An Argonian's Account, Haa-Rei's adventures in Cyrodiil Options

[hazmick]

Chapter 1

The room was furnished as most high ranking Imperial offices were – dragons everywhere. Dragon curtains (red), dragon floor mat (red), dragon banners (red). I wouldn't be surprised if the guards outside were wearing socks (red) with little dragons on them.

“So we just need to go over a few things here,” the clerk’s piping voice interrupted my thoughts. He studied the notes in front of him “you were born 3E 408?”

“Yes.” I wasn't half as nervous as I thought I’d be, but my mouth was almost too dry to speak.

“Our first official record of you is not until 19 years later. An Imperial prison transport fished you out of the Inner Sea of Morrowind and took you to the port of Seyda Neen. Yes?”

He didn’t look up from his notes, instead arching an enormous grey eyebrow. There was more hair on those brows than on the rest of his head.

“Yes.” Though my mouth was still dry my hands were now clammy. Please gods don’t make him go in for a handshake when this is done.

“Your occupation is listed here as ‘adventurer’. You also seem to have aided the Twin Lamps organisation, among others.” He licked a bony fingertip and turned the page. “This is around the time that you officially joined the Imperial Legion, rising to the rank of Agent.”

“That’s right.” My face reddened slightly when he looked up at me. Apparently a ‘yes’ would suffice.

He took a sip of his drink, a dark gold substance, and winced slightly as it went down. How anybody can enjoy that sort of thing was beyond me. I much prefer tea.

Looking back to his notes, the clerk continued listing various people I’d met who were considered important enough to have an opinion. Mainly guild leaders and Imperials.

I managed to steal a glance at the page, most of which was concealed with black ink.

“Well this seems to be in order. On account of your previous work for the Empire and the skills you have at your disposal, I have no doubt that you will do some good with us.” He stamped my file for approval with an official looking dragon stamp (red).

I grinned widely (any display of emotion towards humans must be greatly exaggerated) and thanked him as he shook my hand firmly.

“Welcome to the Blades, Agent Haa-Rei.”

This post has been edited by hazmick: Jul 9 2016, 01:03 AM

[hazmick]

Acadian - I'm always conscious of rushing through things, so I'm glad you're enjoying the slower pace. New bow soon, and where else but the AP would one go to buy it?

Grits - Glad you enjoyed it! I love Minotaurs, they look so impressive. As for the wildlife, yeah it always annoys me when you play a game which makes everything (except deer) attack you on sight. I get that it's more exciting but sometimes I just like going for a nice walk

EVeryone - apologies for the inconsistent writing releases. It's partially because I don't want to force myself to write stuff when I don't feel like it, and partially because I'm lazy. Your continued support is much appreciated, and I'll definitely keep writing as long as there are people to read it.


Chapter 9


It was dark by the time I arrived at Bravil. The water around the city was reflecting the moonlight, casting beautiful patterns on the high stone walls. I took a seat on the edge of the drawbridge leading to the city gates, in order to wait for the rest of my companions. Two guards stood watch, the leaping deer symbol on their chests illuminated by the torches they carried.

Jötnar and Olorin arrived several minutes later, with Sjöfn a couple of minutes behind them.

“We saw the minotaur back there. Your handiwork?” As I’d guessed, Jötnar was always wanting to hear, and tell, stories of battles. Not sure one Argonian fighting a single minotaur counts as a battle, but it was nice of him to show an interest.

“I’d never seen one until today. Are they all that big?”

The Nord let out a rough laugh before answering,

“That one wasn’t anything special. I’ve seen minotaur lords that were twice as big!”

I tried to imagine something that size in my head, but I wasn’t sure if I’d seen anything big enough to compare it to. Maybe a house? Or a small fort?

“Shall we continue this discussion somewhere a little warmer? And perhaps with a little wine?” The moonlight on Olorin’s face made him look much older, and I was also suddenly aware of the cold breeze blowing in from the water. With that, we entered the city.

If I had to describe Bravil in one word, it would be ‘damp’. If I had to use two words, it would be ‘damp’ and ‘brown’.

The entire city was built around the water, with several buildings perched on wooden stilts on the water’s edge. It was very different from the uniform stone buildings of the capital, but I liked it more. The ramshackle array of shacks felt much more comfortable, even if some looked in need of repair.

