Previously: Darnand and Baurus acquired the fourth volume of Mankar Camoran’s
Commentaries, killing Raven CamOrAn in the process. (After all these years you’d think I’d get the names right!)
ghastley: Raven’s dialog was almost entirely from the game. You are correct in thinking that Lildereth is not sitting quietly in their inn room during all of this.
I changed Darnand’s outburst a bit to hopefully make it clearer. He was very much surprised and confused by his emotion, but it wasn’t supposed to confuse the reader. Thank you, ghastley!
Acadian: Whoops, Darnand’s chest is not so imposing that it needs to be named twice.
I’m glad you enjoyed this Darnand’s-eye view of Baurus. I always thought he must be much scarier than the Hero of Kvatch gets to see in the game. Thank you, Acadian!
SubRosa: MCOUSes! Glad you spotted that little tribute. Baurus finally got to spill some blood! He has been waiting for that all these months by himself in the IC. I imagine he might have gone on more of a Persephone-style rampage if they kept him waiting a few millennia. Evil wizard dialog does roll off Darnand’s tongue with alarming ease.
Thank you, SubRosa!
Renee: A while ago in the story in an incident that doesn’t happen in the game, Darnand was snatched up and questioned by the new guy in charge at Weynon Priory, Brother Venco (also not in the game) and then released with Jerric. Darnand is still jumpy around the Blades.
Thank you, Renee!
Next: Meanwhile, in Morrowind...
.
Chapter 18: The Path of Dawn, Part Six
Jerric pushed the door open, lifting his elbow for Nereli to duck underneath. Incense didn’t cover the smells of leather balm, solvents, and sweat. A Fighters Guild hall must smell pretty much the same in any province.
The large entrance chamber was empty apart from a uniformed guild porter. They exchanged nods, then made their way down a side passage to the common quarters lounge. There Kjestrid sat with Shamir-do at a low, round table. Kjestrid held a bracer on her knee, working at a buckle. Shamir-do was occupied with his arrows. None of the local Fighters Guild members seated around the room looked up or greeted them when they entered.
Jerric sat down at Kjestrid’s table. “Did you get a contract?” he asked.
“An extermination job. Some lady had rats in her basement.”
“Ha! You must have been the most overqualified rat catchers in Fighters Guild history.”
“Maybe so,” she said. “Any help from your mind-talking Breton?”
“I didn’t ask him for money, but we made some gold, too.” Jerric nudged Nereli, who still stood beside him.
“Doing what?” asked Kjestrid. “Drinking competition?”
“Show her.”
Nereli withdrew their earnings from her pocket with dramatic flair. Her presentation met trouble when she got the pouch tangled up in her tunic. Eventually she thumped it onto the table with a satisfying jingle.
“Mara’s heart!” Kjestrid exclaimed. “How did you get all this?”
Jerric gave Nereli a proud shove, making her stagger sideways. “This one’s a born bookmaker. She’s wasted on the Fighters Guild.”
“He did the work,” Nereli said, pointing unnecessarily at Jerric. “Rutting, dicing, and fighting. I just collected the coins.”
Kjestrid’s brows climbed high as an Altmer’s. “Do I want to hear this story?”
“Please,” purred Shamir-do, “this one must hear it.”
“There will be time on our way through Moonshadow,” said Jerric.
Or we can all forget about it. “Where’s Gjaever?” He got up and began to walk toward their assigned chamber, affecting a tuneless whistle.
“Splitting wood and hauling water,” said Kjestrid. “Come on, elf, pull up a chair and favor us with some company.”
Nereli sounded like she’d remembered how to smile. “The first fight was with this big Cyrod,” she started.
Jerric turned back to make sure she told it right. “The s’wit picked a fight with
me. Over the way I looked at his lady.”
“Ah,” said Shamir-do, “The Nord learns to speak as a local.”
“Jerric let the fetcher knock him down,” Nereli continued. “It was after he won us some gold cheating at dice.”
“The troll-humper tapped my nuts,” said Jerric. “I just took a little rest on the floor. I don’t throw fights, and I don’t cheat at dice. I play to win.”
“He means the Cyrod’s lady looked like a troll,” Nereli explained, her tone completely earnest. “That’s why he was looking at her.”
Jerric shook his head and mimed a large bosom.
Nereli ignored him. “They left and this orc started talking tough, so I used our dice winnings to make a wager. By then the Nord was back on his feet. She caught him under the chin and laid him out flat.”
“The orc laid Jerric flat,” Kjestrid said to clarify.
“I didn’t know there was a wager,” Jerric said. “Or that I was in another fight. And my eyes were still wet from the Imperial stone cracking.”
“I kept taking bets while she gave him a pounding. It looked bad for us, but I had a plan to slip out the side door if we lost. Then Jerric rose from the dead and got her around the neck.” Nereli demonstrated the choke with her own arm and throat.
