The wind drifted over the plains, barely bending the grass with its lazy efforts. Adrian smiled, recognizing the faint scent of salt in the air. He was getting close to Anvil and would be there after perhaps another day on the road. For now, he would have to hope he came upon an inn or at least a farm house with generous proprietors. The visit to Kvatch had been brief, but uplifting. Repairs were going well and the people were in high spirits, even with the Oblivion crisis only four years behind them. The chapel and castle had been rebuilt and the houses were well underway, though some citizens were still living in makeshift shacks—half lean-to, half tent—around the work sites. The Fighters Guild also had several willing, and rather zealous, members erecting a guild hall, but the Mages Guild was a different story. The higher ranking members were spread quite thinly, what with Carahil moving up to Caranya's position, and Teekeeus replacing Irlav Jarol. After the devastation and dissent Mannimarco and his acolytes had wrought, the guild's priorities were on rebuilding its organization, before it could focus on repairing its guild halls. Furthermore, the Bruma chapter had to be rebuilt from scratch, leaving J'skar in charge with only an alchemist and one semi-competent Evoker at his call.
Kvatch, reduced to nothing but cinder and rubble, was the last of the guild's priorities. At least, it had been, until Arch Mage Serrian had sent Adrian an intriguing invitation. The Altmer, his flowery speech in sharp contrast to his usually severe air, had personally asked for his assistance.
Surely the son of two of our most venerable members could become the new head of the lost Kvatch branch.. And how could Adrian refuse such an offer for a cause he believed in so deeply? His parents had been members of the Skingrad guild, dedicating their lives to the spread of knowledge throughout Tamriel. Their deaths in the disaster at Kvatch were highly mourned and to this day he received letters of condolence from mages all over Cyrodiil.
I would only require one task of you...Ah, yes, that one task. Spending time in each of Cyrodiil's guild halls, ostensibly learning from each leader. It was really just Serrian's way of keeping Traven's policies alive, even though the mer had been at odds with almost every one of the late Arch-Mage's policies. He had been very fervent in his opposition to Traven's new rules and requirements, but now that he was considered a martyr for the sake of the guild—not to mention the fact that Serrian was the one to use the black soul gem against Mannimarco—the mer was reluctant to make any change in policies for fear of causing an uprising in those who were faithful to Traven's cause. Adrian believed his research in mysticism had spoken for itself time and again, but long hours were no substitute for the venerable quest for approval across Cyrodiil.
Adrian suddenly realized how low the sun had sunk. The sky was a deep purple, and the insects in the grass had begun to sing their night songs. Even along the Gold Road travel at night was dangerous, and he knew it was in his best interest to find a place to stay for the night. Out in the distance there was a building with the faint glint of torches burning around it. Perhaps it was an inn, or at least a home. He could only hope it was the former, as people in the western regions did not trust mages due to the heavy influence of the Redguards from Hammerfell. Likely as not he would be turned away by a simple farmer or his overfed wife.
Knowing my luck, it's just as likely to be a nest of vampires or a meeting place for the Black Hand
As he got closer to the structure he realized it was much too large to be a farmhouse, the land around it unprepared for the growth of crops. His hopes rose, but not too high. It could still be an estate, or a guard outpost—either one was almost certain to turn him away. The Watch in the West Weald were known to trust magicians only as far as they could throw them.
Laughter rolled across the plains, loud and hearty and likely fueled by bottles of ale. From the slurred words, it sounded as though the loudly conversing men were definitely drunk. One was particularly deep and bearlike, a Nord to be sure. The place could only be an inn, with a stock of good spirits to lure a Nord this far out of any city.
As Adrian approached he saw a burly Nord and two Imperials standing outside and drinking ale straight from the bottle. As he drew closer one of the Imperials spoke up.
"Hey! Hey, you!" he cried, stumbling drunkenly toward Adrian. "You, my friend! Be careful in there!" he said, putting his arm around Adrian's shoulder and drawing him in close as if to tell him a secret, but his voice was still raised to a drunken shout. Adrian grimaced softly at the man's pungent stench of cheap alcohol and body odor. "The bartender is a piece of Redguard scum! Can't even take a..." he halted for a moment to belch softly. "Can't even take a joke! All we wanted to do was talk to that little elf and he threw us right out. Didn't even give us a chance to apologize..." the Imperial said, his voice now taking on a remorseful tone.
Adrian gently removed the drunken Imperial's arm from his shoulder. The Imperial lost his balance, stumbling to the side, before tripping over a stone and falling flat on his back.
"Oh...are you all right, Relus?" the Nord asked, turning his reddened face down toward his fallen comrade.
"I'm...I'm fine. Did you fellows ever notice just how many stars there are?" Relus asked, reaching his hand toward the sky and making slow pawing motions as if he wished to grab a few and better examine them.