My companions immediately headed for the nearest inn, named ‘Silverhome on the Water’ just inside the gates. I later learned that this was one of two such establishments in the city, the other was located on the other side of the small river (or is it a canal? Or an inlet?). The patrons of Silverhome were mostly travelers and off-duty guards, with a few locals perched in prime place at the bar.

Olorin selected a booth for us to sit in and motioned at a passing barmaid. After a lengthy discussion about the best available wine, Olorin finally ordered food and refreshment for the rest of the group. Wine for Sjöfn, ale for Jötnar, and tea for myself.

The ‘tea’ turned out to be little more than hot milk water which may or may not have had some sort of leaf briefly dipped into it. The meal was much better. A chicken and potato stew, accompanied by a large slice of creamy yellow cheese and thick bread.

Once we’d finished, the group dispersed among the crowd. Olorin chose a seat by the fire, and immediately fell asleep. Jötnar joined a rowdy discussion about fishing, sharing his own tales of the time he caught a ‘horker the size of a carriage’ with his bare hands (much to the amusement of the local fishermen). Sjöfn hadn’t moved 5 steps before a gentleman approached her, but he moped away a few minutes later looking considerably downcast. I decided against trying to speak to her myself and instead chose to go for a walk. I’ve never enjoyed loud places, and with every mug of ale or glass of wine the inn was just getting louder.

The city streets were much more peaceful. The only sound being the muffled revelry from the inn and the water of the river lapping gently against the wooden docks.

On my walk I discovered that Bravil had more to offer than I first assumed. There was a fighters guild, a mages guild, some sort of suspicious looking magical shop, a chapel, and (to my great surprise) an archery shop. The Archers Paradox. It was closed for now, and I made a mental note to visit in the morning to see if I could repair or replace my current bow.

Pausing on a bridge, I watched the water for a while. The city water gates had been closed for the night, and with no boats to disturb it the small canal was moving slowly, the twin moons reflected in its smooth, dark surface.

The light scent of fish drifted by on the breeze, the source of the scent was a heavyset Imperial, carrying an armful of nets. I watched him walk down to the docks, readying his small fishing boat for the next day.

I could hear some light footsteps behind me, and tuned to find Sjöfn approaching, cheeks slightly flushed from the wine.

“How is it that I can sneak up on a deer close enough to use a knife, but I can’t get within ten feet of you?” She was smiling, but I had the impression that it was a serious question. Playing it safe, I chuckled and turned back towards the water.

The Nord joined me, leaning over the side of the bridge to peer into the murky canal. We stood in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again.

“What do you think of Bravil?” Oh dear. Small talk.

“It’s nice. A bit damp, but it looks like there’s lots of places to see.”

“It’s the furthest South I’ve been. Olorin says that Lleyawiin is much nicer. You been there before?”

“I used to live there. It’s not that much bigger than Bravil, but more spacious.” The cramped shacks of Bravil were a far cry from some of the larger houses of Lleyawiin, with their brightly painted facades. Even Deeh’s house was spacious in comparison to the average Bravilian home.

“Really? You don’t sound like you’re from Cyrodiil…” Her eyebrow was raised again. She would make a great interrogator for The Legion.

“I’m originally from Black Marsh, but moved to Lleyawiin when I was younger.” I didn’t want to say more, especially to someone I’d just met. Thankfully she didn’t press the issue, and changed the subject.

“We should be getting back. The place will have quietened down by now.”

I nodded and followed her back to the inn, which had indeed settled down. Everyone had either gone to bed or passed out.

“Oh! Before you go,” Sjöfn reached into her pocket and produced a slip of parchment, stained in several places with blueish-purple fingerprints. “thanks for the blueberries.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.” I chuckled to myself as I headed to bed. Apparently she hadn’t been able to resist eating every berry on the bush. Folding the parchment carefully, I slid it into my pocket.

I was sharing a room with Olorin, meaning I would be sleeping on the floor. The old mage was snoring deeply when I arrived, and I didn’t dare wake him. Sliding fully dressed into my sleeping sack, I slowly fell asleep. Thinking of Lleyawiin, and home.

This post has been edited by hazmick: Jul 9 2016, 01:06 AM