“After that a couple of Dunmers thought they could take me,” said Jerric. “One of them got me with his heel. As pretty a hook kick as I’ve ever failed to duck. Once they stopped bleeding and everyone paid up, Nereli helped me put my teeth back in straight.”
Kjestrid squinted at him. “Straight compared to what?”
“Khajiit thinks there is more to this tale.”
Jerric gave his teeth an experimental rub. “Yeah, I had to pay for some elf furniture. And I think there’s some that I haven’t heard yet. Nereli can tell me later. Who wants a drink?”
Nereli had other plans. “After the fights Jerric boned some people in the alley. He doesn’t know I made them pay.”
Kjestrid’s expression made Jerric want to explain even more than he wanted to strangle Nereli. “It was only two people, one at a time like civilized folk. I needed to be sure my,” he gave his crotch a brief hoist, “didn’t, uh, receive lasting damage from the Imperial. The money part is news to me. Must have happened while I was outside.”
Nereli slowly shook her head, in thrall to the memory. “I never had any luck turning tricks in Mattapi. I should have been selling Nord rides instead.”
Shamir-do made a choking noise.
“Fur ball?” asked Jerric. He took the opportunity to wallop the Khajiit between his shoulders.
“Now I know you’re jesting,” said Kjestrid.
“A fight makes some folk randy,” Jerric said. “I merely helped out a new acquaintance or two. It wasn’t some kind of Dunmeri cluster hump.” He stifled a sigh.
Kjestrid said, “I mean I’m having a hard time seeing how you’re not the one who paid.”
Jerric placed a hand over his heart in a mock-wounded gesture.
Nereli had more to tell. “After we put his teeth back in we had a drink with some of the folk who didn’t lose money on the fights. When he went to the alley with just the one, her friends were jealous. I saw another earning opportunity. I told them for a price I would put in a good word. Also that he’s free-born and favored by Sanguine. Course, I thought I was lying about that last part.”
Kjestrid had abandoned her mending. “I guess you have Sanguine’s attention now. Is this going to cause trouble for us? With Azura?”
“I’m not any kind of daedra worshiper,” Jerric told her. “I have an agreement with Sanguine, nothing more. Though there’s no shame in that kind of work.” Saying so didn’t make it true. He had been acting like a self-indulgent idler, not a Knight Brother of the Blades. “Anyway now we have some money and I feel a lot more relaxed, if anyone wonders. How much did you get from the Redoran?”
Kjestrid was already counting coins. “With this and our rodent slayer earnings, enough to start Gjaever on his journey, pay our bills here, and buy a few days’ trail rations. It will be easier to transfer funds once we’re in Cyrodiil, so I’m not as concerned about the trip from Cheydinhal to Bruma. Shamir-do says that if we strike a bargain with Azura, her followers will take us through Moonshadow without charging for every little thing. Whatever Azura wants will be our price. If we don’t strike a bargain it will be a long walk or however long it takes us to save up the fares. We’ll have to pay with our swords either way. Or some of us with their wizard’s staff.” She snorted at her own jest.
“Let’s hope we strike a bargain,” Jerric said. “I need to get home to my friends.”
Home. It wasn’t a place any more.
“I’m going to Moonshadow,” Nereli announced.
Shamir-do’s ears only flattened for an instant this time. He must be getting used to her.
“I’m not Gjaever, but I can help with whatever we need to do,” she continued. “I’m no more welcome here than I was in Mattapi. Redoran or no, they look at me like they can smell the ash. I only got so many wagers on the fights because the whole corner club wanted to see me lose.”
Jerric was torn between curiosity and the responsibility that knowing might bring.
Kjestrid saved him the decision. “What in the hells are you talking about?” she asked Nereli.
“I’m an Ashlander,” Nereli said, using the patient tone that made Jerric want to punch her. “I wasn’t born in the mountains or this city. I forget that you outlanders can’t tell one accent from another.”
“That’s because you all sound the same,” Jerric said.
“When we speak Tamrielic. I learned from the Redoran after I left home. My clan kept the old ways. I’ll be welcome in Moonshadow. You’ll see.”
“The next thing I’d like to see is an alchemist,” said Jerric. “Both of those lasses wanted to check me for crotch crawlers, as if any could find refuge on an elf. There’s no telling what sort of poles they’re used to climbing. I need to make a Cure Disease potion.”
Kjestrid pushed some coins across the table. “I suppose I can’t complain. You earned them.”
“You should go to a bathhouse, too,” said Nereli. “The wash basins here won’t splash that rind off you. You’re going to pollute the bed.”
“A good stable takes care of its horses,” Jerric said to Nereli before forgetting his point. He took the coins and rose to leave, tripping over a chair.
“Someone go with him,” Kjestrid said. “Or I’ll have to.”
“I’m drunk as a Nord,” said Nereli.
