It had been a few weeks before he was healthy enough to fight. Okan said little to Azureous after the argument they had, and with the few conversations he had with Kent, he could tell were half-hearted. Okan was sad that everything had to happen like this, but if he had to find these people by himself, so be it. During the time he spent underground, Okan threw himself at studying Archery, using a large, beautiful two handed Dwemer longsword, creating various potions and poisons, enchanting weapons and clothing, picking various locks, and learned how to use various Dwemer military tactics. In one of the books he had read, he had found a Dwemer practice of throwing small, sharp, evenly balanced knives. He wanted to learn how to throw knives like the Dwemer of old, but there were none of the aforementioned knives lying around. So he took the drawings with him. He would try and find a smith to make him the knives on his way to Black Marsh. He had gotten quite proficient with the bow, and could be considered an adept with his longsword. His potions were strong, and stronger were the poisons he made. The enchantments that had once barely shimmered on the articles of clothing and weapons now had a powerful glow. He had learned how to enchant individual arrows, or how to enchant a quiver in its entirety. This would ensure that all arrows were enchanted with the same effect as the quiver, but using an unenchanted quiver meant he could store fire, shock, frost, and arrows that healed him in the same quiver. He could dye their feathers to tell the difference between them, if the glow wasn't enough. As for locks, well…
He still needed more practice.
When Okan felt he was ready, he armed himself with a fine Dwemer armor, not the heavy kind that was found in chests and boxes, but an intricate leather armor, golden and filled with Dwemer designs. It was certainly strong, and certainly rare. He took the Dwemer longsword he had trained with, which was light, but strong. It was able to deal any one of three elemental damages, and absorbed health with every successful hit. The bow he had taken set the target ablaze, and could be combined with an enchanted arrow for quite a deadly combination. Rings that helped him pick locks and brew potions lined a few of his fingers, and a necklace that helped his aim lay across his upper chest. His armor had various enchantments on it, which would help a great deal.
Okan left at night.
He wasn't expecting to get far; after all, he was trying to escape from a Dragon Priest. He had to wait until Azureous was well and drunk before he left. A letter addressing Kent and Azureous was left on his bed, and, as much as it hurt Okan, he left the compound.
Walking into the elevator that led to the surface, Okan admired the Dwemer structure for one last time. The lever was pulled, and the gears were shot into life, steam erupting from the various pipes and vents. The elevator slowly chugged upwards, and into the cold Skyrim night.
. . .
Okan shivered. He was warm under the clothing and armor, but the wind from the mountain was intense. Looking around, he could tell that he was on a mountain overlooking…
It must have been Windhelm. He was still in Skyrim. Taking a deep breath, Okan set off into the night. A path could be made out, but it was very faint, and Okan had a hard time following it before he wondered off. This happened a few times, but he always found his way back to the trail. He made short work of the mountain, and was making good time to Windhelm. Pleased with himself, he took a chunk of dried mammoth and began to gnaw on it. The dried meat filled him up, and sated him until he trekked to the stable in front of the bridge that led into Windhelm.
Next to the door to a house that had been recently build was a small group of Nords, drinking mead, conversing, and laughing occasionally. When Okan approached them, they shouted in merriment at the new guest. He was handed a bottle of mead, and was greeted by one Nord.
"Hello, Argonian!" A Nord cheerfully shouted.
"Tidings." Okan said, sipping at the fermented honey drink. "I need to get to Riften. I assume one of you are a carriage driver?"
"Indeed, I am!" The Nord furthest away from him called. "But, uh… I am closed for the night, and my carriage doesn't leave for a week."
"How much to go tonight?" Okan asked. "Name your price."
"Eh…" The Nord was a bit taken aback. "I… I'm closed, Argonian. Even if you gave me five-thousand septims, I wouldn't leave tonight."
"What about six?" Okan asked.
"Six…thousand?" The Nord asked in disbelief. "Ah… I would like the septims, but…"
He snapped his fingers as if he had remembered something.
