The Sons of Baroth
Greg J Miller
~O~
Chapter 4
Fredas the 4th of Midyear 4E49
Karl gro-Baroth was up and leaving the Guildhall well before the sunrise. Wasting no time, he was passing through the main gates of Skingrad before the dawn had even broken over the eastern mountains. The muted glow of the coming dawn at his back as he started his westward march along The Gold Road.
There had been almost nobody about at that early hour aside from the guards still posted to night duties. He passed by the unattended stabling facilities, then followed the road along past the famed Surilie Brothers Vineyards and Tamika Vineyards. Once he'd passed the last of those smaller farms to the west of Skingrad, there was nothing but open countryside ahead of him.
He'd not seen anyone since leaving the city gates behind, until he came across a lone Legion rider returning from night patrol. That was about a league out from the city.
As they drew near, the soldier seemed to treat him with some measure of cautious suspicion. That didn't especially bother him. After all, an armoured Orc with a large battleaxe across his back coming along an empty road might well be cause for caution in certain circumstances. Of course, the Legion rider's attitude altered completely once he learned that Karl was Fighters Guild. He'd wanted to stop and chat for a while, but Karl cut that short. He was determined to make Kvatch as early as possible.
Out on the open road of County Skingrad, Karl's mind again drifted back to his childhood days. He'd been thinking about that the other day in the back in the wagon.
He still held some fond but faded memories of his childhood in Orcrest. He recalled running through the narrow streets and alleyways of inner Orcrest and playing with the other children that lived there. Most were Orcish or Khajiiti, but there were also a couple of Imperial boys that lived there at the time.
From that time, he vaguely remembered a young Khajiit girl with dark striped markings in her fur. She was probably a Cathay. He couldn't recall her proper name, but he thought that he used to call her 'Nissi' or something like that. He also remembered that she used to run with a small cat that she referred to as her little brother. Back then, Karl didn't understand how the Khajiit each appeared physically different according to the phases of the moons at the time of their birth. Her brother was probably born as Alfiq, meaning he would always look just like a domesticated cat. Though he couldn't actually speak, he would have been able to think and reason just as any other Khajiit.
Karl also recalled running about in the outer part of Orcrest, over on the northern side of the city. That was where the trading caravans visited and where the main marketplace was located. That was where he first saw one of those elephants that some of the traders used.
It was also in that marketplace that he first saw those paintings of Rimmen, as well as some paintings of other far off places. There were also many of those tapestries that Khajiit artisans were famous for. Many were colourful patterns and designs. Just a few were woven into works of art that depicted one thing or another.
Aside from the markets, there were two other prominent features of the outer section of the city of Orcrest. One of those features was the ramshackle arena where Orcish warriors faced off against one another or against captured beasts of the wild.
Karl wasn't permitted close to that place at his young age. It wasn't so much that young Orcs weren't allowed to see such things. It was more the case that they might be too easily injured, even as spectators.
The other prominent feature of the outer section was the oasis pools. Most of the city water supply came from the deep wells, but when the rains had filled those pools, they became popular swimming spots, especially for the children of that arid city.
As he understood it, it would have been only a year or so before the Oblivion Crisis when Karl Fairbeard and Baroth gro-Uzgark relocated to Orcrest from Rimmen. His father would have met his mother not long after that.
During the last year of the third era, 3E433, Alba gra-Aglash had still been a full-time soldier in the City Guard of Orcrest. Karl knew that they'd all fought together, along with many others, to defend that city from the Oblivion Gate that opened up not far from the city walls.
Karl had trouble remembering exactly what Fairbeard had told him, but he was reasonably sure that Baroth and Alba had only become husband and wife just before the Oblivion Crisis had broken out. During the first year of the fourth era, Karl was born.
As he'd learned later, his father had been off on a caravan escort job at the time that he was born. Apparently, Karl Fairbeard had just returned from a similar task to learn that Alba was about to give birth. He had remained with her to assist with the difficult birth, helping her to bring her son into the world.
