The Memoir of Arch-Mage Ra'jirra, Or, how the hell we got lumbered with this farmboy Options

[Cardboard Box]

This is a new game where I'm using an alternative start mod that actually works, offering you the chance to be dumped in Bravil before kicking off the Main Quest at your leisure. Ra'jirra, as arch-mage, is writing his memoir after an eventful rise to that respected title. His language has yet to catch up with him.

Prologue
I'm not a writing type, but this is special. It's my book, about me, and it's what really happened as opposed to them bard types. All singing about me being in shining armour and a zillion feet tall and riding the Imperial dragon and all that crap. This ain't crap. It's the real stuff. And I'm gonna tell it in my own words, even if they ain't all sweet and proper like. Why? Because sure, I have this fancy place now, and the fancy armour which I only wear on special occasions, and all the titles and crap. But I'm a farmer's boy and always have been. Like poor bloody Martin was.

So there's three people you should thank, not me. There's my ma, Hathor, and dad, Ra'Virra, who finally decided to let me go to Cyrodiil. And then there's that wandering mage, guy called Cornelius Othmar. He's the one, really, who saw what I could do.

So anyway, I remember more or less when it happened. It was market day, and now I think about it it's the only market day I can remember clearly. Maybe it's the Divines or something. But I remember I was standing next to a nice girl, I think her name was Merry or Mary or something like that. I was also on a high because dad and me had really pulled one over on some of those poncy sorts who come to buy our stuff – we have an orchard full of apples, oranges, berries and melons and stuff. Great for knocking up potions for getting your energy back. When we left that day, we had a few less pieces of fruit and some recipes for what they call preserves – it'd meant spending up on flour and sugar and all the jars, all on the quiet of course, but that's how merchanting works. Getting the better deal while letting the other dork think he's got it.

But anyway, me and Mary were watching this Cornelius bloke putting on a show – Mary was watching anyway, I was plotting a course for us to the most private haywain so's nobody would see, at first, but I found myself getting more interested in the mage's doings. Now a lot of what he was playing at was bloody flashing lights, I know, but I was beginning to figure it out somehow. Those of you who're real mages will know all this, and if you don't, you can bloody well ask. As Carahil once said to me, "there is no knowledge without power", and who doesn't want power?

Well, I was mulling the concepts over, and I must have been mumbling under my breath or something, because next thing I know I was literally glowing! Even Cornelius stopped and stared at me as I slowly went red. Easy for him, because everyone else had backed away from me as though I was deadly.

"Whoops!" he cried, "so sorry my boy! Come round the back, I'll fix you right up!" And down he came and pulled me away by the arm!

Anyway, round the back he had this caravan thing, and once inside he turned to me, said something that seemed to literally blow the spell off me. Then he just stared.

"Why did you cast that spell?" he asked me a bit angry like.

"I didn't mean to!" Did I sound like a kitten or what? "I was mulling over what you were doing, I guess I was muttering to myself, I've never cast it before!"

Well, his eyebrows went fair through the ceiling. "I find that hard to believe," say he, "And the dispel I cast on you now, how did that feel?"

"Um... like it blew a sort of... um, cobweb off me," I said. Then, "That's what an enchantment is like, eh? Like a sort of pattern or web that sits on top of your life, um..."

"That's enough," he says, and he's not so mad now. "I wasn't expecting that much wisdom from a farmer's boy. Ever had proper magickal training?"

"No sir, just a couple cantrips to light fires and heal small wounds, sir. And making potions."

So he just sits there and ponders. "You're a natural," says he, "a natural bloody mage. I better talk to your folks, it'd be a damn shame to let a talent like yours go to waste."

So after that I leave the caravan and there's my olds looking kinda relieved and scared and dad about ready to have a go at Cornelius. But he has a few words to my dad and next thing I remember clearly is ma and dad and me and Cornelius at home that evening, finished off a supper of bread and soup listening to Cornelius talk.

"Your son's a natural," he kicks off, "I'm doing my show and next thing I know, this boy, and I thought he's just planning a tryst with that girl next to him, casts Starlight on himself."

"What's that?" dad asks. I was turning red, but then dad adds, "Starlight I mean."

"It makes you glow for a time," Cornelius explains, "so you don't need to carry a torch. Well, I thought he'd done it on purpose, so I hustled him into my caravan to dispel it and give him a piece of my mind, but that's when I found out he's a natural. He should be in the Guild."

