Trouble never comes alone Options

[jack cloudy]

Yes, so I just couldn't resist and had to get this off my chest. We'll see how long it lasts. Same deal as with redemption, I'll be using this post as a character list and the first part will be in the next one. For now the list is simple.

A question. Should I add a separate entry for Spar at the very bottom that is basically the extra-spoilers edition?

Spar: A female Imperial and the main character of this story. Is guided by 'Them'.
(Portrait)

Silent Fist: A Companion Spar hires to escort her into Bleak Falls Barrow. He doesn't speak, wear shirts or use weapons. Click here for portrait

Faendal: A wood elf who lives in a small village known as Riverwood. He works as a hunter and lumberjack.

Lucan Valerius: The shopkeeper of Riverwood.

Jarl Balgruuf: The Jarl of Whiterun, a city located in the center of Skyrim between the fronts of the Imperial and Stormcloak factions.

Hrongar: Jarl Balgruuf's brother. Looks like he walked off the set of a Conan-film.

Irileth: A Dunmer who serves as Jarl Balgruuf's bodyguard.

Proventus Avenicci: Jarl Balgruuf's steward.


Vilkas: One of the Companions, a mercenary group in Whiterun
Vignar Grey-Mane: Formerly of the Companions, now retired.

Ulfric Stormcloak: The rebel leader in Skyrim, once on of the Emperor's generals.

Arkarik: Someone Spar was supposed to meet in Cyrodiil.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Aug 1 2013, 06:34 PM

[jack cloudy]

Dangit guys, stop bringing logic in here! Let me keep my fantasy of hardcore Nords headbutting dragons and putting them into cages so they can have pretty fountains.


Anyhow, a big welcome to that guy from Skyrim and for Mcbadgere and other dialogue-lovers I can assure you that today will be all talk again. (and the next part, and the part after that probably.)

The language was actually a random leftover from Spar's predecessor. Before I'd settled on the kind of character I wanted to go with, I used a template. Now the template wasn't from Skyrim, or the TES universe for that matter. So the language barrier fit there. And I think it still fits with Spar. Half the Nords in Skyrim are open about how Skyrim is not Cyrodiil and this is the land of hard men, isolated towns with a different culture etc. I figured that apart from the big cities and upper class, most would stick to the old dialects and Skyrimese or whatever it's called.


The tense-swapping I try to keep under control. Right now they solely serve to differentiate regular Spar from murder-mode Spar. So big paragraphs of present tense means something is going to die. Probably.

And finally, today we continue to follow the Helgen plotline rigidly. Until I find a good jumping point, I'm afraid this will remain a 'me-in-the-game' fic.






Chapter 1.4


The dark elf came down the stairs that led up to the throne and snatched the letter from my hands. She tore the envelope, crumpled and spread the paper with a snap. She ripped away the corners of the paper and rubbed the ink with a finger, all while I watched. Only after she'd convinced herself there was no poison did she go back up the stairs and present the letter to her lord after which she returned to watching me. Balgruuf read it in silence, then handed it to the bald man in turn.


"I take it this Valerius is known to you, Jarl?" The scribe said after a while.
"Yes," The Jarl nodded, "Lucan Valerius is a brave man, whom I have been indebted to for many years. I won't deny him." He said. The bald one shook his head and gestured with his hand. He objected to his Jarl's decision. I watched the exchange with great interest, for it was a textbook example of the kind of situation that could show what sort of man Jarl Balgruuf was. Would he accept his advisor's counterargument, reason with him, or dismiss him out of a sense of authority-based infallibility? I was so focussed on it that when heavy bootsteps approached from behind, I almost missed them.
"A debt of honour must never be left unpaid."


I turned to the voice, aware that what I did would be considered insulting to some. But my instinct was never to let someone to stand behind me without knowing who it was and what threat he or she presented. Who I saw was another bald man, yet as different from the scribe as night was from day. He was big, and not just the portly kind of big Riverwood's smith possessed. Where the scribe was a thin man in rich dress, this was a hulking barbarian from the woods, dressed like a bandit and with a face covered in dried blood. The kind of man who wrestled bears. Actually, he had scars on him that I identified with bear attacks. So maybe he did wrestle bears. I took a step back from him, towards the throne. Where I was now was uncomfortable enough that Them spoke up. Them told me to get away, out from between the dark elf on one side and this brute on the other. But then Them told me to stay put instead. It was too far to the door, with too many guards. And I had not given the Jarl any reason to harm me. I was just the messenger after all, and so far the response hadn't been negative.


"Lucan Valerius has asked for your honour." The bandit spoke boldly. He used no honorifics and addressed Balgruuf as an equal, something I took note of. Even moreso when no one acted like it was strange or inappropriate for him to do so. "And he shall have it."
"Hrongar," The scribe said and tapped the letter with his hand. "it is not that I disagree, but what he asks presents a problem. Moving military troops is not something to be done on a whim. Especially not in these times."


