The Beginning of a New Era

Chapter 3

Of Words and Weapons

Gjalder had spent the last few days studying the local language with the Egg, as he thought of him, or Solas, as he introduced himself, and he was starting to get annoyed. It had never taken him this long to be able to converse in a different language. Granted, he had never had to learn a new tongue without his teacher speaking something that he already knew, so there were… Extenuating circumstances.

But, once he started being able to speak with the people in the village, which he had learned was called Haven, he started asking questions. Primarily about where his arms and armor were located. Every time he asked however, he was met with a shrug, or an "I don't know," mumbled under their breath.

He started getting annoyed at this. He had worn some of his favorite armor, a beautiful set of near-perfectly forged Ebony, with silver runes inlaid around each individual piece, which he had enchanted personally, and at great cost. Not to mention his mask, his masterwork, a mockery of the ancient Dragon Priests, more powerful than anything they had worn, even Miraak, which he had dubbed Unazhaal, or Unending in the lower tongue.

And that was before he considered the loss of some of his favored weapons, a cruel-looking Daedric style dagger, a pair of perfectly balanced longswords that he had, very originally, named Fang and Claw. And then there was his shield, oh, his shield. Evgiir Unslaad, Season Unending, the old name for war, made of a single, massive piece of Ebony, infused with Dragons blood, and with silver inlays.

Yet, even with all of this, the urgency to find his equipment paled compared to the last artefact of Nirn he had carried. An Elder Scroll. If these joor were to find it, the damage done could easily be catastrophic, both to them, and to the land around them. He could feel that there was something… Different about this land, compared to Skyrim. Something deep below the earth, and far above the clouds. He couldn't quite put his finger on what though.

So, to put it mildly, Gjalder was starting to get rather pissed when nobody seemed willing to tell him where his stuff was.

It all came to a head, when Gjalder went to confront the angry-shouty-lady, or, as he had been told her name was, in the middle of a minor laughing fit from Solas, Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast. If he was honest with himself, he would probably be at least as angry as she was if his name was so long and pompous.

It didn't take long for his stomping through Haven to bear results, as he saw her near the entry to the temple, or the "Chantry", as they called it.

"Seeker! I know you're here! Where are my belongings! Where are my arms! My armor? Where is my KEL!" He shouted at her. "Well," she said, "You certainly picked up the language quickly. As to your equipment and whatever this, 'Kel', of yours, they are being held until I have determined that you are not a threat to the Inquisition, to the Herald or to the people of Haven!"

Gjalder glowered at her a little bit, until he, with a great deal of effort, schooled his frown and took control of his anger. "I understand your reasoning, Seeker," he said, forcing his voice to calm, "but I gained those items at great personal cost, and they are invaluable to me. I give you my word, I do not intend for any harm to come to the people of Haven, or to the Inquisition. So, I request, from one warrior to another, to return my belongings to me."

Cassandra was about to answer, with a resolute 'No!', when a woman's voice suddenly spoke up from behind her, "Give it up Cassandra! The man has done nothing to harm us, and even Leliana said that he was unlikely to be a spy, not knowing our language and with that kind of gear." The elf who'd spoken walked out of the chantry behind Cassandra, shaking her head with a wry smile.

Cassandra glared at the smaller woman for a bit, before she relented with a "As you wish, Herald. You there!" she shouted at a suddenly startled off-duty soldier, "Get the strangers things from the cell!" The man barely had time to recover before he quickly saluted the woman, marching off rapidly into the chantry, and down into the cells below.

"I trust that will be fine?" She asked Gjalder, who simply looked at her for a little while, before answering an emotionless "As long as all of my items are there, I see no reason to complain."

It didn't take the man long to come back up empty handed however, quickly whispering something into the Seekers ear. "Something wrong, Pentaghast?" Gjalder inquired, with a dark undertone to his voice. "None whatsoever," she replied with a fresh glare, before giving the soldier a new order, and gestured for another one to join him.

Soon after the two men came out of the chantry, huffing and puffing, clearly struggling with the trunk they carried between them. Cassandra took a key from somewhere beneath her light, off-duty armor, but before she managed to take more than a single step towards the trunk Gjalder had already punched clean through thick oak wood of the lid, and ripped the thing apart with his bare hands, revealing his armor and weapons.