"Howa-bout I get you a horse?" He said, pointing to the stables. "They're cheaper, faster, and the best part? You don't have to pay six thousand septims every time you want a ride!"
Okan scratched his head in curiosity. He was led over to the stables, where there was a choice of three equally beautiful horses. One was a yellow stallion, with long white, braided hair. The other was a deep black, and the third was a chestnut mare, with neatly brushed brown hair. He was told that, if he wanted speed, the yellow was the fastest, but the brown one could carry a lot, and the black one was a mix of both.
"The mare will still get you to where you need to go, but if you're delivering a letter or something, I'd recommend the stallion." The man said, stroking the horses.
"Eh… How much for the black one?" Okan asked. He didn't need speed as bad as a courier would, but he still wanted to get to Black Marsh sooner rather than later.
"The black one is twenty-five hundred. Say, why do you need to get to Riften so bad anyway?" The carriage driver asked. He saw the look Okan gave, and quickly added a, "If you don't mind telling me, that is."
"I'm trying to get to Black Marsh. Riften is the fastest way to get to Black Marsh without going through Morrowind." Okan explained.
"I see. Well, the thing is, if you're going to Black Marsh, I should give you a receipt or something. Crossing the boarder without papers can prove to be quite deadly if you're caught."
"I would appreciate it." Okan said, reaching for a coin purse.
"Also, you'll be able to trade in the horse for a guar when you get to the boarder of Black Marsh. The black one will be fine if you keep it around here and Cyrodiil, but I don't think it will fare too well in the marsh." He said.
Okan nodded, and they began to discuss the price as they went into the house a bit more. The man threw in a saddle and reins for an extra three hundred. Okan paid the man and took the deed to the horse, signing his name near the bottom. They discussed how the fundamentals of horseback riding went, and the stable owner was even nice enough to take him to the gates of Windhelm and back a few times so he could get used to riding the horse.
When all was said and done, Okan was on his way to Black Marsh. He didn't know exactly how to get there, but he figured that he would find help in Cyrodiil.
There would be no breaks that night. He rode straight to Riften, arriving there by noon the next day.
When the duo of guards saw him coming, the one on the left pointed towards the stable. Okan guessed there weren't any horses allowed in the small town. He obediently obeyed, and tied the horses reins to a wooden bar where other such horses were tied up.
"Just who are you and what is the purpose of your visit?" A guard standing in front of the stable said in a thick accent.
"Going to Cyrodiil. Just wanted to stop and ask for directions." Okan said, crossing his arms. "I'm not going to cause any problems, I swear on the Hist."
"Be that as it may, if you plan on going into the city, you're going to need to pay a… visitors' tax." The guard said.
"Wait, really?" Okan said, a short, lifeless laugh escaping from his throat. "A tax to visit?"
"Jarl Maven wants to open the rear gate now that this whole civil war is settled, and she can't do that without septims." The guard explained, "So, yes. Really. It is ten septims."
Okan growled a bit as he reached into the coin purse and pulled out the 'tax'. He could tell that the guard was greedily smiling under his helmet, but Okan couldn't really do anything about it. He needed to get to Cyrodiil, and he needed first to get directions. The guards would probably charge more for directions, so Okan figured he'd ask around in Riften.
He walked through the open gates of the town and was immediately greeted by the stench of canal water. Not but three or four steps in he was stopped by a large brute of a man.
"Hey, you." The man called.
Okan pointed to himself. The man gave an incredulous look, which made Okan feel quite dumb. He walked over to the figure clad in steel armor.
"Yes?"
"I don't know you. Are you lookin' for trouble?" He said, trying to be intimidating.
"Nope. Just stopping by for directions. Any idea how to get to Cyrodiil?"
"Uh… Yeah. Just go right out of the gates until you come around to that gate," He pointed with his thumb to the closed gate across the town. Okan had to strain his eyes to find it. "then just follow that road until you reach the boarder."
"Oh. Thanks." Okan said, smiling at the man. He wasn't so bad after all.
