Teresa of the Faint Smile, Adventures of a Stringy Bosmer Options

[SubRosa]

haute ecole rider: Ever since I wrote The Witch of Lake Trasimene and borrowed Destri's name, I have been waiting for this part to reveal that he was Chance's father. I just wish our own Destri was around these days to see just what I was doing with him!


Acadian: I was looking for a way to make poker seem more ES, so the full castle just seemed perfect. For the most part I get Ancondil's speech from early 19th century pieces, like Jane Austen's work. Basically he speaks like Darcy would (albeit without jumping into a pond first!).


Sir Graves ghastley: Unfortunately for Teresa that way will not be toward an evening with Tadrose!


Winter Wolf: Wolfie! Welcome back! Down the rabbithole indeed. Just as with the Oblivion Crisis, Teresa is seeing that her life is inexorably bound up with those of certain others.


Olen: I had a lot of fun writing Teresa pretending to know Juno Austenius and asking Tadrose out! You are right, Tadrose does indeed seem to appreciate the attention.

I had to work on the doilie line. At first I wanted Vincent to say something like "Chick Alert!" then go into the part about knitting. But I just could not make it sound setting-friendly. So in the end I had to drop the first part. I am glad it still works though!

Storm-Tail is another of those characters whom I set up way back, in this case in The Battle of Bruma, where we met his father Morning-Star.


Next: Teresa met a new member of the FG last chapter, and learned that Chance's father may have been one of the bandits she found at Vilverin. Next she sets sail up the Niben to find out if it is true.


Chapter 31.3 - Inheritance

Well, so much for the play, Teresa thought glumly, or her chance to make stuffed cabbage.

She stared at the waves that surrounded the small boat in which she sat. A coast filled with farmland and occasional fishing villages rose to the left, but to the right the glassy surface of Niben Bay went on forever. Chance sat before her at the prow of the sixteen foot dory in which they rode, while Aleron Loche was behind her at the tiller.

A sprit-rigged sail caught the wind above them, pulling the small craft to the north. Now that she was finally sitting in a dory, Teresa had a better view of the uneven, four-cornered sail that powered it. It looked like a malformed triangle, with an extra line in the front where the mast was. She could see that a spar ran up at a diagonal from the lower end of the mast. The head of the sail angled up from the top of the mast to join the tip of this spar, then gracefully swept down to the boat below. The bottom of the sail hung loose, with no boom at all to secure it.

At least that meant they did not have to worry about it swinging around and knocking them in the head, Teresa mused.

Screenshot

"I still think you're crazy for wanting to leave now," Aleron said. "It'll be dark in a few hours, we should wait until morning."

"The galleons sail through the river at night," Chance rumbled from the prow. "You can too."

"They have enough crew to man them around the clock," the pudgy Breton grumbled. "I have to sleep sometime. Besides, I can't see in the dark. This trip will be real quick if we run into rocks and rip out the hull!"

"You can wear my goggles," Teresa offered, digging them from her pack and handing them to the Breton. "They have a night eye enchantment."

The fisherman mumbled something about debts under his breath. He obviously had places he'd rather be. Teresa sympathized. She would rather have spent the evening with Tadrose than in a cramped boat with two men.

Since she already had her pack open, she drew forth a round loaf of bread and broke off a piece. Dipping it in a small jar of olive oil, she offered it to Aleron, then gave another piece to Chance, and finally took one for herself. They ate in silence, and the boat made its way north.

Teresa stared at the shore, watching the villages go by as they sailed on. It had been a nearly solid line of settlements and cultivated land just outside of Bravil. But as the hours slipped away, the villages thinned out, giving way to wider and wider patches of wilderness between them. By the time night was closing in the farms had disappeared altogether, and only the occasional fishing village rose from the shore.

Just like outside of Cheydinhal and Chorrol, Teresa mused. All the farms were nestled close to the protection of the city.

On they went through the darkness, and Teresa could understand Aleron's misgivings. With only the light of the stars above, the water had become a sheet of black satin. The shore had disappeared into the murk, and was now just a memory. It might be ten feet away for all the wood elf knew. Or it could be a mile distant. She had no idea either way.

Well at least Aleron could see with the goggles, Teresa mused as she spared a glance at the flabby Breton. She remembered her first day at the Fighters Guild. Tadrose had said that she had no idea how the Breton had been paying for his sword lessons. Now she knew. Pappy had made an arrangement with him to sail guild members around the Niben. Teresa wondered how many of their contracts and training sessions were like that? Not for money, but rather bartered for services in return.

Masser and Secunda were high in the sky by the time they pulled into shore and made a hasty camp. The dory which they sailed within was so small that Aleron had no need for a dock. He simply pulled the boat up onto the strand, and they rolled out their bedrolls beside it.

The fisherman was asleep and snoring within minutes. Chance fidgeted, and since he was clearly not going to be sleeping any time soon, Teresa suggested that he take the first watch. While he paced about the boat, she sat with her back against the hull of the dory.

She dug her hands into the loam beneath her and closed her eyes. Breathing deeply in and out, she journeyed to her Astral Temple. There she called upon the spirits of the land to show her the history of the place in which she sat. Thanks to them, she saw that they were now on the Upper Niben River, rather than in the bay. Other than that there was nothing unusual to see. The river flowed by and the trees swayed in the breeze. The winter snows came, followed by spring flowers, over and over again. Occasionally a ship sailed past. Life went on quietly in the wild.

Teresa woke as the sun inched over the horizon, to find Chance still pacing along the shore. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she yawned and stretched.

"You were supposed to wake me up for my turn on watch," she said as she rose to her feet.

"I figured I'd just let you sleep," the Redguard said. "I'd be up anyway."

Teresa nodded. How would she feel if someone had told her that Simplicia was dead? She probably would not be able to rest until she knew for certain if it was true or false.