Well, dad just looks at him. "Why?"

"Why? Because he worked out how to cast a spell without training! When I dispelled it, he told me what it felt like to him as though he's already learned about the school of Mysticism! I tell you, this boy's a natural – put him in the Guild and he'll make you proud!" And he looks at me as if to say you better bloody do so too.

Dad's about to say something, but then the door bangs open and in bursts the priest. Let me describe him. Julius Maro, old, boozy, fat, thick as three short planks and up himself so far he can see daylight again.

"What is this man doing here!" Like I said, up himself. Nothing he likes better than to bang on about the Nine as though they're a pack of marauders who can only be held off by doing what he says. And woe betide you if he sees you dozing, or being bored, in his chapel. I hated his guts obviously.

"He has been invited here." Dad didn't like him either. Especially not after that business about tithes. "You weren't."

"This man is a menace to your souls! A traitor to the Nine! A dabbler in the dark arts! He should be shunned by all right-thinking men!" Maro was wobbling with rage. He was good at that.

"Says you," dad replies, "But he's not after our souls. He's told us our son's a natural mage."

Now Maro turns purple, so it looks like he's got a big wobbly blackberry for a head.

"Monster!" Looking back I think he was trying to bellow really impressive like, but all he did was squeak from the top end and trumpet from the lower one and his guts rose about three inches. No really. I couldn't hold a snort, and then Cornelius giggled, and then my parents broke up. And all the bloody priest could do was sputter about necromancers and daedra worshipers and other phrases.

And then he pulls his copy of "One Command, Nine Divines" out of his robe and bangs me on the head with it!

"I invoke the mercy of the Nine!" he starts going off, "Of Akatosh, of Dibella, of Stendarr, of-"

Now Maro didn't like us and we didn't like him. If you're an Imperial, you got to understand a lot of you are real bastards to us beastfolk. Knock it off. You're beholden to one now, remember?

Anyway back then he got my dad's fist in the mush and then his boot in the bum and off they go with dad yelling that good folks don't go around bashing sons on the head in front of their parents and Maro sputtering back that we were all something or other as he wobbled off.

"You'll have to excuse our priest," he explained to Cornelius, "he's stupid and a saleswoman."

"I guessed that," Cornelius replied, "anyway, as I was saying, he's got a brain on him that it'd be a shame to waste. Now," and he pulls out his purse and takes out about fifty bloody septims. "I'll put that toward getting him to the guildhalls in Cyrodiil. They're the bloody best."

Well, ma and dad look at him, at the coins on the table, and then at me.

And I look back and think that if I go, I'll be leaving everything I know behind. And if I stay, Maro at least will make my life a misery, and I'll never know what I missed out on. But the fact that dad was willing to have a go at a priest about this pretty much settled the deal.

"I can come back if it doesn't work out, right?" I asked.

"Of course, son," dad says, and I can't remember right what happened after that except there was a lot of drinking and a lot of tears. Whenever dad called me 'son', it was always when he was really proud of me or being kind. 'Boy' was what he used when I was in the poo.

And then a few weeks later I was sailing on the Coy Carp to Anvil.

[haute ecole rider]

Well, i was just thinking that it would be good to have another comedy/satire sort of thing.

Then I start reading this and knew by the first few paragraphs that I liked this. The tongue-in-cheek narrative is enjoyable, and I admit to a fondness for the word 'bloody' when used in this context.

"Your son's a natural," he kicks off, "I'm doing my show and next thing I know, this boy, and I thought he's just planning a tryst with that girl next to him, casts Starlight on himself."

"What's that?" dad asks. I was turning red, but then dad adds, "Starlight I mean."

This made me chuckle - I'm sure one doesn't need to be a mind-reader to figure out what Ra'jirra really wanted in that moment! And I get the feeling Dad isn't so clueless as he lets on!

This is genius:

Julius Maro, old, boozy, fat, thick as three short planks and up himself so far he can see daylight again.

OMG! What a way to describe a stuck-up Imperial!

"Monster!" Looking back I think he was trying to bellow really impressive like, but all he did was squeak from the top end and trumpet from the lower one and his guts rose about three inches.

A priest full of hot air! Is there ever any other sort?

