The Chronicles of Ra'jirra II: The Wasteland, In which Arch-mage Ra'jirra has an out of this world experience Options

[Cardboard Box]

CRITICAL EDIT: Haute Ecole Rider pointed out that 1) I'd used a variant of Julian without his permission, and 2) that I'd varied too far from the essential Julian as well. So there's no Julian in this splay any more.

Preface

It's probably a bit early to start posting this second fanfic, but seeing as I already have a chunk of the story... researched... I have no compunction about posting it already. If a fanfic in which Cyrodiil yankees land in Three Dog's court isn't suitable on this forum, just say so and I won't continue.

It's set in the future after the following events:

1. The elevation of Ra'jirra to the position of Arch-Mage
2. His marriage to S'jirra
3. The Oblivion crisis and the equally nasty affair of the Knights of the Nine, which was resolved by Zul gro-Radagash, Champion of Cyrodiil. (Ra'jirra and Zul don't play well together.)

More importantly, this should ensure your regular dose of everyone's favourite khajiit mage until I save up enough for a new graphics card. The original Chronicles will be restarted then, probably in November.

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Chapter 0. Prologue

"Now what's going on here?" I asked the pilus once my horse was stabled at Black Plateau.

I wasn't in a good mood. Five days ago, I'd been having a pleasant week with my family at Faregyl Inn when I received the summons. The kits are growing up so fast; R'mara and Sheeyin are following in their mother's footsteps - along with 'Auntie Abhuki's' – and with any luck will run the inn just as well. At least, once they get big enough to cook and see over the top of a broom.

Don't tell anyone, but we're thinking of taking over the Inn of Ill Omen as well. Gods know that place needs a decent cook at least.

J'dargo... well, he's a big boy and I've told him that when he's older there'll surely be a place in the Legion or the Fighter's Guild for him, if he doesn't go getting himself killed first.

And no, I will never bring them to live in the Imperial City. S'jirra hates the big smoke, and I'm not making her unhappy. Well, more than I have to. Besides, you all know by now about how so many buildings there became slaughterhouses at the height of the Oblivion crisis.

Let me tell you a truth: Despite what that cretinous "Champion of Cyrodiil", Zul gro-Kissmyarse-Radagash says, it was me who closed the gate threatening the Faregyl Inn and the Inn of Ill Omen. I even have the sigil stone, since I knew damn well that any stones that moronic snot golem found would be turned into enchanted gimcracks before you could say chump.

Anyway, the aforementioned summons was in the form of a rather tattered-looking apprentice who stumbled through the door four days ago. "Arch-mage!" cries he, looking very tired and like he misplaced a lot of blood somewhere. And here I am sitting in a corner reading The Children's Anuad to them.

So I get up and over to this apprentice who's bleeding all over our nice clean floor and land a healing spell on him. "What the hells have you been doing?" asks I, "playing with those bandits around Horn Cave?"

He just gave me a sickly look and I make a note to pay the drunken swines a visit. "At the bridge," says he. Ah. Better pay the lazy drunken Legion swines a visit instead then.

"Well," says I, "We'll put you up for the night, at twenty drakes." And he looks at me like a stunned slaughterfish and I explain, "That's bed, potions and labour. You can deliver your message tomorrow."

Then I grin to let him know I was teasing.

"Arch-mage," gods he was persistent! "I have a message from Vito."

And I just look at him. What did the pilus of Black Plateau want?

"The message can wait," says I, "let's get you sorted." And I swing everyone into action and grab J'dargo before he can head out the door.

"No," says I.

"Dad!" whines he, "I'm going to kill those ban-dits!"

"No," says I, "you're too young." And at twelve he was too. "Besides the bridge is six hours away, and they have big axes, and big swords, and bows and spells that will get you before you see them."

Well! He draws himself up to his full height and stares at me from around stomach level.

"I can see in the dark," says he correctly, "I'll kill them all first!"

This is why heroes shouldn't settle down and have kids. I think Trey, you know, the Nerevarine, would agree with me. He didn't let Athlain hare out the door with a toy mace at twelve years old in the dead of night, so why should I?

