Chapter 20th! This time you didn't even have to wait half a year! Also, yay, I actually have a beta reader now, which hopefully will lessen the number of suicides in grammar nazi circles. Everyone, a round of applause for JDLENL! And now, like always, let's get to answering to reviews.
Novus Irez - Sometimes when I'm lazy it really IS a wiki! Or rather, a game content copied from wiki, but it's the same thing. It also keeps characters close to, well, character.
Cheesecake244351 - Roth will certainly return to Red Mountain, but not before he either has no choice or is ready... or very drunk. Also, the scene with Rotheimaak discovering he is targeted by Hircine's hunt is already finished, I just don't know when it will came up. I never really make elaborate plans for the plot.
CatsAreMyWorld - I must say, I just love comments like yours, truly.
FluffyDwagy - For some time, maybe. But anyone owning Bloodmoon knows that sooner of later that confrontation will happen.
Accursius - There are word walls in Skyrim, yes, but Ted hardly needs them - the knowledge of the words of power was imprinted on him with becoming a dragon. He can become stronger only in three ways - by meditation, by experience and by nomming on the soul of another dragon. He will, however, certainly visit Skyrim as soon as Azirra will finish the main quest, when there are no more evil gods sleeping under the volcano.
mk0008 - Save for a possibility of Rotheimaak mentioning ESO in one of his monologues, the chances of the subject coming up are small. It's action does take place hundreds of years before Morrowind, which limits the instances in which it may be brought up.
Let's get started, shall we?
Bored. That was a word which Ted has become intimately familiar with as of late.
Until his sudden...displacement, he didn't truly appreciate the value of civilization and the involvement of other people in his life. He could go for days with little human contact that had nothing to do with his job (and no, Jerry doesn't count as human contact—he suspected that freeloader was some subspecies of moss or perhaps a parasitic growth). His reputation as a Meme Lord was, for some strange reason, repelling others. Why would anyone dislike the finely-aged memes served twenty four hours per day, seven days a week by yours truly? Anyway, back home he didn't care much about not having enough interaction. If anything, he almost avoided it—in his line of work he had to constantly put up with human stupidity, and as such his opinion of humanity was less than great.
Now, however, things were different. He essentially got dumped into a medieval society with nothing to his name, not even a pair of pants to cover his ass. He wasn't doing terrible when it came to physical needs, since as a dragon he had very little requirements - a bit of (preferably elevated) ground upon which to hang out/meditate/kind-of-sleep-but-not-really, some water, a pancaked...err, hunted down guar once in a while. That's all. He didn't need shelter, since his scales allowed him to ignore anything that didn't try to actively kill him, like rain. He didn't need a toilet, since now everywhere was his toilet and it was widely accepted as part of the customs of his beast-like species. He didn't need clothes because a butt-naked dragon was normal, while a clothed one would be at least strange, and at most ridiculous.
"Hmm..." murmured Rotheimaak to himself as that particular thought found its way into his noggin. "I like strange; being interesting is the only thing you can hope to be in life. I must remember to acquire a dragon-sized top hat to further confuse people."
No, it was his mental health he had problems with. Even if we ignore the fact that at one point the Mad God had warped his entire body beyond recognition—mind possibly included—there's no denying it's hard to go from the security and comfort of his man-cave to camping out somewhere in the desert, waiting for a certain furry to wrap up her side quests and get back to the main one (now he knew how NPCs felt when, instead of climbing the damn mountain straight away, he went about stealing every single key in Whiterun just to bump up his stealth skill).
He missed his man-cave. He missed games that required more than just his imagination to play, the occasional bargain day at a supermarket that he would never see again, being able to just order the food to come to him instead of chasing it down the hill. Hell, he even missed his boss, who despite not being a stereotypical monster, wasn't very kind either (but not Jerry, the line has to be drawn somewhere). Why? Because he was used to it; those were constants in his life.
