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

[Remko]

Let me catch my breath from choking with laughter.........


right- done.

Loved the part of the unicorn. S'jirra is some piece of work in your story too.
And his retelling of his adventures in pale-pass was priceless.


MORE!

This post has been edited by Remko: Sep 8 2010, 11:23 AM

[mALX]

I thought it was a Spriggan! - but S'Jirra! SPEW !!!!! ROFL !!!!!!!!! I sprayed coffee everywhere !!!!!!

[haute ecole rider]

Aww, S'jirra is soo cute!

This four thousand word offering was worth every laugh and guffaw and chuckle!

The Stomach, aka Tolgan.

The mages at the Bruma Guild.

Her Highness the Countess Narina of Bruma.

Ra'jirra's hangover and the unicorn making fun of him all the way down to Leyawiin.

S'jirra is just the icing on the cake! And the cake was very delicious! Hmm!

[treydog]

The speaker was a well-dressed, middle-aged stomach attached to a Nord.

History is always helpful in explaining why you'll find undead here and not over there, or why Sheogorath has an obsession with cheese and evisceration, or something totally unexpected but no less useful..

She leaned forwards, giving me an interesting view of her north face

I quickly found out they were trolls. They quickly found out I wasn't going away.

And a good description of the shade of the Akaviri commander, still at his post.

The scenes at Wawnet were a joy- though perhaps not to Ra’jirra’s head.

He senses something is afoot and it turns out to be aKhajiit casting a love spell!

Just one question- Is Gnoll Mountain grassy?

[Cardboard Box]

Heh, thanks guys. I could have broken this chapter into one revolving about Pale Pass and another short one where he finds S'jirra mangling three or four quickly Googled love spells, but I decided against that. Let's just say the morning is likely to be awkward for one or both of 'em [I claim fate - R.]

@treydog: No, Gnoll Mountain isn't grassy; it's the huge peak where you learn about the Udifrykte [sp?] Mother quest. I'm not even sure why it's called Gnoll Mountain since I've never seen any in game. [Good. - R.]

As for the other points:

1. I was influenced by Wells' Mrs Skinner from The Food of the Gods and assorted characters of Dickens, where a trait is exaggerated to the point it dominates their entire being.
2. Sure, Ra'jirra's a hayseed, but old Maro [for once - R.] taught him something useful there. [And it bloody hurt - R.]
3. This was less to do with being lecherous and more to do with modern dress design [And that's my story and I'm sticking with it - R.]
4. Fun fact: These days Ra'jirra can now tell the difference between ogres and trolls, unlike at Shadow's Rest Cave. [Shut up - R.]
   

[treydog]

No, Gnoll Mountain isn't grassy;

Showing my age there- look up conspiracy theories in re: the JFK Assassination to get the reference.

[Cardboard Box]

Grassy... Gnoll... *smacks forehead* WHY DIDN'T I TWIG!

Still, you couldn't see the motorcade from up there anyway.

[mALX]

Grassy... Gnoll... *smacks forehead* WHY DIDN'T I TWIG!

Still, you couldn't see the motorcade from up there anyway.

ROFL !!!

[Remko]

No, you find out about Uderfrykte Matron on dive rock (Horror of Dive Rock quest)
Ans I also distinctly remember trees on Gnoll Mountain. Sound like our favourite Khajiit mage needs to get his facts straight

[mALX]

No, you find out about Uderfrykte Matron on dive rock (Horror of Dive Rock quest)
Ans I also distinctly remember trees on Gnoll Mountain. Sound like our favourite Khajiit mage needs to get his facts straight

Isn't Gnoll Mountain where you kill that big guy on that Dark Brotherhood quest? I know it is right around the corner from the Frostcraig Spire - (Wizard's Tower DLC)

[Cardboard Box]

I've checked my map, and I'm absolutely certain that the peak in question is Gnoll Mountain. It's in the right place.

However I'll admit I've evidently got my memories scrambled. I been to the camp up there, and I could have sworn there was a book about it near the fire.

In other news I tried running Ob' on this thing and just crashed out. Phooey. Let's try some settings twiddling...

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Sep 9 2010, 11:25 AM

[mALX]

I've checked my map, and I'm absolutely certain that the peak in question is Gnoll Mountain. It's in the right place.

However I'll admit I've evidently got my memories scrambled. I been to the camp up there, and I could have sworn there was a book about it near the fire.