So the big man's name was Hrongar. I memorized it, along with everything else I noted about him. The blood was actually just paint, and the baldness the result of a military shave rather than natural hairloss. He was a man accustomed to wearing a helmet, or one who denied his enemy a grabbing point. In either case, he was a fighter. As if his build and scars hadn't told me that already. Perhaps more interesting was his beard which did present a grabbing point, invalidating my assessment regarding his hair. But more importantly, it was the same style as the Jarl's and I saw a resemblance in his features. Where they kin perhaps? It would explain his unpunished bluntness.




The steward and Hrongar continued to argue and their voices became more heated as the exchange went on. But when it looked like they would come to blow, something which disadvantaged the scribe, the Jarl softly said something.
"I have made my decision." And both ceased instantly.


"Valerius calls to me for guards to protect his home and I hear him." Jarl Balgruuf continued. But the steward hadn't said his last and repeated the argument he'd used against Hrongar.
"I must protest! The Jarl of Falkreath will see this as a provocation. He'll believe we have joined under the banner of Ulfric Stormcloak and are preparing to attack his hold." I took note at the mention of general Stormcloak and this other Jarl. If general Stormcloak was fighting against someone in Skyrim, the ruler of a county even, then that meant this Jarl of Falkreath was a rebel. Someone who thought the empire was weakened from fighting the Dominion and thought he could secede.
"He's right. The empire has seen better days. But still, we can take back one city from a wannabe king." I thought to myself. The Jarl seemed to have a similarly low opinion of his Falkreath colleague.
"Three men, Proventius." The scribe was Proventius, one more piece of information. "If Sidgeir is afraid of three men, he should lay off the milk. We have humoured his paranoia by depriving Riverwood of its protection, but that ends today. May Sovngarde turn him away!"


Proventius accepted his master's decision and Hrongar returned to the longtable without another word where he had been eating a roasted pig all by himself. The Jarl meanwhile turned his attention to the dark elf who he addressed.
"Irileth, contact the commander of the guard later and have it arranged. And remind them to take the townspeople to safety if there is an attack. That foul beast has already burned down one hold and till we know how to kill it, we don't need heroics."


Everything else taken care of, there was only me left.
"Now, Spar the Imperial."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~


"You possess no kin here, no lands and no stock. You are as Ysgramor was when he first set foot upon Skyrim." I cursed the lack of a Nord among Them. It felt as if I was missing something. Who was Ysgramor, some hero of legend, or simply his floorsweeper?
"I am, Jarl." I answered. It seemed the safest thing to say.
"As my brother said earlier," So Hrongar was kin it seemed. "debts of honour must be repaid. It is such a debt that Lucan Valerius holds over me and by extension, as the bearer of his word, it is such a debt you hold over me. I can take you into my service, give you a place of shelter against the cold nights. Would you swear loyalty to me and become one of Whiterun?"


It was tempting to say yes. If only to have a base of operations and a place to catch the valuable gossip. After all, when it was time I could just leave. By the time the Jarl found out and ordered pursuit, if he ordered one, the woman he sought would no longer exist. But Them decided it was too risky. It would be better to work from a lower place than act on the assumption the Jarl was incompetent or lenient.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot. My place is in Cyrodiil and I aim to go there as soon as possible."


"You are honest." The Jarl said and he actually sounded surprised. "Many today would not have been when asked this question."




"Honesty deserves honesty. I am afraid that you will be waiting till the end of this war. That is the unfortunate truth of Skyrim." War? Was the Dominion on the offensive again? I rejected the idea. If the Thalmor and their lackeys were on the move again, all of the troops the empire could muster would have marched south. They would not be hanging out in the northern Jeralls to rescue random travellers. Though there was the matter of the Nords in blue. They had been too similarly dressed and uninterested in the contents of our bags to be a mere bandit gang. Did they belong to the Falkreath rebel? But one city was not enough to bother the legion. Just send in the Penitus Oculatus and convince the Jarl that he really preferred to be a loyal subject of the empire. I could guess, but what I really needed was solid information.
"Forgive me for asking, but what war do you speak of?"


"Why, the war between the Empire and Ulfric Stormcloak of course. You haven't heard of it?" Balgruuf exclaimed and I could feel my blood freeze in shock. It wasn't my shock however, but Them's. Stormcloak was a traitor? Impossible, Them said. He couldn't be. I'd fought on his side for years. We'd held the line against the wild hunt, we'd broken the caravans of Elsweyr, we'd killed Bodeth the necromancer together! He couldn't be a traitor! He just couldn't!


"The general Stormcloak?" I asked the Jarl. What if he was? I had to know. "But he fought at the battle of the red ring. Why change sides now?" It had possibly been the greatest conflict of the era, even if it reeked from all angles. It had been the first time the empire acted in an actual organized counteroffensive against the Aldmeri Dominion which up till that point had been allowed to stroll and claim half Tamriel without anyone batting as much as an eyelid. Not that it had been easy. We beat the Thalmor and their slaves back, but our own forces were little more than a number written on paper at the end. Of the survivors most suffered from lasting injuries from spells, tainted blades and fallen debris. I remembered how one lost three limbs from a series of tiny scratches that were infected with something the healers couldn't cure.