Now he found himself with way too much free time and too few ways to spend it. There's only so much a human-turned-dragon can meditate on without going crazy from inaction. If he doesn't quickly find a way to make his existence more interesting, he will surely loose his remaining marbles and fly over to the nearest town (Dagon Fel or Gnisis, probably?) to start filming the next Godzilla movie, to the horror of the locals.
His respect for Paarthurnax-senpai has grown tremendously.
Anyway, that is the sole reason why Rotheimaak decided to get closer to the only people around that weren't terrified of him: the Urshilaku tribesmen.
"So, in vah, spring, your camp is always near the coastline, while at the beginning of mah, the fall, you move closer to the mountains?"
"Yes, sage Rotheimaak," confirmed the tribal. The dragon was lucky enough to stumble upon a small group of them on the shore, where they were fishing in order to add more variety to their diet. "The sea provides us with more food, but in the colder months the wind blowing in from the sea makes it more difficult to stay warm without a campfire. In this region every piece of wood counts, since very few trees can thrive where the Red Mountain spreads its ashes."
Ted nodded. While he wasn't dumb (making weird choices isn't the same thing), during his old life he would have found it difficult to understand the viewpoint of Ashlanders and their nomadic lifestyle. Now, when he himself didn't have physical possessions and as such wasn't tethered to any particular place, it was easier to wrap his mind around the fact that someone doesn't want to have a house that can't be packed up and moved to wherever they want.
As of now, half of the summer has already passed, meaning that the Urshilaku will remain on the coast only for the next month, maybe two. Three, if the weather will be generous, which isn't typical for northern Vvardenfell and the Sea of Ghosts. During that time the Ashlanders will stockpile resources to get them through the winter, until they can move to the shore and bring back mudcrab meat and fish to their tables.
Suddenly, a lightbulb flickered on in Rotheimaak's head.
"Hm...now that I think about it, it has been a while since I ate a fish that wasn't a slaughterfish."
With a flap of his wings, the dragon lifted off the ground and glided across the water, with the tribals observing his actions for a lack of any other entertainment.
How should I go about this? I'm tempted to just boil the water and wait until everything goes to the surface, but I'm pretty sure my newly-acquired Yol isn't strong enough for that. The freezing shout and Fus won't help either and that last Thu'um of mine is still in its experimental phase. So, that leaves...ugh. Physical effort. The dragon wracked his brain in search of a good fishing technique that wouldn't require hands. Hold on, I think I've got it. If those weird birds can do it, then so can I—my maw is certainly big enough.
Rotheimaak opened his jaws wide and lowered his altitude until he was only slightly above the water. Once he was in position, he accelerated and stuck his lower jaw below the surface, letting in a lot of salty water, but due to the angle of his neck not drinking any of it.
And, after a few seconds, a fish. The jaws snapped close.
Success!
The thought was followed by the captured slaughterfish biting his tongue.
A soft splash was heard as a hooded person with a makeshift face mask made of a piece of fabric dropped from the ladder onto the moist ground.
"...This is the third time in a week that I have jumped into the sewer. What in Oblivion is happening with my life?"
It was not just any sewer, mind you, but the very same type that Azirra has entered the last two times, when she had to contact the Thieves Guild informant under St. Olms Canton in Vivec. It was just as dark, stinking and disgusting as the previous one. Doesn't matter if the canton is populated mostly with Dunmers or outlanders, the shit of all races gives off the same stench.
Why, for the love of the Nine, would a priest come here? Even one as easygoing as Remond Viralas?
Oh, wait. It's the same guy that willingly entered the Palace sewer and allowed himself to be flushed down into the sea by the mechanism controlling the flow of water. Repeatedly.
Not willing to stay there longer than she had to, Azirra brandished her spear (as, thanks to what little training she already had, she felt more confident with it rather than her sword) and went to the nearest passage in the wall, leading to another part of the sewer system. She barely withheld the urge to barf as a very unwelcome, moist sensation enveloped her bare feet. For the next few minutes the only sound in the canal was the barely audible squish with each step and the occasional squeaking of a rat somewhere further away.
