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

[SubRosa]

There is an excellent map here, that uses the Google Map api, and has links to the UESP Wiki built into it. A very handy resource.

[Cardboard Box]

[This one was a tricky bit, since I wanted to make Mazoga more than a piece of heavily armoured cardboard.]

7. In which Ra'Jirra Skips Over a Lot

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted a house in Leyawiin. My reasoning was that while I'd have a base in the Imperial City, Leyawiin's a long way from the big smoke, so knowing the costs of real estate here would be a good idea. As it turned out, there was a little cottage for sale, so I went to see the Count.

Unfortunately the Count wasn't the slightest bit interested in talking real estate until I did a little job for him, which involved the Orcish lady we all know as Sir Mazoga, Knight of the White Stallion of Leyawiin. (Said always with a straight face if you know what's good for you.) It's a classic tale of redemption and revenge, and you've heard the bards going on about it. Sir Mazoga's proven Leyawiin's protection is in good hands. Unless you're Black Brugo, in which case you're dead, or a member of what's left of the Black Bow Gang, in which case you're likely getting the snot pounded out of you in Quickwater Cave or somewhere nearby.

After that I tied up some loose ends. I had collected twenty more nirnroots on my sojourn down the river and Sinderion was gobsmacked to learn this.

“Where did you find all these?” cries he, grabbing a pair of baskets to put them all in.

“Rocks and water,” says I, “they seem to need to be close to rocks, whether they be stones, city walls or ruins, preferably with water nearby.” I have a think and add, “I should check up north around Chorrol and Bruma and thereabouts.”

“Good idea,” says he, “it's valuable information. And if you look here,” and he points to where a drunken rat has tracked ink across some parchment, “it seems the next strength of Elixir requires thirty more. Do keep notes on where you find them, won't you?”

And I agree and leave him to it and exploring I go.

My plan was to return to Silorn and head east, running across an abandoned chapel marked as 'the Priory of the Nine', Fort Black Boot which was full of conjurers, and the most puzzling of the lot, Bloodmayne Cave. I say puzzling because it appeared to be abandoned, fires still going, bales and chests with stuff in them. More disturbing, in a large chamber was a pallet with a skeleton spread upon it. Was he sacrificed? Necromancers? Only the wolves and rats knew so I burgled the place and beat it back to Bravil and thence to the Lodge of the White Stallion.

It was around this time I made enough cash and loot to return to the Imperial City and buy that waterfront shack. I still had a heap of travelling to do, but it's still nice to have a place of your own. Best of all, I could honestly tell people I had a residence in the Imperial City. Sort of.

Sitting there, on the evening of Fridas 16 Heartfire, I found myself boggling at how things had turned out in such a short time and thinking over my last conversation with Mazoga.

“Vaermina's tits!” she cries coming in, “what's that stench?”

“Um, feather potions,” says I a bit embarrassed, “I'm heading for the Imperial City.”

“Doing some selling?” she says around the iron-clad thumb and forefinger jammed into her honk. “You better ease up or find a new recipe.”

“I'll explain outside,” says I, tying on the last bits to my bundle.

Outside, it was a quiet evening except for my guts. Maybe that was why the unicorn had disappeared again.

“I'm aiming for the Mage's Guild, Mazoga,” says I, “and I can't do that if I'm running around Leyawiin killing bandits, and anyway I need to get more useful.”

Mazoga just looks at me. “Useful? Sir Ra'Jirra, you've been an invaluable companion, and I've seen your bravery in a fight. Your parents should be proud their son is a knight!”

I start walking northward slowly so Mazoga can follow me upwind.

“Well, I've also got a trip to do up north as well,” says I, “S'drassa wants some rare crystals called Garridan's Tears. I've got a name to speak with at the Arcane University, and then I'll be back.”

“Yeah,” says she, “I heard you stopped Dagail from going mad. Can't understand why you're messing around with those spell-slingers though.”

“My parents sent me off believing that I'd join the Mage's Guild,” I explain, “and I promised I would. I can't pike out when I'm only halfway there! Sir Mazoga,” and I look at her, “I'm not letting my parents down any more than you did Ra'vindra.”

She just stops and looks at me, looks away, and says, “I – I'm going to get me some – more black bows.”

And away she strides, but as we part I'm sure I hear her call, “I'll save some for you!” or something like that.

I was in the city as I said by Fridas with feather potions to spare and after some vigorous merchanting finally purchased deed to the waterfront shack and several sets of furnishings, including some very useful ingredient pots.

By this time I was no longer certain whether to go westward to Chorrol or eastward to Cheydinhal. All I knew was that I seemed to be fighting other people's fires, at least three of which seemed to have something to do with necromancy. Erthor's zombies, that note in Bravil, and Kunthar's treachery. I was starting to get nervous and a half.

