Ripples in the water, For the contest. Options

[jack cloudy]

Chapter 1:

Vvardenfell, Frost Plantation

“End report on imported goods, subbranche 2B, 13 Last Seed, 3E 431. Signed, R. Frost.” I wrote down my signature at the lower right corner of the paper and deposited my quill back in the inkwell. After that, it was a simple matter of putting the report on the large stack that graced one corner of my desk. An attendant would seal it in an envelope and give it to the courier later.

A sudden loud thumping on the window spooked me. I nearly jumped out of my seat and dove for the door. Only conscious effort kept me from acting like a fool. Instead of fleeing, I merely looked over my shoulder at the window and laughed. It was one of the Bull Netches, the one called Albert. The branded marking on its snout made it easy enough to recognize.
“Get moving, you big doofus. It’s too early in the morning to be causing a racket.” I chuckled. The Netch gave another whack against the window with its tentacle before drifting off. I shook my head and scolded myself.
“Come on, Ro-El. No one is out for your life. No need to flinch at every odd sound.”

I yawned and stretched a bit before getting up out of my seat. Sitting in the same position for several hours gave me muscle-cramps, even though the furniture in my office was only of the highest quality. It probably had to do with my lifestyle. I just wasn’t accustomed to sitting around all morning doing nothing. Well, nothing perhaps didn’t describe it. A more accurate description would be, I just wasn’t accustomed to dealing with paperwork all morning.
“Ugh, maybe I should hire someone to deal with that.” I muttered to myself with a quick glance at the large pile of reports, contracts and letters.

As I fled the office, I was greeted by Gylin Lenith.
“Good morning, master.” He said with that distinctive voice like crude gravel that all Dunmer seemed to possess. While no one had a true answer for the cause, I was among those who blamed the frequent ashstorms. My own voice had come to bear a very slight resemblance to that of a Dunmer over the past two years. And since those past two years conveniently marked my time spent on Vvardenfell, it wasn’t such an implausible conclusion.

I’d noticed my thoughts had drifted off, which made me feel rather annoyed with myself.
“Ah, good morning to you as well.” I replied quickly before the silence stretched on for too long.
“Lenith, the Albert was hitting the window of my office earlier. Is something wrong with him? He’s not sick, is he?” I then asked. The Dunmer chuckled.
“Old Albert? I very much doubt he is sick, master. Rather, it seems he has taken a fance to little Jauline. All that racket is just his way of trying to get attention.” He explained but added a stern warning to his words.
“I suggest you avoid the fields for the next few days. Breeding Netches can be notoriously aggressive. We’ve trained out most of it, but you can never be too sure. In fact, that is what I came to inform you about. As well as a few other matters.”

I nodded and walked down the stairs to the living room. Lenith followed a few steps behind.
“I’ll keep it in mind, thank you. Please pass on your advice to the Saltrice-planters as well, and the Guar herders. In fact, maybe we should just hang up a notice at a few strategic places. That should do the trick.” I mused out loud.
“As for these other matters, care to tell me over breakfast?”

The living room was an elegantly decorated room large enough to house an entire family, grandparents from both sides included. There was a large table, along with some comfortable sofas, pillows, a bookrack stacked with the usual works and most importantly, there was art filling every empty nook and cranny. I honestly didn’t really appreciate all the expensive carpets, paintings and the bust of myself. Especially the last piece. Just what kind of an ego am I supposed to have in order to place a stone replica of myself in the living room? But, this is what people expect of a rich noble these days. While it got on my nerves day in day out, expectations were there to be met.

I tried my best not to look at my marble copy as I grabbed a dry loaf of bread from the table. For a nobleman, that loaf of bread would be an absolute abomination. Something closer to a five-course diner would be expected, not something fit only for commoners. Expectations were there to be met but since I had no guests, I could have my preferred kind of breakfast. Which just happened to be a single loaf of bread.

Lenith sat down in the sofa opposite mine and grabbed a loaf for himself.
“Yes, as for those other matters. Nothing major for as far as I know. Now that the Netches have begun to breed, we should try to acquire a contract with a trader. Did you perhaps have any specific ideas in mind, master?” He said and bit down on his bread.
“Nothing specific, but it does occur to me that we enjoy an exclusive position at Ebonheart. I was thinking of exploiting that position and exporting to the mainland. Netches aren’t found anywhere but Vvardenfell and I’m sure Netch leather would be popular with clothiers if only for their rarity. Ebonheart’s harbour is one of the largest on the island. Only Vivec’s comes close, but we all know how it is over there. For the purity of Vivec’s home, no ship bigger than a gondola is allowed within city-limits and the dock nearby is restricted for coast-travel.” I replied. The Foreman smiled.