"So what was your father like?" she said. She wanted to ask how he went from Hammerfell to being a bandit in Cyrodiil, but did not think it the best time to pry that deeply.

"He was the best father a kid could have," Chance said quietly, his face turned to the rising sun. "When I was little, he used to take me down to the ocean and we'd fish in the surf. We hardly ever caught anything, but I didn't care. He'd tell me stories about the old days in Yokuda, or the Ra'Gada, or how our ancestor Lakene fought alongside Cyrus himself. He was always full of stories. No surprise I guess, he was named after a Redguard historian after all: Destri Melarg."

"When I started to get older, he wasn't around as much. He was a warrior in King Lhotun's service, and got sent to Dak'Fron. It's this town in the desert, an important caravan stop. He still wrote to me and mother, in spite of how much it cost. We'd have just moved, but my mother runs a little tavern by the docks in Sentinel. It's not much, just a watering hole for locals, but she had to take out a loan to start it up. She's still paying it off, and will be for years."

By then Aleron was waking as well, and Chance became less talkative. They shared a cold breakfast of more bread, and then were off into the river again. The V-shaped hull of the dory rocked wildly as they started out. Teresa grabbed the gunwales, fearing the boat was going to tip over, but Aleron just laughed.

"These dories are all like that," he said. "She'll stiffen up once we're underway. Don't you worry, it takes a lot to sink one of these. You can even take 'em on the open ocean."

It did smooth out soon after. In no time at all the Breton had the strange-looking sail up into the wind, and they were cruising north once more. Teresa could see the eastern bank of the Niben in the distance, and imagined that the river had to be well over a mile in width. That must be why the big ocean-going ships could sail it, the wood elf imagined. There was no way one of those giants would go up a little river like the Larsius after all.

The morning passed quietly. Occasionally they passed isolated villages along the shore, and near them fishing boats like their own bobbed in the river. Magnus was at his highest when Teresa saw the white stones of an Arimer ruin on the eastern shore. Some of the broken columns rose from the waves itself, and many were covered in vines and moss. A small boat was pulled up to the riverbank, but there was no sign of anyone near it, or anywhere else around the ruin.

That must be Culotte, Teresa thought. She knew of no other Arimer site on the Upper Niben.

"Who's boat is that?" she asked Aleron, pointing toward her discovery.

"Don't know," the Breton shrugged. "Probably treasure hunters. Or it could be university mages. Maybe even smugglers. None of our business I say."

They sailed on, leaving Teresa to wonder who was visiting the ruin, or living there?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 7 2011, 02:49 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Loved the boat ride up the Upper Niben toward the Lake. Also enjoyed meeting Aleron here. Much better than in my fan fic! Here we get to see what he really could have been had he not played such a tragic part in game.

I liked that you included the sketch of a dory. It really helps to visualize the sailing ship as you describe it (though I already had a good mental visual just from your description alone).

I did see one nit:

"These dories are all like that," he said. "She'll stiffen up once were underway.

Seems to me your apostrophe became seasick and went overboard!

[ghastley]

I like how you make the whole place seem so much bigger than the game.

My only criticism is Chance's line:

"The galleons sail down the river at night," Chance rumbled from the prow. "You can too."

It reads like he's saying that they're going down the river too, but they're going up. Maybe just take "down" out?

This post has been edited by ghastley: Mar 6 2011, 07:04 PM

[Thomas Kaira]

O' Destri, where art thou? I've seen you lurking from time to time, but that's not the same. Why have you forsaken us, master Redguard?

I do hope this trip helps Chance find some closure.

It's always fun to go sailing... until your stomach decides to keelhaul itself. If anyone wishes to place a bet on who will be first, the window is open until the next chapter gets posted! Place your bets now, winner takes all, and I take all winners!

[Acadian]

Thank you for lavishing quite a bit of attention to this wonderful river trip. It was most enjoyable!

Very neat, the bartering arrangement Pappy has worked out with Aleron.

'She dug her hands into the loam beneath her and closed her eyes.'
That's our wood elf!

'Teresa nodded. How would she feel if someone had told her that Simplicia was dead? She probably would not be able to rest until she knew for certain if it was true or false.'
Ok, so we don't know Chance all that well yet. But we sure know Simplicia and Teresa. What a chillingly effective way to slam Chance's tragedy right into Teresa's (and our) hearts.

'Magnus was at his highest when Teresa saw the white stones of an Arimer ruin on the eastern shore'
Your world building has been so effective that it would never occur to me for Teresa to say Ayleid instead Arimer.

A mystery at Culotte? Oooh! I wonder how soon or if that will factor in to TF.

Nit? Perhaps not.
"When I started to get older, he wasn't as around as much.'
This is dialogue, and you can have Chance speak as you wish of course. Perhaps the wording he used is intentional, or perhaps the extra 'as' is not intentional. Simply take a peek at it and keep/change as you deem best.

[Grits]

In 31.2 I loved the cozy scene in the common area. Juno Austenius indeed! Teresa’s “I’ve seen all of her plays” flub should give Tadrose a clue, even though it was an embarrassing one. And then, oh my goodness! Teresa’s shattered glass is what happened to Chance. I wonder where this turn of events will take them?

Then 31.3, the boat trip. I guess it might have been more fun with a pitcher of mai tais than it was with a stressed-out, sleep deprived Redguard pacing the boat. Poor Chance, his mental anguish really comes through.

[SubRosa]

haute ecole rider: That sprit rigged sail is hard to describe. I wonder who came up with the idea? Still, it is a very effective sail, and common for the dories, so I used it. I actually put a great deal of time into researching small fishing boats before settling on the dory as the standard one for Cyrodiil.


ghastley: Bigger is my goal for the TF. The game scale works for a video game, but not for a believable fiction setting. It is just way to small.

I looked over your nit, and changed it to 'through', that way it can apply to either direction.


