Prologue
I'm not a writing type, but this is special. It's my book, about me, and it's what really happened as opposed to them bard types. All singing about me being in shining armour and a zillion feet tall and riding the Imperial dragon and all that crap. This ain't crap. It's the real stuff. And I'm gonna tell it in my own words, even if they ain't all sweet and proper like. Why? Because sure, I have this fancy place now, and the fancy armour which I only wear on special occasions, and all the titles and crap. But I'm a farmer's boy and always have been. Like poor bloody Martin was.

So there's three people you should thank, not me. There's my ma, Hathor, and dad, Ra'Virra, who finally decided to let me go to Cyrodiil. And then there's that wandering mage, guy called Cornelius Othmar. He's the one, really, who saw what I could do.

So anyway, I remember more or less when it happened. It was market day, and now I think about it it's the only market day I can remember clearly. Maybe it's the Divines or something. But I remember I was standing next to a nice girl, I think her name was Merry or Mary or something like that. I was also on a high because dad and me had really pulled one over on some of those poncy sorts who come to buy our stuff – we have an orchard full of apples, oranges, berries and melons and stuff. Great for knocking up potions for getting your energy back. When we left that day, we had a few less pieces of fruit and some recipes for what they call preserves – it'd meant spending up on flour and sugar and all the jars, all on the quiet of course, but that's how merchanting works. Getting the better deal while letting the other dork think he's got it.

But anyway, me and Mary were watching this Cornelius bloke putting on a show – Mary was watching anyway, I was plotting a course for us to the most private haywain so's nobody would see, at first, but I found myself getting more interested in the mage's doings. Now a lot of what he was playing at was bloody flashing lights, I know, but I was beginning to figure it out somehow. Those of you who're real mages will know all this, and if you don't, you can bloody well ask. As Carahil once said to me, "there is no knowledge without power", and who doesn't want power?

Well, I was mulling the concepts over, and I must have been mumbling under my breath or something, because next thing I know I was literally glowing! Even Cornelius stopped and stared at me as I slowly went red. Easy for him, because everyone else had backed away from me as though I was deadly.

"Whoops!" he cried, "so sorry my boy! Come round the back, I'll fix you right up!" And down he came and pulled me away by the arm!

Anyway, round the back he had this caravan thing, and once inside he turned to me, said something that seemed to literally blow the spell off me. Then he just stared.

"Why did you cast that spell?" he asked me a bit angry like.

"I didn't mean to!" Did I sound like a kitten or what? "I was mulling over what you were doing, I guess I was muttering to myself, I've never cast it before!"

Well, his eyebrows went fair through the ceiling. "I find that hard to believe," say he, "And the dispel I cast on you now, how did that feel?"

"Um... like it blew a sort of... um, cobweb off me," I said. Then, "That's what an enchantment is like, eh? Like a sort of pattern or web that sits on top of your life, um..."

"That's enough," he says, and he's not so mad now. "I wasn't expecting that much wisdom from a farmer's boy. Ever had proper magickal training?"

"No sir, just a couple cantrips to light fires and heal small wounds, sir. And making potions."

So he just sits there and ponders. "You're a natural," says he, "a natural bloody mage. I better talk to your folks, it'd be a damn shame to let a talent like yours go to waste."

So after that I leave the caravan and there's my olds looking kinda relieved and scared and dad about ready to have a go at Cornelius. But he has a few words to my dad and next thing I remember clearly is ma and dad and me and Cornelius at home that evening, finished off a supper of bread and soup listening to Cornelius talk.

"Your son's a natural," he kicks off, "I'm doing my show and next thing I know, this boy, and I thought he's just planning a tryst with that girl next to him, casts Starlight on himself."

"What's that?" dad asks. I was turning red, but then dad adds, "Starlight I mean."

"It makes you glow for a time," Cornelius explains, "so you don't need to carry a torch. Well, I thought he'd done it on purpose, so I hustled him into my caravan to dispel it and give him a piece of my mind, but that's when I found out he's a natural. He should be in the Guild."

Well, dad just looks at him. "Why?"

"Why? Because he worked out how to cast a spell without training! When I dispelled it, he told me what it felt like to him as though he's already learned about the school of Mysticism! I tell you, this boy's a natural – put him in the Guild and he'll make you proud!" And he looks at me as if to say you better bloody do so too.

Dad's about to say something, but then the door bangs open and in bursts the priest. Let me describe him. Julius Maro, old, boozy, fat, thick as three short planks and up himself so far he can see daylight again.

"What is this man doing here!" Like I said, up himself. Nothing he likes better than to bang on about the Nine as though they're a pack of marauders who can only be held off by doing what he says. And woe betide you if he sees you dozing, or being bored, in his chapel. I hated his guts obviously.

"He has been invited here." Dad didn't like him either. Especially not after that business about tithes. "You weren't."

"This man is a menace to your souls! A traitor to the Nine! A dabbler in the dark arts! He should be shunned by all right-thinking men!" Maro was wobbling with rage. He was good at that.

"Says you," dad replies, "But he's not after our souls. He's told us our son's a natural mage."

Now Maro turns purple, so it looks like he's got a big wobbly blackberry for a head.

"Monster!" Looking back I think he was trying to bellow really impressive like, but all he did was squeak from the top end and trumpet from the lower one and his guts rose about three inches. No really. I couldn't hold a snort, and then Cornelius giggled, and then my parents broke up. And all the bloody priest could do was sputter about necromancers and daedra worshipers and other phrases.

And then he pulls his copy of "One Command, Nine Divines" out of his robe and bangs me on the head with it!

"I invoke the mercy of the Nine!" he starts going off, "Of Akatosh, of Dibella, of Stendarr, of-"

Now Maro didn't like us and we didn't like him. If you're an Imperial, you got to understand a lot of you are real bastards to us beastfolk. Knock it off. You're beholden to one now, remember?

Anyway back then he got my dad's fist in the mush and then his boot in the bum and off they go with dad yelling that good folks don't go around bashing sons on the head in front of their parents and Maro sputtering back that we were all something or other as he wobbled off.

"You'll have to excuse our priest," he explained to Cornelius, "he's stupid and a saleswoman."