I'd like more, please.

[Cardboard Box]

Heh, thanks. Actually, I'd been reading a book called The Bloody Brewery, which frankly had overdone the vernacular and the tall tale style. So I'm/Ra'Jirra's writing in a watered-down style of a bad Barry Crump knockoff!

You guys are a bad influence when I could be doing something useful. Keep it up

[Cardboard Box]

Chapter 1: In which Our Hero Arrives in Anvil and Joins the Mage's Guild

It was a nice evening in Anvil when the ship docked. The captain told me he'd be off as soon as his cargo was unloaded, so I made sure I had everything, which was pretty much a few coins in my purse and the clothes on my back. To get passage on the Coy Carp had required me to sell bloody everything else.

"It were good to have ye on board," says the captain, and who could blame him? I'd been able to fling a few fireballs and swing a decent axe when those pirates had attempted to board us, and then the potions I'd made afterwards were pretty well received. "Ye sure ye don' wanna set sail wi' us?"

"Sorry," says I, "I'm after the Mage's Guild."

He just shook his head and tried to convince me a life on the ocean wave was what I wanted a bit more, but sod him. He had my gear and most of my coin, didn't he?

Anyway, there I was standing on the dock wondering where to go, looking at the castle, and thinking about the Temple of the One for some reason. Maybe it was because Maro once mentioned it when he was in a halfway sane state. The guff was that people had life-changing experiences there sometimes, but my dad just said afterwards it was "just silly buggers getting all worked up."

Anyway, I'm thinking about all this, and let's be honest, Anvil's a nice little town. All white stone, red tile roofs and blue-green doors, I think they're faced with bronze or copper or something. Like I said, quite pretty. Not like Bravil. That was a longdrop then and it still was last time I was there.

So this guard comes up to me. "Don't see many new faces these days. Anyway, can I help you?"

Now, I'd have some not so nice experiences with guards later on, so this bloke was a bit unusual for his sort. Anyhow, I'm not one of those writer clowns who then fills pages with boring conversations. Let's just say that I got him to tell me where the nearest Mage's Guildhall was (they had one right in Anvil!), learned a bit about the local scenery – which basically boils down to "stay above ground", and then there was the business with the chapel.

"What's this about the chapel being attacked anyway?" I ask, "Some drunk bugger go nuts in there?"
"Don't be an idiot!" Looks like he was about to pop me one, but pulled himself together. "We don't know who or what slaughtered everyone in the chapel and desecrated the altars. Then next thing we know, that man calling himself the Prophet turns up railing on about Pelinal Whitestrake and who knows what else. Load of tosh if you ask me, but..."

"Ah," says I, "Whatever bastards did it, they'll be found out. Magic leaves trails, right? Like footprints."
Guard just shrugs and says, "Well, not even the castle and guild mages found anything. You sure you want to join those layabouts?"

So of course I ask him what he means. To make a long story short, the guild wasn't a hundred percent, even after successfully ousting most of the conjurers and necromancer types. Worked out why later. But anyway necromancy's a nasty business, and conjuration seems to involve daedra most of the time, and they're dangerous bastards. I'd find just out how much later.

Anyway after that he went off on his rounds, and I went looking about. Nothing much happened at first, except I fell in the harbour trying to work out if it was a rock or a sunken chest I was looking at. It was a rock. Bugger.

Now being wet as a shag, and with only a few coins in my pocket, I was dead certain that I wouldn't get a place to sleep that night. Nobody wants a wet Khajiit anywhere near them. Hell, I was a wet Khajiit and I didn't want to be near me. So after squelching past one of the doomstones – it's on a hill beside the harbour and has an engraving of The Lady on it, and saying a little prayer at the nearby shrine of Mara, I found myself chasing deer up to Hrota Cave. Now I was still damp and wanted a bit of shelter and went in.

I've no idea who was inside the cave, but they sure as hell weren't there any more. Either that or they left in a damn hurry, there were still fires and torches burning. Now deciding that whoever lived here was a) probably up to no good and wasn't coming back, I burgled the place and beat it.

Put yourself in my shoes. I had just the wet, peasanty clothes on my back and a few septims. That was all. The caves were, I was told, either full of bandits or unfriendly critters. So of course I looted the place. Salvage!