Thomas Kaira: I never really thought about seasickness! I guess I should have. Obviously Aleron would not be prone. One would hope that Chance would not be either, not after making the trip by sea from Hammerfell to Bravil, in the top masts no less! That would just leave Teresa... But I never imagined her as the sea sick type.


Acadian: A much better journey up river than Marlow had in Heart of Darkness/Willard in Apocalypse Now!

Look for more of those bartering agreements in the future. There will be several. We will see the mystery of Culotte revealed next chapter as well.

I looked at your nit. I had originally intended it that way, but on further thought, went and changed it.


Grits: Poor Teresa and her backfired attempt to impress Tadrose! Yet Tadrose did take her hand and offer to read to her from the book afterward...


Next: In our previous episode, Teresa and Chance set sail up the Niben with Aleron Loche. Next, the Imperial City.


Chapter 31.4 - Inheritance

It was late in the afternoon when the river narrowed and its banks began to rise sharply. Soon they found themselves sailing between high granite cliffs to either side. The tumbled-down stones of an ancient castle rose on the western shore, obviously long-since abandoned. A massive bridge of stone, bronze, and steel spanned the nearly mile-wide gap between the cliffs on either side of the river. Teresa's eyes widened at the sight. She could see wagons and horses making their way across it, tiny in the distance above. The massive structure seemed to float in the sky, and the wood elf wondered how on Nirn it did not come crashing down into the river?

"Damn," she heard Chance gasp from the prow of the dory. "Will you look at that…"

"Yep, that makes you sit up and take notice alright," Aleron said as he guided the boat under the great bridge. Its metal spars curved hundreds of feet above, creating a home for numerous birds. It was much higher than the masts of any galleon, let alone Aleron's tiny boat. "I heard one of the Remans built it, back in the First Era."

Then the fisherman pointed ahead, and Teresa turned to follow his gesture. Before her spread a vast lake, its blue waters stretching out as far as the eye could see.

"That's Lake Rumare," the Breton said. "We'll make the Imperial City sometime tomorrow."

Sailing into the lake, they turned west and hugged the southern shore until darkness closed in. Then they put into the next village they came across to spend the night. Teresa dug into her purse to buy them all a meal of hot soup-in-bread from a local family, and the two men spent the night sleeping in the village's communal barn. Teresa did not join them however, instead she spread out her bedroll under the stars outside. Laying on her back to look up at them, she wondered what Tadrose might be doing as she dozed off to sleep. That night she dreamed of the dark elf, and when she woke, it was with more than just a faint smile.

After a short breakfast of polenta the next morning, they were on their way again. Aleron took them north across the lake until they reached the southern shores of the City Isle, and then followed the coast west. Rocky hills dusted with heather went by, and Teresa knew that the quarry where she and Methredhel had gone swimming was somewhere behind them.

Aleron was true to his word. The Waterfront of the Imperial City appeared on the horizon as Magnus began to fall from his zenith. While the City Isle stretched on to the right, the crescent-shaped island that made up the Waterfront loomed to their left. Yet the Breton turned their boat south, and sailed past the broad entrance of the bay between the two.

"Hey, where are you going?" Chance asked as they turned west once more and began to slide along the southern side of the long, slender Waterfront Isle. The fields upon it were green and dotted with heather, ending with a solid line of grey stone warehouses and insulas that faced the interior of the port. "That's it right there!"

"That's where the money goes," Aleron said, shaking his head with exasperation. "Galleons only. Fishing boats go on Cheapside."

Soon enough, Cheapside came into view. At its western end, the empty fields of the island gave way to a forest of tumbled down shacks, lean-tos, and tents that was larger than Bravil. Tens of thousands of raggedly-dressed people could be seen milling about the slum and crowding the shore. Numerous cooking fires rose from the sea of decrepitude, adding a sharp odor to the wind that blew from the east.

"That doesn't smell like woodsmoke," Chance said, wrinkling his nose.

"It's not," Teresa replied. "It's dung. Only rich people can afford wood."

"I've heard of people in the desert doing that with camel dung but…" Chance looked away, making a face.

"Cacat is big business down here," Teresa explained. "You might say it's the only industry the shantytown has. There are merchants who pay you to… contribute. They dry it out into flakes, and then sell it back to people. That's why they call this place the Chamber Pot. It has its charms though, dung fires burn a lot longer than wood ones."

"You sound like you know from personal experience," Aleron commented. They coasted past the end of the island, and he pulled the sail down from the mast.

"I lived here for three years," Teresa explained. She helped the fisherman with the canvas sheet. After a few days on the water, she was starting to get enough of a sense of how the boat worked to at least add some muscle-power to the Breton's efforts.

"I can't believe it," Chance said sourly as he stared out across the slum. "Even in Hammerfell, we hear stories about how grand the Imperial City is. The great insulas and basilicas, the bathhouses, the theaters, a market bigger than all of Sentinel… But this is just pathetic."

"This isn't the Imperial City. This is just its midden heap." Teresa helped Aleron break out the oars and fit them to their locks on the gunwales to either side of the craft. As the Breton took up the sweeps and began to pull away for the port, Teresa pointed to the City Isle on their left. "That's the city."

Crowning the escarpment that rose north of the Waterfront were the massive grey walls of the Imperial City. Topped by square crenellations and dotted with higher towers at regular intervals, the fortification brooded over the port below like a sullen tyrant. Rising from behind the center of the walls was a thin, white spire, stretching so high into the sky that it seemed to almost scrape the clouds themselves.

"That's White Gold Tower!" Chance gasped with wide eyes.

"You can always tell the new people," Aleron winked at Teresa as he worked the oars. "Always starin' up at that big, white prick!"

"Aleron!" Teresa exclaimed. Yet she could still not contain a faint smile at the fisherman's jibe.