"I guessed that," Cornelius replied, "anyway, as I was saying, he's got a brain on him that it'd be a shame to waste. Now," and he pulls out his purse and takes out about fifty bloody septims. "I'll put that toward getting him to the guildhalls in Cyrodiil. They're the bloody best."

Well, ma and dad look at him, at the coins on the table, and then at me.

And I look back and think that if I go, I'll be leaving everything I know behind. And if I stay, Maro at least will make my life a misery, and I'll never know what I missed out on. But the fact that dad was willing to have a go at a priest about this pretty much settled the deal.

"I can come back if it doesn't work out, right?" I asked.

"Of course, son," dad says, and I can't remember right what happened after that except there was a lot of drinking and a lot of tears. Whenever dad called me 'son', it was always when he was really proud of me or being kind. 'Boy' was what he used when I was in the poo.

And then a few weeks later I was sailing on the Coy Carp to Anvil.

Well, i was just thinking that it would be good to have another comedy/satire sort of thing.

Then I start reading this and knew by the first few paragraphs that I liked this. The tongue-in-cheek narrative is enjoyable, and I admit to a fondness for the word 'bloody' when used in this context.

This made me chuckle - I'm sure one doesn't need to be a mind-reader to figure out what Ra'jirra really wanted in that moment! And I get the feeling Dad isn't so clueless as he lets on!

This is genius: OMG! What a way to describe a stuck-up Imperial!

A priest full of hot air! Is there ever any other sort?

I'd like more, please.

Heh, thanks. Actually, I'd been reading a book called The Bloody Brewery, which frankly had overdone the vernacular and the tall tale style. So I'm/Ra'Jirra's writing in a watered-down style of a bad Barry Crump knockoff!

You guys are a bad influence when I could be doing something useful. Keep it up

Chapter 1: In which Our Hero Arrives in Anvil and Joins the Mage's Guild

It was a nice evening in Anvil when the ship docked. The captain told me he'd be off as soon as his cargo was unloaded, so I made sure I had everything, which was pretty much a few coins in my purse and the clothes on my back. To get passage on the Coy Carp had required me to sell bloody everything else.

"It were good to have ye on board," says the captain, and who could blame him? I'd been able to fling a few fireballs and swing a decent axe when those pirates had attempted to board us, and then the potions I'd made afterwards were pretty well received. "Ye sure ye don' wanna set sail wi' us?"

"Sorry," says I, "I'm after the Mage's Guild."

He just shook his head and tried to convince me a life on the ocean wave was what I wanted a bit more, but sod him. He had my gear and most of my coin, didn't he?

Anyway, there I was standing on the dock wondering where to go, looking at the castle, and thinking about the Temple of the One for some reason. Maybe it was because Maro once mentioned it when he was in a halfway sane state. The guff was that people had life-changing experiences there sometimes, but my dad just said afterwards it was "just silly buggers getting all worked up."

Anyway, I'm thinking about all this, and let's be honest, Anvil's a nice little town. All white stone, red tile roofs and blue-green doors, I think they're faced with bronze or copper or something. Like I said, quite pretty. Not like Bravil. That was a longdrop then and it still was last time I was there.

So this guard comes up to me. "Don't see many new faces these days. Anyway, can I help you?"

Now, I'd have some not so nice experiences with guards later on, so this bloke was a bit unusual for his sort. Anyhow, I'm not one of those writer clowns who then fills pages with boring conversations. Let's just say that I got him to tell me where the nearest Mage's Guildhall was (they had one right in Anvil!), learned a bit about the local scenery – which basically boils down to "stay above ground", and then there was the business with the chapel.

"What's this about the chapel being attacked anyway?" I ask, "Some drunk bugger go nuts in there?"
"Don't be an idiot!" Looks like he was about to pop me one, but pulled himself together. "We don't know who or what slaughtered everyone in the chapel and desecrated the altars. Then next thing we know, that man calling himself the Prophet turns up railing on about Pelinal Whitestrake and who knows what else. Load of tosh if you ask me, but..."

"Ah," says I, "Whatever bastards did it, they'll be found out. Magic leaves trails, right? Like footprints."
Guard just shrugs and says, "Well, not even the castle and guild mages found anything. You sure you want to join those layabouts?"

So of course I ask him what he means. To make a long story short, the guild wasn't a hundred percent, even after successfully ousting most of the conjurers and necromancer types. Worked out why later. But anyway necromancy's a nasty business, and conjuration seems to involve daedra most of the time, and they're dangerous bastards. I'd find just out how much later.

Anyway after that he went off on his rounds, and I went looking about. Nothing much happened at first, except I fell in the harbour trying to work out if it was a rock or a sunken chest I was looking at. It was a rock. Bugger.

Now being wet as a shag, and with only a few coins in my pocket, I was dead certain that I wouldn't get a place to sleep that night. Nobody wants a wet Khajiit anywhere near them. Hell, I was a wet Khajiit and I didn't want to be near me. So after squelching past one of the doomstones – it's on a hill beside the harbour and has an engraving of The Lady on it, and saying a little prayer at the nearby shrine of Mara, I found myself chasing deer up to Hrota Cave. Now I was still damp and wanted a bit of shelter and went in.

I've no idea who was inside the cave, but they sure as hell weren't there any more. Either that or they left in a damn hurry, there were still fires and torches burning. Now deciding that whoever lived here was a) probably up to no good and wasn't coming back, I burgled the place and beat it.

Put yourself in my shoes. I had just the wet, peasanty clothes on my back and a few septims. That was all. The caves were, I was told, either full of bandits or unfriendly critters. So of course I looted the place. Salvage!

So anyway the next day I fronted up to Carahil at the guild looking flash in burgundy and with a heavier purse!

If Carahil were a horse, she'd have the bit in her teeth most of the time. For a high elf she was a looker too, young, but those eyes were too big. Anyhow, we fell to talking about magic for a bit, and let me tell you, she was good at getting info out of me. She raised her eyebrows when I mentioned Cornelius, and had me go over the market incident a couple of times. And we really hit it off regarding Maro. We both agreed he was an arsehole and Carahil went off on how people like Maro the Moron and someone called Alessia Ottus were the reason she'd really gone to town about getting the necromancers out.

