A/N : Song inspiration, "Land of Confusion" by Genesis & Hugh Padgham, cover by Disturbed
A/N trigger warning : racist/anti-immigrant and other nasty meanness
Land of Confusion, p.1
"An elf? You want me to guard an elf?"
Reign it back, girl. You don't shriek like an out-of-control shrew at your jarl and future king.
But, damn. The past six years camped in the Reach, fighting Forsworn and those thrice-damned piss-skinned elves only to come home to this? These stinking sand crawlers have always been a plague and leeches since before the last century, but now they have power?
"Yes, Stormblade, I want you guarding this particular elf. Lord Sadri is the Steward of the Gray Quarter, a position subordinate to Steward Jorlief. His wife is Lady Faro. Of her many titles, Thane of the Reach is among them."
"Sadri, yes. And Thane Faro. They were responsible for us losing the Reach."
"True. But they are also responsible for enabling our separation from the Empire."
"Very well. What are my duties to Steward Sadri, my Jarl?"
"Sadri handles several delicate political matters with Empire and with Morrowind. This has made him a target for assassins or others who would capture him for his knowledge and connections. He normally has his own cadre of dark elf guards, but, as has become evident lately in my court, he is resented. I've decided that a more visible sign of my authority is needed."
"You wish to assign him a Stormblade escort as show of royal favor,' Hrafnhildr concluded, in as even a tone as she could manage, though her guts churned with disgust. "For how long, my Jarl?"
"A year for now. I do not require you to take full responsibility for the security of his homes or his businesses. But if he goes anywhere, whether as a representative of my court or for his own personal affairs, you will escort him."
"Thane Faro—" she began, but a wave of his hand cut her off.
"Lady Faro is not a thane of Eastmarch. Her titles are all in Imperial-allied Holds. She has never sought any from us. Nevertheless, she has served us during the war by taking care of the bandits and necromancers and vampire scum that flourish during times of conflict. She claimed some bounties, but she has resolved many problems that she never demanded payment for and which we have greatly benefited from.
"She is far from an ordinary mercenary; her cousin is going to be the next Emperor. Steward Jorlief can give you an idea of the political connections they both possess. Read the reports of Corporal Mikel Anvil, the Commander of the Gray Quarter Guards. His reports of the dark elf community are quite enlightening.
"I am trusting you to take your duties seriously. Sadri's safety is vital to my court. I am depending on you to protect my interests, Stormblade."
"You may rely on me, my Jarl."
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
"I don't believe this. How in Oblivion was all this possible and no one knew this damned dark elf was taking over?"
I need to hit something. Shake sense into someone, but my only possible target is Corporal Anvil. Look how he slouches in his chair. No respect for me. He's way too casual for a man who washed out of the Stormcloaks because of disciplinary issues. Questioned orders. He was about to get kicked out of the civilian city guards for the same reason and because his commander thought he was too lenient, too chummy with the darkies.
But it seemed to have worked out for him. The darkies organized themselves their own law group, called themselves the Gray Guards, and somehow got the Jarl's permission to operate, all thanks to this Sadri. The Jarl said they had to have a Nord commander, and they chose this man.
Shit. Hitting the baskets of scrolls and reports was just childish of me.
"I think you're over-reacting, ma'am." Corporal Mikel gathered the pages that had hit him in the face, put them together, and then tapped them on the table to align them into a neat stack. "He was never interested in 'taking over.' Jarl Ulfric forced him into the job. It was that or the Quarter stayed a slum where the Dunmer could freeze to death for all that anyone cared."
"He's in bed with the enemy! Her parents and family are Imperial loyalists. Tullius is a family friend. He was accused of treason!"
Anvil dared lift his nose at her. "Lady Helsette is not our enemy," he stated softly. "And was the serjo accused of treason? Yes. And cleared. And given a position of trust rather than kicked out of the city. Are you questioning Jarl Ulfric's decision on this? He looked at the evidence, he made the judgment. He made the decision to raise a Dunmer shopkeeper to nobility for all that he's done for the Hold and for the Alliance.
"And yeah, I've been hearing a lot of stupid gossip that Sadri wants to turn Eastmarch into a province of Morrowind. Don't you think that spits in face of Ulfric's leadership? Do you think Ulfric is that stupid and weak?
