CHIMaraderie: An Exercise in Boredom, Creativity, and Breaking The Dragon's Bitch-Ass

Ae Gzalzimeri, or Of The Absurd Elf

Part 1

The Elsinaan Manor, Aaldren Isle, Summerset

Evening Star 9, 2E581

The woman sat on her porch, watching the sun rise, and hearing the birds chirp. Her dark red hair was expertly braided to the back of her head, behind pointed ears, complementing her light-gold skin. She was tall even for her High Elven people, with the refined detachment of the upper class etched subconsciously on her features. Striking green eyes scanned the carefully-maintained gardens and hedges of her family home. In one hand, she held a cup of tea, made from the finest leaves and prepared with exacting perfectionism by her maid. It was, perhaps, an almost picturesque image of a proper lady.

Vaalilenya Elsinaan could not wait to leave it all behind.

With a sigh, she set down her cup on the table, and glanced to where her pack sat. It was a short distance away, but Vaal really didn't feel up to getting up just to grab a book from it. A sharp exhale later, she tapped into her magicka, and recalled some of her lessons. Her instructors claimed that, while her actual skill was average, the sheer amount of energy she could channel was unprecedented, as was the rate it replenished. Vaal knew-very acutely-that she was gifted. And she knew why, and it bothered her. Still, it made using Telekinesis to lift some light reading towards her a cinch.

"Expertly done, madam." said a soft, reserved voice behind her. She craned her head, and saw the familiar, weathered face of her merservant, Kelkemmil.

"The instructors are very good." Vaali replied with a shrug, dismissing her actual powers. Best to not worry Kelk more than she had to; he'd served the family since her parents' youth, and bore something of a parental bond to all the Elsinaan heirs. And she knew that, whatever he made of her decisions, he tried his best to be supportive.

"I've lived many summers, my dear." he replied, a twinkle in his grey eyes. "I know a skilled caster when I see her. Not to mention all the correspondence your father and I are getting about your… prodigal nature.". At the last part, he added a wink.

Vaali blushed slightly, sipping her tea. Again, that bother in the back of her head; she hadn't earned this, really. "It's one thing to be adept during the lessons, Kelkemmil." she said playfully. "I expect the true tests lie ahead; after all, the life of an adventurer is hardly idle, or safe."

"As everyone is aware, madam." Kelk retorted. Vaali was surprised to see his smile widen. "Which is why your father insists I accompany you on your endeavors."

Vaalilenya felt her heart drop. Of course he'd send Kelkemmil with me, the overprotective de'nt. she thought. Aloud, she remained calm as she said: "Adventurers don't have butlers, Kelk."

"But they can have assistants. Or perhaps followers." Kelk said, grinning. "Two blades are better than one, after all. Or did you forget your merservant fought against the Longhouse despots in his day? Battled the Sea Elves a hundred years prior, quelled rebellions in the Valenwood?"

Vaali blinked as she pondered. On the one hand, she detested the idea of a chaperone, and of her father meddling in her affairs. On the other hand, Kelkemmil's battle experience would be invaluable, and she'd be lying if she said he was just her butler. In many ways, oddly, he was a friend.

Kelk's face softened. "Frankly, I am amazed your parents agreed at all." he said. "You of all mer should know that highborn families usually would never consider allowing one of their children to galavant across Tamriel as a sellsword. Truthfully, were you the eldest, I very much doubt you'd be given that leave." He sighed. "Your parents really do care for you, Vaalilenya. Perhaps more importantly, they know they'd never stop you from following your heart. Having me go with you is… A way to soften their misgivings, I'd imagine. Familial and political, may I add."

Vaali looked out across the gardens. "I can't imagine the debating that awaits them in the near future. Trinimac guard them against Aunt Fallivwen." she said, with a hint of mirth. "But I'm glad I can forge my own path without opposing them." She looked at Kelkemmil again, and nodded. "Alright, you can come."