Anyway, she says she'd be pleased to have me join and I says I'm happy to accept, and then I make my mark and now I'm an Associate.

"Now, in order for you to gain access to the Arcane University," she says, "you'll need to perform a task at each of the guildhalls to receive a letter of recommendation. Only once you have gained a letter of recommendation from all the guildhalls will you be admitted into the University."

"Sounds fair," I say, "And according to the book here, each hall specialises in a school of magic, so I'll be learning as I go, right?" I haven't changed that and I'm not going to. Travel broadens the mind.

"Exactly," says she, "We can start now, if you wish. But I warn you, this isn't a frivolous task like, oh, those fools in Bruma might give you, this is a matter of life and death."

She looks at me and I look at her. Like I said, bit in the teeth. And here I am just signed up barely five minutes ago, fresh off the boat, no gear, no bearings, no clue (really.)

"Sorry," says I, "Don't think I'm up to it yet."

"Wise of you," says an old dunmer in the next room over. Carahil didn't like that. She didn't seem to like me piking either.

"That's... disappointing, Associate." ("Sensible" says the dunmer quietly.) "Perhaps you're right... take a day or two to prepare and see me again."

And she turns away but I'm sure she muttered "coward" under her breath. Bit in the teeth, or did I already say that?

So anyway I went next room over and spoke to the dunmer bloke, name of Selas. Turns out he's the alchemy master in the guild, and I was able to buy a mortar, pestle and alembic from him. "You were a sensible one there," he says, "Carahil tends to be, um, let's just say she likes getting her way."

"Well, she'll get it," says I, "once I'm good enough to give it to her."

He just grins at me and there's this rattling noise from Carahil's direction and about then I decide to beat it because what I said goes two ways and I don't think she likes either of 'em.

I still remember those first days. But I'll try keeping this short. Now some people write their memoirs way to long about what hole they popped into, and they went this way then that way and killed this and offed that and it's incredibly boring. I've been in and out of heaps of holes and I hope the detail-obsessive types don't mind if I skip all but the most interesting bits.

So anyway I bugger off up the main road that leads to Kvatch and Skingrad, and at first amused myself by setting some highwayman on fire and nabbing his gear. He had a decent iron axe, which came in handy because I startled a bloody boar which didn't take to me at all. I continued towards an old fort, dropping a couple deer, and then froze, because I could see a skeleton.

Turns out there were three of the bastards wandering around outside, and two more in the fort walls, and one was an archer. So now I had some axes to flog and a bow. I'd learn later that Carahil thinks weapons are a sign of incompetence, but she might like to change her mind on that. It's basic sense. Either you cook up heaps of restoration potions, or you have something to fall back on. Magic runs out, and if you're silenced, well, like I said. Fallback.

After knocking around inside the fort, which I learned was called Crowhaven, and being attacked by wolves and rats, I ran across something that I decided not to mess with and got the hell out of there.

After that, I headed shoreward, towards the huge ruin known as Garlas Matatar. It was raining, and I have to say I was creeping carefully around. And it was just as well. There was something down there.

At first, I thought it was someone, since it looked like a man in armour of a sort I didn't recognise. He seemed to be guarding some sort of altar with stuff on it, and here I was with just some toasted fur crap and a bow and arrow. And, OK, an axe. Against a guy so heavily armoured I couldn't see any skin?

Well, I crept up until I could see the bugger's head, arrow nocked. He didn't even notice. The arrow went straight in from about ten feet off. Dented the "armour" like paper, and the thing dropped like a stone. Later I'd learn the bastards were summonings called Aurorans, but hey, I was a mere kitten, right?

Another one fronted up and had much the same happen to it. I tried pulling the armour off but no joy there – that's when I realised what the buggers were. Nevertheless I scored a magical axe and some other goodies, like welkynd stones. Great things – you can use them to replenish your magic. Just remember what's knocking around in those Ayleid ruins but.

Anyway, after that I went half-walking and half-swimming back to Anvil, and the wierdest thing happened. I'd fallen in the water again and next thing I know, there's a scamp floundering at me. I have an idea where it and its conjurer came from though, and frankly the guy was bowled fairly quickly. In his gear was that Robe of Deflection I have in the display case next to the main door, between the mage's robe (yeah, same guy's) and the necromancer's. Saved my hide plenty of times.

I like it, not much else to say. Except that maybe the word "anyway" is maybe used to often and as such it loses its impact. Please carry on, I like the witty sense of humour woven in it.

Chapter 2: In which Ra'Jirra gets his first recommendation

After dropping off my excess axes and pissing Varel Morvayn off by not spending heaps, I finally fronted up to Carahil.

"Well, Associate? Are you ready now?" Right between the teeth, or have I said that already? Never mind. Bears repeating. "Yeah," says I, "Think I can give it a decent go now."

I think she wanted to kill me for insolence or something, but what she told me was that I was going to an inn pretty much north of Anvil to flush out a bad honoured user who was doing over merchants. I said yes ma'am and got out of there and stopped briefly to talk to a local farmer lass. Maeve the Buxom, although I didn't notice, because she was in a right strop over her husband.

Seems the drongo wanted adventure. Well, adventure involves bloody hard yakker, especially when the adventure sends you to a marauder lair in Fort Strand, and I admit that after a fair bit of fighting I piked. Not good enough.

But anyway, I fronted up at the Brina Cross around midnight looking for the bird I was to contact. Well, there she was, but this altmer bint had her well and truly bailed up. So while she was flapping her gums, I saw the innkeep about a bed. I mean, it was late, and he asks me if I'm a merchant. Well, I says yes, since one of the things I had to do back in the day was flog loot and buy better gear, right?

So I'm about to toddle off, when the altmer introduces herself – Caminalda, she was – and did I say I was a merchant? And all the time the Breton I was supposed to talk to is trying to kill me with a look. So I manage to scrape Caminalda off and head for bed, and in she comes!

"You were supposed to talk to me first!" she kicks off.

"Couldn't talk to you with Caminalda bailing you up," says I, "Besides, I'm the bait anyway, right?"

So she looks at me and nods, "Ah, yes, you're quite right. You are supposed to pass yourself off as a merchant and spend a night here. Then you head on to Skingrad. A fellow battlemage and myself will follow you."

