DISCLAIMER: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories may not be in chronological order.
PARTY FAVORS
"Good morning, Orthos! And how is business for the East Empire?" Revyn asked with a genuine smile for the Imperial. Orthos's return smile was tight and not very happy as he set the crate of goods Revyn had ordered from High Rock on the counter.
"Morning, Revyn. Business is good."
"Oh, but you don't seem happy."
"Well, I do have a bit of a problem I need your help with especially as it involves your wife."
"Oh, dear. Not more pirates I hope."
"Not exactly." Orthos chewed his lower lip as he glanced around the shop, noting customers browsing wares. "It's a rather sensitive matter. Do you have time to meet later today at my office? Lunch. My treat. And I have someone you need to meet."
"I think I can manage that."
+—+—+—+—+
The man Orthos wanted him to meet was company man by the name of Razelan. "You'll have to excuse him if he's a bit rude. He only gets that way after a few drinks and he's had a few since this morning. And yesterday. And the day before that since his arrival," Orthos softly informed him after the Redguard had only grunted after introductions and then had wandered away to grab a plate of food and bottle of brandy to nurse in a corner. "He's actually one the company's top traders in Tamriel and handles trades at the government levels."
"Here, try this Colovial Brandy. I picked up two bottles when I was at a mandatory attendance at the Thalmor Embassy on Mount Kilkreath outside Solitude." Orthos poured him a goblet. An obscene amount considering the price per bottle. "I was surprised to see Helsette there."
"Oh, dear."
Orthos kindly waited until Revyn had a chance to try some of the delicious food before returning to the subject. "Gods, I hate having to attend those things. Accounting books are so much more intelligent and pleasant than having to deal with some of the ego-centric, vapid nobles that attend those things. And if they're not vapid nobles, they're ill-tempered ones who only come to keep an eye on the Thalmor and then there are Thalmor-wannabees. In any case, I was also there to meet Razelan who was just transferred to Skyrim. It was hoped his experience in dealing with the Thalmor in the Cyrodiil markets would help us boost our trades, and because he's dealt with Ambassador Elenwen before. But it seems his drinking has become more pronounced upon the transfer north. And this last party, well, it was a disaster."
"Got drunk and insulted the Ambassador?"
"Got drunk, yes, but it wasn't his fault. I'd heard the Ambassador had ordered the servants not to serve him any alcoholic drinks at all. Everyone else knew not to give him any alcohol. Except Helsette. I saw her bring him a goblet.
"Speaking of which, do you perhaps know why she was there?"
"Not a clue, my friend," said Revyn truthfully. "Haven't seen her in days. Last she wrote, she was butchering vampires in Morthal."
"That would almost explain why she was at a Thalmor party," muttered Orthos. "Or maybe she wasn't there. The woman that looked like her said her name was Indara Romayn and she was a trader from Solstheim looking into the Skyrim markets. She had elaborately coifed, fiery red hair braided with gold chains and gems, the dress and cosmetics was that of a noblewoman of the high court, and she spoke with a Redoran accent. She fluttered a fan and flirted like a courtesan, drawing every eye so that Elenwen was fair jealous at being overshadowed at her own party. The only time she didn't have everyone's attention was when the Jarl of Morthal suddenly began attacking Razelan. By the time Elenwen and the guards had separated Jarl Ravencrone from Razelan, the mysterious Lady Romayn had vanished. Then there were guards running about and Elenwen ended the party.
"If Romayn hadn't been such a flirt talking to every man and woman present, Razelan and I would have been questioned by the Thalmor for speaking to her. But as it was there was no way Elenwen could hold every guest back for questioning and so we were allowed to leave, so I collected Razelan and brought him here."
"A fascinating tale, Orthos. So what have you need of me?" Revyn contemplated a second goblet of brandy but decided he didn't want to spend the rest of the day sleeping on the warehouse floor.
"To put it bluntly, after this incident Razelan needs a new position. He's good at his job when he's sober but until Elenwen's temper cools, he's of no use to us here or even back in his old position. Perhaps he can open a market in Solstheim and eventually reopen lines in Morrowind, but for that he'll need letters of introduction that I believe you can write. I'm sure the husband of the hero of Raven Rock has some influence. Influence enough to persuade the Redorans to let Razelan set up an official office there. That's all. He can do the rest once he has a toehold."