"Well, what do you think the Ayleids made it like that for?" the fisherman said. "They wanted to show that theirs were bigger than anyone else's."

Even Chance - as caught up in newcomer's amazement as he was - laughed at that.

The Breton fisherman expertly rowed the small boat into the placid waters between the western half of Waterfront Isle and the larger City Isle to the north. Looking beyond him, Teresa saw the grey line of the stone causeway that linked both together at the center of the port, splitting it into eastern and western halves. From beyond it rose the tall masts of galleons docked in the far harbor. The quays that lined their own half of the port were taken up by small dories such as Aleron's however, as well as a few larger boats of twice the length.

Aleron found them an empty slip on the Waterfront Isle side of the docks, and climbed up with a rope in hand to tie the boat off. He may look flabby, Teresa thought as she clambered up after the fisherman, but he certainly knew his trade. Chance followed a moment later, and before they had time to even take a look around they found a quartet of men waiting for them.

First was an Imperial with snow white hair and a long, bushy beard. He was dressed in fine blue linen, and wore a jacket that was tailored to look like a uniform. Trailing him was another Imperial in his teens. This one wore plainer flax, and carried a large book in one hand and pot of ink in the other. Flanking the pair were two of the largest orcs Teresa had ever seen. Both wore mail, carried axes at their hips, and looked as friendly as slaughterfish.

"Aleron Loche," the white-haired Imperial sneered, staring first at the Breton fisherman, and then at Teresa and Chance. "Come to lose more of your money have you? That will be two remans a day for a vessel this size."

Aleron simply looked at Teresa, and she was obliged to dig out the copper coins and pass them to the harbormaster. "We'll only be here for the night," she said. "Tomorrow morning we will be on our way again."

"Well if you're not gone by noon, it's another two remans," the old Imperial gruffly declared as he made the coins vanish into his pocket. He turned to the younger man, who opened the log book and held it still while he wrote down an entry into it.

"Oh, and welcome to the Imperial City," the Imperial turned to say when he was finished. From the tone of his voice, Teresa felt as welcome as a pig in chapel.

The docks were buzzing with activity all around, as other dories came in and their crews began unloading their cargos of freshly-caught fish. People of all races filled the street that ran the inner length of the Waterfront Isle, competing with horse-drawn carts and wagons for space. Beyond the street towered row after row of stone warehouses, and down the lanes between them Teresa could glimpse taverns, brothels, gambling houses, and other dens of vice. In the center of them all rose a great basilica crowned by a statue of Kynareth. The goddess held a leaping fish in one hand, and a stylized gust of wind in the other.

Somewhere beyond that lay the Chamber Pot, Teresa knew. Out of sight - and as far as the Empire was concerned - out of mind

"Well, I'm for the Arena," Aleron declared. "I'll meet you here tomorrow morning."

He was off before Teresa could reply. For all that the Breton had complained during their voyage, now that they were in the Imperial City he certainly seemed quite pleased. She wondered if it was simply the bloodsport of the Arena that drew the fisherman, or if it was the gambling on the outcome? Given what the harbormaster had said, she imagined it was more the latter.

"I have never seen so many ships in my life," Chance whistled. "Sentinel's harbor isn't even half the size of this."

"You get used to it after a while," Teresa shrugged. All of the Redguard's normal male bluster had vanished. Instead he gaped openly at the metropolis around him. The same as everyone did their first time in the Imperial City, Teresa reflected. Aleron had been right about that indeed.

Teresa motioned for the Redguard to follow, and began the long walk around the port to the tunnel that connected the Waterfront to the rest of the city on the escarpment above. "Come on, let's get to Jensine's."

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 9 2011, 10:20 PM

[haute ecole rider]

What a wonderful description of the arrival at the Waterfront! Cheapside indeed! It all make so much sense here.

I had to laugh out loud:

"You can always tell the new people," Aleron winked at Teresa as he worked the oars. "Always starin' up at that big, white prick!"

"Aleron!" Teresa exclaimed. Yet she could still not contain a faint smile at the fisherman's jibe.

"Well, what do you think the Ayleids made it like that for?" the fisherman said. "They wanted to show that theirs were bigger than anyone else's."

Ain't that the frickin' truth!

[Thomas Kaira]

The mood of the last two chapters combined with this song... *sigh.* Isn't life grand?

Your description of the Waterfront really drives the point home about the destitute poverty these poor souls must contend with. You know, this mod is actually very agreeable with your version of the Waterfront, adding a whole slew of new run-down shacks, a tiny chapel to Kynareth, more ships in the rich port section, and the tiny, dilapidated docks in the poor district. It essentially does what you did, making the Waterfront into a self-sufficient shanty-town.

I would recommend it, but there's one catch: it carries a HUGE performance hit with it. Unless you have a powerful PC, you might not be able to handle it. Thankfully for me, my PC can take the heat, and I think Acadian probably could too (made all the better with the 7 Windows through which he can view it ), but it is a pretty brutal place for the game to render.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Mar 8 2011, 09:56 PM

[Grits]

I love the vast scale of Teresa’s Imperial City. I felt like I was sailing under the massive bridge with them. The nesting birds brought it to life.

They dry it out into flakes, and then sell it back to people. That's why they call this place the Chamber Pot.

And here I’ve been puzzling over how to heat Cloud Ruler Temple. They just need more poo.

It was nice to see Chance get all wide-eyed and impressed. I had to laugh at Aleron’s assessment of the Ayleids’ magnificent erection. Hopefully he won’t gamble away his boat.

[Acadian]

This was very immersive and a pleasure to read. Lovely descriptions, and 'tour guiding' us along the final portion of the river journey to the IC.

I really liked the official welcoming party of fee collectors. An old bureaucrat with a young one under training, accompanied by a pair of tusky 'enforcers'. Perfect!