Before that time, it was more likely that Karl would have been called something else more Orcish. However, Fairbeard's timely assistance had changed all that. Both his parents had agreed, and even insisted, that he should bear the name of the man that helped bring him safely into the world.
He thought about his mother. Her face seemed somewhat more clear in his memory than that of his father. Of course, it was the first face that he saw each morning during his younger years and the last face that he saw each evening. That was not often the case with his father.
Though she seemed huge by his childhood recollections, Alba hadn't been quite so large by Orcish standards. She was probably slightly shorter than some Orcs and her frame was rather lean. That was reflected in her face. He supposed that it might just be the colouring of his childhood recollections, but his mother's face seemed more kindly and less harsh than other Orcish females.
His mother had been born and raised in Orcrest, but she still knew enough of how other Orcs lived in other lands. Some of the locals had come from those places, or at least their forebears had.
When Karl was still very young, she had explained what she knew of the Orcs of Orsinium and other parts of High Rock. She also explained how those Orcs of the northwestern province thought of all others as 'city-Orcs', even those of Orcrest.
Alba held to a different sort of mentality. She always thought that Orcrest was the closest thing to what the city of Orsinium was meant to be. Granted, the Orcs lived under a Khajiit ruler, but they were perfectly free to live as Orcs should. Older traditions were respected, but newer traditions were treated with equal measure. She viewed it as more forward thinking.
As Karl understood it, some of the Orcs of Orcrest still worshipped Malacath. There was a desert shrine located not that far from the city. The god of the Orcs was worshipped as both Malacath and as Trinimac, according to the sensibilities of the individual. That was something that came from the new Orsinium established under the rule of Gortwog gro-Nagorm.
In either case, that was still frowned upon by the Empire. Any sort of Daedra worship was viewed as an affront to the Nine Divines within the Empire. Regardless of how it might be framed, Malacath was still a Daedric Prince.
However, the Khajiit were far more tolerant of such things. After all, they also had their own gods. Some of them were considered to be the same entities that the Empire recognised as the Nine Divines. Some of them were recognised by the Imperials as Daedra. In any event, the Khajiit held no interest in keeping others from their respective gods. That was not the Khajiiti way.
Karl's mother had often told him that he should not limit his expectations of what it meant to be a proper Orc. She insisted that were many ways to achieve fulfilment as a true Orc.
She granted that some might be best suited to the life of a warrior, in one fashion or another, but not every battle was fought by combat.
She told him that even the Orcish smith that never fought with the weapons that he fashioned could still be a true Orc. The challenge of fashioning the weapons and armour for those that lacked the proper skill was no less important than the act of wielding them.
Even the priests that guided worshippers could be true Orcs. Their battles were for the faith and souls of their people. That required a different kind of strength, one no less important than the strength to wield a warhammer.
Karl had held onto his mother's words over the years. It made even more sense to him once he'd found himself relegated to managing the business of the Chorrol Guildhall from behind that desk. Aside from training, he'd seen very little battle over the past decade. Most of his battles had been a different kind of challenge. It had fallen to him to provide leadership and organisational management of Guild operations. He supposed that he had actually proved himself perfectly capable in that role. He also supposed that though some of his kind might sneer and call him a 'city-Orc', his mother would probably have been proud.
Karl's attention was drawn toward the road ahead. A farmer's wagon was pulled up on the road and an Imperial rider was off his horse just nearby. As he drew a little closer, he could see that the soldier was examining something at the side of the road. The two men by the wagon and the soldier seemed alarmed at Karl's approach.
He called out to them. "Karl gro-Baroth. Fighters Guild."
The Legion soldier kept his weapon at the ready and fixed a wary eye in Karl's direction. "Fighters Guild, you say?"
"Yeah, outa Chorrol. What's up?"
"A bandit." One of the farmers blurted.
Karl noticed what the soldier had been examining. There was a bloody body in the grass by the side of the road. The spattering of blood upon the Legionnaire's armour told the broad detail of the rest of the story.
The soldier told his story anyway. "This bandit tried to take these farmers. He probably didn't know that the wagon was empty and he didn't see me coming along behind them."
