Author's Note: This is a little idea I decided to try out after playing a lot of Oblivion. After all, there are so many minor characters in the game that we get a little glimpse of, but never get the chance to have their own adventures. Hopefully, this collection of short stories will change that. I'm not sure how long I'll keep doing these, but I hope that you all will enjoy them and let me know what you think. If there are any characters you'd like to be featured in an upcoming story, let me know! -WG
Tamriel Tales
Salmo the Baker: A Recipe for Disaster
Salmo was quite content with his trade, thank you very much. As the most celebrated baker in Skingrad—perhaps even all of Cyrodill!—he had everything he felt he could ever possibly want: a bustling business, a sturdy roof over his head, and septims to spare. Yes, Salmo was a contented Altmer, and extraordinarily successful in life, no matter what his insufferable brother happened to think. Or what the thousands of other simpletons who considered sorcery the only respectable profession for a High Elf thought, for that matter.
Yet today Salmo had found himself feeling far from content. As he thumbed hastily through his multitude of cookbooks, his face was set in a deep scowl as he muttered to himself. "Scrib jelly tarts… no, I've done those… lavender buns… no, I made those last week… ham and pumpkin pasties…! Bah!" Salmo slammed the book shut with a snarl. "I've baked every last thing in these Mehrunes-blasted books!" With an irritated huff, he stood up, grabbed a delivery basket of sweet rolls and stomped out the door.
--
Outside, Salmo found his spirits lifted almost instantly. It was a perfect Last Seed day, and the friendly hustle and bustle of Skingrad was at its peak.
"Mornin', Salmo!" called Gaston Surilie as he passed by carrying a basket of grapes. "Making a delivery?"
"Yes, to the West Weald Inn," replied Salmo proudly, with a polite smile. Though he didn't follow the typical Altmer profession, nobody could accuse him of lacking the typical Altmer pride—particularly not anyone who had ever listened to one of his speeches on quality pastries.
"Let us know next time you make a batch of those," Gaston called over his shoulder. "We'll trade you a couple bottles of wine."
"Sure thing!" Salmo called, though he wasn't particularly enticed. He much preferred Tamika's wine. But when one is such a popular baker, one must provide! He thought with a satisfied smile as he passed by the chapel, where an unfamiliar beggar rushed to his side, brandishing a loose piece of parchment wildly.
"You there! Altmer!" the beggar cried, gesturing dramatically at the bemused baker. "Would you like to know an ancient arcane secret of immeasurable power and mystery?"
"Not particularly," Salmo replied coolly, bristling at the usual assumption about his profession. "Seeing as I'm a baker."
The beggar faltered noticeably, clearly taken by surprise. "Er, did I say ancient arcane secret? I meant ancient bread recipe!"
"I'm sure," huffed Salmo, continuing on his way only to be pulled back by the desperate peddler.
"Please, sir! Wait! It really is a bread recipe! Look at the ingredients!" the ragged old man pleaded.
"If you don't take your hand off me right this mo—By Azura! It is a bread recipe!" murmured a rather surprised Salmo.
"Best and rarest in all the land," added the beggar, gazing up at him hopefully.
All the basics are here… thought Salmo, tracing over the ingredient list with his finger. Flour, Yeast, Eggs… Fire Salts? Frost Salts? VOID SALTS? Why, this could be just the new recipe to break me out of this horrid slump!
"I'll take it," said Salmo, barely concealing his own eagerness as the beggar's face broke into a relieved and toothless grin.
"That'll be 500 septims," said the beggar in a cheerful yet businesslike tone.
"I'll give you five septims and not call the guards on you for peddling without a license," replied Salmo in an equally cheery and businesslike tone.
"Deal," said the beggar, who seemed happy to get even five septims for it. Salmo nodded and dropped five coins into the beggar's outstretched palm, and the ragged man quickly took his gold and ran off.
It's a good thing I'm going to the West Weald Inn, mused Salmo, I can pick up the extra ingredients from Sinderion while I'm there.
--
Sinderion was positive that just a few more peony seeds would perfect his new potion, but he had most unfortunately just used up the last of them. Oh well, he thought, sighing as he gently shook the newly-filled bottle to mix the ingredients. It's still not a bad turnout.