“A fine idea. Very well then, I’ll have a report made on how much we can export, as well as a listing of the current price Netch Leather has on the market.” Lenith finished his bread, meticulously sweeped the loose crumbs of bread off of his jacket and then rose.
“If you will excuse me.” He bowed and left, leaving me to finish my breakfast in solitude. I glanced the breadcrumbs the man had scattered across an expensive carpet I’d imported from Hammerfell and cocked an eyebrow.
“The maid will be mad at him for making a mess again.”

[treydog]

Nice one, Jack! I like the way you work many of the "inside" bits of MW into your story without disrupting the flow. You are painting some nice word-pictures here.

[jack cloudy]

First I had Ro-El get chewed out by the nameless maid, but I didn't quite like that scene. So then (probably also helped by the realization that I only have a month), I decided to cut a few corners and get right down to bussiness by introducing a visitor. Only then, said visitor and Ro-El began to act like utter nutjobs and now they still haven't quite gotten down to bussiness.


Chapter 2:

I didn’t want to be the one who had to bear her silent critique, so I left the manor and spent most of the day fishing at lake Kummu. Only in the evening did I return, though I hadn’t caught much. Lenith had put a notice up at the gate to warn people about the Netches. I smiled when I read it.
“Good lad, always gets the job done early.” I thought and then grimaced when I remembered the stack of reports I still had to deal with. Some people were hard workers, some weren’t. I belonged to the latter category.
“It’s kinda funny. On the one hand I’m lazy as can be with the administration, but on the other hand I never suffered from laziness in my former profession.”

I hesitated before moving through the gate. Apart from having to endure the maid’s complaints about letting ‘that barbarian’ in my house, I would also have to tell her why I was out fishing instead of working.
“Geez, she acts like she’s my mother or something. Just who pays her salary anyway?” I grumbled to myself.
“Problems with the ladies?” Someone else quipped from behind my back. I frowned. I knew of only two people who could sneak up on me like that. And that voice definitely belonged to one of them.
“Nah, just my maid keeps thinking she got promoted to lord of the house all the time.” I answered with a grin and turned around.

He looked just the way I remembered him. A middle-aged Bosmer, blonde hair tied into a pair of braids, the clothes of a commoner and a chitin bow slung over his back. I paid extra attention to the quiver that accompanied the bow. My grin faded. Wood, the quiver was composed of arrows with wooden shafts. That meant the arrowhead was a separate piece, probably steel or silver. He never carried high-quality arrows. Something was up.
“Alright, Fargoth. What’s the mess this time?” I asked warily. Fargoth chuckled and shook his head.
“Ro-El, old buddy. You take things too serious. When I said I could kill anything with Chitin arrows, I wasn’t saying that I wouldn’t upgrade if I got the money.” He said.
“If so, then why didn’t you upgrade the bow first? Arrows are one thing, but you can’t put much force on a Chitin shortbow.” I countered with a sceptical frown.

Fargoth laughed and sat down on the nearest boulder.
“Sentimental value, maybe?” He offered.
“I might believe you if you said that in the form of a fact, rather than a question.” I noted, but then began to laugh myself as I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“It’s so good to see you, Fargoth! I haven’t seen you in months. What have you been up to lately?”

The Bosmer gave me a cheeky grin.
“Just the usual. You heard about the northern dispute between Redoran and Telvanni?” He inquired.
“A little. Something about whose land it belonged to? I could have learned more, but Leroth told me in not so subtle words to stay out of it. I guess he doesn’t trust me anymore after I messed up my trip to Mournhold.” I answered. I rolled my eyes at my own answer. Mournhold, now that had been a big mess. What started as a simple attempt to get House Dwemer recognized as an official faction on Vvardenfell, ended with the near destruction of the city, all while I sat in jail for the most of it.
“You’re too focussed on the past, my friend. I think he just wanted you to stay out of it because he knew that having one person on the job was more than enough.” Fargoth commented dryly.

“Anyway, I was the one he sent to take care of it. And you won’t believe the things I had to do for it. I had to dress up in a pink skirt just to get a meeting with the mistress of Tel Mora cause she refuses to meet men. A skirt, fine. But pink and loads of frills? I swear, that clothier has been putting me up for a fool!” All of a sudden, his cheerful demeanour had been replaced by one of brewing rage.
“That was worse than the time I got a treestump blown up in my face!” He shouted. I glanced over my shoulder at the plantation to see if anyone was within hearing distance. Fortunately, no one was.
“Hush, Fargoth. I don’t want us to be noticed. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do and as I said, someone feels the need to boss me around for some reason. And who’s the one who is too focussed on the past? Seriously, you’re still going on about how the Nerevarine blew up that treestump? That was years ago!”