Karl chortled. "Heh, yeah. Well, if bandits were much smarter, then they'd be a whole lot more trouble. Good thing they ain't."
"Agreed." The soldier responded evenly.
"Hey, I heard there ain't been bandits along this stretch since last winter. Anything the Guild needs ta know about that?"
The Legionnaire shook his head slightly. "Only the occasional fool, like this one. Nothing in the way of any organised gang activity or the like." He glanced westward. "I've heard there might be some troublemakers over toward the hills south of Kvatch, but that's not my problem. Just the County Skingrad section."
Karl nodded his understanding. "Yeah, well. I'm headed for Kvatch right now. So, I'll keep an eye out. Might even get lucky an' get a chance to deal with some idiot outlaw that thinks I'm an ordinary traveller." He grinned.
"Perhaps." The soldier acknowledged.
Karl glanced to the farmer's wagon, then back to the soldier. "Well, looks ta me like ya got the matter in hand. I gotta try an' get to Kvatch 'fore it gets too late."
The Legionnaire returned a silent nod and Karl continued on his way along The Gold Road. A passing thought occurred to him. He wondered what it meant when he found himself actually looking forward to finding a bandit along the road. He shrugged it off.
Just a short while later, Karl caught sight of the road signs up ahead. He could also see the stones of an old Ayleid ruin to the north of the road. That would have been the old Miscarand ruins. As he understood it, those road signs stood at the border of Counties Skingrad and Kvatch. That meant that he was about half way there. Given that the sun was near enough to its apex above, it also meant that he was making good time. He remained confident of reaching his destination according to his expectations.
"Looks to me like you've got it." Monika Northwind grinned. She relaxed her stance and lowered her shield.
"Yes, I think so." Alex Pinewatch returned her grin.
At the outside training area around the back of the Chorrol Guildhall, Monika had been furthering Alex's training in the use of the shield and mace combination. Unlike Monika, he preferred using his elven blade in close combat. Both of them were far more proficient with the bow. Nevertheless, he was still required to master blunt weapons as part of his ongoing Fighters Guild training.
Monika glanced up at the sun, gauging the time. It looked to be just past midday. "We might take a break."
"Yes, okay." Alex agreed easily. "What about Vinus?"
Monika looked to young Vinus Odiil. She had him practising archery. "Hey, Vinus. Keep training. Give it another hour and then you can take a break."
Vinus returned a silent nod and kept to the task at hand.
Though Alex was much older than Vinus, he'd not been with the Fighters Guild for all that much longer, only about a year. They'd both been raised on farms, only Alex had done it for much longer. Vinus had come from just down the road from Chorrol. Alex was from Falkreath, over the mountains to the north.
Although Alex was a good two decades younger than Monika, they both looked near enough to the same age. Of course, that was due to Monika's mixed heritage. Alex hardly seemed remarkable in his appearance. His frame was rather slight for a Nord. His plain brown hair and eyes did little to alter his generally average looking appearance.
Aside from the circumstances of their meeting, it would be fair to say that it was more of his nature and general demeanour that drew Monika to him. Alex's upbringing had instilled him with an uncommon measure of honesty and loyalty. His tendency to lean toward the most honourable behaviour also seemed rather uncommon. At least, it seemed uncommon from Monika's recent experience.
Those two had been lovers since just a few weeks after they'd met. More than once, Alex had sought something more official. It was only Monika's reticence that held back that circumstance. Though they pretty much lived as though they were married, Monika remained reluctant to take that next step. After recently learning something of her previously failed marriage, Alex gained a better understanding of her reluctance. He had more or less accepted the current circumstance, at least for the time being.
Monika and Alex had just returned from training out the back as the front doors to the Chorrol Guildhall opened. An Imperial man stepped inside, wearing a mixed set of armour comprised of steel and chainmail. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. Even from a passing glance, his appearance seemed more Nibenese than Colovian.