But in any case, those who had taken part in the fighting and seen it through to the end were one and all possessed of the ideal of the empire. They didn't, couldn't, seek ambitions of their own that ran counter to the emperor's good. Because if you did, then why would you stick around in the first place? Slipping away in the chaos was easy, just watching from the sidelines and waiting to see who would win even easier. Killing the emperor would have been child's play after the battle and provide just the kind of chaos a rebel would need to consolidate his own territory undisturbed afterward. But none of that had happened. No one had tried to kill Emperor Mede, not even the Thalmor. And most important of all, I knew general Stormcloak. He was a man who valued loyalty above everything else. General Stormcloak wasn't the kind of man to rebel. He was too honourable and stupid for it.


Thinking of it, that would explain why he hadn't prevented an imperial counter before declaring his independence and throwing all his oaths away. But that got into assuming incompetence again.


"Aye, that's the one. He believes that the treaty with the Aldmeri Dominion was a betrayal and that Skyrim is better off on its own. The Empire cannot allow another province to secede, especially not through the open rebellion of one of her top generals. Until the matter is resolved, Emperor Mede has ordered all passes to and from Skyrim closed off and guarded." That explained why the legion was so quick to assist when we got jumped by the blue ones. By general Stormcloak's men. I do think he wore a blue scarf around his arm back at red ring.
"Until the end of the war." I said. It explained a lot, but was all bad news as well. The empire didn't have the time or the means to stomp out a rebellion. Not one lead by a man as charismatic and capable as general Stormcloak.


"Indeed. Unfortunately, winter is coming, a bad time for warfare. I anticipate that neither side will make a move before summer when foodstocks are high again."


My mind was pushed into a full run. In winter, braving the passes would be too dangerous even if they weren't locked down. There would be biting cold winds that could strip the flesh from bone. There would be the frost trolls, wraiths, avalanches, the cold and more complications than I could count. There was of course the ancient path that led through Ysmir's tongue, but that was suicide at all times of the year without a guide. So I would have to wait for spring. But that meant I would be too late. Arkarik would be long gone by then. Where to, we couldn't predict. And without him, I had no business in Cyrodiil. I had no business existing even.


For a moment my mind blanked. No purpose, no goals, nothing. I could just sit down and die just like that. It wouldn't make a difference. Actually, it would be better. Crawl into some dark hole and vanish from the world instead of risking failure and detection. But I wasn't going to do that. All my planning, all my efforts, I wasn't willing to let it end like that. I pushed away the suicidal thoughts Them forced on me and ordered them to give me something to live for instead. A shift of purpose, a new start, a refocusing on the total rather than my small part in it. Something, anything. I needed time to think now, but that was the one thing I had in abundance.


Only a few seconds had passed. I looked up at the Jarl and raised a hand.
"Jarl Balgruuf," I said to him, "you offered me a place in your hold. Would it be acceptable for me to take that offer and pledge myself to your service until the end of this war regardless of its outcome?" There was an element of risk in serving the Jarl. General Stormcloak's rebellion could attack Whiterun, or the legion could seek to claim it to secure its own position. I hadn't seen any signs of which side the Jarl was affiliated with at the moment, now that I thought about it. No blue, but no legion red either. There was risk, but I thought it was acceptable. My life was after all no longer required. Only, preferable? The thought was strange, but felt right. Yes, I definitely preferred to live.


"When I make a promise, I do not withdraw it easily. If you must wait, there are worse places than Dragonsreach. You could join the general staff here, clean and cook, deliver messages and carry paperwork." The Jarl told me.
"Or she could be of use in a different way." The dark elf suddenly said. It was the first time I'd seen her open her mouth but her voice told me what I'd already suspected from the armour. That ashbitten husk couldn't be from anywhere else. She was a Vvardenfell native, an old one. I focussed my attention on the glass for a moment and reaffirmed my suspicions. The armour was rough, shards of raw glass melted into steel like uncut gemstones stuck in wax. That kind of improvisation hadn't been necessary since the end of the third era. When the Maormer sold their secrets of working glass to the last emperor of the Septim dynasty. And the armour she wore was made for her, it had never been readjusted for a new owner. This woman was old, raised in a hostile land and had clearly spent her life learning how to kill people. That made her dangerous and all the attention she'd focussed on me so far more than threatening.


Balgruuf waved me to follow him as he rose from his throne and walked down the hall. The steward and the dark elf both moved to follow, but another wave told them to stay.
"Please walk with me."






Rant-time: Just one element and I admit that I'm nitpicking. Remember in the tutorial, how Hadvar hopes that the Stormcloaks are taken to Sovngarde by the dragon? Going by context and tone of voice, I think he's saying the Tamriel equivalent of "Go to hell!" But there is one problem with this.

Sovngarde is Valhalla, Nord heaven. Yeah, saying "Go to the eternal paradise of fun and plenty." doesn't exactly work as far as curses go. Henceforth, I hereby have my Nords say "May Sovngarde turn you away."