The following day I met Julienne Fanis in the lobby of the Arcane University and spoke to her about Garridan's Tears. According to her, and some reading I picked up from Phintias, the Tears were the crystallised – well, tears, of a knight who was trying to save his lands from drought, and met his end in Frostfire Glade, which is in the northern highlands.

On the way I spoke to an old fisherman in Weye, chap with a gammy leg and some spectacular scars on same. Apparently he needed the scales from a dozen slaughterfish. Incidentally, they're well named, and after nearly being torn apart and drowned two or three times I thought “sod this” and got on to Frostfire.

The Glade itself is reached by having refined frost salts to unlock the door at the end of a cave, which is full of really vicious wolves. In the middle there is an immense mass of ice, inside which you can see Garridan, frozen in battle with a huge atronach, whose little brother I also fought. Stay away unless you have very, very good frost resistance magicks.

Needless to say S'drassa was delighted that I'd found the Tears for him, and even more delighted that I'd managed to survive. They actually look good in his collection, and the story is a touching one. So off I went up the eastern side of the river, intending to go to Cheydinhal.

Actually I got as far as the Panther River before I was sidetracked, but I digress.

At the mouth of the Panther there's a shipwreck, which I soon discovered was involved with a ghost known to the residents of Bravil as the Folorn Watchman. That ghost has been laid to rest by yours truly, but not without a truly frightening scrap involving vengeful ghosts that weren't there the first time I looked around.

There are stranger places to make a decision than three fathoms down in a river, at night, looking for sunnken treasure, by the way.

[haute ecole rider]

I love how you echo my own adventures, but in your own tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic light.

I would have liked more depth and detail in these adventures, but as I'm having some problems writing the Mazoga quests in some depth, I can relate.

Oh, and do I know the feeling of having multiple quests going on at the same time! Ai yi yi!

[Cardboard Box]

Good point HEC. I think what's happened is that I've played too far ahead, and been too lazy to do my research about all these damn quests.

Also, Ra'Jirra's a bit hazy now on some of the details. He hasn't been quite right since Uriel Septim donged him one.

[SubRosa]

Yay for Mazoga, ahem, excuse me, Sir Mazoga. She is one of my favorite NPCs in the game. A real pain when you meet her, but as you get to know her, she grows on you.

“Vaermina's tits!”
ewww! I will take Dibella's any day!

[mALX]

“Vaermina's tits!” she cries coming in, “what's that stench?”

“Um, feather potions,” says I a bit embarrassed, “I'm heading for the Imperial City.”

SPEW !!!!!!! CHOKE !!!!! GASP !!!!! [ mALX died laughing when the liquid spewing from her mouth as she laughed at said chapter sprayed into...etc. ... huge ....etc. .... ]

[Remko]

Yay, an update

Loved this:

Unless you're Black Brugo, in which case you're dead, or a member of what's left of the Black Bow Gang, in which case you're likely getting the snot pounded out of you in Quickwater Cave or somewhere nearby.

[Cardboard Box]

[Finally! Time to wind up the recommendation quests. He tells me that later he 'gave Bruma a good sweeping'. Ha ha, Arch-Mage. Don't quit yer day job.]

8. In Which Ra'Jirra Finishes Off his Recommendations

Having decided to go to Chorrol next, I spent some time mixing potions and went mooching down around Pell's Gate. An attack by conjurers near Sardavar Leed led me to stick my nose inside, where I saw a rather fatal three-way between a sturdy-looking warrior type, some sort of invisible monster, and someone who I now know was a member of the cult known as the Guardians of Oblivion. They're bad, as bad as the notices say. I got out of there before anyone saw me.

Downing my umpteenth feather potion and bagging some poor marauder's gear about Fort Alessia, I finally departed for Chorrol. After a drop-off at my shack I started off up the Black Road, pausing only to have a look around in and on Fort Ash after bowling an obnoxious highwayman, who apparently was stashing things in the upper levels outside.

Chorrol is one of the nicest and best-kept counties I've seen. The whole place is walled, and constables patrol the entrances. And of course there's the great oak under which you can always find the local gentry discussing affairs without resolving anything, which makes them overqualified for the Imperial Council.

To put it bluntly, news had already spread of Kalthar's treachery, but the Chorrol guildmaster Tee-Keeus had a problem of his own, collectively known as Earana, who it turned out wanted a strange book called Fingers of the Mountain. This I explained to Teekee.

“She what? That damnable softskin...” Then he realises that Athragar the balding Basmer battlemage's ears are growing and pulls himself together. “Look, she and I have an unpleasant history. She does not care for Guild regulations, and errantly–”

“You mean 'erroneously',” says an Imperial woman in passing.

“Oh shut up! – believes I am misusing my powers. I would not trust her with a wet piece of parchment, let alone as dangerous an artifact as that. Hmm...”

“Whatever happened to that associate you sent for it last time?” Athragar asks.