So anyway the next day I fronted up to Carahil at the guild looking flash in burgundy and with a heavier purse!

If Carahil were a horse, she'd have the bit in her teeth most of the time. For a high elf she was a looker too, young, but those eyes were too big. Anyhow, we fell to talking about magic for a bit, and let me tell you, she was good at getting info out of me. She raised her eyebrows when I mentioned Cornelius, and had me go over the market incident a couple of times. And we really hit it off regarding Maro. We both agreed he was an arsehole and Carahil went off on how people like Maro the Moron and someone called Alessia Ottus were the reason she'd really gone to town about getting the necromancers out.

Anyway, she says she'd be pleased to have me join and I says I'm happy to accept, and then I make my mark and now I'm an Associate.

"Now, in order for you to gain access to the Arcane University," she says, "you'll need to perform a task at each of the guildhalls to receive a letter of recommendation. Only once you have gained a letter of recommendation from all the guildhalls will you be admitted into the University."

"Sounds fair," I say, "And according to the book here, each hall specialises in a school of magic, so I'll be learning as I go, right?" I haven't changed that and I'm not going to. Travel broadens the mind.

"Exactly," says she, "We can start now, if you wish. But I warn you, this isn't a frivolous task like, oh, those fools in Bruma might give you, this is a matter of life and death."

She looks at me and I look at her. Like I said, bit in the teeth. And here I am just signed up barely five minutes ago, fresh off the boat, no gear, no bearings, no clue (really.)

"Sorry," says I, "Don't think I'm up to it yet."

"Wise of you," says an old dunmer in the next room over. Carahil didn't like that. She didn't seem to like me piking either.

"That's... disappointing, Associate." ("Sensible" says the dunmer quietly.) "Perhaps you're right... take a day or two to prepare and see me again."

And she turns away but I'm sure she muttered "coward" under her breath. Bit in the teeth, or did I already say that?

So anyway I went next room over and spoke to the dunmer bloke, name of Selas. Turns out he's the alchemy master in the guild, and I was able to buy a mortar, pestle and alembic from him. "You were a sensible one there," he says, "Carahil tends to be, um, let's just say she likes getting her way."

"Well, she'll get it," says I, "once I'm good enough to give it to her."

He just grins at me and there's this rattling noise from Carahil's direction and about then I decide to beat it because what I said goes two ways and I don't think she likes either of 'em.

I still remember those first days. But I'll try keeping this short. Now some people write their memoirs way to long about what hole they popped into, and they went this way then that way and killed this and offed that and it's incredibly boring. I've been in and out of heaps of holes and I hope the detail-obsessive types don't mind if I skip all but the most interesting bits.

So anyway I bugger off up the main road that leads to Kvatch and Skingrad, and at first amused myself by setting some highwayman on fire and nabbing his gear. He had a decent iron axe, which came in handy because I startled a bloody boar which didn't take to me at all. I continued towards an old fort, dropping a couple deer, and then froze, because I could see a skeleton.

Turns out there were three of the bastards wandering around outside, and two more in the fort walls, and one was an archer. So now I had some axes to flog and a bow. I'd learn later that Carahil thinks weapons are a sign of incompetence, but she might like to change her mind on that. It's basic sense. Either you cook up heaps of restoration potions, or you have something to fall back on. Magic runs out, and if you're silenced, well, like I said. Fallback.

After knocking around inside the fort, which I learned was called Crowhaven, and being attacked by wolves and rats, I ran across something that I decided not to mess with and got the hell out of there.

After that, I headed shoreward, towards the huge ruin known as Garlas Matatar. It was raining, and I have to say I was creeping carefully around. And it was just as well. There was something down there.

At first, I thought it was someone, since it looked like a man in armour of a sort I didn't recognise. He seemed to be guarding some sort of altar with stuff on it, and here I was with just some toasted fur crap and a bow and arrow. And, OK, an axe. Against a guy so heavily armoured I couldn't see any skin?

Well, I crept up until I could see the bugger's head, arrow nocked. He didn't even notice. The arrow went straight in from about ten feet off. Dented the "armour" like paper, and the thing dropped like a stone. Later I'd learn the bastards were summonings called Aurorans, but hey, I was a mere kitten, right?