Ah, life on the waterfront crafting alternative energy fuels; it's a sh!tty job, but someone has to do it.

It is nice that you retain Aleron's well-known gambling problem. I see his reputation precedes him, even in the big city.

[ghastley]

Again the world is a larger place. It's nice to have an Imperial City you can't walk across in ten minutes.

This line caught my eye
wore a jacket that was tailored to look like a uniform.
Subtly suggesting that he was not exactly acting an official capacity.

Neither of the Orcs would be in the gro-Dragol clan, would they?

[Olen]

Good parts (they're certainly coming quickly just now). The first one was a good boat trip, Chance got a bit more development, and Aleron kept himself to himself. I articularly enjoyed the boat at Culotte, I think we might be finding out more about it later, though those on the boat might be in for an unpleasant surprise...

But now we're tempted by another IC part, and then another ruin which should be excellent. I wonder if there'll be anyone moved in since she was there... but first I'm looking forward to see what Simplicia has to say.

nit: Both wore mail, carried axes at their hips, and looked as friendly as a slaughterfish. - the first two bits (the mail and axes) refer to both together while 'friendly as a slaughterfish' is singular. Dropping the 'a' might make it flow better, or saying something like 'Each wore mail, carried an axe...'.

[SubRosa]

haute ecole rider: For a long time I have wanted to add more definition to the Waterfront District, since people who read the TF often confuse the shantytown with the dock area. I was glad to finally come up with an actual name for the shantytown, to make it less confusing what the characters are talking about. Since the port is divided into two areas, I decided to further define it into one side for the big money ships, and one for the local fishermen.


Thomas Kaira: I love the LOTR soundtracks, especially the one for Fellowship. The really big cities in the ancient world like Rome, Alexandria, etc... had gigantic slums. Even today, one sixth of the world's population live in shanty towns. So I felt it proper for the Imperial City to have one as big as any of the outlying cities.


Grits: Well, you went with a similar method for Cloud Ruler Temple. You just chose natural gas instead... The Ayleid erection is something that just came to me as I was writing. I wanted Aleron to say something about White Gold Tower, and it was just perfect.


Acadian: I got the idea for the alternative fuel when I was looking at how I described the Waterfront Isle, and the southern half of the City Isle, as being fields of heather. Given that, I could not see a lot of firewood being available. So it got me to thinking about other cheap forms of fuel. At the same time, it gave me the perfect name for the shantytown - The Chamber Pot.

I am indeed retaining Aleron's gambling issues, which will play a part in future chapters...


ghastley: Actually, I was thinking exactly the opposite about the clothing. I do not imagine that civil servants, or even military officers, are issued uniforms, or anything official. So I picture them having it all made on their own by tailors. Much like officers in the Napoleonic era were responsible for providing their own uniforms.


Olen: I will slow down the pace back to one post every three days come April. The reason will be clear at that time. We will be seeing Simplicia again this next post, and the one after that.


Next: In our previous episode Teresa and company reached the Imperial City. Next she and Chance go looking for his father's mace.


Chapter 31.5 - Inheritance

The sun was low on the horizon by the time they had trekked their way through the length of the city to Jensine's shop. The forester led the way inside, and found the Nord busy haggling with an Altmer woman over a set of ceramic cups. Casting her gaze around the aisles, Teresa found no sign of Simplicia. The wood elf frowned as she walked through the general store. Where could the old woman be? she wondered.

"Teresa!" Jensine's voice rang out through the shop. "When did you get back? If you're looking for Simplicia, she went next door to pick up dinner. We were just about to close up."

Screenshot

That brought a faint smile to Teresa's lips, and she led Chance to the counter where the shopkeeper stood. The two of them waited as the Nord went back to arguing with her customer. Finally she agreed to sell the cups - for half what they were worth according to Jensine's grumblings - and turned back to Teresa.

"So you are going broke then?" Teresa's eyes glinted with amusement.

"Are you kidding?" the shopkeeper winked. "I made two drakes on those cups! But who's your friend? Did you meet someone down in Bravil?"

"Not exactly," Teresa said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the way the other woman was leering. "This is Chance, he's another member of the Fighters Guild."

"Oh that's right," the Nord said. "Simplicia mentioned you joined the guild down there. Good thinking. That will help you stay in steady work."

"Teresa never said you were so young Jensine," Chance stepped up to the counter and laid his hands upon its smooth wooden surface. He leaned forward, and lit the room up with that roguish smile of his. "Why you look barely older than she does."

"Hardly," the Nord rolled her eyes. "I'm not a day under forty."

"But your skin is so soft," Chance said, reaching out to take one of the woman's hands in his own. Turning her palm up, he traced a gentle finger along her skin. "This is not the hand of a forty year-old."

"Well, I do try to take care of myself," the Nord actually blushed, and was obviously in no hurry to disengage herself from the young Redguard.

"As every smart woman should," Chance went on, looking her in the eye while continuing to caress her hand. "It's important to pamper yourself sometimes. To just stop and smell the roses."

"Cherry Blossom!" The thin, creaking voice rang out from across the shop, prompting Teresa to turn with a grin. There in the door was Simplicia, a bowl of dumplings and cheese in one hand, and a jug of wine in the other. The wood elf crossed the room in moments, and swept up the old Imperial up in an embrace.

"Be careful baby girl," Simplicia murmured, fighting to balance the cargo in both her hands. Teresa gave the old woman a chance to set down the dinner that was obviously meant for her and Jensine, and then wrapped her up in another hug.

"I missed you so much mother," Teresa breathed in the old woman's ear. "Did you get my letters?"

"I did," the Imperial smiled as they pulled apart. "Just yesterday I got the one you wrote on the second of Hearthfire. But that was just four days ago. How did you get back here so fast?"

"We took a boat up the Niben," Teresa explained. "It only took a few days."