Tee-Keeus looks like he's about to incinerate baldy, but relents. “Good point. Ra'Jirra looks like he can take care of himself, yes? Well, Ra'Jirra, go to Cloud Top – it's just down from the Colovian Horn there – and find that book before Earana does!”

And so I walked out of the guildhall into the rain, out of Chorrol's north gate in the rain, and up into the mountains in the rain, and finally found Cloud Top in the rain.

The associate Teekee had sent was lying in the rain by a lone shattered obelisk – very dead, a man-shaped lump of charcoal. The book, soot-smudged, was on him, but I couldn't open it! I remember turning it over and over, but there was no lock that I could see. It was strange, and it was raining, and I decided that I didn't like the way the obelisk was looking at me so I split.

Please note that Fort Rayles, last I looked, was home to the Guardians of Oblivion. Stay well clear.

Tee-keeus was happy with me and I was happy with his recommendation and off I went to Bruma by the Orange Road. My happiness stopped dead when I went peering into Shadow's Rest Cavern. There I was, poking around with Starlight active, and just as I'm heading back to the entrance three trolls come in from the hunt! So there I am, racing back towards the first hiding place I can find, scared out of my wits and nearly crapping myself until the spell wore off!

Moranda was more fun. I staggered out of there laden with imp galls and welkynd stones, but my real treasure is outside Glademist Cave. On a good day you can see clear to the Imperial City and beyond into BlackMarsh. Sometimes I just up and head over there just for the view. Officially I'm after entoloma. But it's the view really.

Toadstool was another worry when I fell through a hole in the floor and had to wade my way back out through the damn undead. And I don't like snow leopards either.

The Bruma guild is a nice place, but the staff ruin it. The consensus is that Jeanne's a dizzy chook and they're pretty right; everyone else there either plays tricks on her or treats her with pity – not a good relationship between head and subordinates. I was, I admit, responsible for hiding her Manual of Spellcraft, which I had to do to get my recommendation for finding J'Skar. Why the daft bint didn't use a spell of life detection I'll never bloody know. It was so easy I spent most of my time there beating up the local goblins while waiting on Volanaro.

After returning home and dumping loot, I headed off to Cheydinhal via Weye and one grateful fisho and an even more grateful populace of Aleswell. What happened there is another reason for a mandatory assistant system.

I'd been getting a lot of practice in on Destruction by the time I reached Cheydinhal. I was directed to someone called Falcar down in the basement, but the directions involved warnings to watch my back. And no wonder.

Falcar was a snotty Altmer and his hairdo seemed just as arrogant. Or maybe hearing him pull up before calling me a fur-licker just put me right off him.

“What do you want anyway?” he asks, “Don't tell me you're looking for a recommendation.”

“I'll tell you what then,” says I, “let's do a deal. I do a little job for you, and you write up a recommendation for me. That way we both win and you don't have to look at my face any more. Deal?” Didn't tell him that I wouldn't have to look at his face either, but haggling's like that.

He just snorts a bit and finally out comes, “Don't waste my time if you're not ready for this. Are you prepared to do what is necessary to gain a recommendation from me?” As though the Arch-Mage hangs on his every word. Just like old Maro.

“Yes,” says I, keeping as steady as possible and trying not to let him know that I think he's spent too much time with his head up his own bunghole.

“Hrmph. Very well. We shall see how prepared you actually are,” snorts he, but the crap's too far up his nose to snort out. “There was a particular ring of Burden I was testing some time ago. Another stupid Associate somehow got his hands on it, and managed to misplace it. If I didn't know better, I'd say he purposely tossed it down the well behind the guild hall. Why he would do such a thing is beyond me.”

Didn't sound right. “And you want me to go get it.”

“Exactly,” says he, as though he wasn't expecting me to be that bright. “You will retrieve this ring for me. Should you manage to do so, I shall consider sending a recommendation to the University.”

Money for jam thinks I, “Right. I'll go get it then,” says I.

“The well is locked, so you'll need the key,” says he, “Deetsan should have a copy of it.” I think he was about to tell me to get moving except I already was.

So up I goes and find Deetsan working away at alchemy, or she was, when I interrupted her and asked for the key.

“Don't tell me Falcar's given you the same task he gave Vidkun!” cries she, then looks over the balcony like she's checking we're alone. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's trying to get you killed!”

“What do you mean?” says I, “I mean, yes, he's an arsehole, but...”

“He gave poor Vidkun the same task, and we never saw him again. I'm reasonably sure there's a connection, but I can't prove it,” she says bitterly, “Anyway, here's the key, and something extra.”

And so I learn a spell of Buoyancy, which I refrain from telling her I don't need since I have an amulet for that. “I don't know if it will be of use to you, but from what I've heard of Falcar's ring, it may come in handy. Oh, and if you find anything about Vidkun, let me know.”

I felt a bit daft changing from my nice clothes into my battle gear, but I didn't know what was at the bottom of the well. So down I go, into what looked like part of an old Imperial fort, and there was Vidkun, drowned, one hand on the stone floor.