In other news I tried running Ob' on this thing and just crashed out. Phooey. Let's try some settings twiddling...

The place with the book by the fire and a camp is Dive Rock (NNW of Cheydinhal) . Gnoll Mountain is just NE of Bruma.

On your game crashing - GAAAAH !!!! Bless your heart !!!

*

This post has been edited by mALX: Sep 9 2010, 02:49 PM

[Cardboard Box]

[I has new video card - 1GB of gorgeous sexy Radeon 5670. The specs-for-money ratio has been giving me nerdgasms. Making sure Ob' and FO3 has been giving me eyegasms. So have the first part of Ra'jirra's ongoing saga... now that he has been able to return to Bruma without getting killed.

If anyone can think of a better way to work this out, drop me a line.]

Chapter 18. Ra'jirra Makes Promises

I was woken by a unicorn's nose. I wasn't pleased with that, since I would have rather been woken by S'jirra's nose, among other parts, and glared at the beast in the pre-dawn light.

When the drake dropped I could have kissed that unicorn.

“S'jirra!” I shook her awake where she lay in the cup of my body, “Wake up! It's nearly dawn!”

She squirmed momentarily, then blinked at me in confusion. “Wha–?”

“S'jirra,” says I urgently, “You have to get dressed, it's nearly dawn, they'll be waking at the inn soon.”

She blinked at me some more, then reality registered. “Sweet Dibella, Marra and Zenitharr!” Out she squirmed from my arms (alas) and scrambled into her clothes. “Motherr will kill me! I mean, you! I mean... oh, hells.”

I reached out with the hand I wasn't pulling my greaves up with and stopped her.

“You can ride with me,” says I.

Which is the reason behind S'jirra returning to the Faregyl Inn on 25 Frost Fall in style, upon a unicorn, in the arms of a warlock adorned in Ayleid armament. Having the Molag Stava on my back didn't hurt either.

We were greeted at the door by Abhuki, who gave us a rather cool look.

“And where,” she asked quietly, “has my daughterr been?”

S'jirra tensed.

“Strrangely,” she went on, “I find myself lacking not only a daughterr, but also a candle, and a quill.”

S'jirra's ears were starting to redden and droop. I got the impression that the unicorn was enjoying our discomfort.

“And now she rreturrns with a warrlock she is morre than fond of,” and Abhuki steps forward and plucks a twig that had become tangled in S'jirra's hairdo. She twirls the twig and gazes thoughtfully at her, then me, ears down but for a different reason.

“Motherr, I–”

“Love charrms?” and Abhuki puts a wealth of contempt in those two words. S'jirra doesn't look at her, head down and twisting her arms.

Abhuki looks at her and then looks at me and I feel three foot tall. “You will be honourrable,” it wasn't a question. She knew.

And I had no choice. I didn't know if philandering would get me expelled from the Mage's Guild, or strip me of my knighthood, or both. But I was beginning to suspect that –

“Rra'jirra's name appearrs in the latest Black Horrse Courrierr,” relentless as a siege, “Mayhap it appearrs again...”

“It will do,” says I at last, “When the necromancer menace is no more.”

S'jirra stares at me, and Abhuki's brows and ears slam down.

“Then I will return,” says I before Abhuki can tear my throat out, “and I will take S'jirra as my wife.”

And she just looks at me, but at least her lip isn't curled now.

“S'jirra,” and I turn to her while fishing a ring out of my pocket, “I had made up my mind before now.” I went to one knee – yes, just like in bad romances – took her hand and gently slid my old ring of agility on her finger.

“With this ring,” says I, “I vow to marry thee, once my greater task is done.” Yes, the whole 'thee' business is like a bad romance again, but at least it defused Abhuki and better still it made S'jirra cry out with joy and throw herself at me.

After all, she'd not only seen, but accepted me at my worst, and also I had a reputation to uphold. Besides my parents would kill me if they found out their son was a rake.

I rose to my feet and almost at once fell back to my knees, clutching my head. We're still working on that form of communication. Just not very much.

“Rra'jirrra?” chorused Abhuki, S'jirra and an odd mixture of the two. “Your nose...” went on S'jirra, dabbing a finger on my honk and showing me a spot of blood.

“I've... I've been summoned, I think,” says I as I carefully stand up and turn to where two-and-a-half unicorns are merging together, “And I don't want them summoning me like that again.”