"Ah, Salmo!" he said cheerfully, as the baker descended the stairs carrying a sweetroll-laden plate. "Your latest delivery, I presume?"
"Just baked this morning," replied Salmo, who seemed to be in good spirits as he set the tray down on the table. "Erina had me bring these down for you."
"Ah, lovely," said Sinderion with a smile as he picked up one of the rolls and took a grateful bite. "As delightful as ever, my friend. Really, how do you do it?"
'The best ingredients, of course," replied Salmo proudly. "Speaking of which, I need to purchase a few from you."
"Ingredients? From me?" Sinderion asked in surprise. "I thought you bought your supplies from the Colovian Traders?"
"Yes, usually," replied Salmo, "However, I'm trying a new recipe and it's quite exotic and experimental. I'll need some fire, frost, and void salts. Those are safe to ingest, correct?" Salmo asked worriedly, being somewhat suspicious of the street-peddler's recipe.
"Oh, yes, they're quite safe," Sinderion assured him. "I'm sure there's nothing in a bread recipe that would cause a harmful reaction. As a matter of fact, my studies have shown that—"
"Unfortunately, I really must be getting off," interjected Salmo, who knew quite well how long an Altmer's discussion on studies could run. "How much will that be for the ingredients?"
"Ah, that's really too bad," replied a slightly crestfallen Sinderion. "Well, seeing as you brought down this lovely tray of sweet rolls, I suppose I can sell you one of each for about a hundred septims."
"A fair deal if I ever saw one," said Salmo brightly, handing over the coins and receiving the carefully-wrapped salts from the alchemist. "Good luck with your studies!" he called over his shoulder as he rushed up the stairs.
--
This loaf of bread would be his magnum opus, Salmo was sure of it. He had already combined the ingredients into a firm dough, which already smelled heavenly, even before it was even in the oven! I'll go down in culinary legends for this! He thought ecstatically.
Now, I just need to see how long to bake it for, thought Salmo, quickly picking up the recipe. "Blast!" he hissed as he accidentally slit his finger on the edge. Fortunately, it wasn't bleeding much, so he changed hands and read on. Hm, it doesn't say, he thought curiously, staring at the bottom of the paper.
Indeed, it seemed that the ingredient list was the only translated section, the bottom half written in strange runes that Salmo certainly couldn't read. No matter, he thought, placing the recipe down and picking up the dough. I've baked enough bread to know that an hour or two will work.
Placing the dough on a tray, he slipped it into the fiery oven, taking one last sniff in satisfaction. Now to wait, he thought, turning and walking upstairs to his bedroom. Might as well catch up on Casta Scribbonia's latest, he thought, as he lay down on his bed and picked up the book on his bedside table. Ah, Casta, you're certainly outdone yourself this time. He chuckled as he began to read.
Suddenly, a crash from downstairs broke Salmo's concentration, as well as shaking the entire foundation of the house. "What in the blazes?" Salmo gasped aloud, clutching his rapidly-beating heart. He swiftly jumped from his bed and ran downstairs to investigate.
What he saw there made his heart skip a few more beats.
Salmo was no mage, but like all Altmer, he had a basic knowledge of spells and magical beings. So he had no trouble recognizing the hulking, blue-skinned, and incredibly irritated being in his kitchen as a Xivilai. However, having chosen to pursue the art of baking rather than spellcraft, he had absolutely no idea how to get rid of it. Even more unfortunately, it had just noticed his presence at the bottom of the stairs, and seemed quite set on exacting some revenge for pulling it away from its home plane.
What happened next was pure luck. Whimpering something unintelligible, Salmo slid toward his basement door, in hopes of retreating there himself. However, the Xivilai had chosen to lunge for him exactly as Salmo had chosen to open the door and make a break for it, and hurtled itself down the stairs.
Salmo blinked for a moment, entirely stunned at what had just happened. Then, realizing that this was his chance to make a break for it, he quickly barred and barricaded the door with everything he could move, and rushed out the door as swiftly as he could.
--
As it turned out, poppy seeds could, in fact, be used as a respectable substitute for peony, but Sinderion suspected that the formula would be slightly weaker than it ought to be. Unfortunately, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as an out-of-breath Salmo almost fell down the cellar stairs in his haste.