That wasn't right. Sheathing my mace I swam over and saw an odd ring on his finger. When I pulled it off, his hand rose free and drifted about like you'd expect a corpse's hand to do.

And no wonder! The ring, even in my pocket, weighed a ton. Ring of Burden indeed! It wasn't even magickal – just an impossibly heavy bit of jewelery!

Climbing out of the well was agony on my poor overburdened arms to the point that once I managed to haul myself over the side, I had to drop my weapons to be able to stand up and trudge back into the Guildhall and up to Deetsan.

“We have a problem,” she says, “And it might affect your recommendation.”

“It's not about this damn thing?” says I, hauling out the blasted ring.

She just looks at it like it's made of dog turds. “Oh, just drop it anywhere. I don't think he really cared about it. I think it was some sort of sick joke on his part,” spits she. Being tidy, I put it on the display case fronting the main door. I'd like to see the thief who tried to snaffle it.

Relieved of all that weight, I manage to notice that the other guildies are all standing around looking like they just saw Molag Bal with a sheep of the appropriate sex.

“So what happened?” says I.

“I'm just so tired of the way we've all been treated by Falcar! I was worried about you, and angry about Vidkun, so I confronted Falcar directly,” says she. “He flew into a rage! I didn't even understand some of his ranting, but he said that our days are numbered, and then he stormed out!”

“Hang on a tick,” says I, “did he ever have anything to do with necromancy?”

“You mean like Kalthar in Leyawiin? I don't know, but...” I could see wheels beginning to turn in her head. “Look, you should check his room in the living quarters. If you see your recommendation, or anything unusual, let me know. I'll gladly send it to the Council.”

“Oh, one thing,” says I as I head off, “I found Vidkun. He drowned in the well.”

Someone gags and Deetsan sags. “I was afraid of that... I'll see he's laid to rest and the well cleaned out. That's all we need, tainted water...”

So down I go looking for Falcar's quarters. Turns out the dopey sod hadn't bothered to write anything about me, so I went looking for answers as to why he'd blown up like he did. In a drawer I found two soul gems that didn't look right. Gems are usually bluish, but these were a malevolent black. I took them to Deetsan who went white.

“Oh, Gods. This is worse than I'd expected,” says she, and plucks them from my hand. “All right. I'll just take these filthy things from you. I'll need them for my report to the Council. No recommendation I take it?” I just shake my head. “Fine. I'll write one and include it in my report. In light of the circumstances, I believe they'll find it more than adequate.”

“And that should be all of them,” says I, “Seeing as I've been to Anvil, Skingrad, Bravil–”

I saw her grin. Gods, news gets around fast!

“Leyawiin” – good, that got rid of the grin – “Chorrol and Bruma. So I can head for the Arcane University eh?”

Deetsan just blinks and nods. “You've been through quite a bit, haven't you? Well, I think you have proven yourself worthy. The Arcane University awaits you now. Once there speak with Raminus Polus about getting settled in.”

I made my excuses and left, picked up my gear from the well and went home. That night I took a couple of bottles of ale on a walk down to the little graveyard on the waterfront and looked over at the walls of the Arcane University.

I'd done it bar the ceremonies, whatever they were. I'd fulfilled my oath to my parents. Tomorrow I would be a full-fledged member of the Mage's Guild.

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: May 28 2010, 11:19 AM

[Remko]

Brilliant as ever. Although it seems to lack detail, the way you write it you get away with it perfectly.

This had me snickering:

Oh, one thing,” says I as I head off, “I found Vidkun. He drowned in the well.”

Someone gags and Deetsan sags.

[haute ecole rider]

Too much good stuff to quote today! I loved the entire chapter!

It's okay that the detail's a bit skimpy - after all, how many of us have done the Mages Guild questline? We all know the darned recommendations by heart!

You did a better job writing the Cheydinhal recommendation than I did! Yours is way funnier.

Good job! Loved it!

[SubRosa]

Lots of fun, as always. The informal tone you write it all in really makes it all work.


Interesting 3-way battle Ra'jirra stumbled upon in Sardaukar Leed. The Guardians of Oblivion? Sounds like conjurers. Very cool name. I like that you made them a cult, rather than just generic monsters in a dungeon. I take it we will be seeing more of them in the future?


you can always find the local gentry discussing affairs without resolving anything, which makes them overqualified for the Imperial Council.
Zing!

[Cardboard Box]

Part of my loadout is Oscuro's Oblivion Overhaul. With this installed, I find warnings at the gates and in public houses about the Guardians of Oblivion, the Order of the Putrid Hand, marauders, raiders, slaver parties (e.g. Marshpunk Camp), amazons, spectral warriors and wolves, guardians of the forest (think super-spriggans), and even more truly effing scary horrors. Ra'jirra has died at least eight times during the course of events. Honestly, compared to Cyrodiil's wopwops Oblivion is the safer place.