To be Continued once nerdgasms cease and he gets on with the writing

[mALX]

I like to ride the unicorn. It hates Martin and Jauffre and will attack them on sight - also hates the Countess of Leyawiin and her bodyguard, most Legion...

Makes for an interesting game !!

[Cardboard Box]

[Aand here's the second half of Chapter 18. I was going to name a certain name in the history lesson but Treydog might kill me.]

Chapter 18 (continued)

“Ra'jirra.” Traven looked worried. “Go to Bruma and find out why I've heard nothing from them for the past two days.”

“Sir?” Despite a nice refreshing trot, I was still not quite over the summons. My nose smarted and a pair of hedgehogs were trysting in back of my head.

“Normally Jeanne writes me daily.” Traven made a wry face. “Nothing of consequence usually, but I checked. The daily courier was riding as normal, and no, he hadn't received anything for me from the guildhall.” His face goes hard again. “Jeanne never misses a chance to write me. Get equipped and get to Bruma and find out what the hells is going on!”

It took me the rest of the day to ride up the road to Bruma. Personally I suspected that Volanaro and J'skar were playing silly buggers again by stealing Jeanne's mail before it reached the courier. It sounded like something those two would do, and wouldn't be too hard to sort out.

Better still, the crisp cool air of the Jerall Mountains might soothe my nose and cool the hedgehogs' ardour.

* * *

Little wisps of smoke were rising through the roof.

In a town of wooden, half-buried structures, that was bad. But I didn't know if the situation inside was under control or... what?

Inside the door was chaos and smoke. One of the guildies was slumped before a burning bookcase – Selenia Orania. A sound like a gargling cat alerted me and I dodged as a ghost launched unpleasantness my way. Then I dodged right back as a skeleton charged me. Molag Stava had me blessing those bloodthirsty sadistic Ayleids as I dropped my dear dwemer mace for the skelly's silver one.

“Watch yourself!” a woman shouted from where Jeanne's chambers were. I couldn't hear very well over the fire and through the wall. Someone was still alive!

Volanaro was on the stairs, most of his vitals smashed and frozen. Thank you for teaching me your special, I said to him and risked a peek into the living quarters.

Five seconds later I barrelled out of the guildhall with a spectral warrior in pursuit. Molag Stava's fire didn't even slow the horror down – but lightning and the good offices of the Bruma watch made short work of the dread thing. Pulling myself together I headed back to the hall where a spunky young guardswoman turned another skeleton into bones, its immense battle-axe crashing to the stoop.

“All right,” says she, “what's going on? What was that thing?”

“Necromancers,” says I, “they've attacked the guild. And it's on fire. Someone's still alive in there.”

“Fire!” the guard cried, “I'll rouse the watch, and the Fighter's Guild! We can't...” and away she runs.

Out came Molag Stava, the bane of the undead. Zombies don't like burning, nor do wraiths, and I stumbled through the choking smoke and out the other end. I hadn't seen J'skar, so maybe two were left alive.

I clambered up the stairs and almost ran into a woman I didn't recognise. Her wearing corpse-humping gear probably explained it.

“You're far too late,” and I see her teeth flash, “the guest of honour has already–”

Molag Stava works quite well on necromancers too.

I walked forward into Jeanne's chambers; I could see her lifeless body; a bell was ringing outside.

Then a closet exploded.

I had Molag Stava out and aimed before I recognised the dirty blue of mage's robes wrapped around J'skar. The young Khajiit scrambled to his feet and was about to unleash a spell before he recognised me.

“They... are they gone?” His eyes were huge with sheer terror and from the smell he'd had a thoroughly understandable accident. “I was too afraid. I just couldn't move...” well, he could move now, just like a bewildered, hysterical young Khajiit. “I could hear the screaming, but I just couldn't move!”

“J'skar!” calls I and I grab him and spin him to face me. “Who did this? That woman?” Pointing behind me at the roasted smoothskin.

“No...” his mind was staggering all over the place. “He killed them all. Just... slaughtered them.”

“Who did? WHO?” I almost screamed. I needed to know. I needed to know so I could kill. I needed to know so I could kill the honoured user.

“I... I saw his face,” screams J'skar, and I smell his bladder giving way again from the memory. “I saw the King of Worms!”