Dale Gavinus, the Guild Porter, moved briskly down the stairs to intercept the visitor to the Guildhall. Dale was a younger man of typical Colovian appearance. He wore his immaculately polished steel armour as a proud mark of his position.
"Welcome to the Guildhall." The porter spoke in an overly official manner, "Please state your business."
The stranger looked past Dale, briefly glancing toward Alex and Monika, then returning his attention to the porter. "Guild Porter… I'm here to see the acting Guildhead."
Dale maintained his posture. "I am afraid that Karl gro-Baroth is not here at this time."
A brief flash of annoyance crossed the stranger's face. "Where is he, then?"
"The acting Guildhead is presently visiting another Guildhall."
The visitor frowned. "Who's in charge, right now?"
"The acting second is attending the office at present."
"Who's that, then?"
"Francois Montrose is currently in charge of the Guildhall."
The older man shook his head. "Well, tell the second that Etrius Quaspas is here from Leyawiin."
Dale returned a curt nod of assent and headed directly up the stairs. Quaspas remained at the base of the stairs with a look of only barely contained impatience.
Monika and Alex had quietly sat down at the table by the rear doors and casually observed the exchange from there. The visitor seemed to ignore them.
"Who is he?" Alex whispered quietly. He'd never seen the man before.
Monika hesitated briefly. She kept her voice just as low. "Quaspas. He's in charge of the Leyawiin Guildhall."
"Leyawiin?" Alex had never been quite that far south.
"Yeah." Monika responded only distractedly. She was trying to keep an eye upon Quaspas, without really looking like she was doing it.
"Why would he be here?" Alex whispered.
Monika's sharp glance indicated that she wanted him to be quiet.
Dale was just returning from upstairs. The young porter invited the visiting Guildhead to follow him up to the main office on the upper level.
Once those two had disappeared out of view, Alex spoke again. "Do you think it is about Karl taking so long…"
"Shhh." Monika cut him off. "Come on."
Monika got up and headed for the stairs. Alex followed. She peered up the staircase toward the upper levels. After a few moments, the porter came back down.
"Dale." Monika spoke with a harsh whisper.
The Guild Porter returned a questioning gaze.
"Quietly." Monika insisted. "What's going on, up there?"
The porter kept his voice low. "Guildhead Quaspas is meeting with Montrose." His tone indicated that he thought it was perfectly self-evident.
"You should get back up there." Monika suggested.
Dale blinked. "I was asked to leave."
"Then get back within earshot."
The Guild Porter's expression indicated his distaste at the suggestion.
Monika persisted. "Look, I want to know if he's giving Montrose any trouble."
Dale's expression indicated further resistance.
Monika huffed. "Just do it. Karl told me to keep an eye out for trouble."
The younger Imperial relented in silence. He turned and moved quietly back up the stairs and out of view. Monika and Alex shifted away from the staircase. Though she wanted to know what was going on, she didn't want to be obvious about it.
After a good quarter of an hour, Quaspas returned from upstairs and then departed the Guildhall directly without pause.
Dale came back down just a few moments later. Monika immediately pressed him for details. Aside from confirming that he thought Quaspas had been belligerent with Montrose, and that he heard Karl's name mentioned loudly more than once, he couldn't say for certain what had been discussed with any certainty.
With an obvious sense of frustration and concern, Monika left Dale behind to head on upstairs to see Montrose. Alex followed closely behind.
As expected, Montrose seemed suitably agitated. At first, he was reluctant to discuss the meeting with Quaspas. However, Monika could be rather persuasive. He confirmed the expectation that Quaspas was annoyed that Karl was away, also confirming that he wanted to talk about resolving the matter of the head of the Guild. He hadn't been at all happy about having to deal with Montrose.
Though Quaspas hadn't said it outright, Montrose gained the impression that he was looking to make a move for the vacant position. He'd also mentioned his intent to seek an audience with the Countess.
Monika wondered if Countess Alessia would even speak with him. Quaspas' father had served the ruling family of Leyawiin during the years of the rebellion. By extension, that meant that he was probably in favour with the Caro's.
