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! 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