He walked away towards the center of the town. Okan didn't know how well maintained his gear was, and wanted to see if there was a blacksmith or a leatherworker who could check it for him. Surprisingly, there was.
It was called 'The Scorched Hammer,' and it was quite an impressive shop, if Okan was to be honest. There was a rather large furnace, a smelter, a table where you could work on armor, and a place to stretch and dry leather. There was a large, buff Nord and a smaller, less buff Nord by the anvil. The smaller of the two was hammering away at a white-hot piece of metal, and the larger one was standing by his side and watching. The larger man seemed pleased, and told the smaller smith to quench the metal. The hiss from the metal was dying down when the large smith noticed Okan watching.
"Welcome to The Scorched Hammer! How can I help you, friend?" The man said as he rubbed his hands on his apron before shaking Okan's own hand. His hands were rough and callused, and Okan could tell that he was the real deal.
"I'm off to Black Marsh, and I just wanted to check if all my armor and weapons were set for the journey." Okan said, unclipping his longsword from his back. He held it out to the smith, who's wide eyes were filled with what could only be described as wonder.
The smith took the sword and held it by the handle and the blade, admiring the Dwemer etchings on the blade, the jeweled pommel, the handle wrapped in a unique black leather, and a cross-guard which had a twist at the base, which flared out at the end. He swung it in a smooth ark and did a complex series of moves sure to rend any opponent apart from head to toe. The smith drew a small crowd of three or four onlookers before he turned back to Okan.
"What is your name, Argonian?" He asked, handing the sword back to Okan.
"Okan. That was impressive, did you serve in the military or something?"
"I would go with 'or something,' Okan. My name's Balimund, and this is Asbjorn, my son." Balimund said, "As for the sword…"
He just smiled and shook his head.
"Asbjorn, take a good look." He did as he was commanded to. "That's a sword that belonged to the High Counsel of the Dwemer. I only know of one other sword like it, and it is owned by the Dragonborn."
Asbjorn was impressed to say the least. Okan smiled. The sword was apparently rare, but Okan had just grabbed a sword that he felt was the best suited for him. For one, it required two hands. It wasn't as heavy as he expected at first, but he had soon quickly grew used to the weight. He had no idea of its value.
"Where did you find the sword? Were there more? How many more where there, Okan, tell me!" Balimund said, nearly grabbing Okan by his shirt.
"Father!" Asbjorn sternly proclaimed.
Balimund seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in. Okan was taken aback by the display, and Balimund could clearly see that he had overstepped his bounds. Shamefully backing off, Balimund nervously laughed.
"Sorry, I got a bit carried away. Most of the metal I work with is not the same quality as that is. On the rare chance, I get to work with ebony, but… eh, its been awhile."
"No worries," Okan cheerfully said, smiling. "So, can you… ah…?"
"Oh!" Balimund's eyes lit up. "Certainly! I would be happy to examine your gear. Sharpen your blade and whatnot."
Okan smiled in thanks and handed the sword back to Balimund, who took it without hesitation. He slipped off the rest of his armor and laid it on the table, and was reduced to casual clothing. When he turned, he saw Balimund giving his sword an odd look. It was one of envy, pride, excitement, and curiosity. Asbjorn snapped his fingers two or three times to get his father out of the trance he was in.
"Make sure it gets sharpened. Don't spend all day looking at it." His son said, then, to Okan; "Come, friend. Let us discuss matters."
Okan nodded and began to leave. "Oh, how much do I owe you?"
"Eh? Oh, let us figure that out over a bottle of mead later." Balimund said, sitting down at a grinding wheel.
Okan laughed a bit and turned to follow Asbjorn. The two walked directly into the center of the market. All around Okan were people selling armor and potions, jewelry and other baubles. Even a few carts full of meat which was turning an ugly gray color. Okan doubted it could be sold for much. There were a few beggars that Okan was listening to complai-
"So, how did you find such exquisite gear?" Asbjorn asked, cutting Okan's thoughts off.