Adrian pushed the heavy wooden door closed behind him and looked across the dimly lit room. The Imperial had been telling the truth. Behind the bar there was a balding, but handsome Redguard. The Dunmer at the counter, chainmail clad back stiff with annoyance, didn't bother looking to see who'd come in.
"Welcome to The Gold Road Inn," the bartender said cordially enough, though there was an undertone of aggresiveness. "I hope the louts outside didn't give you any trouble," he continued, glancing toward the Dunmer. "They got a little fresh with her and I had to run 'em out. If I had any advice for you it would be not to do anything stupid tonight. I've already had it up to here with the behavior of drunks and I wouldn't think twice about tossing you out by the scruff of your neck" he warned, low menace in his words.
"I won't be any trouble" Adrian answered as disarmingly as possible. "I'll just take a glass of Surilie and a room for the night–if you've got one," he said, ignoring the bartender's gruff speech. He was just relieved to be off his feet after nearly twelve straight hours of walking.
"Sure" the bartender replied, pulling a key from under the bar. He set it in front of Adrian before tending to his drink. "It's upstairs, the second door on the left" he said as he filled the glass on the bar top. "That'll be twenty-five all together—fifteen for the room, ten for the drink."
Adrian paid him and began slowly sipping his wine, fighting the urge to down it all at once and head into his room to pass out, even though that was precisely what he wanted to do. The only thing that stopped him was his relatively genteel upbringing made him believe it would be rude to do so. He briefly turned toward the young Dunmer down the bar, curious to see what the three outside could not leave alone. She was a lovely creature, surely young—at least by elf standards. She appeared to be engrossed in her book, but the tapping toe, covered in a well worn boot, and the corresponding clink as her Elven sword jostled in its sheath, belied her nervous irritation. She turned her head toward him, an annoyed look in her eyes. Adrian turned away before she could voice any offense.
He drank in silence, noting the bartender smiling and shaking his head as he put away his newly cleaned glass. Adrian finished his drink as quickly as politeness allowed, before taking his leave.
He clomped slowly up the stairs, grunting softly with each step. All the walking had done a number on his legs, particularly his calves. They felt like they'd been battered by a smith's hammer. He took one last brief glance over the polished banister, down at the scene in the bar. The Redguard had stepped out from behind the bar and was heading toward the door with club in hand, doubtless off to deal with the rabble outside the front door. The three had gotten rather loud and raucous in the last few minutes. The comely Dunmer was still immersed in her book.
The young mage kicked off his left boot before shedding his steel breastplate and dropping it heavily to the floor. He collapsed on his bed, lacking even the energy to keep his eyes open. He hadn't realized how tired he was until his head hit the pillow. The room was dark, only one dirty window allowing in the night's gloom, and while it smelled a bit musty it was dry and clean. He tugged off his belt, sword and scabbard coming off in the process, and pushed them onto the floor. He couldn't seem to push his other boot all the way off with his bare left foot and decided to forget about it for the time being.
A crash from downstairs woke Adrian before he had a chance to properly fall asleep.. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, only to fall flat on his face when he attempted to stand. He had never finished taking his boot off and it had bent under his weight. He cursed and kicked it off before rising to his bare feet. He threw the door open before remembering he had taken his sword off. Again he cursed and ran back into his room only to trip over his discarded boot, sending him to his knees. "Some hero..." he muttered, grabbing the hilt of his steel sword, pulling it from its sheath. He ran back out the door and leaped down the stairs three at a time.
"Just who do you think you are, Redguard?" the Nord bellowed, raising his axe above the wounded bartender. "Nobody threatens me! I'm Bjalk the Bear Slayer!" he proclaimed, drops of spittle flying from his mouth.
Lightning flew from Adrian's fingertips, striking Bjalk in the chest. He stumbled backwards, his ax clattering heavily to the wooden floor, and fell onto a chair. It broke upon impact, leaving Bjalk flat on his back. Adrian looked up from the fallen Nord, looking for his two friends. One was holding the Dunmer against him, a knife pressed to her throat.
But to her captor's surprise, the Dunmer didn't yield. Adrian watched her paralyzation spell sink into the drunken man. She slipped out from his frozen grasp, shoving him back to fall like a toppled statue onto the ground. He saw her ashen lips curl into a disgusted sneer before she turned her attention to the last man standing.
The other Imperial stood toward the back of the room, sword drawn, dumbstruck by what had just happened. He looked briefly back and forth at Adrian and the Dunmer, who'd stepped beside him, before dropping his sword and raising his hands in surrender. His paralyzed friend began to move sluggishly on the ground as the spell wore off.
"The two of you drag him out of here," Adrian said, lowering his hand and gesturing toward the Nord splayed out on the floor. His voice was calm, but his heart was racing like a thoroughbred horse and he was breathing hard.