"Why not Kvatch?" asks I.

"Haven't you heard? Something's damaged the gates, and they're jammed shut. I've heard workmen banging away inside trying to fix them, but it's been weeks now. So your story is Skingrad."

Now, to this day I've never got a straight answer about bloody Kvatch. The gates were closed for all sorts of reasons: siege practice, mechanical problems, plague, or some moron's spell going wrong. In once case I heard all the above mixed together. Not even the survivors can say. Still, I hear the rebuild's finally started.

"Fine. Skingrad it is," says I, then a bit louder, "Well, I'm sorry ma'am, but these are all I have. Perhaps when I return from Skingrad, but for now I need rest. Good night!"

She just grinned tightly and said, "Don't overdo it." Well, Caminalda had me kick around the inn for a whole day before she made her move. So out I went, and sure enough it was bloody nosey Caminalda crapping on honest merchants! Incidentally much of her gear got flogged to Gunder at Northern Goods & Trade in Skingrad. Good bloke he is. Big square Nord. Right across from the Mage's Guild.

But before that I had to head back to Anvil to report success, and I did so by the scenic route, since I was also looking for flax seeds and things to make restore magicka potions with them. Instead I found a pack of necromancers in another Ayleid hole, Garlas Agen. By this time I had more stuff to piss Morvayn off with. Carahil loved me, so that balanced out I guess. So anyway after that I decided that the best thing to do was to piss off myself to Skingrad and find new folks to annoy.

My route was all about what makes restore magicka potions with flax. I mean, venison or wolf meat make feather potions, and useful they are. But I was saving my welkynd stones, and I didn't hit pay dirt until Sandstone Cave. There was a dead adventurer in there with a pair of Dwemer boots and some other goodies. I bet Gunder's sold them by now.

From a previous post: Just about made me spew something all over my keyboard! Good thing I didn't have anything in my mouth just then!

The whole last post was very enjoyable with the Aussie slang (though how much of it is slang and how much of it is the swear filter working overtime I'm not so sure) and the tongue in cheek narrative. And yes, it does have the feel of Ra'jirra boring the guy next to him in the bar! Only this reader isn't bored!

More. Please.

ARGH! I go away for a couple days and look what happens! I'll have to come back and read this when I get a break, looks great so far - great humor!

I finally got the time to start reading. Lots of fun! I like the informal style. I can picture Raj'irra sitting on the back porch drinking a mint julep and barking (meowing?) out his tale to some poor intern who is furiously scribbling it all down on parchment.

This line really stood out for me:
If you're an Imperial, you got to understand a lot of you are real bastards to us beastfolk. Knock it off.


nits:
"he's stupid and a saleswoman."

did you mean salesman?

Actually the swear filter ate that one. I showed it to Ra'jirra and he nearly bust a gut laughing, so I kept it.

Incidentally, I got my details worng. The mod drops you off in Anvil! D'oh!

Now I am going to have to experiment to see what word gets turned into saleswoman...

ROFL! Your inner dialogue is hilarious!

Chapter 3. In which Ra'jirra has a skinful of Skingrad

Now before I got into the guildhall, I heard someone hissing at me. It was a Bosmer, who kept looking at my left ear while telling me that he had to see me behind the chapel at midnight. Then he took off while looking over his shoulder. I just shook my head and swapped loot for Gunder's money. I also asked about Mr Wierdo, and had to sweet-talk the info out of him. Apparently the drongo's Glarthir, and as far as I know he still fronts up behind the Skingrad chapel waiting for me. Stuff him.

The first Skingrad mage I met was an Argonian woman called Druja. She was fairly snotty at first, but apparently it's because Adrienne Berene is a bit vague at times, absent-minded and all that. She also asked if I'd seen someone called Erthor; no, I hadn't. One barmy Bosmer at a time for me.

And wouldn't you know it! Adrienne wanted me to find Erthor! Oh well. Erthor's lucky day. I ended up asking around and learned where the dopey sod had been exiled to – Bleak Flats Cave, and as it turned out because Adrienne had sent him there.

"You might like to remind her," says Druja, "that it was her idea." And she sort of looks upstairs with contempt as she says that. So I did, and she ended up giving me another fire spell. Now this one wasn't a quick blast of heat, it was a slower burn. This is something to know: spells that hit hard and fast need more power than spells that kind of gnaw at the victim's ankles. Even if they do pretty much the same damage. Just like choosing between hitting someone with a bloody great battle-axe as opposed to wearing them down one dagger-stroke at a time.

I also picked up some other deadly spells of death as well, but as it turned out they were bloody useless. When you're messing with the undead, you need fire. I got into the drill of smacking zombies with an arrow from cover first, then launching fireballs. Seems they were bailing up Erthor and he couldn't get out. And he wouldn't tell me what the hell was going on!

The rest of the guild were as tight-lipped. Druja wouldn't say either, but she relaxed a bit when I showed her the nirnroot. Apparently Sinderion's the resident brewer of the classier establishment in town, so I popped into the basement where Sinderion resided.

He wasn't pleased to see me at first, but his eyes fair fell out when he saw all the nirnroots I collected! "Where did you get all these?" he cries.

"Anvil," says I, "and around the coast there. Usually where there's rocks and water."

"Remarkable!," says he, "Tell me, can you find some more?" and off he goes explaining about an old book he had which turned out to have a recipe using nirnroot in it. For a few hours running around, I have to admit I was interested; the most I could do with them was make draining poisons.

I took a bit of a scenic route. Headed out to Bleak Flats again then cut east towards a copse Sinderion'd marked for me. Unfortunately there was a goblin cave en route – nasty little buggers – then I headed back south. I ran across Derelict Mine, but when I saw more gobs – dead, this time, and praise unto the Imperial Legion for that! - I thought "stuff it" and headed south and ran across a cave labelled Bloodcrust. No gobs this time – it was bloody vampires! I didn't know, I thought "oh, bandits" and didn't change my mind until I got a good look at the first one. Then I downed a fresh feather potion, lifted the most promising loot and beat it.

I was already starting to feel a bit strange, and Agnete the Pickled cut ceremonies short, saying, "Now get outa here! I'd rather be pickled than sick!"