"Why Salmo, you look as though you've seen a ghost!" observed Sinderion, raising an eyebrow at the baker's peculiar behavior. "What on earth is the matter?"
"D-Didn't you say," panted Salmo, leaning against a pillar as he attempted to collect himself. "Th-that the salts were safe to mix?"
"Why yes, of course," Sinderion replied. "Why, you'd have to mix in a mer's blood for any negative effects to take place!"
"S-such as daedric summoning?" Salmo asked timidly, staring down at his cut finger.
"Yes, precisely, but of course you wouldn't—" Sinderion paused as he noticed the expression on Salmo's face. "Oh, I see."
"There's a xivilai trapped in my basement," blurted out Salmo.
"A xivilai?"
"A xivilai."
"Oh dear," said Sinderion, staring at Salmo in shock. "Have… have you tried alerting the city watch to take care of it?"
"The city watch!" cried Salmo, "They'll have my head for summoning an uncontrolled daedra within city limits! Oh, it's hopeless!"
"Surely it isn't hopeless," said Sinderion, although the situation did seem quite hopeless to him.
"Well, actually," volunteered Salmo timidly, "I was rather hoping that perhaps you could banish it?"
"Oh, well!" quickly replied Sinderion, who had turned rather pale at being asked to battle a xivilai. "I'm only an alchemist, after all. It isn't really my area of expertise. But perhaps you could contact your brother?"
"Absolutely not!" spat Salmo, suddenly turning from fear to anger.
"But he's such a skillful wizard -"
"Yes, yes, Ancotar is a skillful wizard, and also an arrogant bore who incessantly lectures others on how they should be skillful wizards as well, and how magic staves are ever superior to wooden spoons, as well as how they broke their parents' heart when they decided to learn to bake instead of study imp gall!" Salmo would likely have gone on, had he not run out of breath.
Sinderion blinked, rather taken aback. "But surely he could banish it in an instant…"
"I am not asking for Ancotar's help, and that is final!"
--
How I loathe the Mage's Guild, Salmo thought bitterly as he entered the guild hall with a sour look on his face. Bunch of self-important pricks!
"Ah, hello there," said a balding Imperial mage, striding up to greet the Altmer. "May I help you with anything?"
"I'm looking to contact my brother," muttered Salmo, determinedly not looking at the mage.
"And who might your brother be?"
"…Ancotar," muttered Salmo, looking as if the word had pained him to say.
"Oh, Ancotar!" The Imperial's face lit up like a Starlight spell. "Such a brilliant spellcaster! I cannot believe that I have the privilege of meeting his younger brother! My name is Sulinus Vassinus, by the way. Surely you must be an impressive wizard yourself, am I correct?"
"Not entirely," said Salmo flatly. "I'm a baker."
"Oh," replied the mage, looking as though Salmo had just broken his favourite soul gem. "Well, Druja can help you. She's upstairs." Without another word, the mage walked off.
Stuck-up prat, thought Salmo darkly as he climbed up the stairs, where a female Argonian he took to be Druja was sitting in a chair reading. "I need to send a message to my brother, Ancotar," he muttered.
"Ancotar?" gasped Druja, looking up from her book. "Oh, he has contributed so much to the guild! Follow me." Setting her book down and rising, Druja led him to a window on the opposite side of the hall. "I believe Ancotar is currently undergoing solitary study in Fort Caractacus," she mused aloud. "But no matter. We can reach him easily."
Raising her hand and murmuring a quick spell, an imp appeared next to her. "Your brother's invention, actually," the Argonian explained to a rather startled Salmo. "Completely revolutionized communication in the guild. You must be incredibly proud to have him as a brother."
"I should imagine so," said Salmo through gritted teeth, picking up a quill and parchment from the nearby desk. Ancotar, he wrote swiftly, I've a bit of a problem here in Skingrad that I could perhaps use your help with. Please come soon. Salmo. Passing the parchment to Druja, he rolled his eyes as she tied it around the imp's neck, then cast a fortify speed spell on it. The imp shot out the window like a lightening bolt, returning in less than a minute with a new scroll.
Absolutely refusing to be impressed, Salmo took the letter and unrolled it. Salmo, so lovely to hear from you! Of course I am always available to help out my dear younger brother. But as I am quite busy with my studies, I'm afraid I won't be able to take much time out of my schedule. If you let me know more about the problem, I'll see if I can take care of it in a week or two. Love always, Ancotar.
