail greaves.

Of course, I'd dropped my shield when grabbing that damn Nord. Miss Dagger was coming at me again, so I grabbed the first thing I could find – that damn Nord. I don't think he minded getting it in the bum from her.

Anyway, Mr Hammer was still in possession of same and after me. I decided the best thing to do was give a good kick upwards, then over and down again with a king-hit on the bonce. There's worse things than blood in your eye and bits of bone are some of them.

By now the water was a mass of flailing bodies and weapons and gore and confusion. Some of it was mine. Most of it was theirs. After that bath I would need another one.

I found a tunnel leading out of the drink and staggered up it, then doubled over as I coughed up all the water I'd been breathing and wiped my face and eyes clean. Water breathing spells are a literal pain like that.

And so I picked up all the light stuff I could find and continued on. A tunnel led upwards to a door, which I assumed led to the grotto. As it was locked, I didn't expect to be greeted by necromancers. How in hell had they got in?

Not that it mattered. By this time I was tired and angry and not really in the mood for gloating conversation from some jumped-up ashskin umbrella seller. It was on this time, and I chased the corpse-shaggers up and down the grotto, virtually ignoring their summoned horrors. I just wanted to stick my mace in their faces and shut them the hells up. Which, eventually, I did.

When the sense returned to me I counted the dead – three necromancers and two members of the guild whose forms I didn't look at too closely. Apparently they were guarding some sort of stone chest, which appeared to be both a container and an altar of very great age. There was writing on it, but eroded to the point that I could only make out “Galer”. “Galerion”, I guessed. Perhaps this altar had been consecrated or something by him.

Inside was a fresh turd which had somehow missed an old and gnarled length of oak; I looked more closely and realised that it had been carefully shaped and prepared. This then was to be my staff. Tired, I slung the staff to be on my back and slogged back to the guild. All I wanted to do was sleep but I needed to tell Raminus that the grotto had been violated.

To my surprise, even in the small hours he was awake and fussing about in the university lobby. Didn't the man ever sleep?

“Hail, Ra'Jirra,” says he, “Aren't you supposed to – what's happened?”

“Necromancers,” snarls I, “at Wellspring Cave.” And he steps back a bit and goes to sit down on a bench that's about three inches too far away and doesn't notice!

“Eletta and Zahrasha?” asks he.

“Anybody who wasn't a necromancer they killed,” says I.

“What's this?” asks a Bosmer mage coming in.

“Wellspring Cave had necromancers,” says I.

And she goes all white and says, “Oh my”, and looks at Raminus and says “Oh my,” and looks at me and says “Oh my,” then looks at the door and totters out. She may have said “Oh my” but I didn't notice because Raminus was muttering while rising to his feet again.

“They've never been so bold before now. Always hiding in the shadows, staying away from the guild. What could have prompted this?”

“Whatever it was they're so mad about it one of them shat in the altar,” says I and sends him sitting down hard again in a near faint.

“Those swine.” He says it very softly and clearly. Then he says it again, repeatedly, with more and more ornate elaborations, which seems to help him get back up again. “I'll need to speak to the council about this,” says he with grim and anger, “Thank you for relaying the information. Now, tend to your staff, and your wounds, if necessary.” And off he goes to the teleport pad thing while saying something I didn't catch. But it was clearer than ever to me that someone or something – maybe several – had it in for the Mage's Guild.

Clearer still that I'd ended up right in the flaming middle, just like the hero who overthrew Jagar Tharn, or the Nerevarine.

I went straight home, feeling like I was full of lightning and at any moment I would burst into a great scream of pure force that would level everything.

But that night all I ended up doing was sitting in front of the fire, drinking. It helped calm the storm atronachs inside me.

* * *

As I said previously, most of the scholars in the Arcane University spend their time apparently one-upping each other or talking down to the apprentices. If they're doing anything useful, they're hiding it from everyone – including me, the Arch-Mage.

So I've been taking steps. You may have heard the screams.


Let me give you an example involving a scholar called Mucianus Polentus. This is a copy of a letter I wrote after his interview.

- - -

Guild Master Dagail

Leyawiin Mage's Guild

Dagail,

I'm sending down a scholarly twit called Mucianus Polentus. I've just been grilling him over what exactly he's been doing for the last five years here.

Apparently he's found a relationship between the appearance of a capital-C Champion of the sort that overthrew Jagar Tharn, was central to events in Daggerfall and was the Nerevarine, Dragon Break events, and counter-temporal daedron flows (ie. where daedrons go back in time.) Apparently these events and people are heralded by these daedron flows flooding or something.

However, the silly bugger doesn't appear to know what the counter-temporal daedron flows are like in normal conditions. Nor has he managed to answer the question of which comes first, the daedrons or the Champion or something else.

See if you can give the poor guy a hand with these. He's on to something big here that could revolutionise the school of Mysticism but he can't see it because he's all dazzled by Dragon Breaks.

Also getting him away from the other airy-fairies at the University should shake the cobwebs out of his head. Give him little jobs to do and stop his head getting in a rut like it is now.

He'll be getting his marching orders in about two days, so he should arrive down your way by Sundas.

Hope the sheep are doing fine.

Regards,

Ra'Jirra

PS. His research is relevant to recent events. See the sealed YOUR EYES ONLY section for more details but don't show it to Mucus – I'm not sure of his loyalties.