So I do the only thing I can. I'm bigger than he is, so I yank his mace out of his hand and stick it in my belt. J'dargo knows better than to try and take it from my belt, because when I take his mace off him, I'm serious.

And I look at him and he looks at me and sags. "Please?"

"No." The world would be a better place if more parents put their foot down and said no to their kids. I've got into all sorts of trouble just from wearing my distaste on my face when confronted with brats and their servile sires and/or dams. And I've got out of all sorts of trouble when they recognised me.

And the children of the aristocracy are the worst, which is another reason I'm not bringing my family to the Imperial City.

Anyway I turn away from J'dargo – case closed, father knows best – and he slopes off to mope with his toy soldiers to the amusement of the other patrons.

And I go up to check on our visitor. I find him in better fettle, partly due to the silver flash of healing magic observable under the door.

"You able to talk?" and he nods, but looking a little woozy still.

"Did you come all the way from Black Plateau?" asks I.

"No," says he, "the message came to your chambers at the Arcane University, and Master Polus called for a messenger." And he shrugs.

"I'll discuss your run-ins later," says I, "Now, what's the message?"

And he points to a sealed packet on the dresser; fortunately my girls are sensible and know better than to read the Arch-mage's mail – even if he is formally known as 'Daddy' or 'Husband'. So I opens it and find:

Ra'jirra,

Tuls Laren has had a fire in his laboratory as of 3 bells post-noon, 26 Last Seed 3E445. I think you should come and see this as soon as you can.

Brucellus Vito
Pilus Prior
Black Plateau Magical Research Institute

PS. Don't call me Bruce in front of the men.

That’s Bruce for you. A decorated hero from the battle of Bruma, but a knee smashed beyond repair condemned him to ‘manning the wooden fort’. He may be deskbound, but don't underestimate him. He effectively manages the place with an iron fist.

But at the same time, he knows I'm a busy Khajiit. I've got the various guilds to keep under control; the Guardians of Oblivion to worry about; battlemagi to train in order to deal to said Guardians of Oblivion; a whole new set of buttocks to kiss under Chancellor Ocato and that oaf of a Champion, Zul gro-Radagash; and the Bruma guildhall still isn't back up to speed yet. So he wouldn't summon me for a common or garden laboratory fire.

Moreover, he had a method of directly communicating with me in case of emergency. Whatever had happened in Laren's lab wasn't life-threatening yet, but he still felt I needed to see it.

The apprentice had either fallen asleep or passed out, so I slipped out into the hall. My darling S'jirra was there with a small bowl.

"Some brroth forr the apprrentice," says she softly.

"He's just passed out for now," says I softly, "but he gave me the message. I'm wanted at Black Plateau."

I hate it when S'jirra looks sad. I'd rather see her smile that smile that feels like warm sun in my heart. "Don't worry," says I, "I'm not leaving now. They can wait until tomorrow, when I've finished vital important business here." And I look her up and down in that way that always makes her chuckle and in this case almost spill the broth.

"Silly kit!" says she, "I will take this in, then we will rretirre forr yourr verry vital imporrtant business!"

And so she did and, once we finally got the kits in their own beds, we did. Allow me to add here three asterisks, to indicate the pleasant passing of many hours.

* * *

At dawn we were woken by various grunts and bustles as Abhuki and some of our guests got up and about, readying themselves to head off. And so did I – reluctantly.

My little pride came out as I, looking resplendent in my now increasingly long in the tooth 'travelling clothes' – Ayleid armour, the black bow from my Leyawiin days, and a silver mace I hung onto "just in case" – prepared to mount the white gelding I'd got to replace the unicorn and match my shield.

"Now then hot stuff," says I to J'dargo sternly, "I'll be back between a week or a fortnight, depending on what's going on, so I want you to take care of your mum and Auntie Abhuki–"

"I'll defend them with my life!" Yep, definitely warrior material. But he needs to develop brains to balance his brawn, or maybe it's that I gave him his mace back. Local rats beware!

"–and your sisters," making those two kits giggle. J'dargo made a face, but I gave him a stern look. "No arguments," says I.

"Yes, father," he knows better than to argue about that.