"We?" Simplicia's gaze moved from the wood elf to the Redguard, who was still speaking quietly with Jensine. "Who's that? Oh Teresa, please tell me that is your new man! I told you that you would find the right one someday!"

"No mother, not hardly. He just works with me at the guild." The wood elf rolled her eyes, and led the older woman across the room to where the others stood. "Chance, this is my mother Simplicia."

"It is an honor ma'am," the young man declared, standing straight and executing a short, formal bow. "I have heard so much about you that I feel as if I know you already."

Teresa wrinkled her nose. When had she ever told him anything about Simplicia? The forester wondered if this was how he won over so many women? From the look on Jensine's face, she imagined that the Nord was ready to invite the Redguard up into her bedroom. Please, she prayed to Dibella, don't let Simplicia be so gullible.

"Hrmph," Simplicia breathed, clearly not impressed. That brought a faint smile to the wood elf's lips. Score one for her mother!

"Jensine, do you still have that Dwemer mace?" Teresa asked.

"Oh, you mean my persuader?" the Nord grinned, looking down behind the counter. "I've kept it back here ever since the Crisis. Just in case you know."

"Do you think we might see it?" Chance asked. "You see, it is the reason the two of us came here to the Imperial City."

"You two came up here because of my mace?" The Nord looked perplexed, but leaned down to lift the weapon to the top of the counter.

"It's more than just a mace," Chance declared. "It might be my father's. If it is, it's been in my family for over four hundred years. May I?"

At the Redguard's question, Jensine lifted the bronze mace and handed it to him. Made of solid metal, the handle ended with the twin antenna common to most Dwemer artifacts. The long grip was carved into rectangular sections, with slender indentations between each, and the wood elf imagined that they might help one maintain a grip on the weapon. The head was a ball of metal, crowned by a pair of flanges that ran parallel to one another from one side to the other.

"If it is my father's, it'll have a Dwemer inscription on the haft, between the head and the grip," the Redguard turned the weapon over in his hands. "It says-"

"Ncharcasti," Jensine finished his sentence.

The Redguard's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened ever so slightly as the ancient elven runes stared back at him. He ran his fingers over the engraved letters, as gentle and purposeful as he had when caressing Jensine's hand. Finally he set the weapon back down on top of the counter and sighed.

"That is it." He turned to Teresa with shoulders slumped. "That means you are right. My father is dead."

"What?" Jensine asked, her face a mix of suspicion and uncertainty. A look which Simplicia mirrored.

"That is why we came," Teresa explained. "I think Chance's father was at Vilverin. One of the bandits there had the same name as him, looked about the same as him, and had this mace."

"So let me guess, now you want it back?" Jensine's eyes narrowed, and one of her hands fell to the bronze mace and pulled it closer to her. "Well it's been good luck to me. I'm not getting rid of it."

"Jensine," Teresa said, "you can get another mace. Look, we'll pay you for it."

"But this is the mace I used on that clannfear!" the shopkeeper exclaimed. "I saved your life with it, remember?"

"I understand," Chance said. He laid one of his own hands over Jensine's. "You have history with it. I do as well. I sailed across half of Tamriel for this. It's been in my family since the days of Cyrus. My grandfather's grandfather's grandfather Lakene fought side by side with him at Stros M'kai, with this mace in hand. It has been passed down in my family for the four hundred years since then. Now it is all I have left of my father."

Jensine's gaze softened under the Redguard's stare. But only for a moment. "This mace is worth a lot of money," she declared, now turning to Teresa. "I paid you good septims for it. I expect my money's worth."

"You'll get it," Teresa affirmed. She dug into the purse tied to her belt. She knew that the Redguard had no silver. That was why she was paying for everything. By Raven, the things she did for her friends!


This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 11 2011, 04:14 AM

[haute ecole rider]

I thoroughly enjoyed Teresa's 'homecoming' at Jensine's shop.

And this made me grin:

"Teresa never said you were so young Jensine," Chance stepped up to the counter and laid his hands upon its smooth wooden surface. He leaned forward, and lit the room up with that roguish smile of his. "Why you look barely older than she does."

"Hardly," the Nord rolled her eyes. "I'm not a day under forty."

Of course that didn't stop Chance! He's a Blackguard, all right!

And now Teresa's paying for him too? Yup, he's a Blackguard all the way!

[Acadian]

Plenty to like here.

Chance is quite the charmer!

It was wonderful to see dear Simplicia again - and just as wonderful to see her not fall for the smooth-talking Chance's charm.

Jensine was rather hard-nosed and I'm glad you portrayed her this way. It would have been easy to show her yield to Chance's charm and truly compelling history of the mace. By showing Jensine as a bit of a hard Nord who filters decisions through her coin purse, it allows for a fabulous contrast with Teresa. By Raven, that's sweet of you, Teresa. Especially for an elf who is immune to Chance's charms.

[Thomas Kaira]

Jensine at her finest! A very humble Nord she is, but once you start talking business, she is cold as the mountains from which she hails!

Chance is most definitely the lady's man. I'm glad Simplicia gave him the cold shoulder, that would have been a most awkward relationship if it panned out.

Teresa certainly puts a lot by her friends. It's mighty noble of her to buy Chance his mace back.

[Winter Wolf]

I loved the trip up the Niben and back to the majestic IC. The waterfront and city always sings when ever you take us there! I cannot help but think of Teresa when I come across Simplicia and Jensine, besides I always get good deals there just by dropping the Teresa name.

The nighteye goggles worked a treat in the dory. That was a spendid idea.

Its metal spars curved hundreds of feet above, creating a home for numerous birds.
Ha ha! So true. We build and they use.

[Grits]

"Hrmph," Simplicia breathed, clearly not impressed.

You don’t play a player!