So what do you do when lurgi strikes? Well, for some reason I immediately thought of the chapel. Maybe I didn't have a potion. I can't remember. I do know that the priest attendant gave me the stink-eye all the time I was there. I mean, by the Nine, I was scared, of course a man runs to the altar!

So I turn to leave and almost walk straight into this Imperial guardsman with a "don't muck me around" expression. A bit like dad when he'd caught me out in a lie, or wagging on my chores.

"A little bird tells me you've been asking about Glarthir," he states. Not asks, states. In that way which asks if you want to get caught in an obvious lie. Maybe he'd taken lessons from dad.

"Damn right," says I, "There I am waiting for Gunder to open shop, and he fronts up and says meet me round the back of the chapel here. And he's never seen me before, as that was my first time in Skingrad! Of course I try to find out who this drongo is."

"Well," says he, "since you've been honest with me, let me tell you: Glarthir's crazy."

"Say no more," says I, "I'll stay away from the dork."

"No, no!" says Dion, "I keep an eye on him, and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know if he asks you to do anything strange."

So I'm all yes sir and three bags full sir and I decide that I need to get away from Skingrad sharpish. I don't like vampires and I don't like hanging around potentially dangerous crazy people. Then again writing this I reckon you could lump a fair few of the Mage's Guild in the latter group.

Anyway Sinderion was delighted I had the ten nirnroot he needed, so I decided some nice quiet foraging was in order. I headed south past Bloodcrust to an Ayleid riun, Silorn, which sits at the headwaters of the river which keeps Cyrodiil and Valenwood from banging into each other. No nirnroot, so I wobbled north via Howling Cave (undead), Fort Vlasterus (vampires again), and finally reached Grayrock Cave which I rested up in after clearing away some imps.

Your narrative style continues to make me smile and laugh.

But no comments about the musical beds in Skingrad Mages Guild?

Your writing style makes the story, no matter what your character is doing it becomes interesting and funny because of the way you have written it - I love this!

Well, to be honest Ra'Jirra still hadn't stayed the night in a guildhall. He didn't know!

Yes, there is quite a bit of funny business that goes on in the Skingrad Mages Guild at night - and the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary as well. Vicente's slab gets quite a bit of action.

Lucky for him. I am still emotionally scarred from waking up with Vigge the Cautious next to me in bed!

Another rollicking fun installment! I especially liked the comparison of Dion to Ra'jirra's father. That was a good touch.

Not bad writing.

OOC: This next chapter invokes one of the Unique Landscapes mods. Also Ra'jirra's trying delaying tactics before explaining one of the Mage's Guild's most enduring mysteries.
Chapter 4. In which Ra'Jirra comes to the Imperial City

After a couple hours I woke up feeling refreshed, stronger, smarter and actually nimbler. There's three things to thank for this: lugging all my worldly goods around; cooking up a storm of potions; and bowplay. Sure, I knew a fair whack of spells, but like I said before. Backup plans. Then again, I'd also twigged that having a few bits of armour were better than none.

So refreshed, I got cocky and fell over the edge into the lower level of Grayrock and had to exit via the Shambles! More damn imps and some poor bugger who'd carked it. Nice magic axe.

About this time I noticed that I was getting a bit heavy-laden. I had a think and decided the best thing was to take off to the Imperial City, flog some loot and find out about long-term housing. Lugging gear is nice for building up strength, but at the same time having a fixed place to call home means you don't end up all queasy and farting from feather potions. Also I'd heard of the big city and wanted to see it close up.

Once I got out of Grayrock – would've been 4 Heartfire by now – I mucked around the Great Forest for a bit after steel-blue entoloma. Mix those mushies with flax seeds and you have a restorative for magicka – just what I wanted! I also wasted time trying to follow a rumour about the ruin of Ceyatatar having a secret entrance. All I found was mushrooms and an angry bear.

So I finally say bugger that and take off down the road and pretty soon I'm at the Wawnet Inn in Weye. Decent place, like most inns it's dark, slightly burnt-smelling, with the bar area downstairs and the rooms above. It almost reminded me of home, except for the door being in one piece. At home the inn door is in three pieces: one holds the other two in place after an obnoxious patron was chucked out.

"Can I interest you in a bed?" asks Nerussa the publican, "or maybe some wine?" Well! That's a bit unusual, thinks I, but at least it doesn't involve dissembling or homicidal magi.

Anyhow, Nerussa's pretty for an altmer and apparently something of a wine buff. "What I really need for my collection is Shadowbanish Wine," she explains.

Well! Over at Vlasterus I'd run across a couple of old bottles, and out of the pack they come. You should have seen her face! Eyes went almost as big as her chest and I'm dead certain she dribbled a bit too. Anyhow she asked me to find more, wanted half a dozen as it happened. So after that I thought for a bit and took off for the Merchant's District of the big IC.

I made it as far as the entrance of Merchant's Inn before my third-to-last feather potion conked out. I needed the second-to-last one to get to my purchased bed, and the the following morning my last one tided me over long enough to flog a marauder's armour and some flawless rubies and diamonds to an old Redguard called Rhossan. "These are great," she told me as she put them aside, "I need them for a special order this week."

Then she grinned at me. "The rest I can gouge that thermos Hamlof at Red Diamond for!"

Speaking of dicks, that Orc at Smash and Slash gouged me for a trade-in on a silver war axe. I'd wanted one ever since I saw a big silver battle-axe in Morvayn's. I think he wanted to belt me over the head with it at the time.

After that I popped into the Chamber of Commerce and learned I could score a dwelling not in the city (damn), but outside it in the Waterfront District. A shack for four grand. The price sounded reasonable, after all it was in the big city, so I told the bird I was speaking to that I'd go scrape up the dosh and be back.

She looked so grateful when I said that she almost wept. Hardly surprising, since according to her all she ever hears is complaints. Nowadays, all I seem to hear is complaints too. Stuff 'em. I'm here to run the Mage's bloody Guild, not a morgue.

So, my first real impressions of the Imperial City, as opposed to oh-gods-where's-the-nearest-bloody-hostelry, were of... well, unity is the first word I can think of. The whole city is contained in the walls of an ancient Ayleid stronghold, which in turn is divided into six parts around the central tower. All the buildings are equally uniform, and made as big blocks with several houses or shops inside. It's all very defensible, but I found it confusing at first. Unless you know where you're going, and look for signs, you can go round in circles.

