.___________ .Sir Rorik ___________ Tordas, 25nd of Sun’s Dusk The next morning it was sunny, which was absolutely stunning after several days of blah-weather. Laprima ate a sweet roll and drank a flask of tea. Fussed her raven-colored hair a bit, and selected one of the two finer outfits she’d brought. Sir Rorik appeared to consider himself as upscale, so she believed her chances at convincing him would be better enhanced by a prettier set of clothing. Also, Rorik probably took his status as the village’s leader more seriously than Dragon Bridge’s current drunken substitute. …Which means there was no way Laprima would be wearing the same tunic and skirt she’d worn while traveling the roads, participating in combat and such.
She strode up the hill, found Rorik’s ‘manor’ (which has been placed into quotes because the place looked merely similar to all the other homes in the village: ordinary, common stonework mortared randomly together, with a thick roof of thatch). She knocked on the door, and waited to be invited inside, saying a quick prayer to Dibella, to Zenithar, whoever was willing to accept her wishes.
Though she considered herself to be a neophyte when it came to combat, she thought she might stand on better turf when it came to verbal cajoling. Let’s see if all those Bard’s College Speechcraft lessons would now pay off!
Once inside, she noted the place was rather dark. Asked Rorik if it'd be okay if she could cast a spell of Candlelight, to which he seemed delighted. Wonderful. Off to a good start, it seemed.
“Greetings, milord,” she began. As she did so, she tried her best to appear more delightful than she was actually feeling (which wasn’t entirely peachy). Especially after losing a comrade. Especially after three solid days of wariness while traveling in cold weather.
The previous night as she lay in bed, she recalled a few court engagements she’d witnessed down in Cyrodiil. She reviewed what'd gone right and what had gone wrong with these engagements, so she could possibly emulate some of their better aspects now. For instance, entering court with a grimace or a frown straight away would often lead to an instant downturn of events, from what she’d seen. Did not matter how badly those crops were failing, did not matter how angry a peasant was about the latest increase in taxes, starting presentation with a hard face could immediately be taken the wrong way. -- Because members of nobility weren’t often as 'connected' with the concerns of other classes, guilds, or factions.
Oftentimes, they had never experienced the plights of everyday commoners, everyday payment of tariffs in the everyday world, and so on. Rarely were they as personable as Elisif (who hadn’t been nicknamed ‘the Fair’ without reason). What they often responded best to had little to do with reality.
“My name is Laprima Anne Donnaugh,” she started, inserting some down-home Cyrodiilic charm into her voice, lightly drawling those
Rs, for instance. “And I am here on behalf of Lady Elisif of Solitude. And, well… how are we this fine morning, sire?”
"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude but Jouane's the one who deals with people,” Rorik began, his eyes reluctant to engage. “I'm afraid I lost my charm years ago.”
“Oh! But why discredit thyself?” was the ambassador’s upbeat reply. Note: she was making sure to stick with an older vernacular method of speech while navigating Second Person pronouns: ‘ye’ and ‘thyself’ rather than ‘you’ and ‘yourself’. Apparently, such ways of speaking had been popular during previous eras in Tamriel, and were sometimes better appreciated amongst the upper classes.
“We’ve got sunshine," she continued, "glorious and warm just outside the door!” As she spoke she made grand gestures with her hands and arms, gestures which wouldn't seem out of place during
Headmaster’s Trial, the college’s currently-canceled play. “We’ve got our lives and our loves and possibly libations, forsooth,” she added, her flowery, poetic gabbing the result of some stream-of-consciousness intellect.
Good grief... If Sixousie, Sirdasa, and Chamany could only see me now… Now to change the subject toward the actual, intended subject. Very important to keep the conversation going, now giving Sir Rorik a chance to possibly flatter himself. "So, from what I understand, this village has been nameth straight from thy efforts,” she said with a curtsy. “Rorik of Rorikstead, forged from thy very own namesake.”
“Yes, that's right,” the man’s unenthusiastic demeanor lifted just a tad, like a crowbar prying under a rock. “Look around you. Most of the lands you see are mine.” Rorik explained that long ago, while his comrades were helping the Empire fight the Aldmeri Dominion to the south, he was able purchase most of the property they were standing on. The ground hadn’t originally been as ready for agriculture back then, but after months and years of seeding, plowing, and rotating they’d ultimately been successful with crops. Local population grew, travelers attracted, the Frostfruit Inn began to thrive, and so on. Perhaps a merchant shop could open if things kept improving.
Splendid. Feeling encouraged, Laprima next made sure to subtly direct Rorik to relive a moment of bravery, asking about his war-efforts as a younger man. At this very moment her shimmering light spell fizzled. And maybe it'd be rude to replenish it. The room became dimmer.