Jensine shows us what it takes to be a successful merchant in the IC. Poor Chance couldn’t have picked a more difficult trio to work his wiles upon, but he’s still getting someone else to buy back his mace for him. I wonder if he realizes that Teresa’s help has nothing to do with his charms. His journey is as compelling as Teresa’s.

[SubRosa]

haute ecole rider: Yep, the only thing Teresa is not doing is paying the rent for him! The Fighters Guild is doing that!


Acadian: Chance did have Jensine eating out of the palm of his hand. Until it came to money! Then the Jensine the woman gave way to Jensine the merchant. I needed some conflict in this chapter, so getting the mace could not have been easy. Plus, it was a natural for Jensine to eventually think of her coinpurse. Making money is her job after all!


Thomas Kaira: Imagine Simplicia hooking up with Pappy! Teresa does indeed show some of her nobility of spirit here. It is all part of the yet unspoken Teresa Doctrine, which we all saw a glimpse of during her talk with Henantier at the end of Through A Nightmare Darkly.


Winter Wolf: I spent two scenes just showing the trip up the Niben and landing at the Waterfront because I wanted to build up the world some more. I am glad the extra time spent it paid off!


Grits: Simplicia is just too old, and been around too much to be easily played. That is one of the things that make her fun to write. I think Chance does realize that Teresa's help has nothing to do with him charming her, after all, she is not making goo-goo eyes back at him, or fawning over him. Whether or not he has figured out that she only eats fish is another matter...


Next: In our previous episode, Teresa helped Chance regain Ncharcasti, his family mace. Next, Teresa spends some quality time with her mother before setting out to Vilverin. While she is at it, she borrows the Emma hat from Buffy.


Chapter 31.6 - Inheritance

"So what was that guildhall by the Arena like?" Simplicia asked. The old woman sat on a chair next to her plain rattan bed. A small table sat beside it, supporting a trio of flickering candles, and a simple clay jug. Teresa sat in another chair facing Simplicia, a cup of goat's milk in one hand.

Everywhere Teresa looked, she saw crates, barrels, and piles of goods. A rack filled with bolts of raw cloth took up part of one wall. A barrel filled with rakes, shovels, picks, brooms, and other implements sat by the stair up to the ground floor. There were shelves crammed with pots, pans and other flatware. More chairs and tables were stacked up on top of one another in a corner, while racks of clothing and shoes filled another.

"Big," Teresa said after taking a swallow of the goat's milk. "It just looks like a run-down insula on the outside. But inside its all marble, silk, and velvet. It's like a palace. The sleeping quarters weren't so grand though. More like The Merchants Inn. Fancy, but not that fancy."

"I hope you know what you are doing, joining that guild," the old woman fretted. "It's a big thing to step into. Are you sure you're ready for it dear?"

"I think so," Teresa smiled. "I wasn't sure at first. But the way I had to really prove myself to get in made me realize something. The other people around me had to be just as good as well. With the way we all train together, I know that I can count on them. The man who runs the guild down in Bravil knows what he's doing. He won the Grass Crown in Skyrim, years ago, and he's taught me a lot since I joined. You'd like him mom, he's a scoundrel!"

"Like this Chance?" The skepticism in Simplicia's voice could not be more obvious. "He acts like a smooth-talking libertine. Did you see him trying to sweet-talk Jensine!"

"I think Chance is like that with all women," Teresa sighed. "He tried it with me too, the first time I met him. You know how men are, especially the young ones."

"That I do," Simplicia said. "And you are smarter than most girls your age, to see through that cacat. You just keep looking, you'll find the right man one day."

Teresa rolled her eyes. As if she wanted a man at all. "So how have you been keeping?" she asked. "It looks like Jensine is still treating you good."

"Oh yes indeed," Simplicia declared. "She still lets me stay down here in the basement, and pays me for the work I do. She still has headaches you know. Ever since the Crisis. Sometimes they get so bad she has to lie down with all the lights turned out, even in the middle of the day. She saw a healer at the temple, but they said it's too late to cure. Her skull healed up wrong after that clannfear. He said they could drill a couple of holes in her head to try to fix it. Or try to break the bones again and re-heal them. But that is it."

"Drill holes in her head!" Teresa gaped. "I can imagine what she said to that!"

"No kidding! You'd think a chapel-smart priest would have something better than that!" Simplicia exclaimed. Then her tone became more somber, and her eyes looked off into space. "But I guess when some things are broken, they just can't be put right again."

Teresa bit her lip. Simplicia was thinking about her own wounds, she thought, the ones the Dunmer madman gave her so long ago.

"But what am I saying," the old woman snapped from her brief reverie and climbed to her feet. "Like I said before, I have a present for you."

The Imperial plodded to a dresser near the bed and pulled open one of its drawers. Withdrawing a small cloth sack from within, she turned to Teresa. The wood elf stood up and stepped over to Simplicia, staring at the bag. It seemed entirely ordinary, with a pair of slits in it to run a belt through, and a simple drawstring to tie it shut. Hardly anything remarkable.

"Umm, it's wonderful?" Teresa said as the old woman handed it to her. She felt energy from the cloth the instant she touched it. There was magicka within it, she thought, and quite a bit of it. "This isn't just a bag!"

"Reach inside," Simplicia beamed. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.

Teresa obliged the old woman and undid the strings at the mouth of the bag. Pulling it open, she found that it came apart much wider than she would have imagined. Wide enough for a bag easily three times its size, if not more. Reaching her hand inside, her fingers did not touch the bottom, as she would have expected for a bag its size. She put her arm in up to the elbow, and still could not find the bottom. Finally her entire arm had vanished within the sack, and still she could find the end of it.

"This is a Bag of Holding!" Teresa exclaimed. "A Thieves Bag! Where did you get it?"

"Now that is a long story," Simplicia said. Her old bones creaked on their way to the bed, where she sat down heavily. "Come and sit with me, and I'll tell you about my adventure. You'll hear about it from Methredhel soon enough I suppose."