And then, as she emerged from the other end of the massive pipe, the sounds breaking the silence of the desolated place joined with the murmur of someone talking.
Azirra narrowed her eyes. Several meters to her left someone had placed a lantern on the ground, right next to the door—something out of place in an otherwise bare sewer. The weak glow of a candle revealed the presence of two Orcs, speaking in hushed voices.
The Khajiit's fluffy ears moved to catch the conversation without approaching the duo.
"...comes for him? The longer he is gone..."
"I agree, but Azuk will be pissed if we decide on something like that without him."
"Not our fault he just happened to be out of town. We should resolve this quickly. I say we cut his throat and dump him into the sewer. The water will flush him outside."
"Don't be stupid! The bars in the canals aren't wide enough. He would get stuck and then, when the Ordinators start searching for their pal, they'd find him first and then our Malacath shrine."
OH. So that's why last time I met people with daedric gear in the sewer. For a holy city, it sure has a lot of evil cults.
"I could...cut him into smaller pieces, if you want."
"...let's make that plan B."
"...I could...eat him."
"Ugh, are you serious?! No, better question, are you sure you joined the right daedric cult?"
"The UESP wiki says there is not a single Namira shrine in the game. So here I am."
"That Bethesda and their low budget..."
"Exactly, bro."
Azirra judged the choices available to her. It's pretty obvious they're talking about Viralas, unless there's another missing person that could be described as "the Ordinators' pal" (so, a priest) that went missing around here. Those two feel confident enough to make some decisions in the absence of the leader, so their group counts only three members, otherwise they wouldn't discuss it without the others to such an extent. It's dark enough that someone without the eyes of a Khajiit won't see me coming until I'm very close, right in the circle of light in fact. But...they are Orcs. One of them grabs my throat and it's all over. Even if my surprise attack will result in one instant fatality, the other guy will be right next to me while my main weapon will still be stuck in the body. Besides, the one in the robes is almost certainly a mage—am I a good enough spellcaster to get into a magic duel?
...I'm sorry, Remond, but five hundred septims and your safety aren't on the list of things I'm willing to die for. Maybe I can convince some Ordinators to come here and whoop their asses instead of me, though.
"Perhaps we should interrogate him a little bit, see if anyone will look for him?"
"That doesn't sound bad, actually. I still have to test that Searing Flesh spell I learned. Alright, you stay on watch and I will get him to talk. And scream. Heh."
And then there was only one orc.
Crap. Now I'm out of time AND excuses.
A surprise attack on a single person that has his back turned to her? That she can do, even if the target is an Orc. If she left now to look for guards (that may not even believe her), Remond might end up scarred for life, or maybe even dead.
Azirra grasped her spear tightly as adrenalin slowly started to build up. She shook off what little..."canal water" remained on her feet as she slowly started to walk towards her future victim. Her steps were getting longer and her pace started to increase. Her soft paws moved without sound, superior to all but the best stealth boots out there.
Fifteen meters.
She was no longer walking, but jogging, with nothing on her person that could generate any noise. The Orc remained oblivious.
Ten meters.
Azirra was running now, with her spear raised above her head, her eyes focused on a little spot below the Orc's neck that wasn't covered by armor.
Five meters.
An ungodly scream went off in the room to the left and her opponent flinched, on reflex looking over his shoulder at the door...and noticing her in the middle of a leap towards him.
The tip of her spear clanged as it hit the ground. The sound was answered by the Orc's armored boot hitting Azirra's torso with enough force to knock the wind out of her and toss her into the canal.
The stench and sudden realization of what surrounded her on all sides was almost enough to kill her on the spot.