The bad blood between the Valga and Caro families remained a matter of common knowledge. Alessia Valga had been the younger wife of the aging Count Caro of Leyawiin until shortly after that County rebelled from Imperial rule. In the wake of the ensuing friction between Countess Arriana and the Count of Leyawiin, Alessia had left her husband to return to her mother in Chorrol. In due course, she replaced her mother as the Countess of Chorrol.
Still, regardless of her personal history, the Countess was more likely to keep out of the internal politics of the Guild, than otherwise.
As Monika suggested, things might have been far simpler if Karl had just stepped up into the role of Guild Master. She doubted that anyone would have objected and she would have far preferred him as the new boss to anyone else. Both Alex and Montrose agreed easily enough.
A few hours had passed since Karl gro-Baroth left that farmer's wagon back in County Skingrad. He hadn't seen anyone else along the road since then. That wasn't really all that unusual on some days. Still, he expected that he'd probably come across another Legion rider sooner or later, provided that the timing of his journey coincided with a patrol.
The day had seemed just a little uncomfortably warm since before noon. Perhaps more so in that old iron armour that he wore. Until a light breeze came up, there seemed to be a notable feeling of steaminess on the air. There was just a bit of light cloud in the north and some more toward the south-east, but none of it actually looked like rain.
The city of Kvatch had come into view in the distance some time back. The dark stone walls of the city rose up from the tall plateau. Kvatch was situated atop what was either a tall hilltop or a low mountain, depending on who it was you were talking to. Some called it Mount Kvatch and some argued it wasn't high enough to be a mountain. He thought there was also some another name for it, but he couldn't remember. Either way, everything up on that plateau was still Kvatch.
Even though he could see the city, he knew that it was a bit further away than it actually looked. He knew that The Gold Road swung around to the south for a fair way, circling about until it connected to the winding road that made the final ascent up to the city.
Along The Gold Road, the only other thing of interest that he'd seen had been just past the turn off to the Shetcombe farming settlement. The crows caught his attention first. They flew off at his approach. He soon spotted a dead rabbit lying upon the road beside the carcass of a half-eaten wolf. He figured that the wolf might have killed the rabbit, but there was no obvious sign of what had killed the wolf. Whatever had made the kill, it looked to have eaten just the soft parts and left the rest behind. He supposed that it might have been a mountain lion. After all, they were more common in the west of Colovia and along the Gold Coast.
Some time after that, Karl's mind again drifted back to his early years. It was during the eighth year of the new era that his life changed completely. He would have been just seven years old at that time.
He hadn't realised the significance of the first thing when it occurred. His father was always going off on jobs that kept him away. Sometimes, for a few weeks at a time. That time, his father had gone off to the far north. Apparently, he was headed for Orsinium, for reasons that Karl never fully learned of. Back then, he held no real idea of exactly how far away that city was, only that his father was going to be away for several weeks.
Though Fairbeard's work still took him away for a few days at a time, he'd remained near to Orcrest, often visiting him and his mother when Baroth was away.
By then, his mother had returned to working for the City Guard of Orcrest. Still, she generally only worked the daylight shifts on those days that she was rostered for duty. Meaning that Karl still saw her at the beginning and end of each day, whether she was working or not.
It was a bit later in the year that Karl's life shifted more dramatically. His father had already been gone for a while, maybe about two months. At that time, His mother had fallen ill with a sickness that caused a terrible fever. Though Karl knew nothing of it at the time, a number of Orcs throughout the city had fallen ill with that same sickness. Apparently, only the Orcs of Orcrest had been affected. The Khajiit and other races of the city had not been affected at all.
Fairbeard had returned from a trader's escort job to find young Karl tending to his ill mother. Of course, aside from bringing her water and damp cloth, there was little that he could do for her.
Fairbeard had taken charge of the situation. He carried Alba off to see the local healer and seek treatment. Evidently, she wasn't their first patient, but the illness still had the healers baffled. They'd administered potions and other treatments to the ill, but many patients responded only somewhat better under the healer's care than without it. It seemed that those sick Orcs that survived the illness and emerged from the fever did so more out of good fortune than the skill of the healers. Karl's mother had been one of those less fortunate.