"Methredhel?" Teresa puzzled. She dutifully sat next to the old woman, and by reflex one of her arms reached out to wrap around the Imperial. "What does she have to do with it? Did she give the bag to you?"

"Slow down and let me tell the story," Simplicia began. The Imperial waited until Teresa fell silent and nodded her head to continue. "It all started with this little fetcher named Thoronir, who opened up a shop after the Crisis. His prices were so low they were putting Jensine out of business. A lot of other people too. So I followed him, and found out he was a fence for a grave robber."

"A grave robber?" Teresa gasped. "Was he in the Thieves Guild?"

"No, a freelancer," Simplicia explained. "The Grey Fox would'a never touched this villain. Methredhel helped me get the proof by breaking into his apartment. He had a ledger with everything he took. It turns out he was selling the bodies to a necromancer too. At least that's what that bounder Volsinius said when he caught him."

"A necromancer?" Teresa's eyes flew wide, remembering her own encounter with one of the death mages in Vilverin. The one that had killed Chance's father. "But how did Vols get involved?"

"Once I found out what Dreth was doing, I had Volsinius go after him." Simplicia explained. "That fetcher has always been a mad dog killer, so I knew he'd finish off that Dunmer, and cut off Thoronir's cheap goods in the bargain."

"Wait a minute, Dreth?" Teresa felt a chill run down her spine. "Valen Dreth, was that the grave robber's name?"

"Yes," Simplicia spat. "A piece of dreck Dunmer. Just like that one that cut me up years ago. Volsinius said he split him open like a ripe melon. Have you heard of him?"

"Yes," Teresa breathed. She felt as if an ogre and landed atop of her. Valen Dreth! she thought. The same man who had tormented her as a child, and that she had sent to prison with Methredhel's help. The same man who had been in the cell across from her in the Imperial Prison!

"What is it cherry blossom?" Simplicia's voice had turned somber. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"I guess I did in a way," Teresa forced a faint smile to her lips. The madman who had terrified her as a child was dead. To think that it was Simplicia of all people ultimately responsible too! Somehow that seemed appropriate. Simplicia had been the one who had taken care of her all her life after all. "I'll tell you about it later. But it sounds like I'm not the only one who should be joining the Fighters Guild! Maybe you should join with me, being the heroine you are!"

"I'm no hero," Simplicia rolled her eyes. "I just did what I had to is all."

Now why did that sound familiar? Teresa thought with another smile. Like mother, like daughter.

"But that doesn't explain how you got the bag?" Teresa asked. "What about Thoronir, did he go to prison?"

"Nope," Simplicia grinned like a cat that had just caught a bird. "He's the one that gave me the bag. In return I forgot to mention him to Volsinius."

"Mother!" Teresa gasped. "You blackmailed him!"

"Well of course I did," the old Imperial said. "There was no sense in him going to prison, not when I could get something out of him. You can use that bag in your adventures. Think of all the loot you can carry in it. You could probably even hide your bow and arrows in there, with no one else the wiser."

Teresa opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. What right did she have to get self-righteous? Simplicia was right after all. She could use the bag, and there was no point in imprisoning the shopkeeper. Dreth was the real villain. Of that she had no doubt, given what she knew of the madman.

"Have I ever said that you are the best mother a girl could ever have?" Teresa asked, wrapping her arms around the much older woman and holding her tight. As ever, the rest of the world slipped away. Nothing existed but her and Simplicia.

"So Vols didn't get suspicious?" Teresa wondered as she finally drew away. "I'm surprised he just left things with Dreth."

"Oh, he's suspicious alright," Simplicia said. "But he's got no proof, so what can he do?"

"I doubt that's it," Teresa winked. "I think he'd do anything for you."

"What are you talking about?" Simplicia's brows furrowed in consternation. "That fetcher?"

"Yes, Vols," Teresa insisted. "And don't call him that. He deserves better."

"He deserves…" Simplicia muttered. "You remember who he is don't you? What he did to you?"

"I do," Teresa said. "But I also remember what he did for us. Look at his face. He got that way for you. You couldn't see it from where you were, but I did. When that atronach knocked you down, he stepped in front of it. He let it burn him to save you. He saved me from that dremora too. And that's not all he's done for us. Not nearly."

"He's a brute." Simplicia waved her hand. "Good for nothing but killing. You're seeing things that aren't there."

"No I'm not," Teresa said resolutely. "I am seeing what really is there. What he's afraid to show anyone because he's so stuffed with male pride."

"How do you know?" Simplicia said, then her eyes flew wide. "You aren't falling in love with him are you? Not him!"

"No, not hardly." Teresa shook her head. Why did everyone think she wanted a man! "I told you, I don't like men. The same as the poet Sappho. But I have spent time with him since the Crisis, and I write to him from Bravil, the same as I write to you and Methredhel. I've gotten to know him. Who he really is. He's not half as bad as you think."

"Hrrmph," Simplicia breathed, leaning back in the bed. Her jaw was set into a scowl, and Teresa wondered if she should press it further.

"I can forgive him," Teresa said, throwing caution to the wind. "I'm not saying he's perfect. But no one is. When he talks about you, you should see how it changes him. I think he loved you twenty years ago, and I think he still loves you now."

"That fet-" The Imperial stopped herself with a look from Teresa. "He never loved anyone in his life."

"How do you know?" Teresa asked. "Have you ever given him a chance? Go talk to him sometime. He's mostly at the legion barracks in the Palace District, but I know he comes here to the Market District because of Brekke. He's taking care of that little girl you know, just like you looked after me."

"Probably feels guilty," Simplicia spat.

"He probably does." Teresa nodded. "But that means he does care. He just doesn't know how to show it to people. If you would just talk to him, it would mean the world to him."

"I'll think about it."

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 14 2011, 09:35 PM