I think I went a little strange too, or maybe it was a billow of smoke. J'skar staggered and I propped him up.

“Hello!” Someone yelled from below, praise the Nine! “Anyone still alive?”

“YES!” yells I back, “BREAK DOWN THAT FARGNAXING BOOKCASE AND GET US OUT!”

* * *

The guildhall was a total loss. Jeanne, Selenia, Volanaro – they lay shrouded in the Chapel of Talos. The fire, once the Fighter's Guild had been extracted from their precious beds and beers, was well under control. J'skar, Primate Falvius told me, was mainly suffering from shock.

“It perhaps would be best if he was to stay here the night,” said that worthy priest, “as he has had a grievous encounter with evil, and it would be best to let the gentle presence of the Divines heal his soul.”

* * *

“What a pompous cloon!” Caminalda exclaims when I repeated that in the Council chambers ten hours later.

“Damn waste,” Traven says, “Falvius was a damn good sorceror, then he goes and gets himself all happy-clappy. Don't think I told you he taught Volanaro about Conjuration?”

No, he hadn't. J'skar just looked down at the table at the mention of his friend, his eyes only shining because of tears. His colour, to put it nicely, was terrible. The journey back to the Arcane University had been silent and awkward, and I knew I'd find tears staining my cape.

“Anyway,” Traven says, parking himself next to the young kit, “J'skar, I need you to tell me what you saw. So we know what to do to send these scum back to hell.”

“I couldn't believe my eyes,” J'skar said slowly, “I think the only reason I'm alive is because I was invisible... but even so, I think he saw me.” Makes sense, thinks I, life-detecting magics see through illusions as well as walls. I was smart enough to keep that thought to myself.

“We thought he was just some Altmer visiting, maybe after a spell or potion, then... He killed them, one by one.” J'skar stumbled and limped through what I'd seen: the appearance of powerful shades, the chaos, the desperate attempts at defence. “Volanaro was last, I think. He was trying to run away, but he didn't make it... The King of Worms stood over him, right before he died, and he...”

J'skar looked as though the surface of the council table was a portal into Oblivion. “It – it looked like he... he – he sucked out Volanaro's soul! There was a light... and his open mouth it – it went right in his – his horrible mouth...”

There's nothing nice about watching a grown man reduced to tears from horror. Jarol was looking at J'skar with actual concern, which either meant Traven had been talking with him or the seriousness of the situation was quite clear. Caminalda was listening raptly with an expression that I couldn't decipher. Then again she didn't like me, so maybe she needed one of Traven's little talks herself.

“J'skar.” Traven shook the weeping Khajiit gently, or as gently as you can when wearing daedric armour. “J'skar. Did... he... say anything?”

You think humans look bad when crying? Try having fur all over your face. J'skar lifted a matted, dull example up to meet the Arch-mage's concerned gaze.

“He said something about Echo Cave... and destroying the Mages Guild.” His eyes, already swimming in tears, dove away from the terrible memory. “Then he looked right at me, even though I was invisible, and... and just grinned!

“He knew I was there, he... left me alive for...” J'skar was beginning to shake again. “I – I can't – Please, don't make me go back there...”

Traven just looks at him with compassion, and then says to me, “Ra'jirra, will you please take J'skar here and make sure Polus gets him settled in?” Then to J'skar, “You'll be safe here lad, we won't be sending you back to Bruma.” Then to me, “Once he's settled in, Polus has a spell for you – Wizard. Then take some days off and recuperate. I think the area around Faregyl Inn is nice at this time of year.”

There was a small smirk on his mush, I'm certain!

* * *

“I've never seen a man more pathetically grateful than J'skar for a bed and a sleeping draught,” says I to Abhuki three days later. I'd arrived at the inn about midnight, after dropping thirty-odd nirnroot at Sinderion's. To say he was overjoyed was an understatement. To say I was overjoyed that all it would take was grubbing up another forty of the miserable and, frankly, pungent roots to make the ultimate strength Exploration Elixir or whatever it's called was an overstatement.

Abhuki just looked at me in dismay. “So many dead... Rra'jirrra, when will this all end? Does the Legion do nothing, see nothing? Therre is talk of horrrorrs in the old Lorrikh Village, and amazons up in Cahrrcoal Cave, and Rrobberrs Glen lives up to its name again!” Where? Oh, right, the cave east of here, just before the switchback down to Bravil.