Fargoth calmed down slightly.
“Ah, right. I’m most sorry, Ro-El. Heh, it just looks like I have yet another story to tell your kids. Speaking of which, when are they coming?” He then quipped, which made me slap my forehead in exasperation.
“Geez, Fargoth. I’m not even in a relation more serious than pure business!” I pointed out. Nevertheless, my nemesis pushed on.
“So? You seem to be quite close with Ilmeni. Didn’t she give you the key to her house? And didn’t she tell you to keep it? What if the Duke finds out?” He laughed and winked.
“That key was the key to her house in Mournhold. She lived then, and still does, in Vivec. She only gave it to me so I wouldn’t have to rent a room at an inn during my stay. And what was she supposed to do with the key if I gave it back? That house was turned to rubble during the crisis. So knock it off!”

Fargoth just couldn’t stop laughing while I just couldn’t stop cursing myself. I looked like a fool, getting all worked up over a little jab like that.
“Oh, whatever. Care to explain me why you came to visit? Cause I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t because you suddenly felt the need to make fun of me being single.” I grunted. Fargoth finally stopped laughing. His next expression though, revealed to me why he’d been making fun of me. It had been an attempt to push things away, to deal with terror by making crude jokes.
“Balmora’s been invaded. Leroth is missing.”

[jack cloudy]

Short and belated update. I'm not sure if this much talking makes for a good story. And also, I'm not sure if I should make Ro-El have these thoughts. Sure, he has some experience with fortifications, but the economic bit is new.




“Balmora? Invaded?” I didn’t know what to say, so in the end I said nothing at all. Balmora, invaded. But by who? Now I wasn’t the one who was going to say it was impossible. There were ways to conquer a city. For one, Balmora wasn’t exactly the most fortified settlement. The walls were designed to keep out landbound predators, not armies. As such, they were low and of questionably shoddy construction. There were no gates, just a large opening. There were no perches for archers to shoot incoming enemies. There were further gaps in the walls where the river ran right through the city. No, impossible to conquer, Balmora was not.

And that went without bringing the economic element into the equation. Balmora was Hlaalu and ever since the Empire pretty much abandoned the island, Hlaalu had fallen on hard times. Income had lessened considerably without the East Empire Company, protection from the Legionnaires had lost Hlaalu a very profitable Ebony mine in Redoran territory, and frankly, being the number one trader doesn’t do you much good if no one wants to trade with you. The House was making attempts at shifting towards a self-sustaining economy, but there were still many bumps on the road before they would get there. And now the bump called Balmora had been added to the road. I wondered if Hlaalu could ever recover from that. Balmora had been their capital, sort of.

“Where was Leroth last time you heard of him? Balmora?” I asked once I’d gotten over the shock. Fargoth nodded.
“Damn, that’s bad. There’s so much in that little skull of his we can’t afford to lose.” I muttered. It was the wrong thing to say though.
“Information? Is that all you care about? Our friend is in trouble!” The Bosmer yelled.

“Hush, Fargoth. It’s not all I care about. It’s just that at least one of us has to be the responsible guy here. You’ve always been a bit of a show-off, Leroth practically retired after getting married and Zarador is a verified lunatic. So that means I’m the one who has to keep a level head.” I told him with a stern glare.
“Me, a show-off? Look who’s talking.” Fargoth seethed. I shrugged nonchalantly. I could tell he was calming down already.
“Well, someone had to make the sacrifice to ensure that everyone else could keep showing off and having grand adventures. Sorry, pal. But the inexperienced Agent you knew has made place for a boring merchant wannabe.” I said.

“Nevermind though. He won’t talk. No amount of drugs, spells or old-fashioned torture is going to get as much as a word out of him. So all we have to figure out now is how to extract him.” I continued. Fargoth settled down, fortunately. The irony of the situation had not been lost on me. The little Bosmer was my senior by at least a decade or two yet still I was the one giving the orders now.
“So, I’ll need to know everything you know, Fargoth. Talk on the trip, we’re headed for Ebonheart so we can discuss our course of action with the Duke.”

[Olen]

Things are happening - this I like, keep the pace up and it should be great. I agree with not writing out the maid moaning at him - I'm not sure it would have added anything.

Still you've set the hook neatly, I await the next part.