With a gasp, Azirra resurfaced from the pit of nightmares that was Vivec's canalworks and grasped a nearby ledge to nearly catapult herself out of the liquid with how much strength she used. She lied there, nearly paralyzed by the short (but very traumatic) experience as a large shadow appeared above her.
"You will make a nice offering to the great Lord Malacath. Brace yourself for your imminent sacrifice, cat!"
Suddenly, the Khajiit's demise was stalled as the door to the shrine opened and to the surprise of them both it was Remond Viralas that emerged, not the other cultist. Remond Viralas and a familiar, huge heap of iron.
"HAMMER, MEET FACE!"
Azirra watched in silent amazement as the friendly, somewhat-childish Dunmer priest swung the massive weapon at the Orc. The strike merely brushed him and yet it brought down the powerful warrior to the floor level and most likely ruined any chance of winning a beauty contest no matter how ugly his competition would be. Remond again raised the warhammer into the air.
"HAMMER, MEET WHAT USED TO BE A FACE!"
The weapon struck again, this time directly. Azirra cringed as blood, flesh and bones erupted all around her.
"HAMMER, MEET... ANYTHING LEFT!"
The poor Khajiit, with the edges of her vision quickly darkening, suddenly realized there was now some brain matter on her face.
Due to the circumstances, she actually welcomed the bliss of unconsciousness.
As it turns out, the terrible experience from her first day on Vvardenfell was easily bested. Back then, she woke up in a swamp to a dead body next to her. This time, she woke up in a sewer, covered in piss, blood and brain matter, with a dead, mutilated body next to her.
She barely maintained her grip on reality.
"Oh, you are awake. Good. I was...cautious about moving you. Because of the, uhh...because I was worried you had some broken bones the movement might damage further, yes!"
Azirra glared at Remon Viralas, barely visible from inside the chamber, while slowly gathering the strength to stand up and retrieve her lost weapon from beside her.
"Anyway, I already figured out you came here to aid me and I appreciate your help. Half of the loot is yours, of course. I didn't quite intend to raid daedra worshippers down here, but since they are already dead..."
"Didn't do anything...only got kicked..." murmured the Khajiit as she finally managed to stand up by leaning heavily on her spear for support. Her legs still wobbled like gelatin from the stress. Another note to self: don't attack a warrior three times your weight in melee combat.
"Nonsense. Thanks to you, the other worshipper not only wasn't prepared for me, but also didn't check on the other cultist while I was desposing of him. I'm not sure of the outcome if I had fought both at once."
Azirra knew it was bullshit—if the priest could wave around a warhammer bigger than himself, even two Orcs would find themselves hard-pressed to win. It's a wonder they captured him in the first place. She was, however, also out of patience and had a rather terrible experience just a few minutes ago, so she decided to ignore the other guy being overly generous and just accept it. The Khajiit entered the shrine.
The room was dominated by a large statue. She never saw any pictures that would have told her how he looked, but there was no doubt the Orc-like being carved in stone was Malacath. Other than that, there wasn't much that would be out of order in any other normal dwelling in this city, other than the second Orc corpse in the small room further in the back.
Remond piled all of the valuables he found in front of the statue. It was a rather strange mix of armor, weapons, gems, scrolls, potions and alchemical ingredients. At the sides there were also two small piles of coins.
"I think the money should be divided equally, while the rest we will share by picking one at a time. You start."
It goes without saying that she went for the only diamond first.
It also goes without saying that it was cursed, like the most valuable daedric shrine offerings tend to be, just to catch any looters unaware when they think the fight for the shrine is already over.
"PERISH, MORTAL!"
The Blade and the priest turned around just as a Dremora fully entered the physical plane. Both intruders froze for a moment.
"You at a distance, me up close?" asked Viralas.
"...Yes," agreed Azirra, already charging up her first spell.
"FOR LORD VIVEC!" declared the Dunmer, as he charged the enemy...and was promptly tossed aside by what turned out to be not just any Dremora, but a Dremora Lord.