The Arboretum is an entire district to itself and is lovely. Nobody saw me pluck a few entolomas, and they didn't seem fussed when I finally gave in to curiosity and popped a manhole to the sewers. I won't go into details there, but I ended up coming out on the east side of the island. After a nasty incident involving mistaking a mountain lion for a deer, I said "playtime's over" to myself and took off for Bravil.

This journey was where I found the unicorn some have seen me ride. Close by the road, south of the Inn of Ill Omen, you can see an oddly blighted patch; Harcane Grove. It was here I found the unicorn, and rode it all the way to Bravil.

The problem is that it always manages to escape any cinching and start heading back to the damn grove. One time I parked up on Niben Bay and next thing I know it's in the drink and steaming north for home!

And if you're thinking I'm stalling before telling what happened in Bravil, and why someone always whistles lewdly when I leave the guildhall there, you're right.

But if you see me riding a unicorn, you probably aren't as drunk as you think.

It had me snicker several times. Loved it!

Me too! I loved Ra'jirra's cynical observations of the people and events around him.

Now what did happen in Bravil?

Hilarious as ever!

farting from feather potions.
Ewww! So the secret of feather potions are that they fill you with helium, making you lighter than air!

After a nasty incident involving mistaking a mountain lion for a deer,
Important safety tip, you can pet the deer, but not the lions!

This is hilarious - I just wonder if you really called Hamlof a thermos or if the auto-censor got you on that one! ROFL !!!! Oh, and definately MORE! MORE!!!!!

This is hilarious and I actually think the auto censor might make it funnier!

OK folks, here it is...
5. In which Our Hero gets his Recommendation from the Bravillians


My experiences in Bravil led me later on to pass the Safe, Cautious And Responsible Experimentation (SCARE) Act. Henantier's still a bit toey about it, but I need to explain why.

First off, Bravil is as bad as that stuck-up Ottus bint who writes all those guide books says. It's damp, dull, depressing. Mind you, so's the count. So I spend a night at Silverhome On the Water and front up at the Guild later that morning. Just one problem. Nobody either knows who to talk to, or wants to talk about, recommendations.

Also, while I was upstairs looking for the guildmaster, I found a disturbing note threatening an unnamed Argonian woman, probably Kud-Ei. The wording stank of necromancer.

In Skingrad, Erthor had been doing something that landed him under siege by zombies, and also exiled to a cave. Now here in Bravil was a death threat from necromancers. What the bloody hell was going on?

As it turns out, Kud-Ei was the only Argonian as well as the headwoman of the hall, but she had a problem: Henantier. He was the sort who was so in love with being the guy to wow the world that he'd do dumb things at home without any supervision.

Some (all right, most) of the faculty here at the Arcane University still give me arseholes about it, but I'm working on setting up a specialised research facility out in the eastern wopwops where the Henantiers of the parish can kill themselves without taking out an entire town. And they'll have to log everything they do. There's several reasons for that. First, a supervised mage is more likely to survive. Second, if they don't, all isn't lost, we'll have their notes and learn from their mistakes. Finally, I reckon the Legion's battlemages need a decent training ground. Also they can be roped in if the experiments get loose.

Now Henantier was a daring mage of the old school and a prize idiot anywhere and the silly bugger had tried to turn his dreams into a sort of proving ground. When Kud-Ei showed me to his house, I could smell not only the fact that he'd crapped himself, but also fear. Turns out the silly sod had been trapped in his dreams for three days.

Kud-Ei gave me a copy of the amulet he'd cooked up, and I popped it on and hit the hay and what happened next I don't want to let on. Let's just say Henantier had lost some of his marbles and was too addled to find them himself. So I had to go get them.

Dreams are important. There's a mage I knew who tried to sleep without dreams, and last anyone's seen of him he was entering Sheogorath's realm through that gate by Bravil, crying out for his dreams to come back. Again, the silly sod didn't have an assistant to knock him unconscious after going too far.

Wandering around in a distorted dream that isn't yours – just don't. Unless you have permissions.

Anyway, I wasn't exactly smelling like a rose when he and I awoke either. Things were awkward for him, and why not? All gone up in his face and he needed to change and wash. So did I.

So away went Kud-Ei and I back to the guildhall, and I was still a bit muzzy and wondering why passers-by were giving me strange looks. In we go and the members give me strange looks and since most of 'em are women there's giggling too.

"Are you all right?" asks Ayalie and her chin.

"I think so," says I, "why?"

"Well," says she, "you seem to be wounded, and... um..."

So I look down and yep, I've got some nice scrapes from where dream minotaurs hacked at me, I can cope with that. But I can see this because I'm now stark bollock naked!

Well, I went and shot out the door and round the back where I'd dropped my gear off, found my shielding robe, but too late. Ever since then, when I leave the Bravil guildhall, somebody female whistles lewdly.

Every single time.

But anyway, Kud-Ei had another problem, a mage called Ardaline. Apparently she was being pestered by a local Dunmer swain who I'll call Drongo, to save him embarrassment. And now Ardaline had lost her mage's staff, which are pretty important more as symbols of office than anything else, but usually have a useful enchantment on 'em. Kud-Ei wanted me to pump Drongo for any information he had.

So I found him in Silverhome, used a scroll Kud-Ei gave me (smart girl) and nearly clocked the stupid bugger. He'd stolen the staff all right. But he'd flogged it to his mate Dopey in the Imperial City!

Now I'm a law-abiding fellow and didn't want to try out the popular idea of recruitment for the Dark Brotherhood, so I thanked him kindly for the advice and got the hell out of town. I stomped around Bravil County for a day or two doing alchemy and other stuff to cool off. Once I was halfway sane, I went back to the big smoke and located Dopey's residence, after trotting around the district three times.

If only he'd put up a sign or something eh? Residence of Dopey the Dumner, Stolen Staffs a Specialty, Enquire Within.


It cost me a scroll, several septims of sweet-talking and another couple hundred to get the damn thing back to Kud-Ei and Ardaline. By this time I was fed up and stomped on down to Leyawiin.