And so with the farewell cries of my family echoing behind me, I rode off into the sunrise to the Black Plateau Imperial Mage's Guild Research Facility.

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Coming up: Mysterious voices! Phonetic spellings! Unexpected visitors! Amusing misinterpretations! More maledictions against the Chuampion of Cyrodiil! All this and less!

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Sep 9 2010, 04:45 AM

[Cardboard Box]

[Well, I'm back. This chapter's been proving awkward, but I think I cracked it. Part of this is that Ernie's put through the wringer emotionally...]

Rivet City was a metal warren, but well signposted. That meant we only got a little turned around heading for Doctor Li's laboratory.

The chamber was awash with all sorts of machines, alchemical gear that would have had Julienne Fanis drooling, and an old man who was berating a young lady for preventing him speaking to Doctor Li. That worthy was doing things that seemed to involve fruit and vegetables that actually were fruit and vegetables, and looked up as we approached.

“What the...” she started, staring at my handsome Khajiiti features, while I observed her almost Altmeri ones. It was her human ears and human stature that confirmed she was, indeed, human; the more I looked, the more I was reminded of a description of a man claimed to be from Akavir: the oddly sloped eyes, the dull gold skin, the jet black hair. At the same time her face was careworn and strained.

“You're that Ra... jirra, aren't you?” And she blinks and looks to Ernie, who's starting to shift from foot to foot. “And you're... you're James' son. You look so much like him.” She shakes her head to get the dust out. “He gave me the impression that you were... somewhere else, and that we wouldn't be seeing you again.”

“Again?” Haines asks, “We've met?”

“You were too young to remember, and I suppose James never spoke of me.” And she rolls her eyes. “Typical.”

And she draws a breath. “I am Doctor Madison Li,” she introduces herself, “I worked with your parents many years ago. Now I run the Science Lab here in Rivet City. It was all I had left.” I saw darkness pass across her face.

“When your mother died, your father decided to leave with you. He abandoned our work. We had no choice but to do the same.”

“Died?” Haines whispers, then gets his voice back. “What happened?”

“Complications from childbirth. None of us were expecting it; we weren't as prepared as we could have been.” And she shakes her head, a sad and frustrated movement that's too natural. “You have to understand, we were struggling with scavenged, derelict equipment. We did everything we could.”

“I understand,” Haines says slowly, but his face says something else. “What was... were they working on?”

“Take a look around,” and Li waves a hand. “When I'm not working on power supplies, my work is in water purification, especially with hydroponics. Just about all the water here is radioactive, and most people are surviving on scavenged TV dinners and radroach meat. You may have noticed most people show signs of malnourishment, especially pellagra, scurvy and beriberi? That's because folks aren't getting a balanced diet. Which is where our hydroponics work comes in – and for that, we need clean water.”

“And that's what my... my parents were working on?”

And Doctor Li just snorts. “This is just a small-scale replica of Project Purity! No, James and Marion had bigger goals. 'Fresh, clean water for everyone.' Such a simple idea, and yet so impossible to realise...”

“He was building water purifiers?” Haines and I exchanged looks. “Seems straightforward enough.”

“I don't think you understand how big your father thought. The plan was to build a facility that could purify all the water in the Tidal Basin at once. No radiation, no muck, just clear water.”

“What?” On the whole I agreed with Ernie's response. Li just grinned, but it was a tight, unhappy one.

“Small-scale tests were fine. But any time we tried to test the process on a larger scale, it was just too much.”

“So why not just sell the little models?” is my intelligent response, “Seems to me that having a whole lot of little purifiers around and about is safer than putting all your eggs in one basket.”

“Sure,” Haines retorts, “and then what happens when the guy who knows one end of a wrench from the other gets his head blown off by raiders? What happens when the damn thing breaks down and you don't have the parts? There's millions of gallons of potentially potable water out there for the taking. Nobody can fence off the entire basin!

“Anyway,” and he turns to Li, “Why'd you stop trying? What happened?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Well, not just you; we had more problems than we could handle already, but your birth is what finally pushed it over the edge. Your father decided that you were more important than everything we'd been working for, and he left.” And her face shows her bitterness. “He left all of us. Once he was gone, the Brotherhood decided we weren't worth their time anymore. Without their protection...”