"Crap, crap, crap!" chanted Azirra in panic as she released Sleep spell right into the daedra. To her horror, the monster didn't appear to be affected by the stamina-draining attack at all, instead doing the most sensible thing a melee fighter does when faced with a party of a mage and a fighter: mowing down the mage to remove the support.
The heavily armored giant barreled into Azirra like a mammoth on skooma, throwing her through the air into the statue and cracking the stone behind her...not to mention at least one of her ribs, if the unbearable pain in her chest was anything to go by.
Then, to everyone's surprise, the Dremora clutched his head.
"ARGH! MORTAL FECES!" shouted the Dremora, recoiling away. Indeed, an unfortunate reminder of Azirra's latest humiliation was splattered across his breastplate and helmet as a result of his tackle. "THIS IS SO NOT WORTH IT! I'M OUT OF HERE!"
And, just like that, the dreaded enemy that was more than capable of taking both of them down with ease disappeared in a ball of purple spatial distortion.
Azirra, barely able to breathe with her broken rib, and Remond, with his arm hanging loose, glanced at each other from their respective resting places.
"Let's just grab every-OUCH!-thing and split it later," proposed Azirra weakly while casting Balyna's Soothing Balm, which made her realize just how ineffective her only restoration spell was in the case of a serious injury. Also, for some reason, casting it right now brought the mild headache caused by the collision to a completely new level.
"Agreed."
Overall, this little adventure was a failure. Sure, she received some loot, but at the cost of drenching everything—the contents of her backpack included (even her much more fancy, official mage robe)—in piss. At the moment, after quickly taking a dive into the sea outside of the Foreign Quarters Canton, she herself was somewhat clean, although that didn't mean all of the problems caused by her latest misadventure were solved. She wasn't certain if the gains would even cover the cost of replacing everything that was damaged beyond recovery.
Yet another note to self: buy an airtight case for my books, scrolls and notes. ALL of them are ruined!
Indeed, she suddenly found herself with a lot fewer resources. Her scrolls were beyond saving and while she still couldn't read them anyway, she had intended to learn to soon. Her clothes were soaked in...they were soaked and no washing would help to get rid of the stench. Her supplies were now, of course, inedible. Two books she didn't leave at the guild hall, namely the second volume of Palla and a Guide to Vvardenfell, were ruined. The worst loss, though, were the notes from the investigations for Caius. Now if she forgot something important from her research, she wouldn't get it back, not to mention what her superior would have to say about it. On the bright side, there was no longer any danger of someone finding out about her secret service by simply pickpocketing her. At least she had that index from Viralas; he had picked it up out of curiosity and didn't have anything against giving it to a member of the Mages Guild who could actually do something with it.
Speaking of the priest, in the grand scheme of things his little visit to the sewers was a failure too—it resulted in a broken arm, a bruised side, and absolutely no progress in his own little investigation. As it turns out, he was searching for the culprit behind the recent killing in Vivec. Apparently, the killer was targeting only foreigners and Ordinators—a strange combination, given that someone hating foreigners would most likely like Ordinators, who were a royal pain in the ass for anyone not native to Vvardenfell.
"Looks like I will have to continue once I'm back to full health," stated Remond, climbing the stairs of the Temple Canton with great difficulty due to helping an even more injured Khajiit do the same. "As dangerous as those fellows were, I don't think they were responsible for the murders. The victims were not all found in the Foreign Quarters, just most of them, not to mention none died in the sewer itself."
Azirra merely hummed. She had quickly learned that talking in her current condition could be a bit painful. The duo entered the Temple and Remond stopped near a small table, at which an outright ancient priest was enchanting one scroll after another. She honestly doubted if the enchanter even noticed their presence.
"Alright, here we are. Are you sure you want to use the services of the Imperial Cult instead of the Temple?"
"Yes. No offense, but Dunmer are...uh...jerks to my kind."
"Hmm, I suppose that's sadly true. It's so difficult these days to find someone professional. Alright, which one would it...oh, here it is."
