The Retching Netch was as quiet as it usually is. The little cornerclub was as lively as the town it was located in, which could be better described as miserable. Raven Rock was once the pride of Solstheim, an island off the coast of the Dunmer homeland of Morrowind. It was one of the largest sources of ebony in all of Tamriel, all of Nirn, even. But now, with the ebony all but gone and the ash of the Red Mountain's most recent eruption littering the air and land with a dismal, dusty hue, Raven Rock was merely a memory of the past glories of the island town which was now reduced to a backwater settlement full of disgruntled Dunmer miners, save for Glover Mallory, the local Breton blacksmith, and Mogrul, the greedy Orsimer money lender. Teldryn Sero sat in his usual spot in the foyer of the Netch, close to the hearth. He was wearing his usual armor, made from the chitin of ash hoppers, wretched insects that infest the ash wastes of the lands surrounding Vvardenfel. This armor was light and flexible, yet protected it's wearer quite well. Since it was crafted by one of the greatest smiths in Morrowind, Sero expected no less. His helmet lay on the table by his side, looking like a decapitated head.
Drinking a jar of sujamma and humming a tune whose words he had forgotten long ago, he bobbed his head, his skin grey as a cloud on a stormy day, as is common amongst the Dunmer elves. His hair was dark as night, shorn to a Mohawk on top of his head. His mouth was surrounded by a thin beard that turned into stubble as it got closer to his long, pointed ears. He opened his eyes as a patron of the Netch came in, revealing irises of blood surrounding his dark pupils. Two identical and symmetrical tattoos adorned his face, giving Teldryn a tough appearance. And this was true, for he was a strong warrior. He considered himself to be the best spellsword in Morrowind, and what better way to exploit his talents than to be a mercenary?
Clapped to his waist was an elven sword, a sword that had been passed down in House Sero for generations. Were Teldryn to have a child, he would pass it on to him, or her. Of course, Teldryn had no desire to have children, not even marry. He only yearned to see the world while making profit. The family life wasn't meant for his adventurous soul. Maybe when he retired he'd donate the sword to a museum, he thought, or maybe a different adventurer could pull it off of his corpse. Of course, Teldryn hadn't planned on dying any time soon. Sure, he wasn't very young, but there was still plenty of fight left in his weathered soul.
Now, Teldryn rose from his seat and headed down the stairs to the bar. Geldis Sadri stood behind the wooden counter, cleaning out a flagon with a rag. Sadri owned the Netch, naming it after a comical incident involving an intoxicated Netch vomiting after consuming some liquor. He was a Dunmer like Teldryn, possessing the same dark skin, pointed ears, and red eyes. His hair was tied up in the back to form a high ponytail. Upon seeing Teldryn, Sadri put down the flagon and greeted him with a smile.
"Ah, Teldryn, my friend. How did you like the new sujamma? My personal formula, you know!"
"It was... Satisfactory." Replied the mercenary, grinning sardonically.
"Oh, you filthy n'wah..." Sadri said under his breath, scowling at Teldryn, "I guess I'll have to try harder to impress the great Teldryn Sero!"
"Closer to reality than you may think... Tell me Sadri, what's the news around town? Anything new?" Teldryn leaned over and placed his elbows on the bar, resting his chin on his fists. Sadri leaned in closer.
"Well, not too much. Old Crescius is still trying to get the mine reopened. Fat lot of good that does us... Ash spawn attacks are as common as usual, Redoran guard struggling to keep them and the Reavers out of the town." Said Sadri, scratching his rough beard.
"Can't see why House Redoran even bothers defending this old place," grumbled Teldryn, "isn't worth the trouble. Nothing of value here unless you want some more ash yams..."
"No kidding... Oh, but, listen this..." Sadri leaned forward as though he didn't want the few patrons in the bar to hear his words, "an outlander has recently arrived and has been stirring up some trouble in the old Nordic ruins."
"An outlander? By Azura, why would anyone come to this lifeless backwater?" Teldryn asked, astounded by the thought that the people of Tamriel knew Solstheim still existed.
"I don't know, but he was in here the other day and was asking me where he could find work. I offered to have him spread the word about my new Sujamma, but he declined... Asked if there were any dragons about."
"Dragons? Ha... Those don't exist. Not anymore. Nords and the Akaviri killed them all!" Teldryn leaned back and sat in a barstool.