I decided that telling her about the necromancers closer by in Pot Hole Cave wouldn't help her agitation.

“Things just haven't been right since the Emperor's illness,” says I sadly. Gods, that was a bad patch. Some loonies had started a riot in the Imperial City itself, claiming the heirs apparent were actually simulacra, and things had become so bad that back home the local Legion garrison had been prepared for recall to Cyrodiil.

Mercifully the Emperor had recovered, thanks to a daring young Legionnaire who'd brought a cure all the way from Morrowind, and the would-be usurpers nowadays rested in two or more pieces.

“But for now,” says I, pushing some drakes over the counter, “I intend staying for a night or three. You have a room free?”

And she looks at the drakes and then looks at me. “Perrhaps,” says she, eyeing me intently, “But I ask you firrst...”

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Oct 18 2010, 05:49 AM

[mALX]

ARGH !!!!! A cliffhanger !!!!! Will she ask him for... ARGH !!!! I love this chapter, you're back in Cyrodiil !!!

[treydog]

The “morning after” scene with Abhuki was brilliant- no surprise there. And good for the rogue to have a ring handy.

a

pair of hedgehogs were trysting in back of my head.

Now that is an image that sings! (Or stings?)

The destruction of the Bruma guild and the council afterward really capture the emotions and the uncertainty of the situation. Wonderfully descriptive.

The chaos that stalks Cyrodiil is also expertly conveyed by Abhuki’s catalog of worries. And an interesting cliffhanger-

[Cardboard Box]

[Oof! So much research, so much spinning of whole cloth, so much polishing of turds. But everyone knew this was coming, it was in Ra'jirra's personality. Therefore:]

Chapter 19. Ra'jirra Takes a New Title

On the morning of 28 Frost Fall at eight of the bells, we three set out to the Chapel in Bravil. I led, the long legs of the Steed meaning I had to wait for my bride and her mother to catch up every so often.

I already knew the answer to Abhuki's question. I'd known the answer ever since that morning a million years ago – hells, since that evening encounter. I'd been dead serious when I'd given S'jirra that ring as a promise of my engagement to her.

It was cowardice or cravenness that made me add the qualifier – that I'd marry only when the necromancer threat was gone. After all, the best way to kill a snake is to cut off the tail right behind the head, but this one we hadn't found the head of yet.

And will I or nil I, I'd been chosen as the knife. Constantly ending up thrown to the corpse-humpers was a mighty clue about that.

But as the question hung in the common room air like a noose, the bailiffs of honour and duty fronted up and made my choice simple.

It was better that I did the honourable thing, so our litter be born to a widow, knowing his father loved them even unborn; that my family did not become shamed should news of my raking reach them and their neighbours.

Also, the proposal was, simply, right. My heart sang to think of it. S'jirra and I would be happy now, not in a future that might never come thanks to some corpse-humper's dumb luck.

And so the Faregyl Inn was closed and locked – the sign on the door citing family concerns – and away we went beneath overcast skies, that swordsman Alix something-or-other standing guard.

Both Abhuki and S'jirra were clad in their Sundas best, my bride looking utterly radiant. I was reminded of something old 'Rotten' Maro had once sermonised – how the Nine judged by what was in one's heart, not by what was on one's back. S'jirra may have been wearing a simple white blouse and brown skirt, but to me they were finer than the Emperor's robes.

I myself wore red. Why I had plumbed a necromancer's lair, on a whim, without my usual clobbering clobber I myself didn't understand; however in the back of my mind something suggested the events of Bruma may have driven me slightly mad.

I just hoped I wasn't still slightly mad today.

“Hail travellers!” a pilgrim called to us from the shrine to Tiber Septim past the Inn of Ill Omen and Worse Cuisine. “Where you be bound?”

“Bravil,” calls I, “I get married this day!”

By the time S'jirra and Abhuki reach us they find themselves surrounded by well-wishing pilgrims. It was all a bit much, and I seemed to have a lumpy throat, and so we finally extract our southbound selves from the northbound pilgrims and continue on.

And we run into a preoccupied Khajiit woman coming in the other direction. “Dro'Naharahe,” says she in a posh accent, “just getting my air, clearing my head before... heading back.” And she jerks her head Bravil-ward. Judging from the bags under her eyes and the flat grey tint to her fur, she needed it.

“We're going that way,” says I, “what's the road like?”