A scroll found its way into Azirra's hand and she frowned as she realized she once more encountered the same problem.
"...I can't read Daedric."
Viralas lifted an eyebrow in surprise.
"Truly? I though every member of the Mages Guild could do that."
"I'm relatively new and there has been no free time so far."
"Alright. I suppose I will just read the scroll for you and you can repeat after me while holding it; it should work just as well. It reads as follows..."
Azirra blinked as the Dunmer made a sound that could not be given any amount of justice by any mortal being native to Nirn. There's a chance Rotheimaak would have been able to do so—he would have compared it to a relatively meek growl from a death metal concert.
"Uhh...can you repeat that? A bit slower."
"Oh. You don't look good at all."
Azirra rolled her eyes at the remark. I am bedridden in an infirmary of the Imperial Cult, and yet he is surprised I don't seem to be in good condition?
"Haven't noticed."
The nearby Imperial monk merely shook his head as he put a few potion vials on the bedside table.
"You really should start paying more attention to your health, young lady. It hasn't even been a week since the last time I had to put you back together."
The Khajiit frowned and focused on the face of her healer. Yes, he did look familiar. His skin was very wrinkled, almost like a... walnut...
Oh, right. I remember now.
"Weren't you the one who treated me at Fort Moonmoth? I thought you were stationed there."
"Not really, no. I belong to three different monastic orders and two of them require me to be almost always on the move, either to gather herbs for our medical supplies or to perform an occasional holy quest. Though, to be honest, I think I'm getting too old for those."
Azirra studied the face ancient enough that a Nord with poor eyesight could confuse it with that of a draugr. Who would have thought. Also, what was his name again?
"I must say, this time you are definitely in a worse condition. What happened, an angry kagouti?"
"An angry daedra."
"...Adventurers, always so foolish...the way I see it, some ribs are cracked, and one is outright broken. A lot of bruises on the torso. You will need some ice for that bump on your head, but beyond that your skull handled the force well enough, at worst giving you a mild concussion. As far as I see the breaking of the rib didn't cause any serious internal bleeding. Could have been worse, given you fought the greatest enemy of mankind."
"Sounds great."
"Unfortunately, before I give you this healing potion, the rib will have to be moved a bit so it is in its correct place. It's not exactly dangerous, but if not done soon it will be problematic in the future. And yes, the procedure will hurt."
"Sounds terrible."
"And it will feel terrible if you remain conscious when I move the bone, so drink this first to make it easier on you."
Azirra grabbed the cup of freshly-made potion and downed it. It was mostly tasteless, a true rarity when it comes to such strong medicine. She blinked slowly as all her muscles went slack and she dropped back on the bed, with her eyelids closing almost as quickly.
"I can not fathom how is it that you can beat the strongest of my tribe, but fall short when facing a slaughterfish."
Manirai continued to be the being that Ted feared the most in the whole world (and that's saying lot when you include the Daedric Princes), and becoming his temporary dentist surely wouldn't help. He was terrified of dentists. Still, he had to ask for help from someone when the devil-spawn of the sea tried to kill him from inside his own mouth, and the Wise Woman of Erabenimsun was probably the only person in Tamriel that wouldn't hesitate to put her arm between his jaws. As majestic and sage-like as he pretended to be, she knew he was helpless in a situation like this. He truly had no idea how she could see right through him like that.
"They have 'slaughter' in their name for a reason, you know," grumbled the dragon before he spit out a bit of blood, hopefully the last of it—his draconic healing factor was already doing its job. "Besides, unlike with your kendovve this one attacked by surprise and, as everyone knows, that gives it a triple damage bonus. Not to mention the inside of my mouth is about the only part not protected by qah or qethhe."
It's a good thing his reputation didn't take a hit—through a truly godlike effort he managed to trick the others into thinking he merely took a willing bath in the sea after capturing his dinner and then he rushed to find the Wise Woman, with a deadly creature butchering his most vulnerable muscle the entire time.