"I uh-… Know some people." Okan stammered, looking down. "And I had to do some things I wasn't proud of." He added.
"I see. I won't ask further, but if you ever need money, my father will be more than happy to take that sword off of your hands." Asbjorn said as they began to walk down steps.
"Where are we going, exactly?" Okan asked, the smell of stagnant canal water leaving a horrible impression upon his nose.
"The forge needs Fire Salts. It's how it burns so bright, and so hot." Asbjorn explained as he handed Okan a rather large mace.
"Eh… what?"
"The alchemist has been unnecessarily raising prices. My father and the person that runs the shop have been having a stupid feud over something, and we're going to end it today." Asbjorn explained. "Don't worry, nothing is going to happen, and there will be no need to use the mace. You're just…"
"Un-hired muscle?" Okan said, frowning. "You do this to all your customers?"
"Just you."
"Why is this, again?"
"Look at you. You're incredibly intimidating."
Okan gave him an odd look. He maybe had a few inches on Asbjorn, as well as a few pounds, but it wasn't like he was about to get into a fight with people for the fun of it.
"What do you mean?" Okan asked, scratching his head-feathers.
Asbjorn sighed before stopping.
"Argonians are a normal sight here, but most are just some shade of green. I don't know much about your culture, but I can tell you this about us; black and red is an intimidating color combination. And you… well…" Asbjorn motioned at Okan. "Your scales are darker than any I've ever seen before, and the feathers on your head are a shade of red reminiscent of a dragon. And your eyes…" He shivered slightly. "Blood red. It's intimidating, I tell you."
He playfully punched Okan on his arm before turning on his heel and striding forward, leaving Okan to digest this new information.
'Blood red? Dragons? What an odd kid.' Okan thought. He never gave his body much thought, but if what this Nord was saying is true…
He shrugged and followed Asbjorn to the alchemists' shop. It was more of a hovel; dug into the side of the ground, with a door that looked like it was about to fall off. Asbjorn opened, and held it open until Okan caught up with him. He thanked Asbjorn, and walked it.
It smelled damp, almost like a basement. Dirt. Flame. And the tell-tale smell of an alchemy station that had been used, but not cleaned in a while. The shop itself mostly consisted of a shelf with all sorts of alchemical ingredients in it, bins of empty and full bottles, and racks of more ingredients. There was also a room to the right of the door, which Okan could see led to living quarters. The fire was blazing in the quarters, and it gave off a nice, almost cinnamon smell. Maybe that was what was boiling away in the pot.
"Hello? Who is that?" Came the crotchety old voice of someone.
"Asbjorn, old man. I've come to settle whatever you and my old man have against each other."
There was a sigh, and an elderly gentleman rose from behind the counter. He was dressed in a fur-lined cap, and a matching shirt, which was covered by an extremely dirty apron. The man leaned against the counter and coughed deeply into his apron.
"Asbjorn, you fool. This is between me and that stickler, not you." He said, grimacing.
"That 'stickler' is my father, and the Dragonborn is much too busy and important to gather Fire Salts for him again, and you are bleeding us dry with your prices." Asbjorn explained, crossing his arms.
"Well what do you want me to do? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your hands on ten bowls of Fire Salts?"
"Not six hundred septims per bowl, that's for sure." Asbjorn said angrily.
"What did Balimund do, exactly, to deserve these prices?" Okan asked, poking his head out from behind Asbjorn.
"Look, Asbjorn and… Whomever you are, Fire Salts are extremely dangerous to harvest. You need to find a conjurer who can not only conjure a Flame Thrall, which is already hard, as there are only two people I know of that can do so, but you need to convince them to kill it. I don't know about you, but a Flame Thrall is one of the last things I would want to fight. And even if the mercenary you hire does somehow manage to survive the attack, it explodes and, if it doesn't disintegrate, you can only harvest a bowl, maybe a bowl and a half if you're talented enough. It just isn't worth what Balimund is paying for the salts to make it worth my time. Or effort, for that matter."