"I doubt I have such influence. And, well, do I owe such efforts for the mystery Redoran lady's actions?"
"Perhaps not. Especially not if Helsette wasn't there at all and my eyesight was terribly affected by the fine drinks so that I only thought it was Helsette in fancy dress and affecting vapid, giggling tones and behaving like a shameless flirt. Oh, no, it couldn't possibly be Helsette, our merry reaper of bandits, pirates, and vampires."
"I'll think about it, friend, I promise, but I want to make sure that I can actually help."
"Fair enough." Orthos suddenly smiled and it reached his eyes. "She was a sight, that mystery lady. Could've talked me into dropping all future shipping charges if she shoved a contract in my hands while flirting. Jarl Balgruuf had an arm around her and snarled at Jarl Siddgeir and Thane Erikur if they came near. And Jarl Ravencrone, normally she keeps to herself and rarely talks at these events, but she and her were snickering together behind a pillar. That, I think, should have been warning enough."
"Mm, free shipping..."
"Forget it, Revyn. One chance only and it's long gone."
+—+—+—+—+
Three days later after Revyn and Orthos had seen Razelan off to Solstheim with letters of recommendation in hand, Revyn went the Cornerclub as usual for dinner and a drink. That night there was a Bosmer he had never seen before entertaining the club.
"Snakes! I see snakes!" the drunken Bosmer yelled.
"Sandworm Special?" Revyn asked Ambarys, referring to occasional Redguard bottle that featured a drink distilled from a succulent ground shrub which the Redguards stuck a semi-poisonous caterpillar in for flavor.
"No, just a story. Pretty funny so far." Ambarys shoved a small flask of flin at Revyn. "Came in this afternoon, been drinking since."
The Bosmer heard. "You, you'd be drinking too. Just lost my job. Besht thing to happen too. Loushy, stingy, nit-picking, whip-happy Thalmor! Ambashador WhipBitch."
"Probably not good to mention Thalmor hereabouts, friend," Revyn gently observed, casting a quick look about the room. A couple Nord guards, but they didn't seem to be tensing for action although they were listening.
"Been bartending and catering steward for them for years since prison bought in Valenwood. Shipped here just months ago. Gods damned cold Skyrim. Last party. Had enough. Disaster. Ran away. Thalmor want my ass, have to find me in Morrowind."
"Go on, tell Revyn about the party," said Ambarys. He nudged a cup of thick stew under the Bosmer's hands. "Tell him about the party crashing Redoran lady and the drunken Jarl and the East Empire man."
Revyn managed not to choke on his bread.
"Yah, yah, yah. Another di-, diploma-, matic party. Empire-friendly jarls, rich ass-kisser merchants — the usual lot. Newest was this gorgeous Redoran woman claiming to be a trade merchant from Sholsh-, Solstheim. The kind of woman that makes any male sit up and pant. Had every man there wanting to sidle up to her. Jarl of Whiterun was 'specially hot for her and kept anybody else from gettin' too handsy with her. She even charmed any woman there 'cept that Maven of Riften bithtch. She and teh Ambassador — nothing but power to make people miserable charms those bitches. She was fun to watch. The Ambassador kept trying to corner her and question her but she kept dancin' away.
"Well, the party's just rolling on it's boring way. Yap, yap, yap, yap — lookit how rich I am, lookit how much richer we'd be if it weren't for the war, lookit — yada yada yada. Someone slipped that EEC trader, Rashe-, Razlin, a bottle of Colovial Brandy. Not me! Ambassador WhipBitch was furious, but it wasn't me! Been 'educated' enough on that subject. This guy, he gets drunk, he gets loud and starts ticking people off. This time he sets off The Hagraven of Morthal. Guess she had too much brandy 'cuz she comes up to him and starts yelling that she sees snakes in him, on him, whatever. Snakes! I see snakes everywhere!" he cries again, changes pitch so that he sounded like an old, drunken woman. "Treacherous snakes that hide in the shadowsssss! I see the snakes in your soulssss! Venomous, treachery, deceitful!" People were laughing now and hissing. "So now the Hagraven and Razelan are screaming at each other and then the Ambassador starts yelling at both of them to calm down.