"Then I'm afraid you will have to stick to hunting prey on land. The waters around Vvardenfell are full of them. Maybe the cliff racers, ancestors know they could use a natural enemy."
He snorted.
"No, thank you. They taste terrible. Besides, they already earned themselves a dilos paal. Saint Jiub kills them left and right."
She glanced at him in doubt.
"Saint Jiub? Never heard of him. Is he one of those people mentioned in the Imperial Cult or the Temple?"
"He is not a proper saint just yet, but once he kills off that lir, his ascension is all but certain. Vivec keeps an eye on him, and no wonder—if I didn't know any better, I would say HE is actually the hun of the age, not the Nerevarine," stated Rotheimaak, completely serious.
"Speaking of the Nerevarine, are you sure you chose right? We Ashlanders aren't so hostile when it comes to race alone since our own settled Dunmer people can not be trusted, but to have our greatest champion reborn as a Khajiit..."
"Yes, I'm certain. My visions aren't precise, but I know the most important goltte in which the Nerevarine simply must appear, sooner or later. Seyda Neen, Balmora, the ruins of Arkngthand, the Andrano family tomb, Ald'ruhn, the Urshilaku camp...there's a ton of people who visited all of the cities, but the chances of someone entering both that specific tomb and those dwarven ruins are close to zero, especially at the same time I became active once more. Do you know that she also happened to be one of the people I met on my very first day, before I even started to tovit for the Nerevarine? The only confirmation that we need at this point is that she makes her way here without any further clues from me. Then, it will leave no doubt."
"...If you say so. It is just so strange to wrap my mind around the concept of a Dunmer being reborn as a Khajiit—and one of opposite gender, even."
"Eh, it was arranged by the Deyra Kulaan Azura and changing their gender isn't that big of a deal for any of them. The only thing I'm curious about when it comes to that is how Almalexia will react to hearing her dead hubby not only isn't so dead anymore, but also has both a tail and a pu-...and is no less feminine than her."
Whoa. That was close. I almost slipped up in my so-far perfect acting. Think like a dragon sage, Ted, like a sage!
"I believe her only concern will be to silence him again, Rotheimaak."
The dragon moved his eyes sideways. He didn't actually have a good response to that—Manirai, like other Ashlanders, was convinced that the Tribunal murdered the crap out of Nerevar after he had beaten Dagoth Ur. The Temple, which didn't exactly have the best record when it comes to telling truth, claimed that said death was caused by wounds from the future Devil Under the Mountain. That was also what Vivec himself claimed. Rotheimaak wasn't certain who to believe, as both versions of the story were likely and neither could be proven. Who knew the truth? Only the Tribunal and Azura, and they would both lie if it would benefit them. As awesome as Azura was, using mortals as tools was simply part of the daedric mindset. Even if the user cared for their condition, they were still just tools to them.
Except, you know, according to the Ashlanders it wasn't just the gods who knew (both real and false), but also Rotheimaak himself, who brought Nerevar's body and the news of his fate to the Urshilaku. And that put him in awkward position. While the Wise Woman of Erabenimsun knew he, for some unknown reason, lacked the memories, she also knew he had no reason to give the Tribunal the benefit of the doubt. Thing is, with the knowledge granted to him by the Power of Lore Reading, he found it a bit difficult to believe Vivec would cheerfully slaughter his best friend for the sake of something as boring as toggling God Mode on his console. He wanted to believe that guy...if only because it would give the tale of Nerevar a better ending. And here he was, unable to say anything in his defense, simply because the plot hasn't advanced far enough to justify his opinion. And so, he decided to change the subject.
"You know, call me impatient, but I grow tired of waiting around with nothing to do but think. Your typical sage might not mind living in solitude for most of their lives, but I was always a bit of an adventurer, hence why I always accompany heroes instead of waiting on some tall mountain until the hero gets his arse up there. Is there anything of interest in the area?"
