The Companionable Adventure of Sir J'Zirlo of New Kvatch Options

[McBadgere]

This story has characters which will eventually appear in the fiction of Knights of The Nine - New Kvatch, and is part of that story's timeline, so to help, here are a couple of links to it's characters and the timeline that it follows...

Please enjoy!...


Dramatis Personnae



KOTN Timeline



11/02/13
-------------------------------------------------------



Original post start


Umm...I started doing some journal thing for the Khajiit character I created for Skyrim, called J'Zirlo...It does fit in with the KOTN:NK storyline, but, as with the main story, it's taken on a life of its own and is expanding rapidly into the realm of fan-fic rather than what should be in the "What you're doing" thread...

So I beg your indulgance for the less heavygoing in the Divine/Timejumping-ness journal of Sir J'Zirlo of New Kvatch...

Oh, btw...Cunningly concealed within the journal are spoilers to the entire Companions questline...If you've done it, it's fine...If you don't want to be spoiled...*Shrugs*... ...

The first bit is the original thing I posted after I created J'Zirlo...The rest is the journal as it stands so far, any new bits won't be as long...What do you mean Hooray? ..

Thank you...


----------------------------



"To where are you bound, friend Shaade?" J'zirlo asked.

"Riften. J'Drell asked me to see if I can muster up anything there. You?"

"Aaah...Khajiit is headed for Winterhold. That is where my scrawny reared kitten of a brother was headed. To that college up on the hill."

"A mage?" asked the Imperial Knight. "I had no idea."

"HAH!...He wishes." The large khajiit laughed. "No, he has grand ideas...But...Ach...Khajiit does his kin a great disservice. J'zargo is a decent warrior in his own right, just...Not as good as I." J'zirlo raised an eyebrow.

"Well, khajiit goes left, you, my friend, go right."

Shaade ran her hand down the length of her ponytail to straighten it, then held her hand out to J'zirlo. They clasped forearms.

"May your bed be free from fleas." She said with a smirk.

"Hah! And may your knees be ever free of arrows!" the khajiit repied with a smile.

"J'zirlo thinks that friend Shaade should smile more often. It is a beautiful sight."

The Imperial blushed, smiled and looked down at the floor. Then she pulled the khajiit close and kissed his cheek.

"Stay safe J'zirlo. Thank you."

And they parted.

J'zirlo watched Shaade walk south-east down the road for a while.

She looked back once and smiled.

The khajiit felt something in his heart stir.

"Until next time mii-kiit..." he said quietly, turned to his road, and walked, humming to himself.


------------------




...From the journals of General Sir J'Zirlo of New Kvatch, brother of Blademaster J'Zargo "The Magnificent".




Khajiit are not ones for journal writing. We find it tiresome. Actions speak louder than words and assorted cliches. And I know of at least one officious clerk that will attest to the pen absolutely failing to be mightier than the sword.

And yet, I find that I must write something. Events lately have been...Strange, to say the least.

Once Helgen was secured and re-settled, we - the Knights - were divided off and sent on our missions. Friends Caerellin, Dinasafon and Shaade...Ah! Shaade...Hah...Sorry, got lost musing. They were sent to do what it is they do best, and Olffson and I were sent to Whiterun to make contact with a group we were told were the "Fighters Guild of Skyrim" by the Commander.

Friend Dinas decided that he would be better off alone and left swiftly and silently. The Commander laughed and said, "Just like his father!" but then suddenly went all sullen and told us to leave. I understand not the ways of Argonians. They are a strange race.

Anyhow, the four of us left Helgen with our packs and walked merrily, joking and laughing our way down towards Riverwood. Well, I say we...Caerellin and Olfsson mostly joked, Shaade and I mostly laughed. She has a particular laugh I noticed. It is...Nice...

We made good time down from Helgen, which was a heartfelt joy, as under the late evening summer sun, Riverwood is beautiful. Fortunately, the wolves that shadowed us all the way down, kept away.

In a way that made both Shaade and I laugh, at exactly the same time, both Olfsson and Caerellin said, "Oooh!" and made for seperate directions. Olfsson to the forge he'd seen and Caerellin to the shop that some "pretty" (as far as I'm any judge!) woman had entered.

Shaade shook her head and said she would go and find friend Ralof's sister. I bade her be careful. She smiled. Aaah!..

I made my way to the forge. Olfsson was already bare chested and beating out some metal! That Nord is unstoppable I tell you! Anyways, between us, we took all of the stunned blacksmith's stock of smithing supplies and produced a small stack of weapons and armour - which would keep him in coin for many months, I say with some pride! - in a matter of small hours.

While all this was going on, friends Caerellin and Shaade appeared and declared they were leaving to do something in a barrow...Well, each to their own. Little did I know, it would be some time before I saw Shaade again, else I would have made more of a thing of her leaving. Ah well, the moons still cross the sky and other assorted cliches!