“If you hurry, you'll hit the switchback down to the... county gates, before the bandits wake up,” says she. “Me, I might wait for them to put me...” and she shakes her head and groans. “Sorry.”

And away she goes, shoulders hunched like she had a great load on her back. I would later learn that Dro'Naharahe was steward to Count Terentius, and that risking her neck every day was the only thing that kept her sane.

Let's be blunt. While Bravil will probably always be the jakes of Cyrodiil, at least Zul gro-Radagash has made attempts to clean the place up. Pretty two-fisted attempts, but sometimes desperate measures are needed.

And so the road bent east. I deliberately slowed my pace to keep in range of my bride-to-be and my imminent mother-in-law.

“Wolf!”

I saw the movement after the screams, off to the left, drew the Bow of Jolts I'd brought along with me, and took aim, backpedalling full speed. The wolf staggered as the arrow delivered pain, then charged for me again.

Muzzily, I remembered I had soul gems in my pack, flopping against the red silk I wore; I racked my brains and tore the animal's soul energy away in burning ice.

S'jirra and Abhuki rose from where they'd hidden behind a bush and approached the cold yet smoking animal, where I was already busy with my knife preparing to skin it.

“Hail the brrave herro,” Abhuki says drily, “Trruly this is a blessed day forr a marriage. Now, S'jirrra, you take those legs and I will take these...”

Skinning and butchering game is a lot easier with help, and while the meat didn't survive the noonday meal, it kept us going as we happily burped our way toward the switchback that dropped down to the lowlands of County Bravil.

The first bandit I saw mooching about, I raised a hand and gestured to the women; they got the point and sought concealment again. Despite being better armoured and armed with a battered mace, the scofflaw didn't really see me until my arrow shocked him into attention.

What?

After that, another jolting arrow, followed by a spell of killing, sent the Redguard crashing to the ground. While the ladies amused themselves looting the corpse, I advanced. I saw movement stage left – some fool waving a claymore around. I sent a jolt his way and he nearly dropped the thing.

Almost immediately I heard a snarl and instinctively ducked out of the way of a low-flying axe wielded by a Khajiit charging from stage right. Backpedalling frantically, I nocked and fired another arrow at the axeman while trying to think – and think fast!

We weren't dressed for beating up bandits, but we didn't have a choice; we weren't dressed for creeping through the forest undergrowth either. I enrobed myself in a shielding before flinging another arrow into the scowling bandit, skewering the swine in the sweetbreads to judge by his scream.

I invoked the killing spell again; again, I experienced a wave of fatigue – the bandit sank lifeless to the ground. But the other bandit was still racing for me with that dirty great claymore held high.

I was relieved that the same tactics worked on him too.

“My herro!” S'jirra purred, eyes aglow, as she and Abhuki approached the newly-deads. She looked at me, then pointed and cried out.

There was another bandit, and this Dunmer should have stuck to selling umbrellas instead of attempting to skewer Wizards with arrows.

As it was, her third arrow got me in the left shin. I snarled and loosed one of my own. Dunmer may be fireproof, but they ground the lightning like ordinary folks. The same tactics I'd used on her three friends did a nice number on her as well, and she went to the ground.

Our Champion of Cyrodiil might huff and snort, but when you're without armour, running away and sniping from a distance are perfectly acceptable tactics. Especially when you're en route to your own wedding or some other function that would be ruined by you turning up dead.

“What a fine dowrry!” S'jirra exclaimed, puffing slightly under the weight of some leather cuirasses and the weapons of the bandits, and rhapsodised about how much the loot would go for once they got to Bravil and what “we” could buy with the money.

I'll give you, the reader, one guess who got to exercise their Alteration knowledge on the rest of the way!

As it was, we did our shopping, discussed after-match functions, and finally got to the Chapel by three bells in the afternoon, and spoke to the Primate, an elderly Breton hight Chana Mona.

“A wedding?” Her lined face creased into a smile. “One moment, my children, let me gather my sisters.” And away she swished, while I took the chance to genuflect at the altar and ask a simple question.

Am I doing the right thing?

I wasn't certain, but to judge by the healing magics that caressed me like warm sunbeams, I was outvoted eleven and more to one.

But Chana Mona had returned with three other women in tow. One was a Nord, Olava the Fair, and she seemed to shine with a distant, cool light, like sun on the snows on the very top of the Jeralls. She didn't do much as I recall, but I vaguely noted she moved away to speak at one point with someone I didn't see.