"Aren't you capable of easily crossing a large distance daily? The entire north coast is within your reach without having to spend the night elsewhere."
Rotheimaak blinked as the thought sunk in.
"Yesss...but it is also difficult to find anything worthwile to do. Over ninety-five percent of quests involve cities. Nir, krif - neither gives enough thrill. I require shady characters, I require plot twists, I require the annoyances and rewards of badly-scripted fetch quests, in short...I want to go on an adventure."
"I...see. You desire a worthy challange."
"Yes, that's it! It's lonely at the naar and there are so few things to do. That's the real reason I slumbered away most of my life: it's so difficult to fight boredom when awake."
The sad truth of Ted's life is that he never found anything truly exciting. Over the years he found himself heavily disliking the grey, boring reality, after years of fictional adventures (read: video games) with which his boring job and modern style of life couldn't compete. One of the reasons he got used to dangers of his new life so quickly was that he never truly wanted the safety of advanced civilization. Conveniences, oh yes, he missed them dearly. Safety? Not at all. Back on Earth he was never given a chance to taste what real danger was like.
Call him crazy, but he actually desired for something, anything, to test his limits and put his life on the line. Perhaps it was indeed a seed of madness, or maybe that's just a part of his new, draconic nature. Nobody knows, with the possible exception of Sheogorath.
The Wise Woman of Erabenimsun placed her hand on her chin as she gave the subject more thought.
"There's indeed little to be done around here for those who desire adventure, but are too big to pass through the average door."
"Hey! Don't say it like that."
"In my opinion, you should strengthen your bonds with the Velothi rather than fly off in search of thrills. If you are to guide Nerevar reborn, our champion, you must understand the plight of our people. Meet and befriend some of us. Usually we would ignore such attempts from outsiders, but you aren't exactly one if the children of the Urshilaku know your name from their songs."
What? There are songs with my name in them? ...I wonder what they rhymed it with.
"Any ideas on where to start? I'm not saying I'll do it, but I'll keep it in mind."
"I've been told that Kurapli's husband was murdered by an outcast. Perhaps you should talk to her and..." At this point, Manirai remembered who was she talking to. "No, forget it. I don't think you have the right mindset to soothe one's mind after loss."
Rotheimaak gasped.
The Wise Woman's expression shifted to one of worry as the out-of-place sound was made by the dragon, who for some unfathomable reason had a glassy, unseeing look in his eyes.
"It's perfect! Making a friend and getting some swag at the small price of flattening some ponce by sitting on him!"
"Wait, could you repeat that last...?"
Rotheimaak, the dragon that already held the world record for the biggest number of kills caused by landing on animals, answered her confusion with a fire in his eyes.
"Fret not, Manirai! Now that I have a quest, my sucess, and the restoration of peace to Kurapli, is certain! Barring any kind of gross bug, of course, but that's something we have all come to accept when it comes to the Elder Scrolls. My invisible quest marker will ensure that... invisible...oh." Rotheimaak frowned. "This might actually pose a problem. But no fear, I will prevail anyway. Sheogorad isn't such a large region, there can't be too many possible camps out there, right? OFF, TO ADVENTURE!"
Manirai slowly hid her face in her hands as the troll flew north, to investigate one little island after another in search of a man that didn't want to be found.
"I honestly can no longer tell what is worse: waiting for his return so that we can fly back to my tribe, or walking this entire distance by myself."
I wanted to make this chapter longer, but that would make your waiting time longer, soo...
Anyway, the one-sided beating that Azirra and Rotheimaak suffered from daedra lord and slaughterfish respectively was just a stupid accident waiting to happen. I always wanted to kill an important character out of freaking nowhere and this is as far as I'm willing to go at the moment. But don't worry, I guarantee that if either ever dies, they won't stay dead. One of the many perks of working as a professional hero.
See you next time!