[mALX]

How did I miss this chapter? Awesome spewfest you created over here, I love your writing!!!!

[Cardboard Box]

[OK, here's the first part of the next chapter. I'm playing too far ahead as usual, and worse, I got Fallout 3 two days ago. I miss magic and shields. And Detect Life spells, and Chameleon spells, and...

Well, I feel I should put something up to get the story moving a bit before Ruth drags me out into the Capital Wasteland again.]

9.1. In Which Ra'Jirra becomes Apprentice in the Mages Guild

The next morning I got up and considered what to wear, like some girl on market day. I wondered about the armour I had collected and used on my travels, but dropped that idea. Clanking into the Arcane University like some adventurer might be taken poorly. The last thing I wanted was to be asked if I got lost on my way to the Fighter's Guild or something like that.

So I picked up the conjurer's robe from that chap who'd swum out to attack me so long ago. Nope, I thought to myself, I'm no conjurer and they might take offense. That went back on the pile. Eventually I settled on my usual mercantile-enhancing outfit I'd been wearing whenever I fronted up in a township. It was swanky, didn't clash with my fur and hopefully would state clearly that I was able to fend for myself.

If that sounds like a lot of farting around, what can I say? I was about to make a first impression on the faculty – last time I had done little more than look up Julienne Fanis and back out again. This time I had to look my best and give those recommendations full weight. I'd be there a lot more often.

With that in mind I trudged up the slope beyond the guard tower and around the city wall to the University, a smaller echo off to the south. Through the gate and down to the little garden that took up half the interior, then up again to the lobby. An Imperial man was in there, same as when I was visiting Fanis.

“Pardon me, sir,” I began, “I seek Master–”

“No need for the pleasantries,” says he, “I'm Raminus Polus, and you would be our new apprentice, Ra'Jirra.” And he looks me up and down while I get to grips with the fact he's already calling me Apprentice. “Good man. You're not like some of the jackasses we've had commended to us. Would you believe we once had a fool swan in done up like a necromancer?” I'm about to reply but, “Damn idiot thought he'd impress us by showing off the loot he'd taken from some third-rate corpse-jockey during his quest for recommendations. The resident battlemagi cured him of that notion quick!”

I think about this for a bit and finally say, “Unsurprising.”

Raminus just chuckles. “Well! You'll need your new robe. Let's see...” and off he goes to rummage through a dresser full of robes. “Here we are! - one Robe of the Apprentice, part of your new uniform to go with your new stature here. Now, you need your staff.”

“All right,” I say agreeably and wait for it.

“Oh, I can't just give it to you,” he says, “every staff is personalised. What you need to do is get the wood for the staff, and you do this at Wellspring Cave – got your map there? Good, the cave's just... there... But before you go, let me give you the grand tour...”

And so out the front door he goes and around to one of the great gates, me in tow, and hands me a key.

“The key to the Arcane University is yours,” he says dramatically, “You first.”

I remember being unimpressed by that key. It was just an ordinary-looking iron key except for the seven teeth and the open eye symbol on it. When I stuck it in the lock and turned it, I halfpie expected a flash of light or some other effect. What I got was creaky hinges and the momentary attention of someone in conjurer's gear on the other side.

“Oh, you must be the newcomer,” says she, and before I have a chance to speak, “Yes, yes, I'm sure you've got something exceedingly important to say. But the Apprentices do not teach themselves, now do they? Good day.”

And off she wanders while I stand there like an idiot.

“Don't worry about it,” says Raminus with a pat on my shoulder, “She's one of our scholars here, and I swear they're all like that. Listen to those two for instance!”

Those two were standing upright and wearing robes and using words, which pretty much helps separate the citizens of Tamriel from the more stupid creatures, but all they seemed to say was things like “Ooh! You were right after all!” or “I've done my sums and I was right after all!” or some other rot. But even to this day, in all my time wandering around the University, I have never learned what they're talking about!

But Raminus is leading me along the concourse and pointing right. “See by the garden there? That's the Lustratorium – Julienne Fanis's alchemy centre. Next one along, that's the Chironasium – when you have your staff go in and see old Delmar there about enchantments for it. And there's the Practise Rooms for testing your spell-slinging – now on the other side of the watchtower there is the Mage Quarters – you can sleep there, any bed you like – and now there's the Mystic Archives, our library – Tar-Meena's in charge. And finally the Praxographical Centre by the lectern here for spellmaking, just watch your back around Gaspar while you're there – and that's the grand tour. What'dya think?”

And there I am trying to think and all I can say is, “Impressive!”

Raminus just grins at me. “I was like that too when I came here,” he says, “but I swear things have gone downhill these days. Most of these scholars are so preoccupied they simply don't pay attention to anything but their research, whatever it is. Anyway, I have other things to do, will you be all right?”