"But, but that ain't the worst of it!" yells the Bosmer. "It was spiders too! Big, glowing, magic spiders that burst into fire when they jumped on you! The guards run in screaming that they were under attack. The Ambassador had the guards shove all the guests out. All except the Redoran lady. She said she'd felt sick just before the Hagraven went after Razelan and I felt sorry for her so I showed her to a back room where it was quiet.
"Well, it turns out she weren't no lady or merchant but a robber. Came to steal stuff and threw down magical spiders that attacked the guards. Even killed some of 'em. So I ran. Ran all the way from the Embassy to here where the Thalmor patrols won't dare to follow me. Goin' to Morrowind. They'll never find me there."
Revyn sighed and pasted on a jolly smile before clapping a hand on the Bosmer's shoulder. "Good story, friend. I'm Sadri. I run the store next door. If you're serious on traveling to Morrowind, stop in and I'll sell you supplies and maybe a tip or two if you've never been there before."
"Sounds good, friend. Malborn's the name."
"Mm-hmm. See you then, Malborn." Revyn nodded at Ambarys before leaving.
Malborn showed up in the shop two days later looking hungover, exhausted, and fearful. According to Ambarys, the Bosmer had tried to leave yesterday but had returned looking like he'd seen Thalmor. In fact, he'd mentioned something like it before trying to drown himself in ale. Malborn was hoping Revyn had an invisibility potion in stock and maybe something for sneaking.
"Dodging a Thalmor assassin, friend?" Revyn asked softly, setting the items on the counter.
Malborn's composure shattered. "Yes! Gods, yes." He buried his face in his hands. "There's a Khajiit assassin waiting outside. I can't hide inside Windhelm much longer before they send human ones."
"Quite an effort and expense for a mere prison slave." The Bosmer began slinking back towards the door. "You say you've worked for them for years and yet for some unknown womer's weak claims of illness you suddenly bend rules that you know are harshly enforced as only the Thalmor can enforce.
"Oh, calm yourself, Malborn. I'll help you get out of Windhelm safely for her sake."
"Y-, you know the, the..."
Revyn gestured sharply, slapping that question aside. "Ma'dran's trade caravan will be arriving in two days and we'll both go out and visit them as cover. Or at least I will. You will be invisible and you can whisper to me the Khajiit assassin and I'll take it from there."
The Bosmer looked him over, doubt clear in his expression. "Are you sure you can take on an assassin?"
Revyn smiled and set some scrolls on the counter. "These are my latest imports from Solstheim. Recognize them?"
"Yes! I smuggled several in for, for..." Malborn choked. "Oh."
"Mm-hmm. There's actually a variety of effects besides fire, like these poison ones. But thanks to recent events I can't sell any of them now or be known as a source for magical spiders. Luckily, I hadn't put these out for the general public to purchase yet. So much for my anticipated profits."
"I'm sorry."
"Not your fault. But do think hard about your tendency to tell stories while drunk. And you'll forget my name once you leave Windhelm."
"Of course, of course."
"Good. Now go get some sleep. Assassins aside, it's still a hard run to Morrowind and you'll need a good rest to start with. Hmm, and probably a good bow and arrow set besides that pitiful knife you're carrying, the usual travel supplies. A third off.
"Free supplies and weapons, including some scrolls, and safe escort into Morrowind if you tell me everything I want to know about the Thalmor."
Hija de la Tempestad: Age/love/courtship/in-laws: stories in the works. As for "debt" he paid gold for the rescue. Slate clear. But she does have his good opinion now. That all she needs to proceed. /+/ Scouts-Many-Marshes: Absolutely correct and sloppy checking on my part. Sorry. I've always just thought of him as "Marshes." /+/ Title: "Your wife, where is she?" = Not here. Chapter 2 was a song-inspired exception. The shopkeeper's wife never was meant to be the focus. /+/ Why: Helsette doesn't know herself why. Love can be funny like that. /+/ Solstheim/Daedra/Miraak: Stories in the works. /+/ Overthinking: That's okay. Me too.
AnotherGuest: Not without a bodyguard. Oddly enough, he's classed as a level 4 warrior (skeever killer) so I thought I'd have fun with that.