My many thankses to all of you...*Bows head in gratitude*...
Though a note to Acadian, the long-boat on the roof of the Companions' home is just awesome to look at...When I did the...Research...Not playing...No it wasn't...I was - yet again - stunned by the idea of turning the boat over and using it as a roof...Mad those Bethesda people are...
...
Where we were - J'Zirlo had been taking in the sights of the city of Whiterun in Skyrim, and now - finally
- he'd reached the home of the Companions, Jorrvaskr and headed inside...
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As I walked forward of the doors, I heard what I would call, more
traditional Nordic sounds – Cheering, clapping, banging tankards on tables and above all else, the sound of one person striking another repeatedly about the head with something.
Olfsson had decided to engage himself in a fist-fight - as he does – with a small Dark-Elf and a fellow Nord lady. Well, I say
lady. Her impressive knowledge of curses suggested maybe too many trips to the docks...Maybe...J’Zirlo has no idea, he is only saying, is all.
I watched as they attempted to take Olfsson at once from both sides of what appeared to be a cleared practice area in an otherwise furniture-full room.
The lopsided grin on Olfsson’s face told me he was really enjoying this. There really was no way they could hurt him, so he was just play acting with them.
The Dunmer punched low at the same time the Nord girl went high, friend Olfsson took the punch to the stomach with an “Oof!” but that was all, he was concentrating on not having his head removed by the right hook that seemed determined to do so. His head snapped backwards to avoid the punch just as his hands shot up to catch the extended arm of the girl, he pulled her arm forward and around her so that it made the girl twirl, then he pushed her away and kicked her in the behind so that she sprawled into the chairs and a couple of onlookers. Much laughing! And cursing...Much cursing. How did one discover so many variations? Even Khajiit didn’t know
some of them. Anyways, even as Olfsson’s foot connected with Nordic rear, he used the twist back to catch the Dunmer under his guard and cause him to fly through the air into other chairs. More cheering! Olfsson looked over to me and grinned broadly, Ah! My brother! I bowed my head to him, just as a particularly vicious stream of curses barrelled into Olfsson’s midriff and carried him backwards into other chairs. Needless to say, more cheering!
My viewing pleasure was interrupted when friend Farkas approached I, with an older, bearded man at his side.
“J’Zirlo, this is Kodlak Whitemane, he in charge of keeping us honest.” Farkas grinned.
The other grinned and looked at Farkas as he said, “No easy task, I assure you.” He turned to me and walked forwards with his hand extended. I shook it as he said, “My name was not always Kodlak, but when you become the Companion’s Harbinger or spiritual guide, that’s what happens. Whitemane has followed me for a goodly few years, thanks to my mother.” He grinned.
“J’Zirlo of New Kvatch,” I said as I shook his hand, “
also thanks to
my mother.” And grinned.
The Kodlak’s eyebrows raised and there seemed to be a question on his lips, but then his eyes looked right and his head turned fractionally towards Farkas, who was watching the fight anyway. Whitemane said, “Wolfshead over there, which is, by the way, possibly the most ironic name of anyone who’s ever wanted to be here, said you were both ex-Legion.”
“Wolfshead?” said I.
“
Yes, your
friend Olff Wolfshead?” The Kodlak was frowning.
Olff Wolfshead? What on Nirn was the man talk-
Oooohhhh.
The name Olfsson was likely as famous in Cyrodiil as McWylde’s, and probably figured to change his name up here, should needs be. Shame “Wolfshead” couldn’t have said something to Khajiit earlier no? It seems as though even
Olfsson was better at this “snooping” than I. Khajiit hadn’t even changed where we were from.
I may have flattened my ears in shock and embarrassment.
“Ah yes, Wolfshead. Khajiit apologizes, we spent too long in the tavern last night. Khajiit mistakenly believed we could out-drink him.” I pointed to where Olfsson currently had the girl off the floor and held aloft with one hand, until she twisted and with a kick to his face, freed herself and sent Olfsson backwards into a third set of chairs. Surprisingly enough, more cheering.
Whitemane laughed and applauded. “Brave lad you. We Nords could out-drink
anything. I may tell you one day of the time my father outdrank a Giant out at his wateringhole on the plain out there.
“But that
is for another day, and should you pass this first test.
"I need to see if you can genuinely handle yourselves. Although, granted, there’s not many who could take those two on and still stand,” Whitemane gestured over to the fight, “but I also need to know whether you can handle your swords in a steel fight.”
“We are
very well trained.” I assured the man.
“That’s as maybe, but we’ll have Vilkas check how the Cyrodillian standards could have fallen down the years.” Whitemane grinned and called out to those watching the fight.
Ah! Friend Vilkas, he looked a lot like his brother – the same black hair – but he was taller than Farkas, of a slighter build. He had dark circles tattooed around his eyes, and several scars which suggested many fights.
He approached the three of us.
“Could you take young J’Zirlo here and Wolfshead out and test their...Ahem...Metal?”
“Of course.” He paused, about to say something.
Whitemane sighed. “Go on.”
“Is it wise to let these two in, we already have a full compliment. We have no idea who these two actually are.”
“Maybe not, but we do not have anything
like a full compliment of Companions, as well you know. We do
not, either, turn away those who ask to join without first finding out whether they can help us, Vilkas. And it’s not your place to question.”
“But I-”
“Enough Vilkas, test them...Please.”
I looked between the two men, some sort of unspoken fight was going on here, I could feel it.
Vilkas looked at me and asked to see my sword. I drew it. A long ebony blade that I had wrought myself after Zenithar had blessed me. Its dark length inlaid with gold tracing. The crosspiece had more tracing on.
Vilkas’ jaw dropped.
Whitemane frowned again and looked at me. “I know a man who’d be very interested to speak to you.”
Olfsson had stopped fighting when he heard my sword leave its scabbard and looked over. Unfortunately, this was the point when the two Companions were in front of him, and a punch from the girl’s right hand hit friend Olfsson at the same time as the Dunmer’s left, and Olfsson went down hard. And as a change, more cheering
and clapping.
“Uh...Okay.” said Vilkas. “Come on then, outside.”
I looked to where I had deposited my pack.
“Oh, don’t worry about thieves in here...We’re paid too much to need to steal stuff.” Said friend Farkas, “Unless you play cards with Torvar,
then your money will disappear.”
With a shrug, I walked around the long, three-sided table in the centre of the room, and followed friend Vilkas out the back of Jorrvaskr.
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This post has been edited by McBadgere: Apr 15 2012, 05:05 AM