Ah, that's why Ra'jirra gets a whistle every time he goes to Bravil! Better him than me, I say!

If he looks anything like a Cathay-Raht, I'd be whistling, too! Go ask mALX if you're not sure.

Another fun installment, where Ra'jirra tries out the nudist lifestyle and finds it not to his liking.

Some (all right, most) of the faculty here at the Arcane University still give me arseholes about it, but I'm working on setting up a specialised research facility out in the eastern wopwops where the Henantiers of the parish can kill themselves without taking out an entire town. And they'll have to log everything they do. There's several reasons for that. First, a supervised mage is more likely to survive. Second, if they don't, all isn't lost, we'll have their notes and learn from their mistakes. Finally, I reckon the Legion's battlemages need a decent training ground. Also they can be roped in if the experiments get loose.
Sounds like a great idea. How about privatizing it? You could call the company running it The Umbrella Corporation...

SPEW! ROFL !!!! You had me choking laughing with this!

Good work.

Now that is just plain hilarious! Good job, Cardboard!

Brilliant Cardboard! Next please!

This is awesome. Can't wait for more!

6. Dirty Deeds in Leyawiin

Apparently some people think Leyawiin's nastier than Bravil, and having made my way down there I can understand. The western road was chocka with bandits – but the alternative is to cross the Imperial bridge near Pell's Gate and brave whatever's on the eastern bank.

Anyway, jaguars. Nasty bits of work, and I'm a cat person.

But I survived and entered Leyawiin on Tirdas 11 Heartfire, felling that bit more smarter, wiser, even tougher. I was also muttering to myself about getting a better shield spell or finding one for invisibility or chameleon I could actually use. Affording it would also be nice.

After spending the night at Five Claws Lodge I fronted up at the guild and was directed to Dagail, the master of mysticism in the Guild. I didn't know that at the time and fronted up to a scholarly Bosmer with a distressed expression, poring over A Life of Uriel Septim as though her life depended on it.

“You seek wisdom from me, child?” she asks, “Ah, no. You seek words. Words are... difficult. They come and go. The... the voices, though. So loud they are, they... they drown out of... of words... words.”

And there I am watching this bird's hands waving away and thinking, what in Oblivion? It was like she was struggling to string her thoughts together.

“Without my amulet, my stone to... to lock the voices... voices away, the words will never come... come and stay.” She took a breath, scrunched up her eyes, then, “Would you lift your hands to help another, to help me find the words?” came out in a rush.

Well, I have a think, and realise that she's in a bad way and asking for help. “All right,” says I, “What must I do?”

Her mouth flaps a bit, and she finally manages to get out, “You speak, yet I cannot hear. You... you listen, yet I cannot... speak. When the voices... voices grow quiet, then shall our... time... time be at hand.” And her face scrunches up like she's trying to think with Sheogorath singing in her ear. Then she brightens up a bit but there's still this desperate look in her eyes. “Agata has heard the voices, though I speak for them all. It is to her you must now go.”

I asked around and found Agata in the kitchen off the main entrance getting some breakfast and talking to a wierd-looking guy with the most extraordinary and disagreeable eyebrows I'd ever seen this side of Caffrey. He had just one that went from one side of his face to the other.

Anyway after He of the Eyebrows finished his chat and wandered off, I sat down next to Agata and introduced myself as an associate.

“Good to meet you Associate,” she said around a mouthful of bread, “I'm Agata, your local enchanter. Looking for a recommendation?”

“Um, yeah,” says I, “but I've spoken to Dagail and... well...” How the hell do you tell a senior Guild member that their head's losing it?

“Did she ask you for help?” Agata pushed her plate to one side and looked at me square on. I just nodded.

“Well, get this straight. She's not crazy, okay? She has visions, for lack of a better term. While they used to be helpful at times, they have lately become problematic. There was an amulet, a family heirloom, that she wore to suppress, and sometimes focus, the visions. She's lost the amulet, and so has lost control.” And then she sighs a bit.

I'm still floundering, but I manage to say, “Look, what do you mean by visions? The only experiences I've had with folks who saw--”

And I stop because she's picked up a knife and is looking daggers at me.

“She. Is. Not. Crazy.” Very, very cold. Then she pulls herself together and carefully spreads some jam on a piece of bread. “At times, they served her well. She gained something of a reputation in the guild, and was highly valued by the Council. As she aged, the visions became less coherent. Rather than cast her aside, the Council gave her a position here. Some resent her, and wish she'd disappear. I do not. I am proud to help her with her daily tasks.”

“How do we help her then?” I ask.

She looks a bit surprised at the “we”. “Find her amulet, I guess, I'm not really sure what she wants. Hells, I'm not even sure what the amulet looks like.”

So up I get and go to talk to Dagail. “You seek more from me, child? It is as I have seen,” says she. Before I can even explain that I'd been speaking to Agata her eyes go strange and she doesn't so much say as recite:

“I know what you would ask. You would bring light to that which is in darkness, bring silence to the voices so loud. I know where you must go. Blood ran blue, and dragons flew high. Under broken towers and broken bodies it now lies, waiting to be found. What was my sire's must be mine, if you would have the words you seek. You must go and find his stone.”

I'm a bit shaken at this, and I just sit there beside Dagail, who doesn't seem to notice I'm there. Eventually my brain started working again and several things slotted into place. “Dragons flew high” sounded like a reference to an Imperial fort, probably a ruin if what I'd seen of Fort Redman was any indication. Was there a Fort Blueblood too?

I went looking for Agata and heard her squaring off with Mister Eyebrows in the library. “All I'm saying is that she should have retired years ago,” says he.

“Shut it, Kalthar!” snaps she, “I won't hear that kind of talk, and out of courtesy to you I'll pretend you never said that. Again. I take care of what little administrative work there is because Dagail isn't interested. I do it because it has to be done, and no one else wants to do it.”

“More like she can't do it, the way she is!” And he goes all wheedling like. “Honestly, with your talents and experience you should be head of the hall, not Dagail.”

At this point I decide to prevent something violent happening and deliberately make some noise pushing the door open. Both spin around and look at me, both sort of relieved at the interruption.