A week or two! thought a very incensed Salmo. Grabbing another sheet of parchment, he quickly wrote a reply. There's a daedra. Please come as soon as you possibly can. Handing it to the imp, he waited again for Ancotar's reply, which of course came nearly instantly.
A daedra? What sort of daedra? Where is it, and how did it come to be there? Why can't you banish a simple daedra? Do let me know. Good tidings, Ancotar.
Growling, Salmo grabbed another sheet of parchment and wrote in thick, underlined letters: JUST. COME. NOW. Thrusting it at the imp, he rubbed his forehead with his hand. Always the insufferable nitwit, he thought.
"Well, you needn't be so pushy," said Ancotar, who had suddenly appeared behind Salmo. "I was just about to have a breakthrough on my study of dreugh squeezings, too."
"Gah!" cried Salmo, whirling around to glare at his brother. "I wish you wouldn't teleport behind me!"
"Well, I had to get here as soon as I possibly could, if you remember," drawled Ancotar unabashedly. "Now, what seems to be the daedra problem here?"
"There's a xivilai in my basement," muttered Salmo as softly as he could.
"A xivilai?" asked Ancotar, actually looking surprised. "But how in Tamriel did it get there?"
"…I summoned it," groaned Salmo, staring at the wall as if he could escape into it as Ancotar's face lit up.
"Summoned a xivilai? My little brother? Oh, what an amazing feat! I just knew you weren't cut out for that baking nonsense! We can sign you up for the Guild right away, of course!" Ancotar beamed at Salmo, who stared at him dully in return.
"It was an accident. I was baking bread."
"Oh," sighed Ancotar, looking incredibly disappointed. "Well, I suppose I'll see what I can do about it." And with that, he promptly turned and descended the stairs, with Salmo following in his wake.
--
"Why, yes," said Ancotar, who was standing by the shaking basement door with his ear pressed to it, which was much closer than Salmo was willing to get. "That is most definitely a xivilai."
"I could have told you that much," muttered Salmo sourly. "The question is, how do we get rid of it?"
"Well," said Ancotar, straightening up and rubbing his chin. "If you summoned it through bread, it makes sense that you should banish it through bread."
"And how exactly do I do that?" Salmo asked exasperatedly.
"With my help, of course," replied Ancotar, walking to the counter and beginning to pull out the ingredients to bake a loaf of bread. Rolling his eyes, Salmo walked over to join him.
The two brothers worked together diligently, and within the hour (thanks to a strategic fireball spell from Ancotar), they had a freshly-baked loaf of bread on the table.
"Are you ready?" asked Ancotar, who was standing with his hand ready to unlatch the basement door.
"Ready," Salmo nodded, picking up the bread loaf and pulling his arm back.
"On the count of three. One… two… three!" Anctotar quickly pulled open the basement door, and the enraged xivilai bounded out, heading straight for its captor. "Now, Salmo!"
Taking careful aim, Salmo tossed the bread loaf into the open jaws of the daedra. The xivilai swallowed and hunted, quite stunned at what had just happened. Then it gasped and grabbed its throat, its eyes rolling back into its head. With a sickening gurgle, it feel backward, banished on the spot.
"Well done, Salmo!" cheered Ancotar, stepping over the fallen daedra. "I must say, baking really can be quite a powerful trade!"
"Particularly when the bread is laced with a liberal dose of nightshade, stinkhorn, and wisp stalk caps," said Salmo dryly.
"Yes, yes," said Ancotar brightly. "Oh, it really is nice to get to spend time with my little brother again! What say we celebrate our victory over a few sweet rolls?""I should say not!" snapped Salmo sharply. "I believe I've had quite enough of baking for the day. The only thing I want is a drink or four at the West Weald!"
"That works as well," agreed Ancotar, giving Salmo a gentle push to the door. "Let us be off! Oh, I have so much to tell you about my studies! Did you know that stinkhorn is in fact much more closely related to cairn bolette than summer bolette? I only just discovered that when…"
Salmo rolled his eyes, but smiled as he listened to his brother drone on and on. It would all become far more bearable after a well-deserved ale.