“I commanded a force of several dozen troops,” he stated with a measure of pride. He further described that he’d almost lost his life after a particularly nasty bout against the Aldmeri. “Jouane saved my life. He’s been my closest confidante since.”
Ah, so that explains it. Laprima made a quick mental calculation, evaluating progress so far. Opinion? Well, she hadn’t been kicked out of the elder's manor yet! Which meant she was (so far) performing this presentation with perhaps some measure of success. She still had Rorik’s attention. Hadn’t been directed away from him and toward his confidante, ‘Jouane’. Perhaps it was time to sweeten the honey, to make an attempt at Jarl Elisif’s pitch.
Her countenance changed from embarrassingly sunny to mildly serious.
“So, as mentioned, I am from Solitude, with a delivery from Jarl Elisif herself.”
“Ah-hah,” Rorik’s brow furrowed.
“As can be seen, here is the official writ I’ve been tasked to deliver,” she said, handing the scroll which'd been wax-stamped by the palace's scribe. Rorik took the scroll, broke the stamp, unfurled it, took a minute to read.
“A request for re-alliance with the Empire?” his brow knitted, apparently confused. “But Whiterun Hold has already been taken.”
Uh oh.
“And that is where Our Lady’s request becomes pertinent."
Don't break stride, Laprima, thought she. "For thy supporting of the Imperials was once quite fervent, quite absolute, from what’s been stated upon record, correct?”
“Yes I was firmly sided with the Empire, but….”
Laprima’s face changed again. Now attempting to portray some sort of gravity and the actual situation at hand, her expression went from mildly serious to grim and determined. Her affect was subtle. If she’d walked in the door with such heavy expression, chances are she’d now be speaking to Squire Jouane instead of Sir Rorik. So went her opinion, anyhow.
“General Tullius, and Jarl Elisif beside him, have need for more of a declarative decision now that things have turneth for the worst, your eminence,” she said, slipping away from the previous olden way of Second Person referrals. “A certain and definite fording of voice toward regardance of territory.”
Rorik looked back down at the scroll in his hands. Said nothing.
“Should it be that you decide to reaffirm sides with the Empire, allocations can be made, money, is what I speak of. Coin, to support whatever 'tis you shalt percept to require in times to come, especially during this current, lamentable period of war.”
“Hmm.”
“Troops, as well. For instance, I do notice that though you’ve got a couple guards marching up and down Rorikstead’s avenue, they don’t necessarily appear to be Stormcloaks. Tullius and Elisif, they offer a very secure
promise they can provide, if need be. Aye, Whiterun itself has been captured, but this does not mean outlying portions of Whiterun Hold are to remain under Ulfric’s grimy hands.”
“I see. Looks as though I've got a decision to make.”
“Ah. So what might this decision be?" the ambassador asked, her tone of voice attempting befuddlement, as though she herself did not have an answer. --
Important to let the man believe he's the one thinking this through...-- But after a minute or so without reply, Laprima couldn't help a bit of urgency.
Make it sound as though the rebels are headed right this way... "I apologize for being abrupt, but time is of the essence, sire!”
“Well as you know, I have been allied with the Empire in the past," he began somberly. "Elisif's charter is quite convincing. Which I mean to say, my mind remains affixed. Seems to me Ulfric cannot possibly allow the likes of Rorikstead to exist without some drastic change. Dunmer and beastfolk, for instance. From what I hear, Ulfric Stormcloak looks down upon their kind; would BANISH these inhabitants from Windhelm if he could." Gaining a bit of angst, he pumped his fist weakly in the air. "Ennis, one of Rorikstead's farmers, is Redguard. Suppose Ulfric someday wishes to oust those of Hammerfell descent? Or place additional tariffs upon outsiders?"
Laprima remained silent, her expression puzzled.
"Well, if those are truly his ways," he continued, "I cannot abide and support such policies.”
For a moment neither of them said anything. And Laprima was having trouble trying to decipher Rorik's rambling reply.
Was that a yes? "To clarify, I shall sign the charter," he said. He searched a nearby desk for a moment, found a quill. Inked his signature where the Blue Palace's scribe had left an empty box.
Goodness. "Many thanks!" the ambassador said, a little too enthusiastically perhaps.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I must attend to many important matters, posthaste!"
And with that, the noble vacated his manor, leaving Laprima wondering what important matters there could be? Once both of them were outside, she observed the village's leader, as he began gazing over the latest crop of cabbage and rhubarb.
-----------------------------------------
Persuasion Success! ------------------------------------------
Notes:
1). The actual persuasion moment was when she says “So what might your decision be….” and I admit I made this into a Very Easy attempt rather than anything tough. Rorik seems rather indifferent either way, but his past siding with the Empire does give a rather forceful clue.
When she gets to Falkreath though
that attempt will be tougher.