"Finally," he said, under his breath, "I've been feeling naked since I woke up without this! If you will excuse me ladies, I have something I need to put on." He said, and then walked off without another look, easily carrying the trunk, that two professional soldiers had trouble moving together, under a single arm, moving quickly towards Solas's shack.

Gjalder quickly moved into the shack, and then checked the trunk thoroughly, making sure all of his belongings, including the Elder Scroll were there. After he was satisfied, he started pulling on his armor, feeling the comfortable weight settle down around him, and the enchantments upon start flowing through it. 'Time to get to work', he thought to himself as he strapped his blades and shield onto himself and put his mask on his belt next to the dagger, where he could quickly grab it and put it on.

Not long after, he started looking for the tavern. He had been here, for what, a few weeks? And the most he'd had to drink was a single mug of ale when Solas had brought him food that first day out of his cell.

He needed to show these milk-drinkers just what a proud Nord could do. Even if he preferred good wine to ale or mead.

He quickly found the place, even in this strange land you could always find a drinking-den by following the noise and lights, quickly leaving the cold behind for the warmth of a roaring hearth.

Once he was inside, he made a beeline for a – thankfully empty, why was it so crowded for so early in the day? – spot at the bar.

He'd barely even planted himself on one of the stools there before a voice came out from next to him. "Heeey, it's you! The guy with the weird stuff who doesn't speak our language! How're you?" Gjalder looked to his side, surprised when finding no one there, before he looked further down. A dwarf. Curious. Obviously not related to the dwarves of Tamriel in any way, the Dwemer would likely have been… Less than pleased to be confused with a being like this. The figure went on, "I'm Varric Tethras, writer, businessman, tag-along and unfortunately, occasional politician." The small one with the impressive chest hair said, introducing himself.

Gjalder eyed him for a moment, before deciding he might as well be polite, introducing himself, "Gjalder Rage-Eye, adventurer, researcher, some-time-hero and," he said, taking a swig from the mug that had been placed in front of him by the barkeep, "very disappointed by your liquor." The dwarf seemed amused by that last part. How droll.

"Yeah well, no offense Flissa, but this place isn't exactly The Hanged Man."

"Hmph! Thank the Maker it isn't! I've heard the stories about that place, and there is no way I am letting my establishment turn out like that!"

"Uhm, yeah, sorry Flissa," Varric said, looking like he got caught with his foot in his mouth at her reaction, turning to Gjalder, "So, Silver, got any good stories to tell from wherever you're from?"

Gjalder and Varric proceeded to spend the night talking about various adventures they had been part of, Gjalder keeping some of the most… Outlandish ones, to himself. Primarily any involving magic, he'd seen how Solas was treated because he was both a mage and an elf.

When they finally left, deep into the night, Gjalder took a moment to breathe in the cool mountain air, and to look upon the sky. What he saw however, chilled his bones.

Masser and Secunda were missing. Instead, there was a small white dot, far, far away. Where was he? He'd assumed that he was just thrown to some strange part of Nirn, but the lack of the moons… He'd have to investigate this. Thoroughly.

So, that was chapter 3. Took a while. Longer than the others. Writing is harder than I thought. Who knew. Anyways.

Thanks to both of you who reviewed the first two chapters! It means a lot. Cliché to say, I know, I know, but still true. Now, Zack, as to your statements, I know that the Dragonborn is mortal, but there is quite a few times in lore where mortals, mainly powerful mages, become immortal. Divayth Fyr, Orghnum, Abnur Tharn and Mannimarco (who was weird because of the whole Warp in the West thing) chief amongst them, as well as the Nerevarine (granted though, that is due to Corprus), and most of the other misconceptions I'm gonna go ahead and blame on a faulty memory, Gjalder's arrogance, the fact that reality in the Elder Scrolls universe is malleable when it comes to belief, what with the whole 'Mantling' thing, where people fitting the criteria, and then other people believing a certain thing makes it come true. I should really brush up on my Elder Scrolls lore if I should write fanfiction about it. Oh well.