"Or, maybe you do. Maybe you're one of those people who think he's become a weak-minded, ball-less coward for suddenly giving up the war and making peace with the Empire. That he betrayed all true Sons of Skyrim for not wringing out the last drop of our blood to free all the Holds of Skyrim, whether we wanted it or not, from Imperial control, from the Empire the Nords helped build in the first place. For going back on his promise that 'Skyrim is for the Nords.'"
Hrafnhildr roared, "Gods dammit. I've heard that suck-up platitude already from Ilya. She's spouting the same pro-dark elf shit and disgracing her title and her heritage by learning healing magic up in Winterhold. Whining about healing weak-minded fools who snivel about glorious battle. Last I heard, she'd taken the job of bodyguard to some dark elf wizard. What a disgraceful end to a Stormblade, to be picking up after an elf."
Corporal Mikel was slowly shaking his head as he rose from his chair. "As Master Curtis, the elf in question, would say, 'Wow, you got some shit messed up in your head, sister.' All right, think what you want. Just do your job, ma'am, and keep Lord Sadri safe. But let me tell you that you're only hurting yourself with your attitude.
"I'll take my leave then. If you have any questions about Gray Quarter security, I'll be happy to answer any questions I can. You know where to find me, ma'am," he said as he pushed his way through her team that had crowded around to listen.
As he left the room, he must have told the guards outside the room that the meeting was over and that they could come in finally and get their rest. Room was tight all over the palace and the only room Hrafnhildr and her team could find to review their assignment had been in the palace guard barracks. Not even the jail had a cell free. Guards piled in, eager to strip off their armor and get some sleep before their next shift. Hrafnhildr had her unit gathered up the scattered reports and then led them out.
The head chef was willing to let them use a storeroom in return for their aid. It was private, and it also had a mountain of potatoes and carrots and turnips that needed peeling. Mess duty. Fine. That wasn't unfamiliar work and something keep sharp knives occupied.
When we left the Reach, we thought we'd finally be free of having to be watching the elves. Instead, we come home and back to those useless, lazy darkies from Morrowind. Arrogant bastards. Not so high and mighty when the gods finally gave them the judgment they deserved for their false demon gods. They should be driven back to the sea, or at least back to choke on the ash of their homeland.
Except, these pestilent immigrants have gone and made themselves necessary. The Rift is being guarded by dark elf warriors and battlemages. They have control of the largest orphanage in Skyrim and no doubt are corrupting the minds of our children. That dank shit hole of Morthal has a dark elf colony of mages controlling the marshes and breeding giant insects and foul drugs. Dark elves have re-infested Winterhold and put their demon goddess's shrine to tower over the ancient capitol of the Old Kingdom.
And now here. They are getting their own city, at the junction of three Holds, and sitting pretty on ancient trade routes. Mostly of House Hlaalu. Even among dark elves the Hlaalu are known for selling out their own blood for gold. And Sadri's wife is the cousin of the next Emperor? After the war, with so many returning home or fleeing here to safety away from Dominion control, coin is scarce. What kind of sales and trade is this Lord Sadri dealing in?
How? How did he manage to get such influence with Ulfric?
They grumbled about their assignment, trading stories, some personal, some hearsay, about encounters with the dark elves. Their observations, those who were originally from Windhelm, of the changes they saw in the Quarter.
"Went down to the Gray Quarter yesterday with Jan, the son of dead shield brother, who offered to show me the best places to eat down there," said Gunnar suddenly. He was the oldest of their group and veteran of the Great War. He was originally from some farm estate north of Whiterun. Everyone shut up when he started talking. "He says all the fancy lights were made by Sadri's wife. He says most the prime magical items Sadri sells were ones his wife created and then gave to him when she created newer or better ones. Or some she created just to practice. If you want healing rings or other ring or amulets of pieces of armor for strength, endurance, healing—you go to Sadri's. The weapons rarely stay on the shelves for long. Most are pre-sold. The shop has waiting lists for certain items.
"She's also an alchemist. When she was learning her craft, she often undercut the prices at the White Phial for healing potions. She made a lot being an adventurer herself. It was also lower cost because she experimented and often changed ingredients. It helped a lot during sickness seasons, when the White Phial either couldn't keep up with demand or were too expensive for the poorer folk. But her alchemy production was more sporadic, especially when she would be gone for weeks on jobs.
"Food's not bad down there. Weird. A lot of bugs. But if you can avoid thinking about it, it's decent and cheap.