Another one fronted up and had much the same happen to it. I tried pulling the armour off but no joy there – that's when I realised what the buggers were. Nevertheless I scored a magical axe and some other goodies, like welkynd stones. Great things – you can use them to replenish your magic. Just remember what's knocking around in those Ayleid ruins but.

Anyway, after that I went half-walking and half-swimming back to Anvil, and the wierdest thing happened. I'd fallen in the water again and next thing I know, there's a scamp floundering at me. I have an idea where it and its conjurer came from though, and frankly the guy was bowled fairly quickly. In his gear was that Robe of Deflection I have in the display case next to the main door, between the mage's robe (yeah, same guy's) and the necromancer's. Saved my hide plenty of times.

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Jul 11 2010, 09:45 AM

[Remko]

I like it, not much else to say. Except that maybe the word "anyway" is maybe used to often and as such it loses its impact. Please carry on, I like the witty sense of humour woven in it.

[Cardboard Box]

Yeah, Ra'jirra writes like he's boring the guy next to him down at the pub. And he does have a habit of overusing words as well.

Chapter 2: In which Ra'Jirra gets his first recommendation

After dropping off my excess axes and pissing Varel Morvayn off by not spending heaps, I finally fronted up to Carahil.

"Well, Associate? Are you ready now?" Right between the teeth, or have I said that already? Never mind. Bears repeating. "Yeah," says I, "Think I can give it a decent go now."

I think she wanted to kill me for insolence or something, but what she told me was that I was going to an inn pretty much north of Anvil to flush out a bad honoured user who was doing over merchants. I said yes ma'am and got out of there and stopped briefly to talk to a local farmer lass. Maeve the Buxom, although I didn't notice, because she was in a right strop over her husband.

Seems the drongo wanted adventure. Well, adventure involves bloody hard yakker, especially when the adventure sends you to a marauder lair in Fort Strand, and I admit that after a fair bit of fighting I piked. Not good enough.

But anyway, I fronted up at the Brina Cross around midnight looking for the bird I was to contact. Well, there she was, but this altmer bint had her well and truly bailed up. So while she was flapping her gums, I saw the innkeep about a bed. I mean, it was late, and he asks me if I'm a merchant. Well, I says yes, since one of the things I had to do back in the day was flog loot and buy better gear, right?

So I'm about to toddle off, when the altmer introduces herself – Caminalda, she was – and did I say I was a merchant? And all the time the Breton I was supposed to talk to is trying to kill me with a look. So I manage to scrape Caminalda off and head for bed, and in she comes!

"You were supposed to talk to me first!" she kicks off.

"Couldn't talk to you with Caminalda bailing you up," says I, "Besides, I'm the bait anyway, right?"

So she looks at me and nods, "Ah, yes, you're quite right. You are supposed to pass yourself off as a merchant and spend a night here. Then you head on to Skingrad. A fellow battlemage and myself will follow you."

"Why not Kvatch?" asks I.

"Haven't you heard? Something's damaged the gates, and they're jammed shut. I've heard workmen banging away inside trying to fix them, but it's been weeks now. So your story is Skingrad."

Now, to this day I've never got a straight answer about bloody Kvatch. The gates were closed for all sorts of reasons: siege practice, mechanical problems, plague, or some moron's spell going wrong. In once case I heard all the above mixed together. Not even the survivors can say. Still, I hear the rebuild's finally started.

"Fine. Skingrad it is," says I, then a bit louder, "Well, I'm sorry ma'am, but these are all I have. Perhaps when I return from Skingrad, but for now I need rest. Good night!"

She just grinned tightly and said, "Don't overdo it." Well, Caminalda had me kick around the inn for a whole day before she made her move. So out I went, and sure enough it was bloody nosey Caminalda crapping on honest merchants! Incidentally much of her gear got flogged to Gunder at Northern Goods & Trade in Skingrad. Good bloke he is. Big square Nord. Right across from the Mage's Guild.

But before that I had to head back to Anvil to report success, and I did so by the scenic route, since I was also looking for flax seeds and things to make restore magicka potions with them. Instead I found a pack of necromancers in another Ayleid hole, Garlas Agen. By this time I had more stuff to piss Morvayn off with. Carahil loved me, so that balanced out I guess. So anyway after that I decided that the best thing to do was to piss off myself to Skingrad and find new folks to annoy.