When Caerellin returned alone, and also bade us farewell, little did I know how things would change.



-------------------------------------



As the end of the daylight had been lost to helping the 'smith clear up his forge, Olfsson and I decided to accept the hospitality of friend Ralof's sister. However, we discovered that there was only one bed available. Olfsson looked at me and said, "We're not that close". The whole household erupted in laughter. Khajiit politely offered to stay at the inn, to which Gurdur said, "Only at our expense, with our apologies. But first, you dine with us." You couldn't find better peoples (or cooks, as it happens) anywhere.

Next morning, the Nord and I walked down a winding picturesque part-cobbled road. Suddenly we heard sounds of battle coming from the valley. Looking about us with life detect to check for prying eyes, we cast the speed fortifyer and rushed down to the valley floor.

Several people were fighting - with less than brilliant success - a Giant. Lest we tip our hand, we both slowed to normal speed and ran towards the battle.

Olfsson, as is his wont, charged at the Giant with his shoulder down. Knowing that at the last moment he would augment his speed and strength, I watched as he collided with the towering menace. The Giant toppled over onto a fence, the post of which skewered it through and out the stomach. He roared and tried to arch his back. I ran to the other end of the bearded aggressor, and, as he looked pleading at me, I removed his pain made of this world.

I turned to see Olfsson deep in conversation with a slight, yet obivously well able, red-headed Nord. As the party turned towards the city further into the valley, Olfsson turned back towards I and nodded. It seemed we had found the Companions.

My journey would have been quiet had it not been for the Olfsson-like Nord called Farkas that joined me, and began conversing with me about Heavy-Armour, a topic very close to my heart. A joy to finally meet someone as well able to discuss the intricacies of multi-weave metals and the despair of threading leather straps through Orichalium!!. A true master of Heavy-Armour I had found in Farkas, a Brother-in-Armour!!

And so I spent the hour of my journey to Jorvaskr - or however you spell the damned place - happy. A feeling that, sadly, was not to last.


------------------------------------

This post has been edited by McBadgere: Feb 11 2013, 07:35 AM

[McBadgere]

Acadian, KC and Grits...So many thanks...Muchly appreciated...*Bows*... ...

To continue...



The air on the top of the plateau had suddenly become decidedly cold. I feared that this had nothing to do with the cloud that had at that moment, decided to cover the sun, and more to do with what I had done to make Grey-Mane’s jaw hang down, and Olfsson to be running a hand down his face saying “Oh brother.”

I blinked twice.

“What, by Ysmir’s great balls, was that?” the ‘smith asked.

I may have answered with an “Um.” and a pleading look at Olfsson, who – most helpfully I thought...Not – shrugged exaggeratedly.

In a burst of the most eloquent show of defensive arguments, I answered forth – “Um.” once more.

After blinking again, I decided to look at my hands. They held a repair hammer in one, and the steel shield that Eorlund had been working on when we’d arrived earlier, in the other.

“Oh.” I said helpfully. Followed quickly by what was rapidly becoming my most used word – “Um.”

Eorlund Grey-Mane walked quickly towards me and grabbed the hammer from my hand; the shield he took by the edge and threw it backhand at Olfsson, who caught it easily with one hand.

“Uh.” said Grey-Mane, with a nod.

“You,” he said to Olfsson, with an added pointing motion, “Make yourself useful and take that to Aela, I’m sure you’ve noticed her by now. The red-head?”

Olfsson simply stood there with his head turned slightly, a question directed at Grey-Mane in his expression.

“Oh, don’t worry, what am I going to do?”

Olfsson looked to me.

I sighed, nodded and looked into the forge’s fire.

I had done it again it seemed. I was absolutely useless.

I heard Olfsson leave and my shoulders slumped. I sighed, as now I was alone and faced the worst challenge so far.

Eorlund Grey-Mane was turning his repair hammer around, inspecting it.

“This is brand new.” He said, “It shouldn’t be, it was headed towards the end of its usefulness. Perhaps like I may be, if you’re going to be staying around. But now, it’s all shiny and new. How?”

I sighed again, and looked about. I willed the life-detect magicks alive, in case we were being listened upon. Sensing nothing, I turned to Grey-Mane and told him everything.



-------------------------------------------------



Ah! But perhaps I should now tell the journal what had happened to bring us to this point? Perhaps this is a good idea, no?

Well...We were all talking pleasantly about blacksmithing, the effects of weather on this plateau, where “Wolfshead” and I were from originally.

Simple conversation.

Well, the two Nords got talking about something amongst themselves, something about Grey-Mane’s supply runs to Bruma when he was a lad, and, having only spent a brief time there, I wasn’t really able to offer much. So I started to look about the place more.