“Certainly,” says I, “and thank you so much Mast– er, Raminus.”

“No problem, Apprentice,” says he, and so we part ways, he back to the tower and me to the Praxographical Centre.

[Whew! Finally posted after over a week -- what the -- Ruth! Waitaminute -- no! I don't wanna go back -- Oh NO! Not freakin' Grayditch! Not the damn fire ants! I HATE FIRE ANTS! HELLLPPPP--

[Remko]

I hated the fire-ants quest t... wait, that wasn't under discussion.
Another funny addition! next please

[haute ecole rider]

Fire ants? FIRE ANTS?? Hell, they ain't nuthin compared to Shar Pei fur getting all ground into your forearms and neck from holding a scratchy wrinkled manatee-faced dog! Ugh!

Anyway, loved this part:

Those two were standing upright and wearing robes and using words, which pretty much helps separate the citizens of Tamriel from the more stupid creatures, but all they seemed to say was things like “Ooh! You were right after all!” or “I've done my sums and I was right after all!” or some other rot. But even to this day, in all my time wandering around the University, I have never learned what they're talking about!

Arcane University - ahh, talk about the ivory towers! This made me laugh out loud!

Also deciding what to wear in the beginning - just like a job interview!

[SubRosa]

Lots of fun as ever! I so love reading about Ra'jirra!

Would you believe we once had a fool swan in done up like a necromancer?” I'm about to reply but, “Damn idiot thought he'd impress us by showing off the loot he'd taken from some third-rate corpse-jockey during his quest for recommendations. The resident battlemagi cured him of that notion quick!”
I love this bit, because I did it once at the Anvil Mages Guild. Oh you should have heard Carahil! I had no idea that characters in the game would actually react to you wearing necromancer robes. They just ignore you in the mythic dawn ones!

[Cardboard Box]

[FINALLY! The quest for staffs almost comes to an end. The scenes in Wellspring were an absolute pain, but I've also realised some exploration of old AU is a bit out of sync. Also, I was caning myself about how exactly one used the spellmaking altars, but had to drop it. Oh, who cares?]

9.2. In Which Ra'Jirra Has a Rotten Time Becoming Apprentice in the Mage's Guild

The Praxographical Centre wasn't particularly interesting inside except for two unusual things which at first glance appeared to be lecterns.

“Can I help you, Apprentice?” At my left shoulder was a hood. There was a face in it claiming to belong to Gaspar Stegine. “Master Spellmaker Gaspar Stegine, at your service. New spells. Old spells. Good spells. Bad spells. They're all fun for me!”

Slimy prick.

“So, how do these work?” asks I, pointing to the lectern things.

“Ah, those are spellmaking altars!” cries Gaspar, “They look simple, but! My goodness, the effort required to wrest a concept into an actual, workable spell...” And he leans in and goes on, “These altars allow adepts to perceive the threads of magicka themselves – and wrest them into submisson! Of course,” he goes well on, “that work requires reparations...”

“I see,” says I neutrally, “So let's start with... oh... how about a spell of soul trap that you cast from a distance? You know, like you want to soul trap a wolf but don't want to drop your guard when it's biting you?”

Gaspar just looks at me. “For enchantments. I see.” So did I – Gaspar was a snob as well as slimy – but to be fair he did a good job of showing me how to use all the bits on the altar. Let's just leave it at that. Trade secrets.

With my ranged soul trap spell, I then had a brainwave, and ignoring the all too close presence of Gaspar I mixed together fire and frost damage spells along with a short-lived soul trap. It nearly went to custard when Gaspar twigged, jumped for joy and hugged me out of the blue!

“Oh, gorgeous!” cries he, as I try to extract myself from his slighty too low grasp, “Such genius! Frost and fire to capture soul energy – a double-whammy! What will you call this marvellous spell?”

I just stand there and stammer, “Uh... uh... Soul... Freeze.... Burn... I suppose.”

And I look at him and he looks at me and then he, honest to gods, squeals and hugs me again!

“Oh perfect! Soul Freeze Burn – does exactly what it says on the bottle! Magnificent Apprentice, and such modesty as well. I get tired of fools coming in and creating So-And-So's Spell or High-And-Mighty's Wonder Witchery, but you –“ oh thank the Nine, he let go of me – “Oh, no, you have style!”

I thanked him very kindly for his patience and help and fled. No wonder Raminus had told me to watch my back. Other parts might have needed guarding too.

* * *

As I recovered my composure outside and began heading to the Chironasium, I saw the apprentices getting up from a lecture and drifting off, muttering amongst each other.

“Bloody rune stones again,” a Breton girl says.

“It's always those things,” grumbles a Dunmer boy, “I swear, Elena, these damn...” and he stops as the lecturer walks on by, “...these damn scholars don't care about anything but one-upping each other. You know when I left for Chorrol with Bosco three weeks ago?”

“Chorrol? I'd have thought Cheydinhal. And whatever happened to Bosco anyway?”