"Jan says the Gray Guards have no authority outside of the Quarter, so they're real good at keeping a tight watch for any trouble in their territory. Jan says they have no sense of humor. Their prisons are always full; a lot of the poor Nords go there and deliberately cause trouble 'cuz you get fed and decent medical care while you're there and while you're working on the slave gangs.
"That's how they rebuilt the Quarter. They used prisoners as workers. Lotta poor folks worry how they'll survive when the Gray Guards all finally move to the new town."
"So? They can leave with the elves. Easy way to get such useless scum out of our city," said Karl.
"Guess you mean Jan, too. He had a real bad couple of years, lost his job and his wife got deathly sick with their second child. He deliberately got themselves arrested for stealing down there. The prison healers took care of his wife, their daughter, and their unborn son. Kept them from dying. Even fed his wife special food to rebuild her health so that their son was born healthy. They had her hemming curtains and table cloths and such while she was healing up. Put his little girl with other young children and gave them brooms to sweep out the barracks while the guards were out on patrols. Jan shoveled a lot of snow and hauled rubble. But they weren't worked to exhaustion, they got solid meals, and the cells were dry and clean 'cuz they made the prisoners clean out the cells and privies every day before breakfast."
"That's a prison?" exclaimed Elsi, then added softly, "My uncle died in prison. He couldn't help being a drunkard. He'd never recovered from the accident that broke his hip. Drinking was the only thing he could afford to ease the pain. Men in my family have a weakness when it comes to drinking; it turns their brains to mush faster than most. He used to do beautiful carvings. The drinking and the shaking took that from him. He died four years ago. It's a pity he couldn't last one more year, one more drunken brawl. Maybe they could have done something."
"Maybe. But it's still a jail. Jan said the cells were crowded and no privacy. He got into a fight when someone groped his daughter. The jailers didn't hesitate to use clubs and whips to enforce discipline. Even with healers there, a beating was still a beating, and the prison food, while filling, was still pretty disgusting and not something you wanted to look too closely at. This was no healer's temple. If you could move, you worked.
"But afterwards, poor folk who went into the system just to survive the winter, were sent over what they called a community center once they were released. The dark elves there would try to help them find housing and employment, if they wanted help. Or, if not, they'd get a few coins, a change of clothes, and booted out to find their own way.
"Jan said they found him a job laying bricks. He'd learned the basics while in prison. The dark elf hiring often found his workers through the prison. Let 'em get trained there, get a prison work detail for a project, watch for possible future workers, and hire 'em proper when they get out if they're really looking for honest work."
"You sound like you approve of these elves, Gunner," said Hrafnhildr.
"Jan's a Nord. These elves gave him a chance despite that. I did some asking. This type of prison system is also unique to the dark elves. It's not a practice in Morrowind. It's only in Windhelm, and only because Sadri and the other two elves who run the Quarter set it up that way."
"These two others." Hrafnhildr savagely lopped off a dozen turnip stems. "Yes, the owner of that club, an ex-Legion officer, and that woman who runs that social center and plays at being Lady Bountiful. Wonderful."
Gunnar sighed. "Ilya is not a disgrace; I wait for the day when she's ready to practice. I could use the skills she's learning. So could you. I also agree with Anvil," he stated and wouldn't say anything more.
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
"Ah, Stormblade Hrafnhildr, warriors, welcome. Let me express that I am grateful for the authority our king lends me through your presence, and I hope it will be a largely uneventful association."
He was thin, over 200 years, which was four to six times dead as far as Man's life was counted, not particularly imposing either physically or charismatically. He didn't look like an obvious con man or greedy usurer. Hrafnhildr could easily imagine his voice coaxing her to buy just one more item to compliment her current purchase. And from all she'd heard, he'd have her entire purse while she'd have a lot more useful stuff, but still smarting because she'd lost her mead and dinner money for that night.
They were meeting him for the first time in a room on the second level of the Cornerclub, a room the owner rented out for business meetings or private parties. Sadri was there with his wife, a very young, heavily pregnant half-breed relaxing on a reclining couch. Also present were an elderly Nord woman and two ebony armored Nord warriors standing at the head and foot of the couch.
The dark elf turned to the elderly Nord who had also stood as they'd entered. "This is Dana Mirasdottir Frostburn, my assistant. She manages my schedule and travel arrangements and will be the one maintaining contact with you about my security needs.