Asbjorn sighed and shook his head. "So, what do we do?"
"I don't know why I am even helping you. You should figure this out yourself but… bah, I must be growing senile in my old age." The man said, rubbing his eyes. "Hire someone to go to the different holds. Find the alchemists in the towns and buy from them. Hire carriage drivers to do it. That's how I did it up until recently."
Okan put his arm on Asbjorn's shoulder. "Maybe it is time to go."
"I guess so. Well… thanks for the help, Elgrim." Asbjorn said, shaking the mans' hand.
"Just get out of my shop. My potions probably all burnt by now."
"Wait." Okan interjected. "Didn't I come here to settle a feud or something?"
"Hmm? Asbjorn hired you or something?"
"I wouldn't say hired," Okan shot a frown at his faux-employer, "but… Asbjorn?"
Asbjorn just shrugged and left the shop, leaving a slightly agitated Okan behind. Cursing as he threw his arms up in defeat, he bid the old alchemist farewell and left the shop as well. As the scent of stagnant canal water hit him, he could see that Asbjorn wasted no time in leaving him behind. Cursing again, Okan trudged toward the stairs as he digested what had just happened. By the time he got back to the shop Balimund had just finished wiping the longsword down with an odd smelling oil.
"Ah, Okan, you've returned." Balimund said with a hint of pity in his voice. "A shame. This really is quite a weapon."
Okan smiled and chuckled to himself as he took the outheld sword. He scraped a thumb across an edge and was surprised at how sharp it was. The oil seemed to breathe life into the blade, which made the intricately carved patterns gleam in the sunlight. Moving down to the hilt, Okan was surprised at the black leather which had somehow turned a deeper black than before. The jewel in the pommel had been shined, and the cross-guard was immaculate.
"Wow…" Was all Okan was able to say.
"Heh," Balimund exclaimed, crossing his arms over his puffed-up chest. "Certainly. Working in this sword had to be the highlight of my… Week, I guess."
"How did you get it to look so…"
"Clean? Glamourous? Elegant?" There was pride in the smiths' voice. "Dwemer Oil. It isn't just an alchemical ingredient."
Okan looked at where Balimund was pointing. Sure enough, there was an open container of congealed oil. It was white and waxy, and looked more like a paste than it did an oil.
"Amazing. And, what of my armor?" Okan asked, poking his head to look at…
His armor hadn't been touched yet.
"I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it." Balimund said in-between chuckles. "There was a bit of a mental learning curve. It's not every day you sharpen a sword older than your ancestors."
"Guess so." Okan said, smirking. He handed the sword back to Balimund, who gently hung it up with other, rather deadly looking weapons.
"Let's see…" Balimund looked at the leather on his work bench. "I assume that… yes… hmm… come back in say… twenty minutes?"
Okan nodded and thanked the man. He left and walked towards the market, assuming there would be something there that could be bought. There were all sorts of trinkets in the various stalls, and the stall which not only seemed to garner the most attention, but the most customers as well, was one run by an Argonian. Okan waited patiently for a display of a rather curious looking necklace to be ogled at by some rather wealthy looking buyers. When they parted and left, he walked up to the stall.
"Greetings, egg-brother." Said the Argonian.
"Eh? Oh, greetings. Okan." His outstretched hand was shaken.
"I'm Madesi. And this," Madesi said, motioning towards his jewelry, "is traditional Saxhleel jewelry. Well, some of it, at least."
"Not a big market for our kind here. They are beautiful, though." Okan said, looking at the display.
There were mostly rings and necklaces made either of silver or gold, but there was also a beautiful circlet that was either made of gold, or bronze polished enough to look like gold. All of the jewelry was polished well, but there were some articles that stood out more so than others. It might have been just prejudice, but Okan always found emeralds to be one of the most beautiful precious gemstones.
"Your wares are quite… Well, beautiful, Madesi." Okan said, smiling at the Argonian.