“No idea, bandits I guess. Anyway, I learned more from that guild in a week than I have here in a month! And no Grasper either!”

Whatever happened to that associate you sent for it last time?

I kiboshed that line of thought and popped into the Chironasium. Nice place, and Delmar is a wise Redguard who showed me how to enchant things in a dummy run.

“Now, put the item you wish to enchant on one pan.” I pulled out a small green cloak acquired from a slightly dead marauder and put it in place.

“Now, a filled soul gem in the other pan.” I didn't have one so Delmar helpfully picked a petty one out of a bowl and put it on the altar.

“Now, Apprentice,” says Delmar, “choose wisely your effect. Remember this will be a constant effect enchantment, so it will affect you.”

I thought of shielding, then decided against it. My new robe fortified willpower, and I had learned how to fortify strength, so I tossed a mental coin and chose the fortification of intelligence.

“Good thinking!” Delmar says impressed, “Now, see the scale here?” In the middle of the altar was a sort of tube and needle arrangement. When I had chosen my effect, the needle had risen to the number 8 mark.

“I see it,” says I, “I guess that's the strength of the effect?”

“Yes, and the cost in thousands of gold.”

Eight thousand drakes! I took the cloak off the altar. “So,” says I, “when I want to enchant something I need a thousand drakes per mark, right?”

Delmar just grins. “'Fraid so mate. Just remember though, you get your staff enchanted for free. When you get the staff,” he adds. “Our sacred grove is that islet over east, which you can reach through Wellspring. It goes down and right under the lake.”

I got the hint and made my apologies and headed for home, where I changed into my work gear and set off for Wellspring.

The ride over there was uneventful except for a pack of wolves outside the entrance.

* * *

Inside the cave I saw the tunnel went down to a chamber with some cots and a fellow in robes walking around. So thinking that he was a fellow Guild member, I strolled down and called, “Hail fellow Mage!”

“Fresh flesh is here!” he cried in response and summoned a ghost. honoured user was a necromancer!

The bugger took refuge in a hollow while I launched spells at his pet ghost in between shooting arrows at any part of him I could target. It was pretty unevenly matched – as soon as his ghostie summons ended, he'd whistle up another. Eventually I had enough. Pulling out my mace, I rushed him with several blows and followed up with a kill spell. He and I sank to the floor. Kill spells take it out of you.

It took me several minutes to collect all the arrows I hadn't broken in the cave walls, and I found the corpse of one of the resident mages, her throat sliced open in a way that suggested either extreme sadism or the use of a wooden spoon. Either way I didn't like either option. The path turned right and down, the air becoming colder and damper as the cave went underneath Lake Rumare.

There was another chamber now, and I could hear lapping water. I could also see figures moving around – more necros most likely. Carefully I crept towards the chamber entrance, hugging the side. Now I could see a body of water, off to the left – I pulled off my gauntlet. The Jewel of the Rumare was there. On with the gauntlet again – a prayer – I drew my mace and ran.

The plan was to lurk underwater and wait for the necros to join me – where their spells wouldn't work and my mace and I would be waiting to either smash or drown them. The gods were with me – the channel was plenty deep enough for that. I then steeled myself for the pain that comes from sucking in water instead of air and greeted my fellow bathers.

The first necromancer was a Nord who jumped in right on top of me with a wooden mauler in hand. My response was to swing my mace into his manhood, which while not doing as much damage as I would have liked, did cause him to lose most of his breath. Forsaking my shield I grabbed a foot and pulled him down with me, attempting swings at his hips and frantically kicking leg. He managed a couple of panicky blows to my helm before he finally drowned.

A blow to my back nearly sent me into the wall and I saw two more: a woman with a dagger and another man with a two-handed club. I swung at Mr Club – more accurately, at his hand. I missed however and hit his elbow instead. Out came a howl of bubbles and his next swing went wild – unlike Miss Dagger, who found a weakpoint where my elven cuirass met my chainmail greaves.

Of course, I'd dropped my shield when grabbing that damn Nord. Miss Dagger was coming at me again, so I grabbed the first thing I could find – that damn Nord. I don't think he minded getting it in the bum from her.

Anyway, Mr Hammer was still in possession of same and after me. I decided the best thing to do was give a good kick upwards, then over and down again with a king-hit on the bonce. There's worse things than blood in your eye and bits of bone are some of them.

By now the water was a mass of flailing bodies and weapons and gore and confusion. Some of it was mine. Most of it was theirs. After that bath I would need another one.

I found a tunnel leading out of the drink and staggered up it, then doubled over as I coughed up all the water I'd been breathing and wiped my face and eyes clean. Water breathing spells are a literal pain like that.

And so I picked up all the light stuff I could find and continued on. A tunnel led upwards to a door, which I assumed led to the grotto. As it was locked, I didn't expect to be greeted by necromancers. How in hell had they got in?