"And this is my lady wife, Helsette Faro Felix."
Pretty enough, but she's a baby. He's a cradle robber. So she was, what, 16, 18 when they married? Old enough for a human, but I know elves don't consider themselves adults until they reach 25, which she's not. It's like a letch who can't get it up unless the girl's less than 12.
But if she's such a child by elf law, how did she get such a fearsome reputation? They say she's killed hundreds. She's hunted Dragons with the Dragonborn. She's a spellsword and an enchantress, so she cheats with magic. Gunnar said Sadri sells her old magic weapons in his shop.
He gestured to the middle-aged, bald warrior, saying, "That is Valdimar, my wife's steward of Tel Windstad in Morthal," and then to the tall, slender, beautiful blond, "and this is Jordis, her steward of Proudspire in Solitude."
"Your unit was pulled from the Reach," Lady Helsette said. Hrafnhildr was surprised at the richness of her voice. It had a way of vibrating down one's spine. "You have experience, then, battling Forsworn magic, maybe even Thalmor magic? I don't detect any magic defense. You should take some items from our shop then."
"We appreciate your caution, lady," said Hrafnhildr, bowing her head. "Your reputation as a spellsword and enchantress is well known."
"Save the flattery! You're useless if a third-rate cantrip caster can take you down because you're too proud to soil yourself with magic. Valdimar, make sure these snowbacks have the items they need," she snarled in tones that seemed to shake the floor.
"Beloved, please!"
"Aye, milady," said Valdimar, amused.
"I'll schedule an appointment with the royal mage immediately," Frostburn said smoothly and briskly to Lady Helsette. "In the meantime, I'm sure they'll be fine. The first few escorts are merely to business meetings and three dinner parties this week, all within the city. His lordship has the anti-poison earring you made for him although nothing can save him from boredom and frustration."
While his assistant soothed his wife and distracted her, the mer stepped closer to Hrafnhildr. "My sincere and humble apologies. My lady wife is normally very cheerful and accepting of others, but this pregnancy has been hard on her.
"Still, amulets and rings against general magics and poisons are minimal equipment requirements. The royal court mage can also provide other enchantments to armor and weapons if you desire. Please take advantage of this."
"As you will, my lord."
Minimal requirements. Sure. Even the best of warriors can fall in battle. If his or her weapon was good, someone would pick it up. No guarantees who, though, and gods forbid you provide the enemy an enchanted weapon.
But maybe enchanted armor and easily hidden jewelry wouldn't be too bad. I could've used protection in the past when dodging Thalmor fireballs.
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
Dinner parties and business meetings, every day for two weeks, one to two guards at most, to stand around on display as shiny weapons. On the bright side, this dark elf was…tolerable. He treated them with respect and didn't try to order them around like servants, and he cooperated with their precautions, allowing them to do their job. And so far, no assassination attempts. At most were belligerent countrymen who also resented a dark elf having any say in the court of true Nords.
"You want my advice about Sadri? Don't make my mistake of thinking he's a soft, spineless shopkeeper," said Thane Icewind. He was staying in the palace, along with the contingent from the Reach, because he'd allowed his home to be rented out during this coronation. Thane Icewind currently served as the ambassador of the Alliance to the newly independent kingdom of the Reach. He was willing to grant her a few moments in his busy schedule to give her his thoughts about Sadri.
"He can summon fire wolves that will burn your skin off if they don't tear you apart with their teeth first. He also fights with poisoned weapons. Assassin type—small arrows, darts, and knives. If those aren't enough, he can use that unholy dark elf magic to call up the dead to fight for him. The Battle of Volkihar was only possible because he got information from a vampire that was his ancestor. And I don't know what you heard of his activities in the Reach, but those repulsive hag birds like him and he can walk into most Forsworn camps without an escort.
"I can see you resent having to dance to this mer's whistle. I understand, I've resented it to Oblivion myself when I've had to." Thane Icewind looked grim as he'd said this. "Sadri's a dangerous elf. His enemies are equally as dangerous. I enjoyed watching him piss off and threaten that Dominion bitch Ambassador Elenwen in front of the Emperor and the entire court of Markarth. Murdering him isn't good enough for them; they want to capture him and torture him for all the dirt he has on Ulfric and on the Emperor. In fact," he'd laughed then, "if the Dominion had the chance to assassinate either Ulfric or Sadri, they'd go for Sadri without a second thought. That's how dangerous they hold him.