Karl had never fallen ill with whatever taken his mother. Of course being a Nord, Fairbeard had not been affected either. Whatever the cause of the Orc fever, it was over in just a few short weeks and seemed to have passed as quickly as it appeared.
Still, young Karl had found himself without either parent. He'd overheard some talk of other Orcs offering to take him in until his father returned, but Fairbeard wouldn't hear of it. He'd told them that he was the closest friend of both Alba and Baroth. They'd even named their son with his name. He insisted that he would watch over him for as long he needed to, as if he were his own flesh and blood.
Apparently, there'd been some objection to a Nord taking charge of a young Orc, but it must have been sorted, since Fairbeard soon moved into his parent's small house.
Fairbeard tried to take only jobs that didn't take him away from the city or least those that took him away for no more than two days at a time.
Karl and his Nord guardian had waited and waited for the return of Baroth. The weeks soon became months and then more months passed by. Before long, a whole year had passed by and there was still sign of the return of his father.
Things had been changing in Elsweyr around that time. By then, following the lead of Argonia, Elsweyr had already seceded from the Empire. It hadn't happened all at once. It was a gradual process as the various Kingdoms and regions broke off from Imperial control, returning to something that more resembled an earlier state of affairs, one where each part of the land reclaimed local independence. At that time, there wasn't even a Mane to influence the cultural landscape of Elsweyr.
Karl knew that the previous Mane had been assassinated the same year he had been born. Elsweyr had been without a cultural leader until just quite recently. He suspected that the new Mane had lived in secretive seclusion until he was ready to emerge; now residing in the city of Dune. Even so, the Mane rarely acted as an actual political ruler, but the Mane was respected by all Khajiit as the cultural leader of all their lands.
However, back when Karl was still living in Orcrest with Fairbeard, without a living Mane, the only thing that maintained the relative peace throughout Elsweyr was the ongoing need for trade. Even then, that peace was relatively tenuous.
Even though the various regions of Elsweyr had broken away from the Imperial Empire, there were no active hostilities. Potentate Ocato was already having enough trouble with the rebellions of Counties Bravil and Leyawiin in the south of Cyrodiil. Still, that left Elsweyr to its own state of disorder and internal turmoil. Without the Imperial Legion trying to maintain order and no living Mane, things were even more uncertain than ever.
As he understood it, outside of Rimmen, where things remained relatively stable, only Orcrest remained fairly unaffected by the shifting sands of political change. That was mostly due to its important location along the trade routes. Also, the large Orcish population had served to actually bolster the stability of that city.
Still, despite the distinct advantage of having an army of Orcs at his potential disposal, the Khajiiti ruler of Orcrest had grown nervous of having so many non-Khajiit in his city. Fairbeard had thought it foolish, but he'd heard the rumours that there might be a call to have the Orcs leave the city. He suspected that it might have something to do with the Renrijra Krin. They were a group of radical Khajiit that believed that Elsweyr should belong only to the Khajiit and were also dedicated to the return of the lands in the southern Niben that were ceded to Imperial Cyrodill during earlier times. Some of the bandits that Fairbeard had fought off around Rimmen had probably been Renrijra Krin.
Fairbeard held some reasonable fears for what all of that might mean. Especially since more than half the populace of Orcrest were Orcish and the city might never have even been there if not for them. He anticipated bloodshed if there was any serious move against the Orcs of the city.
By the beginning of the winter of the ninth year of the new era, Fairbeard had come to a decision. After more than a year had passed by since Baroth had departed, he had decided it was reasonable to assume that he was probably not coming back. Though he didn't want to say it, he suspected that his friend had most likely met with untimely demise. Otherwise, he should have returned by then or at least sent some sort of message. He was going to wait until the end of winter and no more.
With the future stability of Orcrest under doubt, Fairbeard planned to take Karl and head north for Cyrodiil in the hope of finding somewhere less dangerous. At least, that was the plan.