"Thank you very much. I've been able to get a good flow of materials since the Dragonborn ended that retched civil war." Madesi said, leaning on the counter. "People are coming into Skyrim now, and this is one of the more popular ways to come in, so business has been booming for the first time in a long time."
"Good for you." Okan said with a slight laugh. "Where is the Saxhleel rings and whatnot?"
"Rings?" Madesi laughed, "Okan, how long have you been away from Black Marsh?"
"Erm…" Okan trailed off. "Its been a while now."
"Ah. You must go back soon. Times are changing, and the Marsh is becoming a bit more…" Madesi made a circle as if he was trying to remember something. "Eh… Well, just go back and visit. Anyway, most traditional Saxhleel jewelry are arm bands. Some are more ornate than others, but all are meant represent the same thing; our connection to the Hist."
Okan nodded as Madesi crouched down, disappearing for a few seconds. He heard a click, and something slide open, then a box was brought up. Madesi fiddled with the lock for a few seconds before opening the rather flat, but ornate, box. He looked at Okan with scrutiny for a few seconds before looking back down. Again, he looked up, then down. This happened a few more times, with Okan cocking his head to one side. A second before he was going to ask what was going on, Madesi held up an arm band. There were two small, golden balls which were connected by a silver and gold band in the shape of a downwards "C". It certainly was a beautiful piece.
"This is the one that the Hist has led me to. For you." Madesi said. "Please, take it."
"What?" Okan said, holding his hands up. "I couldn't possibly take it!"
"It is not my choice to give it, and it is not your choice to refuse it."
"What?"
"The Hist, Okan. The Hist desires for you to have this."
"Ahm…" Okan took it out of Madesi's hand. He slipped it on, and the cool metal felt refreshing against his wrist. Okan pulled out a coin purse but was cut short by Madesi.
"It would be… improper for me to charge you for a gift from the Hist."
"Madesi, this can't be cheap, please, let me pay you." Okan exclaimed.
There was a slight pause before Madesi said anything. Just as before, he refused. Okan furrowed his brow and pulled out a handful of septims. There were at least two or so hundred in his hand, and he placed them on the counter.
"An offering then, to the Hist." Okan said, smiling. "And for its vessel."
"Ah, well…" Madesi stammered. "When you put it like that… Thank you."
Okan nodded and shook Madesi's outstretched hand. They said their goodbyes, and it must have been good timing, because as soon as Okan left, his stomach was growling like a bears would after a long hibernation. He decided to wait until Balimund was finished, the promise of haggling over the price with a beverage or two, which may lead to a meal.
Besides Madesi's stall, there weren't many things of note in the various other stalls. There only were two others, one of which carried armor and weapons - neither of which Okan needed. The other was filled with all sorts of various goods, and, while Okan did spend a few minutes at that stall, nothing was bought. When he was finished, he found a good wall to lean against, and looked up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight. Many would consider this to be rather good weather, and, by all means, it was, but Okan much rather preferred the rain. It felt good on his scales, and, when he lived with his family in Black Marsh, it had always been easier to catch fish when it was raining.
He remembered the day that the village elder had taken both him and his brother, Sirkit, fishing for the first time. A strong, woven net was used as the two had swam quickly across the large lake, and the yield was great. It was so big, in fact, that the elder had needed to run back into the village to get help to drag it back. The brothers certainly ate well that night.
"Hey, Okan." Asbjorn said, snapping his fingers in front of Okan's wandering eyes.
"Eh?" Shaking his head, Okan looked at Asbjorn. "What is it, Asbjorn?"
"My father wanted me to tell you that your armor is finished. It's locked in the shop, and he said that he's waiting in the bar." Asbjorn recited, not skipping a beat. He pointed with his thumb to a large, two story building. "He's over in there."
"You have my thanks." Okan said, shaking Asbjorn's hand.
Asbjorn nodded and left after shaking, and Okan sighed and rubbed his eyes before pushing his remaining weight off of the wall.
"Where are you, Serkit?" Okan pondered as he made his way to building.