"Aw, how sweet." said another voice. Vaali gasped aloud-not that Kelkemmil could notice, for he was paused mid-blink. The voice belonged to another; a human, but one from a strange land. The one who had inspired her and empowered her to quest; the mystery force who peeled back the veil of dreams, and showed her the secret syllable of reality.

The man, in short, writing the story.

An Unimportant Room, An Unimportant House, The United States

February 2, 2020

The bespectacled man sat at his desk, fighting off waves of caffeinated hyperactivity and flights of distraction as he wrote. He wrote quickly, feverishly, lest the inspiration abandon him again. Self-doubt and paranoia lurked, as always, in the periphery of his mind, threatening to dissuade him. But he managed to shove them aside. He had a story to tell, damn it. A story that he could no longer wholly claim as his own.

Or maybe he could? After all, it was his story. But it had taken a life of its own; was it acceptable, then, to keep calling it "his"?

The Altmer next to him cleared her nonexistent throat. She was still nebulous—a vague image of a woman, only her golden skin and pointed ears consistent. "Ian, please. Get on with it." she said, her exasperated voice bearing a Summerset accent.

"Working on it." Ian responded tiredly. He then focused on her, noting various details—she was young, her face angular but pretty. Her figure was lithe, yet muscular. Authoritative, despite being just barely an adult even by human standards. She was above-average height for a High Elf, so she would tower over practically anyone else in the story. Her hair was... Dark brown? No, it was red, braided and collected elegantly behind her face. This was a mer who took great pains with her appearance, even if it would be ruined in battle later on.

"Of course I would." she sniffed, interrupting the train of thought. "I'm from a high-class family! Have to keep some measure of self-care, even as an adventurer... Could I have green eyes, by chance?"

Ian nodded, focusing now on her background. A high-class family, she'd said. "Hmm. Not nobility, right? That's a bit too... Ordinary, for me. Written before, will write again, but I want something more unique for you." he said, somewhat reluctantly, sipping at another cup.

There was a moment of silence. "A merchant family." the Altmer suddenly claimed, with an air of confidence.

"Who specialize in magical goods? Hence their higher prices and all." the author added, nodding. "Great idea!"

She chuckled lightly. "I try. So, judging by the accent you gave me, I grew up in the Isles. A secluded place, relatively... Aaldren, near Skywatch."

The man wiped his eyes, tired but happy. "Excellent. I can work with that." He paused, then, humming. "What shall I call you? Fallinwe? Allistonelle? Maybe Syantre?"

"Vaalilenya. Family name Elsinaan." the woman said. A declaration, rather than a suggestion.

"...Heh. Alright then." the writer said, shaking the elf's hand. "This ought to be an interesting experiment."

The Elsinaan Manor

Evening Star 9, 2E581

"So you can just… Pop in? Whenever you feel like it?" Vaalilenya asked the vague, flickering man. He was named Ian McClure, though he first asked to be referred to as 'Ian Gamington the Tenebrous, Antediluvian Lord of the Memes, and He-Who-Caffeinates'. Vaalilenya wasn't sure if he was entirely serious about that name, but either way she refused to humor him.

He grinned, and spread his arms. "Pretty much. Don't worry though," he said, winking exaggeratedly, "When I cut sleep-holes in the waking thought, only Two-Headed-Kings or their equals can hope to maintain perception."

Vaal blinked. "What?"

Ian snorted. "What I meant is, only a Shezzarine morphotype Hero, like yourself, can see when I pause the game."

Vaal blinked. "What?"

"No one else can see me when I appear, or know that I've stopped time." he finally clarified.

"You're enjoying this." Vaali accused, pointing an angry finger. "Please keep your language to common Tamrielic or Altmeris! I don't need to deal with your… Bizzare writer-terms."