Karl gro-Baroth was suddenly roused from his musings by the sight of a Legion rider coming along the road toward him from up ahead. He suddenly realised that he'd passed most of the day thinking about the past. Though it was not yet quite nightfall, the sun had already fallen below the hill ahead. He was pretty sure that he was coming up on the last hill before the road up to Kvatch. He must have passed by the turn off to the Kvatch Mines without even noticing it.
He identified himself as Fighters Guild, stopping only briefly to speak with the Legion soldier. He mentioned that the road had been clear of trouble all the way to County Skingrad and that he was heading up to Kvatch. Avoiding any lengthy conversation, Karl resumed his march.
He'd been right about his location. The sign that marked the turn off to Kvatch was just up over that next hill. The sun was just falling upon the hazy and distant horizon where the sky touched the Abecean Sea as he turned onto the road to Kvatch.
After one more gently rolling hill, the road started the winding ascent up the hillside to where the city of Kvatch sat perched. A tiring hour passed by before he reached the top of the climb. That last bit was always the most arduous part of travelling to Kvatch, especially so on foot.
At the top of the climb, the buildings outside the tall walls came into view. The main stabling facilities stood in front of the old workshops and warehouse. The local office of the Imperial Trading Company was just across the road next to a large stone manor. After a fashion, each of those structures were a legacy of the rebuilding of Kvatch after the destruction that occurred during the Oblivion Crisis.
Fifty years back, an Oblivion Gate opened up right in front of the main gates of Kvatch and Daedra poured into the city, raining down chaos and destruction. That was one of the few places that the remnants of a broken Oblivion Gate had been completely removed. There was no indication that it had been there.
After speaking with the duty guards, Karl passed through the main gates into the city proper. The main street up the middle of Kvatch was well lit by oil lamps all the way to the castle. Looking ahead, the Chapel of Akatosh dominated the main thoroughfare. Beyond the stores and inns, the shadow of the castle rose up against the moonlit sky.
The Fighters Guild was also located on the main street, just past the guard's barracks on the left. Karl headed directly for the Guildhall and stepped inside.
The place was instantly familiar. It was practically the same layout as the one in Chorrol, with just a few minor differences. Of course, the Kvatch Guildhall was much newer, having only been constructed during the rebuilding of the city that took place in the first decade of the new era.
Inside the Guildhall, all was quiet. It seemed like there was nobody about. A creak from the floorboards preceded the appearance of the old Bosmer that served as the Guild Porter since retiring from more active duties. His name was Brolla.
The old Wood Elf studied him briefly as he approached. "Karl gro-Baroth, welcome to the Kvatch Guildhall."
"Hey, Brolla. Long time, no see." Karl looked down at him. He was just thinking that the aging Bosmer appeared shorter than the last time he saw him. He kept that thought to himself.
"Yes, it's been a while. What brings you here?"
"Here to see Farrell."
"She's not here, right now."
Karl looked about again. "Sounds like nobody's here."
Brolla nodded. "Everyone is out, but me."
Karl returned a questioning glance.
The porter clarified. "Farrell and Merandil are only out at the inn for the evening. The others are out on jobs."
"Fair enough." Karl accepted. "I just wanna use the facilities, then maybe see Farrell in the morning."
The old Bosmer returned a slow nod. "I'm sure that will be possible."
"Yeah well, I know where everything is. No need ta put yerself out on my account."
Brolla responded with a mild grin. "It's good to see you again, Karl."
The Orc flashed his lower canines. "Yeah, likewise."
Karl headed off directly for the bathroom facilities, before looking to find something to eat. He was actually feeling a bit more hungry than expected. He was also feeling rather more tired than he would have anticipated. The long march from Skingrad seemed a bit more wearing than he thought it would be. It seemed as though the years were starting to catch up with him. Either that, or else he just needed more exercise.
Finishing his meal, Karl noted the rough bristles on his stubbled chin. It was just starting to annoy him. He decided upon a quick shave before finding a bunk to settle in for the night. He'd go see Guildhead Farrell the next morning.
~O~