“Well,” says Agata, “Um, we'll discuss this some other time, Kalthar.” And I'm thinking that further discussion might involve explosions at twenty paces if Agata's expression has anything to do with it.

“Sorry,” says I, “I was looking for mistress Agata, I had some questions about enchanted arms?” And I put on a dumb expression.

So Kalthar excuses himself and takes off like Molag Bal's after him and I'm alone with Agata.

“All right,” says I quietly closing the library door, “What's this stone Dagail wants me to find in Fort Blueblood?”

Agata sits down at the table furthest away from the door. And sort of sags. “All right, yes, her seer's stone is missing. It's the one thing that has kept her visions at bay, and without it, they're nearly crippling. She can't function. We haven't yet spoken to the others, for fear they would be less than accepting of her situation. Perhaps it is time, though.”

“That guy, Kalthar,” says I, “He already suspects doesn't he?”

Agata just stiffens and her face goes hard. “Oh, he does all right. I don't think he really knows one way or the other, but I don't trust him. He stayed on and changed his ways when Archmage Traven banned necromancy, but damnit, he...”

And then she gets this expression like she's put two and two together. “You have a map?”

I do, so she marks a spot east of town on it. “What's left of Blueblood is around here. We paid one of the local loafers to go that way and pick up some ingredients a week ago, and he said he saw bandits hanging around. So,” and she gives the map back, “head on over there as soon as you can and bring Dagail's father's amulet back.”

Well, I don't hang about. I'm out of the guildhall sharpish, and then over to the nearest armory, a place called The Dividing Line. Tun-Zeeus has a nice spiel he likes to open ceremonies with, and until then he had a nice silver mace. I think I still have it.

All the trip out, I felt like I was being followed, but I couldn't see anyone. And it wasn't the sense of being followed by an enemy, either. Because of that I nearly got skewered by an archer patrolling outside the entrance into the fort's bowels.

Agata's informant was wrong. Bandits don't usually swan about in heavy armour. These were marauders. To this day, I still don't know how I managed to stay alive long enough to reach the chamber entrance to the crypt where Dagail's father lay.

I certainly wasn't expecting Kalthar to yell, “Hey, j-just stop right there, all right?” behind me.

“Where the hells were you?” I snapped back, “A man could've used the help earlier on.” Now also note that I'd basically bashed, stuck and spelled my way through what must have been a dozen foes, almost dying in the process. So I was not in a good mood.


Kalthat stepped back a bit, but his shoulders were set. “I need that amulet. Right now.”

“Why?” I didn't really care, but a villain talking is a villain not hurting me.

“I took the other one, and that should've been enough. I shouldn't have to go through all this, just to get rid of her!” And he starts raising his voice and waving his arms. “It's not even as if I was going to keep it forever. I was going to give it back to her, once I'd gotten what I wanted. That's not so wrong, is it?” Would you believe he tried to look at me with puppy-dog eyes underneath those eyebrows?


I just look at him, tightening my grip on my good old mace. “What you wanted?”

“Once she helped me advance out of that place, and stepped down, then she could have it back! Why did you have to get in the way?” I swear I heard something go ping inside his head and he started screaming.

“Why are you trying to ruin everything!?” and off we went!

To be blunt, it wasn't all that uneven a fight. Kalthar was good with that little silver dagger of his, and I also had his skeleton whacking on me as well. But nevertheless Kalthar fell. So much for his plans to get out from under Dagail.

There isn't much to say about what happened afterwards. Dagail's return to reality was as easy as putting on the amulet, and last I saw of her she was sitting down at her desk writing my recommendation. News spread fast, and it was agreed all round that you can't trust necromancers of any sort except dead ones.

Then I saw a house for sale and things went strange.

ROFL!! Hilarious!!!!

OMG Boxee!

My thoughts exactly! I had just finished writing that quest in my own fan fic, and I have to say that I did mention those - that - those fuzzy caterpillars on his face, but not quite in such a funny and hilarious manner as you did! I laughed so hard at this I got dizzy! Ugh!

BTW, it's weird.

Lovely job writing one of the strangest dialogues in the entire game.

Keep writing!

Thanks HEC! As I said, I had to dig in the CS a bit and, frankly, Kalthar's unibrow is the most noticeable thing about him. Also observe his earlier reference to "Ayalie and her chin" -- the Mage's Guild seems to be a magnet for the facially interesting!

Dagail's stutter is actually modelled on something I find myself doing when I'm really stressed out and overloaded, that word duplication when I'm trying to think and can't.

And obviously the convo he has with Agata is a little contrived, but he strikes me as a sleazebag anyway, and besides, I wanted them to be more like people than finite state machines.

Also, in retrospect, this quest is when Ra'jirra begins to twig that things in the Guild aren't as rosy as he thought. Once the recommendation quests are done, I may kick off the main quest until Martin's safely in Cloud Ruler Temple, then leave him there. I haven't decided yet. ATM I'm grunting through Bruma and have Cheydinhal to go. Then we'll see...

Unibrow..... whoehahahahahah.... Awesome cardboard!

The Unibrow! He is one of those guys that the moment you first lay eyes on him, you know he is evil. Too bad its not so simple in the real world...

I liked how you portrayed Dagail! Good job of showing her scatter-brainness. I always wonder why no one at her own guildhouse can be bothered to get off their rear to help her. But that is the case with all the MG recommendation quests. I guess it is just because that would leave the player with nothing to do. In any case I think you did a good job of making it feel believable from the conversation that Ra'jirra has with Agata.

And I stop because she's picked up a knife and is looking daggers at me.
This was fantastic!


nits:
but the alternative is to cross the Imperial bridge near Pell's Gate and brave whatever's on the eastern bank.
I think you meant cross the bridge near Fort Alessia?


felling that bit more smarter, wiser, even tougher.
You probably meant "feeling a"?

@SubRosa: All I can remember is that close by Pell's Gate is a stone bridge that spans the river from west to east and marks the southern bonds of Lake Rumare.

Currently I'm trying to fire the MQ up so I can get Martin safely squared away, but Indigo's scripts don't seem to be functioning properly. Then I'll get on with Ra'Jirra's rationale.

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.

[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.

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!

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.

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!

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

Yay, an update

Loved this:

[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.

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

This had me snickering:

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!