"Actually, I'm speaking English." Ian said, as if that would help at all. "Or… Writing it, anyhow." Suddenly, he flourished. "But that's not important! Because you, my gal, have just reached a milestone!" He waved a hand in the loose direction of Kelkemmil, still frozen in place. "You've made your first major-ish decision!" A strange sound and colorful scraps of paper surrounded Ian for a moment, presumably to accentuate the moment.

Vaalilenya shook her head subtly. Surely, for all that he was practically a god in Tamriel, Ian was the most bizzare person she'd ever met. Still, it fit; he was the catalyst for her adventuring. He'd chosen her, or perhaps created her (Ian, for his part, claimed it was both), a random Altmeri girl just barely out of puberty, to be some sort of mythic heroine. Someone like that had to have… Questionable sanity, even ignoring how he was literally from a world very different to her own.

"Hey, there's a reason I'm an inept dork in my own real(m)." Ian butted in; Vaali was also perturbed at how much of her existence, including thoughts, was subject to his whims. And how he managed to vocalize punctuation and parentheses. At this, he shrugged, and added "It's CHIM, you gotta leave convention at Convention."

"Erm… yes." Vaali replied weakly. She cleared her throat. "Well, if you're done, ah, celebrating, I really should finish my tea and finish my preparations. My ship leaves for Auridon very soon." She glanced around at her frozen surroundings. "... Relative to when you leave, that is."

"Don't worry, I won't take much more of your non-time." Ian replied cheekily. He then looked at her square in the face, and the mirthful expression he seemed to constantly have became something else; something Vaalilenya couldn't place. "For what it's worth, you're special, Vaali. For both good and ill; I've never done any story like yours. I can't say, precisely, what you'll be going through, and I can't help you as much as you'd expect. But I'm always available if you have questions, or need someone to talk to."

Vaali hummed. She'd not interacted with the other Tamrielic races, the mer or men or beastfolk, much at all. Let alone 'thought-based manifestations' from the world that created reality as she knew it. And she got the feeling Ian was something of an outlier even by his own abnormal standards. But he seemed… Genuine. "If I do need the advice of a lunatic dreamer," she finally said, "I'll be sure to call."

"Atta girl." Ian said, and time resumed as he vanished.

Hazak's Hollow, Khenarthi's Roost, Southern Sea

Evening Star 7, 2E581

The portly, diminutive man sipped calmly from his goblet, staring down the drug dealer in front of him. On the one hand, Hazak was infamous in the skooma trade; it was said the island native's only weakness was his own addiction to his product, and even that was surprisingly not easily exploitable by his enemies. And the Khajiit was imposing and well-armed, especially when compared to the man.

But then, said man himself was something of a terror as well. He was Osald "the Hagfish" Cobsford, the Merryman of Sugar, whose name was whispered across all the Eltheric Ocean. Hence the meeting.

"One is impressed, Breton." Hazak growled, his voice thick with the Elsweyr accent. "Few are the walkers that do not cower in fear, nor display foolhardy anger. You truly are a professional."

"I aim to impress, my fine sir." Osald said jovially, adjusting his monocle. "But then, we meet in peace, do we not? I would be more afraid were I your prisoner, I'd presume. But for now, we drink and we smoke, we plot and we ponder, for we have a common foe."

Hazak's scowl deepened. "Hrrn. The high elves, damn their eyes. Their 'Dominion' are far less accommodating than the Maormer and their ally Clan-Mothers. The last thing this one needs is that Altmeri whore-queen and her pet Mane to take an interest here."

"Indeed." Osald said, frowning. "One would think the armed forces of 'elven superiority' would spend more effort on the Cyrodiil front, or mayhaps quelling dissidents in their ranks. But the, ah, 'whore-queen'; fantastic name, for the record, but she seems desperate to get in good favor with this island, and other outlying territories. Hence her targeting our businesses. It's cutting into profits something fierce, for both of us I'd wager."