"I'd like to say otherwise... Our foreign friend is from Skyrim. A Breton... No, he's something else... Oh, a Nord! I can't tell the difference between those humans these days... But he told me that the dragons have returned to Skyrim and that his quests have brought him to this island. Can't say why... Sure, there are old dragon bones near the center of the island, but... Maybe he's going to that old temple up there!" Sadri said, his face alight with wonder. Teldryn scoffed.
"That temple of... What's his name, Mika?"
"Miraak, I think."
"Whatever... Well I certainly wish him luck in this looney quest of his..." Teldryn stood up and went over to his room. He had made a setup with Sadri that gave him a permanent room in the Netch, so long as he paid. It was a nice little room, containing nothing more than a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest, and a table with two chairs. There was a map of Solstheim on the wall, too. Teldryn walked over to inspect it. The parchment was dry and somewhat old, judging by the fading ink put upon it. He fingered the location of the Temple of Miraak and hummed. "What are you doing up there, outlander?"
Teldryn hadn't much idea what exactly the Temple of Miraak was. According to the Skaal people of the northern part of Solstheim, its name came from the name of an ancient priest who worshipped the dragons whose name was Miraak. He was a Dragonborn, a mortal born with the blood of a dragon. He turned against the dragons back when they ruled the world and became something even they feared. The dragons destroyed his temple (well, most of it.) and another dragon priest defeated him and restrained him to this island. But other than that, Teldryn didn't know much. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to go to a temple that was cursed by ancient magic. No amount of money was worth that. "But this outlander must have some special purpose to be going there..." He muttered, stepping away from the map. No matter, he thought, if he wants to get himself killed on this island, so be it.
Teldryn padded back to his usual spot in the cornerclub, looking to retrieve his chitin armour helmet. Upon climbing up the stairs, he saw someone standing at the table holding his helmet in his hand. The fellow was clearly an outlander, sticking out like a sore thumb. He was a tall man, dressed in steel armour with a Nordic sword in a sheath on his hip. His brown hair spilled down to his mid neck. Teldryn drew his own sword and placed the blade at the stranger's neck.
"Drop it, sera. Back on the table." Teldryn said in a cool tone. The stranger stood still for a moment, then did as he was told and placed the chitin helmet back on the table. Teldryn smirked.
"That's better. Now, listen here, n'wah... You'll find that people around here don't like strangers fiddling with their belongings... I'll let you off with a warning." The elf pulled his sword away from the stranger's neck, only to have the man pull his sword and swing at him as though he were a bolt of lightning cracking through the sky. Teldryn barely prevented the blow from striking him, blocking the stranger's blade with his own and then hopping back.
"Not bad, n'wah... But you'll find I have a few tricks up my sleeve as well!" Teldryn said, swinging at his opponent. The steel rang through the air like a bell, piercing the once-peaceful atmosphere of the Netch. The two clashed for a few moments, swapping blows from sword and fist alike. Sadri ran upstairs to try and get the two to settle down, but soon retreated back behind the bar after dodging multiple swipes and stabs. The fight was intense and moved from the narrow entryway down into the wide space that was the barroom of the Netch. Tables were turned, jars were smashed, drinks were spilled, and spectators ran, horrified. The sounds of striking blades filled the air with the violent symphony of clangs and clinks, along with the usual spark when a sword would strike the stone floor or columns. The dueling warriors were determined to defeat the other, making every thrust, slash, and parry count towards their endeavor.
Never before had Teldryn experienced this strong a fighter. This man was as good, maybe even better, than him. While fighting, the elf examined his human opponent's face: he had dark stubble growing where a goatee ought to be. His blue eyes were like the icebergs of the northern sea with a face just as hard. He was strong, judging by the ferocity of his blows, yet there was a finesse to his attacks that many common brutes lack. His armour was different than the Nordic steel Teldryn had seen during his days when he lived in Skyrim. This man must have customized it to suit him better. The sword, too, was modified to swing faster while doing a good amount of damage. The kind of work Glover would do on any piece of one's equipment, for the right price of course.
Ten minutes in, the scuffle was still going strong. One of the combatants would probably have been killed if Captain Veleth and his Redoran Guard burst in and pulled the two apart, ending the feud prematurely. Veleth was a scrupulous commander and a capable warrior. He had kept the town safe from ash spawn and Reaver alike for years now.
"Now here I am expecting a typical drunken brawl, but by Azura, you two n'wahs are trying to kill each other!" Veleth exclaimed, his face an irritated frown, "I would have expected better from you, Sero... And you, outlander! I told you to stay out of trouble..."