But there was the problem really, I was enjoying myself. It was such a nice thing, the company was excellent, we were relaxed – Olfsson and I – for the first time, really, since we had arrived in Skyrim. I felt it. It was obvious that Olfsson was enjoying the talk. The forge’s coals smelled wonderful, like no other forge I’d ever been in. I’d walked towards it, simply to stare in and take some breaths.

A strange feeling I should have recognised took hold of me.

I looked over at the workbench that Eorlund had been working at earlier and the world shifted. Everything I looked at, I could see the flaws in their build; the weaknesses; the defects. I knew instantly what was needed to improve them.

The shield sat on top was almost perfect, except for one flaw in it. A flaw that would otherwise have been unseeable. I walked over to the shield and picked it up, turning it over and over in my hands, peering closer at the flaw.

Thoughts in my brain raced. I saw the red-headed Nord from earlier, in battle, raising her shield to ward off a blow from an axe wielding bandit. I could see the shield shattering when the bandit struck at the weakness. I could see what happened when the next blow came.

From what Olfsson later told me, it would have been at that point I was asked what I was doing by Grey-Mane. I had turned my head to them with eyes brightly ablaze with magic; then I had simply turned my attention back to the shield.

I looked at the flaw, lines spreading out from it, like cracks in ice. I looked at the old and worn repair hammer and picked it up. Instantly it became a thick shafted lump-hammer, the head of which was covered with ornate scroll-work around the edges – The Hammer of Zenithar. I put the head to the flaw and willed it correct.

Olfsson said it looked – and sounded – to be a hammer strike in reverse. One second the hammer was on the shield, then the air seemed to vibrate and hiss, there was the sound of a hammer strike and then the hammer jumped up into the air.

I had nodded to myself, as satisfied that I could be that I had done as much as even Zenithar could have.

And then the world returned.

And Ysmir’s balls were invoked.

As they do.



------------------------------------------------------------------



“’Tis a brave thing you’re attempting, lad” said Eorlund after I had given him my life – and those of my friends – into his hands. “There’s going to be a price to my silence though. I’m not above blackmail my young Khajiit.” He smiled with genuine amusement. “But don’t worry, when the time is right, I shall ask you and Olfsson to tea. And you will come. And I’m damned sure you’ll enjoy it too.”

He continued to turn the hammer over and over.

“That’s a neat trick you’ve got there for sure. Something like that would have saved me a fortune in hammers!

“Can you do that with anything? Or is it just hammers?” Grey-Mane asked.

“A dagger...A stick...Anything short.” I answered.

“Bet that makes going to the toilet a journey into the unknown then?!” He laughed once, then turned around and leaned his behind on the workbench. He smiled briefly in reflection, then said, “A great many years ago, when I was an apprenticed lad here, you know that Bosmer Fletcher on the main street, you seen him?..No?..Oh, well, you’ll want to. Anyways, I was sent out to the Knights’ fort down the valley,” he waved westwards, “Greymoor. I was sent to see their blacksmith, and I hitched a ride there with that Fletcher...Elrindir his name is, I think...Anyways, we got chatting about the problem with hammers breaking, and he told me a story of a Bosmer he’d once met, a Mage-knight or Mystic-Archer or something, really right up his street, you know what I mean? Anyways, apparently they could conjure a repair hammer! Imagine that! I just assumed he was pulling my leg.”

I laughed and nodded. Caerellin, J’Drell and General Oreyn could conjure as easily as breathing. However, as part of basic Knight training, we are all taught how to conjure a sword or hand axe, in case we are ever disarmed. I could do it, barely. And a sword is easy. It is relatively easy to make a destruct wave the length of a sword or axe-head.

To focus magicks into something as fine as the face of a repair hammer? and control the mass of the head behind it? They must have been incredibly powerful indeed. Especially if, as Grey-Mane then added, “Apparently, they could share it out for a short time too!”

I whistled and shook my head.

“I know, right?” Grey-Mane answered.

Searching for the right words to end the conversation with, I ran through every possible entry into my speech only for my mouth to utter – “Um...”

“Don’t worry yourself lad. It was a sad day when the Thalmor helped finally finish the Knights of The Nine off in Skyrim. Now all we’ve got to keep them occupied is that damnable Dinai and his idiot Stormcloaks one side and on the other, that bloody Madanach and his Forsworn thugs. So you lot coming back, finally...” he shrugged, “Brings joy. As it will to Whitemane. You should go see him now. I mean, right now.”

“Eorlund, my friend...Um...If you would allow J’Zirlo?” I added hopefully.

He smiled and nodded.

“My friend,” I bowed my head, “Khajiit is in your debt. Always.”

“Nah, not always,” his smile became wider, “just until you’ve done my favour. Get settled in first, then we’ll...Invite you and Olfsson over.”

I nodded, shook his hand, and headed back to the other person who could ruin me.



------------------------------------------------