Hazak nodded. "Yet, per your letters, mister Cobsford-"

"Oh, please, just Cobsford." the man interjected with a grin. "Or 'Hagfish' if you share my theatricality."

The Khajiit snorted in amusement. "Very well, mister Hagfish. But do you actually know of a way to stop the Dominion?"

"Several, friend." Osald said, his grin widening. "I trust you know the extent of your Sea Elven friends' plot; it's ambitious, but we must have alternatives. Fail-safes, if you will. Fret not, we'll be rid of the Aldmeri soon enough."

The Dockyards of Vulkhel Guard, Auridon, Summerset

Evening Star 10, 2E581

"So." Vaalilenya said, fiddling with her hands, looking about at the gamut of elves, humans and feline Khajiit wandering about the docks. She was dressed much more modestly than she was accustomed to; a green tunic, with a white knee-length skirt, and breeches and boots underneath. Kelkemmil had insisted on the skirt, but even so she was both embarrassed by her attire and thankful for it. Vaali had long ago learned that it was easier to fight and run when not wearing gowns or dresses.

"So." parroted Kelkemmil, similarly dressed more casually than his norm. Although he was far more comfortable with it.

"How does one, exactly, *start* with the adventuring?" Vaali asked in a low voice. "Do we just ask random passersby about rumours, and pray that we learn something of note?"

Kelk snorted, grinning. "Trust me, that is not very useful. Rumours discussed by those on the streets are usually more… Hmm, mundane. Complaining about mudcrabs, or news from the other provinces." He took Vaali's hand, guiding her to some random building-only on approaching did Vaali see the sign advertising the ''Salted Wings' Eatery and Auberge'. Kelk's grin widened. "The best place to look for work, my dear, is whatever public space where folk can eat and drink. Any restaurant, alehouse or hostel to be found will, almost invariably, have people that can and will point to solvable problems. Infestations of imps, bandit camps, the odd delivery or two."

"But… Why?" Vaali asked hesitantly.

"Haven't the foggiest notion, dear." Kelk replied casually, and entered the eatery. Vaali hovered at the door for just a moment, sending out a thought;a request, which she hoped would be-

"Haven't the foggiest notion, dear." Ian interjected casually.

"That's no help at all." Vaali 'responded' grumpily, and headed inside.

'Eagle's Strand' Military Camp, Khenarthi's Roost, Southern Sea

Evening Star 8, 2E581

"We've got another critical!" yelled the tall, armored mer, who along with his companion was carrying a stretcher. Indelor noted, with much sorrow, how the unfortunate khajiit being delivered was dead. "Nothing to be done. The leg injury bled him out already." He sighed, and turned back to his patients-the ones he could actually save. Or at least, comfort.

The armored mer removed his helm, running a hand over his face. "This is a stars-damned disaster." the high elf muttered. Indelor was very much inclined to agree. The elf then turned to him, masking his despair behind professionalism. "How bad are these ones? We've lost a lot of good soldiers already."

Indelor shook his head, sighing softly. "I thought I was prepared for such a massive loss, but… One never is, yeah? None of these souls will be carrying a sword or a staff again, even if they do survive." He looked the Altmer in the eyes. "My apologies, Commodore Elpion."

Said Dominion officer mumbled darkly. "I didn't gain command of a sixteen-ship fleet overnight." he suddenly said, seemingly to no one in particular. "I thought I knew about the sea and how to tame it. Evidently, I was wrong. But how in the Sixteen Blasphemies did no one-not a single mer or jiit on those vessels-notice the hurricane until it was atop us?"

"Things could be worse, sir." Indelor said, softly. "The Thalmor, the diplomats, and everyone else on the flagship are relatively intact. I don't believe the Aldmeri Dominion could survive the deaths of the Bosmer Silvenar *and* the Altmer politicians. We have to take what blessings we get."