"I hate that smarmy bastard myself, but keep him safe, stormblade. The Alliance would not exist if not for his meddling and many connections. Whatever we think of him, his oath of loyalty to Ulfric is solid enough."
"Do you think he is capable of breaking his oath?" Hrafnhildr dared ask.
"That isn't the question here if Revyn is assassinated. The real questions are how badly relations will crumble if his support is gone and how mad his wife will be. Do you understand?"
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
A Greybeard. The old elf sat beside the holy monk, chattering away, and the monk replied via a non-magical writing board ironically called a magic slate. The Greybeards never spoke. It's said their voices could topple city walls and armies. King Ulfric had once spent some years as their apprentice and learned how to slay a man with his voice if he wanted to. Even in the Reach, we'd heard the Greybeards calling for the Dragonborn. That was seven years ago at least and still the Dragons were flying.
Our hero, half Imperial and a mage to boot. A true warrior hero would have handled the problem by now. But, no. This Hero was lounging on her pampered ass in her ivory tower in Winterhold, forcing a Greybeard to come to her. Her arrogance is truly legendary.
Sadri apologizes because his wife is unfit to handle the problem because of her pregnancy. How can this be? Something threatens them and they would trust their safety to his wife? I don't understand.
And how is it the Greybeards trust him enough to confide their problem to him?
When she asked him later to explain instead of rebuffing her, the elf willingly dropped into her hands names and connections as casually as if talking about store inventory.
How could he? Surely discretion and hoarding secrets was something every politician, even shopkeepers, knew.
"Fits most all the information I've talked up in the taverns," said Gunnar laconically. "The elves call his wife an 'Armiger' which sounds like the equivalent of a Knight-Protector of the Empire. And most of the family heads of the Felixes are in town, part for the coronation and part because they're readying to go to Morrowind to get recognized as an official clan house of Morrowind. This town is going to be the home base of that new house."
They watched the dark elves huddle around a large table with a map and piles of paper of construction plans.
Plans. Plots. Architecture. Intrigue. She lifted her head and looked around. There and there and there. Redoran armor.
"I see I've been too casual about his security," she grimly admitted aloud. Gunner, standing beside her, looked down questioningly. "Anywhere he goes, I want a hidden blade watching at all times, and a blade and an outrider if he goes outside."
"What are you seeing?" asked Gunnar.
"Look around." He obligingly did so. "Redorans. All within running distance. And now that I recall it during the ride when they were supposed to be out gallivanting with Gilavin, I would see one of them. I'd thought they were lost, but that rider was either parallel to us or ahead of us. They were sweeping our path.
"You heard him tell me his wife is a member of the Redorans. She didn't trust us to guard him. She went and asked her clan lord to make sure he stayed safe."
"I recall the Archmaster saying Serjo Inelisi told him to go with us," said Gunnar.
"So she asked her grandmother to ask him. What does it matter? They're here because they don't trust us to do our job," she snarled. "Gods dammit, and they're right. We haven't.
"When he's out and about, we should be giving him the same security we'd do for Ulfric himself. When we get back, we'll have to look again at his schedule and change up the assignments."
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
It was midnight. Instead of staying at Refugees Rest after a very long day of arguing with Hlaalu High Councilors, Sadri was adamant that he wanted to go home to his wife. So they were at the ferry dock near Yngol's Barrow waiting for the ferryman coming over from Windhelm. Hrafnhildr, and Elsi stood at either side of Sadri and Gunnar was behind while Bret and Karl circled just out of torchlight.
Invisibility spells. The spell was broken when a dagger drove into the side of Gunnar's neck. Some instinct had him shrugging his shoulders just moments before the dagger struck so that it wasn't an immediate kill, but it was a kill. With the last moments of his life he grabbed his killer, his knife, and brought him down to the ground and to Oblivion with him.
She screamed in rage and pushed Sadri to the ground, kneeling over him with her shield up. Elsi, a double wielder of short swords, traded sword blows with a second and third assassin. Speed and an unconventional fighting style were her greatest weapons. She held them off with blades and judicious kicks until Bret and Karl reached them.