Shamir-do leaped to Jerric’s side. He linked their arms at the elbows in the way of Khajiiti friends. “Tell this one more about the boon Jerric has received from Sanguine.”
“Lies,” Jerric declared, letting Shamir-do steer. He thumbed his chest. “This is all Kyne’s handiwork.”
~~~
Dawn found the Bruma Fighters Guild members and their new recruit striding through the city. Blacklight’s laborers were already at work sweeping, scrubbing, and pushing hand carts. Jerric kept an eye out for Cyrodilic food or kahve stands, but saw none.
Gjaever walked in front beside Kjestrid. He wore a newly fitted netch hide jerkin, a second-hand pack, and a sort of cloak made from sleeping furs and a ground cloth. If he met any wolves or bears on his way through Skyrim, Jerric expected that they would take one look and choose to go a different way. The big Nord and the rest of the group parted ways at the city gate. Gjaever had already said his farewells. When the moment came he simply dipped his head in their direction and kept going.
Jerric, Kjestrid, Shamir-do, and Nereli stopped to watch him walk away. Then Kjestrid, who had the map, put their boots on the day’s road.
With Gjaever’s departure their number seemed diminished by more than one. Jerric kept an eye on Nereli to see what the Dunmer did when they passed fellow travelers. It seemed that no greeting was the preferred custom. Even casual eye contact was met with frowns. Perhaps they were considered lower status based on the Nords and Khajiit in their group.
The road was made of black crushed stone that made a grinding sound underfoot. A deep ditch ran along each side. He supposed that as in Cyrodiil, spring snow melt would bring seasonal flooding. Jerric was no stranger to trench-digging. The work that had gone into this road must have been considerable. He recalled a comment that Nereli had made on their walk down from Mattapi.
‘Nords don’t make the best slaves. They don’t last like Bretons.’ Looking at this road, he could guess which humans the masters had used on their building crews and which were more likely to be put to work indoors. No wonder his kind didn’t live very long. He began to understand Shamir-do’s persistent discomfort and anger.
Habit kept him scanning the roadsides for threats. The hills here were covered in low, clumpy grasses. Spiky plants as high as his waist stood among the rocks, their sword-shaped leaves edged in spines. The only trees at this elevation were single-trunked oddities whose twisting branches housed clusters of dagger-like leaves as long as his arm. The air felt crisp and dry despite the snow on the mountainsides. He found his waterskin nearly empty before he realized he had been drinking from it.
The trail to the hillside shrine was easy to find. Foliage had recently been cut away from the edges and dragged off rather than left in place. Probably to fuel the fires of pilgrims seeking refuge. Even before Kjestrid halted the group, a small sign bearing a moon and star confirmed his guess.
Kjestrid broke their long silence. “Nereli, you can go in alone, if it will improve your chances. We’ll give you time to get ahead of us.”
“I’ll stay with you,” said Nereli. “I told you the truth before. They’ll give me a place in Moonshadow, and I might help make your bargain favorable.”
The smell reached them at the same time they began to hear voices. A turn in the trail brought them within sight of a disorganized encampment. Shelters leaned against the rocks and scrubby trees. Elves squatted around fitful, smoky fires while their children stood in clusters, watching the newcomers with solemn eyes. Jerric recalled the joyful chaos at Meridia’s shrine in County Skingrad. That was a festival, he reminded himself. These folk are here because they have run away.
“Where..?” Kjestrid spoke in a hushed tone.
“This one will find out. Wait here.” Shamir-do shrugged out of his packs and strode off, his bearing as proud as a king’s.
Nereli had to scramble to catch up.
“I guess he’s more devoted than he let on,” said Jerric.
Kjestrid picked up Nereli’s packs. “Let’s find a spot and look like we belong here before someone comes along and gives us some chores.”
“Or a bill for the air we’re breathing.” Jerric shouldered the Khajiit’s belongings.
They hardly had time to chew up their mystery meat trail rations before a soft-faced Dunmeri lad in a pale orange robe found them. He bowed and made a graceful gesture. “If you please, come with me to the Sanctum.”
The farther they got from the camp, the cleaner and brighter became people’s clothing. These must be the attendants. About a third of them were Khajiit, half Dunmer, and the remaining few an assortment of mer and human. They wore all the colors of a coastal sunrise. If this was a small shrine, Jerric wondered what the big ones looked like.
The lad brought them past a series of outdoor altars to a round door in the side of a hill. Stone blocks made two wide steps up to a half-circle landing. Carved and painted tiles surrounded the door frame and arched lintel. Incense burned in bowls set on both sides of the top step.
Jerric noted that the door would swing inward. Nerves made him look above for traps. It was a small comfort to discover Kjestrid doing the same.
The Dunmer pushed the door open and stood aside, holding it for them.
Azura is one of the good ones. Her shrine won’t be decorated with butchered mortals. Jerric took a breath and stepped inside.
.
This post has been edited by Grits: Apr 23 2019, 01:52 AM