That hopeless shrug again. “We couldn't keep the super mutants out, so we had to abandon the purifier.”

“What on earth would those snot golems want with the purifier?” wonders I.

“How the hell would I know?” Li finally blows up, “All I know is that James left with you, we were lucky to escape with our lives, and we've been here ever since, actually getting things done, and what happens? He comes traipsing in as though nothing's happened and wants us to pick up where we left off!”

“He was here?” Ernie yelps, “Is he still here? Where is he?”

“Not here! I told the damn fool repeatedly that it's too late, the project's too far gone to be revived. He insisted we–” her scowl spoke volumes “–can just pick up where we left off 20 years ago, and said he could prove it to me. So he's probably at the damn lab. And he can futting well stay there.”

“Where's this lab then? He owes his son here an explanation for doing a runner.”

And Li stares at me as though I've grown a second head.

“Mad,” she mutters, “he's gone completely...” And she shakes her head. “It's in the old Jefferson Memorial. I told him not to go, it's too dangerous, but he wouldn't listen.”

“Well,” shrugs I, “we know where we're off to then. Just more thing. You heard of Moira Brown?”

“The mad scientist of Megaton?” This came from Li's offsider, who'd been edging closer along with the old fellow who'd been annoying her.

“The same. We're doing research on Rivet City, and your name came up. What can you tell us?”

And Doctor Li blinks at that. “Me? Well... I was there at the start, but I can't really tell you much. Ask Pinkerton. Wherever the old goat's got to.”

“Anyone else?”

“Bannon, but he's full of merd.”

“We noticed. Who's this guy anyway?”

“Doctor Karl Zimmer,” the oldster introduces himself, “of the Commonwealth. This woman,” and he glowers at Li's assistant, “refuses to let me speak with Doctor Li about important scientific matters!”

“More important than feeding people?” I didn't like the prick. He made me think of Ancotar and pre-marriage Henantier – full of himself and cocksure that he was going to set the world in its ear.

“Mere chemistry,” now I really didn't like him. “Playing with plants when she could be advancing in robotics?”

“Can you eat robots?” is my reasonable response.

“What? No!” is Zimmer's bewildered one.

“Well, from what I've seen, you lot need food in your bellies more than mechanical men running around,” explains I in plain language, “so why don't you leave these people alone and go bother someone else?”

“Because this is important!” Balls. “Doctor Li here, despite the crudeness of her equipment–”

Haines snickered, Doctor Li and her assistant both gasped, and Zimmer yelped as I sent a fireball past his ear.
“Try leaving the insults out,” I add by way of explanation.

His explanation was trite. Apparently all he wanted was to find a runaway 'android' – a fancy robot that looks just like a human being.

I don't get the reasoning behind androids. Why would anyone want a robot that looks like a person? Seems to me that all that would do is make some folks confused. Not to mention some robots.

-o-o-o-o-

“He left me for a pipe dream,” Haines said later. The two of us were sitting on the top deck of Rivet City looking towards the round building. Apparently that was Jefferson's memorial. Our company had been a couple of bottles of two-hundred year scotch, but they'd lost their balance and gone over the side.

And he gestured towards the building. “A futtin' giant water filter! An' he gave up when I was born.” Another bottle found itself being upended into his mouth. Shame it was empty.

“An' now he futs off an' leaves me behin'!” The bottle sailed into the drink. “Like I never 'sisted!”

“You heard his message,” I reminded him, “you're a big boy now.”

“He jus' futtin' left me!” Haines looked about to cry. “Jus' left me to futtin' swing...”

“Oh dry up,” I said disgustedly. “He didn't know they'd blame you for his vanishing. Anyway, getting drunk isn't going to find the sod... what the hells?”

A small figure rounded the bend near the memorial at quite a speed. This wasn't surprising, since a much larger figure was chasing it. Things went downhill as fast as additional mutants who burst out of the fortified camp we'd gone past ourselves.

“Wanna kill something?” I asked.