"Is he…is Bjalk going to be all right?" the one in the back asked tentatively. "I mean, you didn't..."
"He'll be fine" Adrian replied as curtly as possible. The Imperials quickly hefted their enormous unconscious friend to his feet and dragged him out the door, grunting with exertion.
Adrian turned to their injured host and saw the girl was already kneeling beside him, applying a healing spell to his wound. "Why in Mara's name did they attack you?" he asked, kneeling beside the mer.
"I went outside to send those three off. They said they'd leave, but after I closed the door on them they threw it open. That's when the Nord cleaved into my shoulder." By the time he finished his story the wound had healed up quite nicely.
"Can you stand?" Adrian asked, offering a helping hand to the Redguard. The man took it, letting Adrian help pull him to his feet. He turned toward the girl, who seemed to be fine, but he decided to check anyway. "Did they hurt you?" As he asked, he got a good look at her face. She was indeed something to behold; skin as dark as the moonless night and eyes red as fine wine. Her hair was tied behind her head, fastened with an ebony skewer, but a few wisps hung over her cheeks like strands of spun onyx. He tried not to stare, while fighting his desire to tuck the wayward locks behind her pointed ear, the temptation to touch her losing to his desire to stay alive.
She shook her head slowly, the slow rise and fall of her chest making it clear that she was still attempting to calm herself. "No. They didn't hurt me. I'm all right," she said, crossing her arms in front of her. "Thank you," she added, almost whispering. She was clearly embarrassed by being caught so off guard.
The young mage simply nodded before turning back to the Redguard. "You should probably lock your door in case they come back. In the meantime, let's clean up the mess they made." Adrian stood and righted the table that had been knocked over before walking behind the bar. Their scuffle had caused a couple of bottles of wine to roll off and shatter on the floor. He moved behind the bar and began soaking up the spilled spirits with a nearby towel.
"Let me help you," the Dunmer said, joining him. She looked around for a moment before setting eyes on a broom and dustpan. Handing him the dustpan, she swept up the glass shards, the two making quick work of the mess. "Thank you," she said, making sure she was heard this time.
He turned his face up to her and nodded. "You're welcome," he replied, giving her a brief smile. "What brings you this far west?" he asked, picking the pan up and dumping its contents into the refuse barrel. "You rarely see Dunmer west of the Imperial City, and the only ones I've ever seen are merchants."
"I'm an associate of the Mage's Guild," she replied, leaning against the counter. "My name's Vaera, by the way, Vaera Levalyn. I'm on my way toward Anvil and I've already gotten my recommendation from Skingrad," she said. "I was hoping to get placed in the Bravil branch, but they're full up. It looks like I'm going to end up helping with that mess in Kvatch" she muttered, sounding more than a little annoyed.
"Then we're likely to be working together," Adrian replied. "I'm going to be in charge of that mess in Kvatch," he said, trying not to sound too offended by her insensitivity.
Vaera visibly flinched as he spoke. "I...didn't mean it that way..." she stammered, a dark blush spreading over her face.
"Don't worry about it." He brushed off the remark, rising to his feet and taking a seat on the bar. Vaera kept blushing as she hopped up to join him, and he tried to think of something, anything, to break the awkward silence.
Just then the bartender came out of the basement with a bottle of wine. "Take this as a gift" he said, setting it down. The dusty label proclaimed it a bottle of Tamika's best, the vintage declared it one of the older—and better—of the vineyard's products. "It's the least I can do. If you hadn't been here I might be dead right now."
"You don't have to do that," Adrian voiced, a bit uncomfortable with taking such a costly gift.
"Yes, I do," the Redguard replied, making it clear the matter was closed. "And I know you're not sitting on my bar," he added as he walked over to lock the front door.
Adrian and Vaera exchanged looks of embarrassment and hopped off of the bar top. "Well, if it's okay with the two of you, I'm going to go back to bed and try to get some sleep." He headed towards the stairs, pausing to bid a polite farewell. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Levalyn, and you as well..." he said, turning toward the Redguard.
"Name's Ruban," he replied, setting the keys back on their hook, "and it was more than a pleasure meeting you. I owe you my life. You're always welcome at my inn."
"I thank you for that," Adrian said graciously before turning back toward Vaera. He was having trouble deciding whether to be vexed or forgiving, and it was not a decision he was going to make right then and there. "Good night. Perhaps I'll see you in Anvil" he said, and took quickly to his room.
He walked in, dropping the sword by his bedside before lying down upon the top sheet and closing his eyes. He found he couldn't relax, though only minutes before he'd walked into this same room exhausted. The rush of adrenaline kept his nerves on the alert, but it as thought of the blushing Dunmer downstairs that prevented sleep from descending until the predawn hours. What was he going to do about her?