My route was all about what makes restore magicka potions with flax. I mean, venison or wolf meat make feather potions, and useful they are. But I was saving my welkynd stones, and I didn't hit pay dirt until Sandstone Cave. There was a dead adventurer in there with a pair of Dwemer boots and some other goodies. I bet Gunder's sold them by now.

[haute ecole rider]

From a previous post:

"Carahil tends to be, um, let's just say she likes getting her way."

"Well, she'll get it," says I, "once I'm good enough to give it to her."

He just grins at me and there's this rattling noise from Carahil's direction and about then I decide to beat it because what I said goes two ways and I don't think she likes either of 'em.

Just about made me spew something all over my keyboard! Good thing I didn't have anything in my mouth just then!

The whole last post was very enjoyable with the Aussie slang (though how much of it is slang and how much of it is the swear filter working overtime I'm not so sure) and the tongue in cheek narrative. And yes, it does have the feel of Ra'jirra boring the guy next to him in the bar! Only this reader isn't bored!

More. Please.

[mALX]

ARGH! I go away for a couple days and look what happens! I'll have to come back and read this when I get a break, looks great so far - great humor!

[SubRosa]

I finally got the time to start reading. Lots of fun! I like the informal style. I can picture Raj'irra sitting on the back porch drinking a mint julep and barking (meowing?) out his tale to some poor intern who is furiously scribbling it all down on parchment.

This line really stood out for me:
If you're an Imperial, you got to understand a lot of you are real bastards to us beastfolk. Knock it off.


nits:
"he's stupid and a saleswoman."

did you mean salesman?

[Cardboard Box]

Actually the swear filter ate that one. I showed it to Ra'jirra and he nearly bust a gut laughing, so I kept it.

Incidentally, I got my details worng. The mod drops you off in Anvil! D'oh!

[SubRosa]

Now I am going to have to experiment to see what word gets turned into saleswoman...

[mALX]

ROFL! Your inner dialogue is hilarious!

[Cardboard Box]

Chapter 3. In which Ra'jirra has a skinful of Skingrad

Now before I got into the guildhall, I heard someone hissing at me. It was a Bosmer, who kept looking at my left ear while telling me that he had to see me behind the chapel at midnight. Then he took off while looking over his shoulder. I just shook my head and swapped loot for Gunder's money. I also asked about Mr Wierdo, and had to sweet-talk the info out of him. Apparently the drongo's Glarthir, and as far as I know he still fronts up behind the Skingrad chapel waiting for me. Stuff him.

The first Skingrad mage I met was an Argonian woman called Druja. She was fairly snotty at first, but apparently it's because Adrienne Berene is a bit vague at times, absent-minded and all that. She also asked if I'd seen someone called Erthor; no, I hadn't. One barmy Bosmer at a time for me.

And wouldn't you know it! Adrienne wanted me to find Erthor! Oh well. Erthor's lucky day. I ended up asking around and learned where the dopey sod had been exiled to – Bleak Flats Cave, and as it turned out because Adrienne had sent him there.

"You might like to remind her," says Druja, "that it was her idea." And she sort of looks upstairs with contempt as she says that. So I did, and she ended up giving me another fire spell. Now this one wasn't a quick blast of heat, it was a slower burn. This is something to know: spells that hit hard and fast need more power than spells that kind of gnaw at the victim's ankles. Even if they do pretty much the same damage. Just like choosing between hitting someone with a bloody great battle-axe as opposed to wearing them down one dagger-stroke at a time.

I also picked up some other deadly spells of death as well, but as it turned out they were bloody useless. When you're messing with the undead, you need fire. I got into the drill of smacking zombies with an arrow from cover first, then launching fireballs. Seems they were bailing up Erthor and he couldn't get out. And he wouldn't tell me what the hell was going on!

The rest of the guild were as tight-lipped. Druja wouldn't say either, but she relaxed a bit when I showed her the nirnroot. Apparently Sinderion's the resident brewer of the classier establishment in town, so I popped into the basement where Sinderion resided.

He wasn't pleased to see me at first, but his eyes fair fell out when he saw all the nirnroots I collected! "Where did you get all these?" he cries.

"Anvil," says I, "and around the coast there. Usually where there's rocks and water."

"Remarkable!," says he, "Tell me, can you find some more?" and off he goes explaining about an old book he had which turned out to have a recipe using nirnroot in it. For a few hours running around, I have to admit I was interested; the most I could do with them was make draining poisons.