Another was Marz, who bestowed blessing magicks on us. I think she also stopped me from fainting on a regular basis.

And there was a Dunmer with the finest speaking voice I've ever heard. She delivered, off the top of her head, an unbelievably lyrical sermon on the subject of marriage, something to do with making different mistakes, and a swirl of words that gave me the impression of a storm of flowers just before a great precipice.

I'd be more detailed but I was a bit preoccupied at the time with not either passing out again or screaming.

I remember a ring being taken off my finger; I remember putting a ring onto S'jirra's finger; I remember her hand placing a ring back on my finger.

I remember Primate Mona's voice smoothly blazing a trail through the vows that my own voice tripped and stumbled along.

I remember S'jirra's eyes positively glowing as she spoke her vows, as immense as the star-filled sky.

I remember the world coming back into coherence as the smiling Primate spoke, saying, “And with these vows, and with these rings, and with all the blessings of the Nine Divines, I pronounce you husband and wife–”

And S'jirra gave a cry that shook the roof and flung herself into my arms and it took me about five days to realise that if my wife was kissing me, who on earth was making all that hooting and hollering?

S'jirra got curious herself, and we both looked around to see the entire Mage's Guild had turned up sometime during the proceedings!

Ayarie stepped forward. “I came in earlier,” says she between grins, “and imagine my surprise when I saw you before the altar, and our living saint here explaining you were getting married!”

“She asked me not to tell you,” Olava said turning the colour of sunset on the Jeralls.

“And she asked me to keep silence,” Abhuki was grinning mischievously.

“Which I think hass been broken,” Kud-Ei attempts to frown at her guild, who just beam right back at her. “May I offer the newlywedss the hosspitality of the Mage'ss Guild?”

And we look at each other, and decide, why not?

I remember a swirl of well-wishers, someone producing a lute and another a recorder, and was it Ita who used a barrel-lid for a drum? The guild was decidedly lighter by several bottles of wine the following morning, and Henantier of all people knocked himself out cooking up a storm, and he and Carandial and I near wore our legs out since all the ladies insisted on taking the floor with us before S'jirra gave me a look – one that Kud-Ei noticed.

“Pleasse,” says she, “usse my room at the top of the sstairss tonight,” and she looks at Henantier. Ohohoho! – that was the general consensus of not just me, but apparently most of the other guildies who'd overheard her – and of S'jirra, who promised me wickedness in the gleam in her eyes.

I'd wondered why there were two beds in Henantier's house.

“Ladiess,” Kud-Ei spoke with firmness, “the hour iss getting late, and we are all tired after the eventss of thiss happy day. Wizard Ra'jirra and his family will sstay here tonight, and–”

“You'll be with Henantier again right?” Ayalie and her chin were a bit over the limit.

Kud-Ei just gave her a look, then laughed. “I guess you all already know then,” says she ruefully, “but don't you dare try to drag us to the altar!”

The idea was considered uproarious, and the laughter of the guildmates lifted S'jirra and me – and another bottle of Surilie Brothers' finest – up the stairs to our room for the night.

I closed the door behind us and looked at my wife and kissed her long and hard. As I did, I thought I heard something outside.

As I was busy kissing my wife and she was giving me the tongue, I lifted a hand and cast Watchfulness. Yep – there were at least three silhouettes crouched outside the door, and two more downstairs – one was probably Abhuki.

I pulled the key out and locked the door, then said loudly, “No giggling!” as S'jirra hauled me towards the bed in the corner with one hand and attempted to tear my clothes off with the other.

“Who carres if they do?” she breathed in my ear as we – well, you know.

If you don't, ask your mum.

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Nov 2 2010, 08:39 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Having never been married myself, I'll leave the assessment of accuracy of the ceremony up to others who have been there, but I will say that I enjoyed it very much!

The Mages Guild being there was wonderful, as well as their methods of celebration!

The last two sentences were perfect!

[mALX]

I love this chapter !!!! The inner dialogue in the first 6 or so paragraphs was huge, rich - an insight into Ra'jirra I haven't seen before, Awesome !!!

The image in my mind of the wedding party trooping in their finest clothing - then skinning the beast on the way to the chapel - ROFL !!!! I loved it !!!!

Awesome Write - as always !!!!!!