Not that it mattered. By this time I was tired and angry and not really in the mood for gloating conversation from some jumped-up ashskin umbrella seller. It was on this time, and I chased the corpse-shaggers up and down the grotto, virtually ignoring their summoned horrors. I just wanted to stick my mace in their faces and shut them the hells up. Which, eventually, I did.

When the sense returned to me I counted the dead – three necromancers and two members of the guild whose forms I didn't look at too closely. Apparently they were guarding some sort of stone chest, which appeared to be both a container and an altar of very great age. There was writing on it, but eroded to the point that I could only make out “Galer”. “Galerion”, I guessed. Perhaps this altar had been consecrated or something by him.

Inside was a fresh turd which had somehow missed an old and gnarled length of oak; I looked more closely and realised that it had been carefully shaped and prepared. This then was to be my staff. Tired, I slung the staff to be on my back and slogged back to the guild. All I wanted to do was sleep but I needed to tell Raminus that the grotto had been violated.

To my surprise, even in the small hours he was awake and fussing about in the university lobby. Didn't the man ever sleep?

“Hail, Ra'Jirra,” says he, “Aren't you supposed to – what's happened?”

“Necromancers,” snarls I, “at Wellspring Cave.” And he steps back a bit and goes to sit down on a bench that's about three inches too far away and doesn't notice!

“Eletta and Zahrasha?” asks he.

“Anybody who wasn't a necromancer they killed,” says I.

“What's this?” asks a Bosmer mage coming in.

“Wellspring Cave had necromancers,” says I.

And she goes all white and says, “Oh my”, and looks at Raminus and says “Oh my,” and looks at me and says “Oh my,” then looks at the door and totters out. She may have said “Oh my” but I didn't notice because Raminus was muttering while rising to his feet again.

“They've never been so bold before now. Always hiding in the shadows, staying away from the guild. What could have prompted this?”

“Whatever it was they're so mad about it one of them shat in the altar,” says I and sends him sitting down hard again in a near faint.

“Those swine.” He says it very softly and clearly. Then he says it again, repeatedly, with more and more ornate elaborations, which seems to help him get back up again. “I'll need to speak to the council about this,” says he with grim and anger, “Thank you for relaying the information. Now, tend to your staff, and your wounds, if necessary.” And off he goes to the teleport pad thing while saying something I didn't catch. But it was clearer than ever to me that someone or something – maybe several – had it in for the Mage's Guild.

Clearer still that I'd ended up right in the flaming middle, just like the hero who overthrew Jagar Tharn, or the Nerevarine.

I went straight home, feeling like I was full of lightning and at any moment I would burst into a great scream of pure force that would level everything.

But that night all I ended up doing was sitting in front of the fire, drinking. It helped calm the storm atronachs inside me.

* * *

As I said previously, most of the scholars in the Arcane University spend their time apparently one-upping each other or talking down to the apprentices. If they're doing anything useful, they're hiding it from everyone – including me, the Arch-Mage.

So I've been taking steps. You may have heard the screams.


Let me give you an example involving a scholar called Mucianus Polentus. This is a copy of a letter I wrote after his interview.

- - -

Guild Master Dagail

Leyawiin Mage's Guild

Dagail,

I'm sending down a scholarly twit called Mucianus Polentus. I've just been grilling him over what exactly he's been doing for the last five years here.

Apparently he's found a relationship between the appearance of a capital-C Champion of the sort that overthrew Jagar Tharn, was central to events in Daggerfall and was the Nerevarine, Dragon Break events, and counter-temporal daedron flows (ie. where daedrons go back in time.) Apparently these events and people are heralded by these daedron flows flooding or something.

However, the silly bugger doesn't appear to know what the counter-temporal daedron flows are like in normal conditions. Nor has he managed to answer the question of which comes first, the daedrons or the Champion or something else.

See if you can give the poor guy a hand with these. He's on to something big here that could revolutionise the school of Mysticism but he can't see it because he's all dazzled by Dragon Breaks.

Also getting him away from the other airy-fairies at the University should shake the cobwebs out of his head. Give him little jobs to do and stop his head getting in a rut like it is now.

He'll be getting his marching orders in about two days, so he should arrive down your way by Sundas.

Hope the sheep are doing fine.

Regards,

Ra'Jirra

PS. His research is relevant to recent events. See the sealed YOUR EYES ONLY section for more details but don't show it to Mucus – I'm not sure of his loyalties.

[Remko]

Hilarious - as always. MORE please

[SubRosa]

Tons of fun. I liked how you explained the spellmaking and enchanting altars. Especially how you described the spellmaking altar as allowing you to see spell threads, so you could grab hold of them. I never understood the cost of either. Do you have to put money in a slot in the altar before it will work? Or does it consume your gold when you create something?

fortification of intelligence.
For a moment I thought you said fornication...

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 17 2010, 04:32 PM