I took a bit of a scenic route. Headed out to Bleak Flats again then cut east towards a copse Sinderion'd marked for me. Unfortunately there was a goblin cave en route – nasty little buggers – then I headed back south. I ran across Derelict Mine, but when I saw more gobs – dead, this time, and praise unto the Imperial Legion for that! - I thought "stuff it" and headed south and ran across a cave labelled Bloodcrust. No gobs this time – it was bloody vampires! I didn't know, I thought "oh, bandits" and didn't change my mind until I got a good look at the first one. Then I downed a fresh feather potion, lifted the most promising loot and beat it.

I was already starting to feel a bit strange, and Agnete the Pickled cut ceremonies short, saying, "Now get outa here! I'd rather be pickled than sick!"

So what do you do when lurgi strikes? Well, for some reason I immediately thought of the chapel. Maybe I didn't have a potion. I can't remember. I do know that the priest attendant gave me the stink-eye all the time I was there. I mean, by the Nine, I was scared, of course a man runs to the altar!

So I turn to leave and almost walk straight into this Imperial guardsman with a "don't muck me around" expression. A bit like dad when he'd caught me out in a lie, or wagging on my chores.

"A little bird tells me you've been asking about Glarthir," he states. Not asks, states. In that way which asks if you want to get caught in an obvious lie. Maybe he'd taken lessons from dad.

"Damn right," says I, "There I am waiting for Gunder to open shop, and he fronts up and says meet me round the back of the chapel here. And he's never seen me before, as that was my first time in Skingrad! Of course I try to find out who this drongo is."

"Well," says he, "since you've been honest with me, let me tell you: Glarthir's crazy."

"Say no more," says I, "I'll stay away from the dork."

"No, no!" says Dion, "I keep an eye on him, and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know if he asks you to do anything strange."

So I'm all yes sir and three bags full sir and I decide that I need to get away from Skingrad sharpish. I don't like vampires and I don't like hanging around potentially dangerous crazy people. Then again writing this I reckon you could lump a fair few of the Mage's Guild in the latter group.

Anyway Sinderion was delighted I had the ten nirnroot he needed, so I decided some nice quiet foraging was in order. I headed south past Bloodcrust to an Ayleid riun, Silorn, which sits at the headwaters of the river which keeps Cyrodiil and Valenwood from banging into each other. No nirnroot, so I wobbled north via Howling Cave (undead), Fort Vlasterus (vampires again), and finally reached Grayrock Cave which I rested up in after clearing away some imps.

[haute ecole rider]

Your narrative style continues to make me smile and laugh.

But no comments about the musical beds in Skingrad Mages Guild?

[mALX]

Your writing style makes the story, no matter what your character is doing it becomes interesting and funny because of the way you have written it - I love this!

[Cardboard Box]

Well, to be honest Ra'Jirra still hadn't stayed the night in a guildhall. He didn't know!

[mALX]

Well, to be honest Ra'Jirra still hadn't stayed the night in a guildhall. He didn't know!

Yes, there is quite a bit of funny business that goes on in the Skingrad Mages Guild at night - and the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary as well. Vicente's slab gets quite a bit of action.

[SubRosa]

Well, to be honest Ra'Jirra still hadn't stayed the night in a guildhall. He didn't know!

Lucky for him. I am still emotionally scarred from waking up with Vigge the Cautious next to me in bed!

Another rollicking fun installment! I especially liked the comparison of Dion to Ra'jirra's father. That was a good touch.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 25 2010, 09:39 PM

[Zalphon]

Not bad writing.

[Cardboard Box]

OOC: This next chapter invokes one of the Unique Landscapes mods. Also Ra'jirra's trying delaying tactics before explaining one of the Mage's Guild's most enduring mysteries.
Chapter 4. In which Ra'Jirra comes to the Imperial City

After a couple hours I woke up feeling refreshed, stronger, smarter and actually nimbler. There's three things to thank for this: lugging all my worldly goods around; cooking up a storm of potions; and bowplay. Sure, I knew a fair whack of spells, but like I said before. Backup plans. Then again, I'd also twigged that having a few bits of armour were better than none.

So refreshed, I got cocky and fell over the edge into the lower level of Grayrock and had to exit via the Shambles! More damn imps and some poor bugger who'd carked it. Nice magic axe.