Fiery wolves popped into existence just as a blast of lightning struck Elsi who screamed and fell, spasming, to the ground. Bret covered Elsi while Karl launched after the wolves. One wolf exploded as another lightning bolt licked out and touched it. The second wolf jumped the spellcaster who thrust out with a dagger and then screamed as the wolf exploded, setting him on fire. Karl finished the job. He sprinted back to them.
"Karl. Refugees. Get help."
He immediately pivoted and ran into the darkness. Two more wolves popped in and sat watching the forest line.
"Bret?"
"She's still alive. The anti-magic rings kept it from being fatal." He dug into Elsi's belt pouch and pulled out her vial of healing potion and got her to drink it. He went to Gunnar's body and removed his healing potion—they each had one—and brought it to Elsi to drink.
"Let me take a look at the assassins," said Sadri, patting her leg. She rose and helped him stand.
He stripped off the masks from the bodies. "Bretons? Who could possibly have sent them?"
Karl returned with four guards from the Morrowind embassy at Refugees Rest.
"Ah, here comes the ferry. Here, you four, pick up the bodies. We'll bring them to the Hall of the Dead.
"Why?" asked Hrafnhildr. "You're…not going to question them, are you?"
"Oh, Aetherius, no. I'm no necromancer. I just want to make sure the bodies don't inconveniently disappear without a trace until we've examined and made some sketches to see if anyone can identify them."
He went over to Gunnar and knelt beside him. He actually looked sad and laid a hand over Gunnar's heart, saying, "Beware Alduin in the mists. Stay safe." Hrafnhildr and Karl were the only ones closest to hear him. They both looked at him in bewilderment.
What in Oblivion?
"What did you mean what you told Gunnar?" Hrafnhildr demanded during the ferry ride.
Sadri sighed and looked at her, red eyes reflecting the light of the moons and the ferry lantern light. "Alduin misbehaves. He's too greedy and Akatosh has cut him off from Aetherius's energies. To continue his rampage, he has to steal power. He's poaching in Sovngarde and has grown fat with all the deaths in the Great War and the Civil War. It's a dilemma, you know. How many Nord souls does it take to resurrect one Dragon?"
"What in Oblivion are you talking about? That's blasphemous!"
No. He's lying. All my… No.
"The Dragonborn eats the souls of the Dragons. That is how she stops Alduin from resurrecting them. Dragons not slain by other Dragons, that were killed by Man and Mer in the ancient wars, their souls hover in Mundus where their bodies fell. If Alduin can find the body, he can bring it back to life if he has the energy to do so. I know people ask why she can't stop the Dragons. She's been fighting alone the past five years, only one living soul gem able to eat a Dragon's soul. On foot, on horse. And the smart Dragon just flies away, leaving her in the dust."
"But her Thu'um? Isn't it strong enough?" Hrafnhildr protested.
"Only if Alduin stays to fight. He doesn't. He is not carrying out the destruction, the attacks himself. He resurrects his lackeys and sends them."
"Coward!" Karl snarled. "Can't the Dragonborn do anything?"
"My wife and I have recruited Telvanni Masters from Morrowind who know the illegal arts of teleportation and levitation. They are teaching the Dragonborn these things. The lord of Mistwatch is one teacher, the other is the lord of Tel Mithryn on Solstheim."
"What are these spells and why are they illegal?" asked Hrafnhildr.
"Teleport. Imagine being in your chambers in the College of Winterhold and, in the next breath, being in your home in Whiterun. And levitation, as long as you have the power for the spell, you can fly and give chase to a Dragon.
"These spells were ruled illegal by the Empire after the Oblivion Crises, which had destroyed what remained of the teleport system of the Second Era. Military advantages, you see. Assassin advantages. Imagine being able to teleport into a target's room, murder him, then vanish. And levitation, imagine spying troop movements from the air. These methods will allow the Dragonborn to properly give chase to a fleeing Dragon."
Sadri turned away to face the dock they were finally approaching. He took a deep breath. "I'm truly sorry about Gunnar. I hope you don't mind if I offer prayers for him."
81_v3 05.17.21
Related stories: #6 Bait and Switch, #26 Trader, #31 Gray Guards, #45-48 City of Stone
Related 2nd Lifestories: #11 Skytemple-One, #15 Meeting Sadri
Jasperk: Thanks. Glad to hear it.
Galactic Halfling: **sigh** I'll find out when you do. The plotters insist on eluding me.
Ted Hsu: Too late. When Legion (we are many) elects you Caesar, you lead. Or die.