Chapter 1

From D'Hara to the Daedra

This wasn't home. This was far from home. The stars in the sky were all wrong. Not a single constellation could he find. The smells were all wrong. His nose felt under siege from the abundance of unfamiliar flora and fauna. Even his breath felt heavier here, dense; as if he were breathing in more than simply air; it felt almost arcane. The last time he remembered this sensation was upon his passing from Westland into the Midlands...there was magic here...magic so thick he was inhaling it.

At least, though, one thing remained the same.

"You there! Where did you come from?! Who are you?!"

Two men in what appeared to be light chain mail approached him. Their armor bore the insignia of a gray wolf on a violet backdrop. It wasn't a emblem with which he was familiar. He was far from home indeed. At least they spoke his language.

"My name is Richard," he responded, leaving his last name out, not knowing if these were agents of Darken Rahl. It was best if they didn't have either of his last names, come to think of it. Not yet at any rate.

"State your business, 'Mr. Richard,'" the shorter one mocked him. "Why come you to Kvatch at this late hour? Only vampires and thieves wander in the night. So which are you?"

"Vampires? Here?" he asked incredulously. "I assure you, I am neither, good sir."

"Don't 'good sir' me, boy. I'm no knight. But I wield the authority of Count Goldwine, and I believe he'd be most interested in knowing not only who you are," his voice grew as the distance between them closed, "but what you're about and how a peasant like you has such a fine blade as that," he added, torch light flickering off the silver gleam of the Sword of Truth.

"The sword is mine by right," he found himself protesting. "I am not wealthy, but neither am I some peasant. I am Richard Cypher, from Westland. My brother, Michael, is First Council of Westland, a man of great influence."

"That's all well and good," the taller, golden looking guard responded, "but on no map of Nirn have I ever seen a 'Westland.'"

"Yeah, where in Oblivion is this Westland?" the shorter guard huffed at him.

He was starting to feel panicky, but did his best to remain calm in spite of his nerves.

"Please, you don't understand. I don't even know where I am. I would never claim to be the most knowledgeable person, but I've never heard of Kvatch, or Count Goldwine. Are we still in the Midlands? Have I crossed over into D'Hara?"

"There you go blabbing on about made up worlds again," the shorter one challenged, placing a hand on the hilt of his mace.

"Please, we don't need to get violent," Richard responded, taking a back step to steady his stance, placing a hand to the hilt of his own weapon.

"I agree," the taller, seemingly more diplomatic of the two replied.

"You can't trust a stranger like this one, Merandil," replied his cohort.

"Who says I can or cannot? It isn't about trust, Jesan. It's about finding out what is true and what is not."

"You think because of your Altmer blood, you can simply speak over me? As if my suspicions and cautions count for nothing?"

"Hardly, my friend, you know I don't think that way," the one known as Merandil said. "However, I do outrank you, if only slightly. Ergo, in the interest of finding the truth and to avoid unnecessary bloodshed and the slaughter of an innocent man, I say we escort Mr. Richard here inside the city and bring him before the court. There, I believe, we will discover his purpose and his intentions," he finished, then, turning back to him, "will you come with us willingly, Richard of Westland?"

"If it means we don't have to fight and I can find some answers, I'll gladly join you, Merandil?"

"Yes, I am Merandil. Please, come with us. I will not ask you to surrender your sword, as it is the right of all people in Cyrodiil to protect themselves. But I will ask you to keep your hand away from it. We wouldn't want anyone," he glanced at Jesan, "to have any excuse to accuse or suspect you of foul play."

"Understood...and thank you..."

Their company passed through the city gates and toward the castle, Merandil in front, Jesan, hand still resting on the hilt of his mace, behind. He tried to see some of the buildings around him, but they were mostly silhouettes against the darkness of the night.

"Damn it all, I told those rookies to change the lamp oil. As if it isn't dark enough. That'll be a cut to their pay, if I have anything to say about it."

"That would be a just punishment," Merandil agreed.

"I'd rather give them twenty lashes for endangering the citizens of Kvatch by neglecting their duties, but I suppose having less coin for spirits at the tavern will wizen them up."

"It would at least sober them up, I would think," Richard offered, trying to appear lighthearted. Their chuckles were helpful.

"That's true, lad, very true," Jesan replied with what sounded like joviality. But he kept his hand on his hilt.

They lapsed back into silence upon approaching the castle. At least here, the oil lamps were well filled and lit, and he saw again the wolf insignia on the banners hanging from the parapets. Violet and silver. At least they weren't any shade of D'Haran rouge. They weren't enemies, at least, not on his part.

"Open the gates," Merandil half-requested, half-demanded.

"Merandil?" the guard behind gates sounded confused. "What are you and Jesan doing away from your post? And who is this fellow?"

"We found him lurking about outside the city walls," Jesan cut in. "We're taking him inside to find out who he is; been spouting nonsense about Westland and D'Hara, and other made up things and such."

"What Jesan means, Tierra, is that we found this fellow, Richard Cypher, lost and confused. He carries what appears to be quite a fantastic blade. We're hoping to better understand his story, and we think the Count would like to be in attendance."

Jesan grumbled under his breath.

"One moment," Tierra replied. "You know the Count won't be up for another hour or so."

So it was nearly dawn, good to know.

"It matters little. I ask that you place Richard in the company of Ilend Vonius, as Jesan and I will return to our post."

Company? Or custody?

"Easily arranged," came her reply.

"Good, get him off our hands," Jesan nearly spat.

"Richard Cypher, I hope that you enjoy your stay in Castle Kvatch. Do tell Ilend everything that you told Jesan and I. He's an understanding man, and will deal with you graciously until Count Goldwine awakens."

Just like that?

"I'm grateful for your own understanding nature, Merandil, for your civility."

"Think nothing of it; we were all strangers in a strange land at some point in our lives. It does not bode well to refuse civility and hospitality to a stranger, especially when it's in your power to give one or both."

"Cram it up your ass," Jesan audibly muttered.

"Well, we can't all be civil all the time can we?" Merandil winked at him.

"Only as necessary, I suppose," Richard agreed.

"I'll see you again, I'm sure. Take care."

"And you, likewise.