About this time I noticed that I was getting a bit heavy-laden. I had a think and decided the best thing was to take off to the Imperial City, flog some loot and find out about long-term housing. Lugging gear is nice for building up strength, but at the same time having a fixed place to call home means you don't end up all queasy and farting from feather potions. Also I'd heard of the big city and wanted to see it close up.

Once I got out of Grayrock – would've been 4 Heartfire by now – I mucked around the Great Forest for a bit after steel-blue entoloma. Mix those mushies with flax seeds and you have a restorative for magicka – just what I wanted! I also wasted time trying to follow a rumour about the ruin of Ceyatatar having a secret entrance. All I found was mushrooms and an angry bear.

So I finally say bugger that and take off down the road and pretty soon I'm at the Wawnet Inn in Weye. Decent place, like most inns it's dark, slightly burnt-smelling, with the bar area downstairs and the rooms above. It almost reminded me of home, except for the door being in one piece. At home the inn door is in three pieces: one holds the other two in place after an obnoxious patron was chucked out.

"Can I interest you in a bed?" asks Nerussa the publican, "or maybe some wine?" Well! That's a bit unusual, thinks I, but at least it doesn't involve dissembling or homicidal magi.

Anyhow, Nerussa's pretty for an altmer and apparently something of a wine buff. "What I really need for my collection is Shadowbanish Wine," she explains.

Well! Over at Vlasterus I'd run across a couple of old bottles, and out of the pack they come. You should have seen her face! Eyes went almost as big as her chest and I'm dead certain she dribbled a bit too. Anyhow she asked me to find more, wanted half a dozen as it happened. So after that I thought for a bit and took off for the Merchant's District of the big IC.

I made it as far as the entrance of Merchant's Inn before my third-to-last feather potion conked out. I needed the second-to-last one to get to my purchased bed, and the the following morning my last one tided me over long enough to flog a marauder's armour and some flawless rubies and diamonds to an old Redguard called Rhossan. "These are great," she told me as she put them aside, "I need them for a special order this week."

Then she grinned at me. "The rest I can gouge that thermos Hamlof at Red Diamond for!"

Speaking of dicks, that Orc at Smash and Slash gouged me for a trade-in on a silver war axe. I'd wanted one ever since I saw a big silver battle-axe in Morvayn's. I think he wanted to belt me over the head with it at the time.

After that I popped into the Chamber of Commerce and learned I could score a dwelling not in the city (damn), but outside it in the Waterfront District. A shack for four grand. The price sounded reasonable, after all it was in the big city, so I told the bird I was speaking to that I'd go scrape up the dosh and be back.

She looked so grateful when I said that she almost wept. Hardly surprising, since according to her all she ever hears is complaints. Nowadays, all I seem to hear is complaints too. Stuff 'em. I'm here to run the Mage's bloody Guild, not a morgue.

So, my first real impressions of the Imperial City, as opposed to oh-gods-where's-the-nearest-bloody-hostelry, were of... well, unity is the first word I can think of. The whole city is contained in the walls of an ancient Ayleid stronghold, which in turn is divided into six parts around the central tower. All the buildings are equally uniform, and made as big blocks with several houses or shops inside. It's all very defensible, but I found it confusing at first. Unless you know where you're going, and look for signs, you can go round in circles.

The Arboretum is an entire district to itself and is lovely. Nobody saw me pluck a few entolomas, and they didn't seem fussed when I finally gave in to curiosity and popped a manhole to the sewers. I won't go into details there, but I ended up coming out on the east side of the island. After a nasty incident involving mistaking a mountain lion for a deer, I said "playtime's over" to myself and took off for Bravil.

This journey was where I found the unicorn some have seen me ride. Close by the road, south of the Inn of Ill Omen, you can see an oddly blighted patch; Harcane Grove. It was here I found the unicorn, and rode it all the way to Bravil.

The problem is that it always manages to escape any cinching and start heading back to the damn grove. One time I parked up on Niben Bay and next thing I know it's in the drink and steaming north for home!

And if you're thinking I'm stalling before telling what happened in Bravil, and why someone always whistles lewdly when I leave the guildhall there, you're right.

But if you see me riding a unicorn, you probably aren't as drunk as you think.