"With all due respect, captain, I-" Teldryn began, only to be interrupted by Veleth.
"I don't want to hear it!" The captain ran a hand down his face and sighed, "Now, I'll expect you two to each pay a fine of 40 gold or spend a couple nights in the Bulwark Prison."
Teldryn saw the stranger sigh and toss a sack that landed in Veleth's hands with a clink. Performing a similar action, the elf scowled at his quiet adversary. "Now I don't want to here anymore about you two. Understand?" Veleth and his guards prepared to leave.
The stranger gave a curt nod. "You won't have to worry about me, captain," Teldryn stated obnoxiously. The captain rolled his eyes and left the two in the main room of the cornerclub. Sadri rose from behind the bar and glared at the two armored men, whose violent brawl was now ceased.
"I see you and the outlander have made acquaintances, Teldryn..." Sadri growled, "yes, he's the one I told you about. The Nord."
Teldryn turned to see the man facing him and eyeing him up and down. He then extended his hand and said in a light Skyrim accent, "That was a good fight. You are a talented warrior."
Teldryn looked at him suspiciously, then reluctantly stretched out his hand and shook it. "Likewise, outlander. It's seldom I meet anyone on this island whose skill for swordplay surpasses my own." The Nord made a half smile.
"Sorry for messing with your helmet. I haven't seen armour like yours before in my life. Tell me, what is it called?"
Teldryn gave the hard plates of his armour a good pat, producing a sound that was similar to hearing a knock at the front door. "Chitin armour. It's exclusive to Morrowind, made from the natural armour that ash hoppers have. Made for me by Grendis Rolovo, you know..." Teldryn expected the Nord to recognize the name, but it was not so, "he's one of the best smiths in all of Morrowind."
"Ah, I see. Lucky man!" The Nord said, "and what was your name again? Teldryn, I heard...?"
"Teldryn Sero, blade for hire," He took a dramatic bow, "if you have the coin, I'm at your service."
"I'm afraid I don't need any hirelings right now, my friend. My adventures are perilous and I am better suited to travel alone." The Nord said, walking up to the bar and placing some septims in front of Sadri, "I'll take a tankard of your best mead."
As Sadri ran off to the taps, Teldryn took his place next to the Nord. "Perilous is just the way I like it. I'm willing to go anywhere so long as there's some treasure to be had. Why, the rumors I've heard about you, delving through ancient ruins and dark caverns, you certainly have a hard job. You will find that I am quite a capable adventurer, myself! You've seen my skill as a swordsman, but that's not all I have to offer!"
"And what exactly do you have to offer?"
Teldryn smirked. "Why, take a look!" The elf closed his eyes and clenched his left hand into a fist. Dark energy formed in his palm and slipped out through the spaces between his fingers. When he finally let go, a flaming figure had been conjured in the empty cornerclub. It had a feminine body but was not female at all, simply an embodiment of the natural element of fire.
"Not bad, Sero..." The Nord eyed the atronach.
"I'm trained in the magical schools of Conjuration and Destruction. I also dabble in Restoration magic, but it isn't my forte." Upon saying this, Sadri returned to the room. He set the mead on the counter, looked up, and gasped.
"Sero, you senseless bastard! Get that horrible apparition out of this establishment!" The barkeeper yelled. Teldryn waved his hand and the atronach died, then disappeared. He muttered an apology, then turned to his new Nordic friend.
"So what do you say?" He said with a smile. When the man looked unsure, Teldryn leaned closer and added, "Don't pass up on this opportunity, outlander. I'm worth every coin."
The Nord sipped his mead, donning an expression of concentrated thought. Teldryn gave him his time, going to retrieve his helmet. It was still in its spot on the table where the Nord had placed it before the clash began. Picking it up and dusting it off, Teldryn returned to see his friend standing, awaiting his return. He went towards him.
"When are you available?" He said quickly.
"Why, whenever you like, sera." Replied Teldryn. He was surprised when a purse of gold was slammed into his free hand. The coins inside jangled.
"Meet me by the wall tomorrow morning. We've got lots of work to do." The Nord hurried to leave, only stopping at the stairs when Teldryn called to him.
"You never did tell me your name, sera!"
The Nord was dead still. He turned, looked at the mercenary, and was silent for a moment before saying, "People call me 'Dragonborn.'" And with that, he exited, leaving the Dunmer sellsword with a confused expression and a purse full of gold standing in the barroom of the Retching Netch Cornerclub.