Commodore Elpion grunted, but nodded. "Well said, healer." He ran a hand through his silvery hair. "Still, the plan needs to be altered, now. We can't win over the natives of Khenarthi's Roost with words alone. We need capable folk to help them with their issues; we need fighters and mages who can spread goodwill to Queen Ayrenn's cause with their actions. But in lieu of agents or soldiers…"

"We will need mercenaries." finished another voice. From seemingly nowhere, a third figure appeared, a Khajiit with casual swagger and a smooth voice. Razum-dar, he was called-some whispered he was a personal friend of Queen Ayrenn, others claimed he was a master criminal who blackmailed his way up the ranks, and yet others whispered of slit throats and 'disappeared' dissidents wherever he walked.

Indelor knew him as a smartass, and the best player of cards he'd ever known.

The commodore hummed. "I'm inclined to agree, Mister 'Dar." he said-out of courtesy, neither Raz nor Indelor pointed out 'dar' was simply a title for 'clever' in the Khajiiti tongue. Or 'thief'. "But do you think High Command will approve it?"

Raz chuckled lightly. "Who do you think gave this one the idea?" he quipped, producing an official-looking document. "Fresh from the envoys, an official offer for sellswords and casters-for-hire. Copies are being printed already for the mainland and the Summerset Isles. Razum-dar was simply informing you all of the development."

"Is this… Do you believe adventurers can be trusted?" Indelor asked hesitantly.

"Of course not! But coin is a good motivator, and the publicity will still serve us." Raz replied, placing a hand on the medic's sweaty shoulder. "Besides-and you heard this not from me, but some other handsome cat-they can do jobs the Dominion won't dirty themselves with. Pragmatism-a favored word of this one!"

Looking over the bodies in the tent, Indelor could only silently hope that this island was worth the trouble.

Author's Notes, End of the Document

March 7, 2020

And so it begins! CHIMaraderie is a bizarre undertaking of mine-equal parts Micheal Kirkbride, Deadpool, and Saturday morning cartoon, using the storyline of Elder Scrolls Online's Aldmeri Dominion as a launch-point. This is only the first part, of course, but hopefully the unerring abuse of the fourth wall is a good indicator of the general 'tone'; the story isn't exactly the most grim of tales, even if the fourth wall as an in-universe concept is nothing new to Elder Scrolls (I highly suggest looking into stuff the Sermons of Vivec, and Sotha Sil's dialogue in ESO).

On a final note, this is designed for an audience with a casual understanding of Elder Scrolls lore, if any, so I'll do my utmost to keep the weird terminology to a minimum, and/or explain what I mean with them. And so, description time!

-Altmer: Another term for the High Elves, literally translated as the High/Elder Folk from the Tamrielic precursor tongue.

-Bosmer: Another term for the Wood Elves, literally translated as the Green-Sap Folk from the Tamrielic precursor tongue.

-Khajiit: The race of 'cat-people' from the deserts and savannas of Elsweyr. The name translates as 'desert-walker' from their tongue of Ta'agra. The 'common' Khajiit found out of Elsweyr is a bipedal humanoid feline, complete with fur, tail, whiskers and claws.

-de'nt: An insult in the Altmeri tongue.

-mer: generally refers to the Elven races, with 'man' referring to humans

-Trinimac: Warrior-god ancestor spirit of the Altmeri pantheon, believed by some to have been 'corrupted' into the Orcish patron god Malacath.

-CHIM: The 'secret syllable', literally means royalty. Less literally, it's a state of enlightenment about the universe, and one's role in it.

-Convention: The term for when the Gods 'finalized' the plans for the world, including stuff like linear time and mortality, supposedly atop a structure called the Adamantine Tower.

-Skooma: An illegal but very lucrative narcotic, made from a culturally-important Khajiiti spice called moon sugar.

-Maormer: Another term for the Sea Elves, literally translates as Tropical Elves. Pale-skinned elves from the swampy, marsh-filled continent of Pyandonea.

Thanks for reading!