Making Friends

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Dulurza's axe crunched into the skull of another draugr and cleaved straight through into its ribcage. The light in its eyes died, and she shoved one foot forwards to kick it off her weapon. Undead. Nasty. Walking forwards, she emerged into a cavern. Central in that cavern was a tall stone tower, and floating above the tower was a glowing blue sphere.

"Potema! We summon you, Wolf Queen!" Chanted a chorus of Men and Mer in black robes.

"You gotta be kidding me." Dulurza grunted. "It's ghosts."

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Alexander was suitably impressed by the glory of the college of Winterhold, walking into the courtyard and seeing the statue of the great Shalidor himself stood central and proud.

Oh, this is definitely the right place.

"May I remind you that your position with the Thalmor means nothing at all to us." Snapped a woman (Breton, maybe?) to an Altmer, outside a large pair of double doors. "You are a guest, here at the pleasure of the Arch-Mage. Do not overstep your boundaries."

Alexander had to resist gulping, this girl was scaring him already.

"Of course. My apologies." The elf bowed shallowly to her, then walked away. He passed Alexander and gave him a vicious glare as Faralda brought him up to the woman.

"Do stop taking your frustrations out on Ancano, Mirabelle. Anyway, I have a new initiate who's here to join the college." Faralda stooped in close and whispered "he conjured a storm Atronach." Before patting her on the shoulder and leaving.

"Is that so?" Mirabelle turned too give Alexander a once-over. "Well then, welcome to the college, initiate. My name is Mirabelle Ervine. I run all aspects of the institution that the Arch-Mage is too busy to."

This is the one to schmooze up to, got it. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms Ervine." Xander reached out and shook her hand.

"Hm." She might have smiled, but the wind was blowing and he was squinting so he couldn't quite tell. "Quite. At present, Tolfdir is running a class in the Hall of the Elements. You will find your fellow apprentices there." She glanced up and down his form. "I would ordinarily provide you with some simple Novice robes, but I see you're already equipped with Adept garb, so I won't bother."

Xander's smile froze.

"Oh." He said. "That won't, uh, by which I mean, I would be perfectly happy to wear Novice clothing, I wouldn't want to give myself an unfair advantage over the other students-"

"Nonsense." She chuckled. "I appreciate your humility, but I wouldn't want to limit your progress for the sake of 'fairness'. And anyway, the robes don't make the mage. I doubt you were able to impress Faralda with nothing but powerful magical equipment?"

Xander gave a laugh that sounded a lot like a whimper. "Yes. Of course. I'll go to the hall, then. Thank you for your time."

'Oh, let's make sure we look the part.' You thought. 'Let's buy some impressive looking wizard clothes from Radiant Raiment' you thought. 'Don't worry that they don't sell enchanted robes, you'll get some real ones once you're there!'

HoW diD ThAt oNE GO, hUh XANDER?

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"So, can I buy you a drink?"

"Oh no, I-"

"Come on. You saved my life. At least let me give you this."

Sighing, Hjarnagredda relented, letting the Nord woman walk over to the bar and order for them. The Silver-Blood inn was a nice enough place, she supposed, built into the Dwemer architecture but with all sorts of simple Nord furniture everywhere. Classic example of the Nords taking what isn't theirs, part of her brain thought, but she admitted to herself that was unfair. No Man or Mer could claim ownership of the Dwarves' leftovers. Well, maybe the Falmer could, but they weren't in much of a position to sign the paperwork.

The woman came back, putting two mugs of mead on the table, and Hjar accepted hers with a thanks.

"So, in all that chaos, I never actually got your name. I'm Margret, by the way." Said the redhead. Hjar was jealous of that hair. Her own was pale blond, almost white, bleached from too long in the sun. Not to mention it was far too tangled to get it into any sort of style; she'd planned to put it in a traditional Reachman mohawk but had never been able to. Gods, how long had it been since she'd washed it? Margret, on the other hand, had managed to get hers into an elegant sort of-

And Margret was tilting her head, and Hjar realised she'd been staring.

"Sorry." She shook her head, blushing. "I'm Hjar."

"Hyaa?" Margret looked skeptical. "Like, an angry shout?"

"Hjarnagredda." Hjar admitted, wincing. "It's a traditional name, but it's so long."

That got a chuckle out of Margret. "Fair enough. So, Hjar, what brings you to Markarth? I gotta admit, I've been trying to size you up but I have no idea who or what you are."

Hjar blushed again. The confusion was understandable. Not many people walked around wearing what could be charitably described as miner's clothes, except torn up to reveal most of her arms, legs, and midriff (she was a Forsworn, dammit, even if she didn't have the official gear.)

"I'm...I suppose you would call me an adventurer." She replied. "I've spent most of the last five years in the wilds between here and Falkreath. I came to Markarth to look for my family. What about you?"

"Me?" Hjar noticed Margret fidgeting. "Oh, I'm just here visiting from Cyrodil. I was buying some jewellery for my sister back home."

Hjar could smell the lie. "Uh huh." She leaned back in her chair taking a sip from her drink. "You, a Nord, live in Cyrodil, and you came all the way to Skyrim and decided to buy your sister Markarth jewellery? The silver here isn't that famous."

Margret made a confused face for a second, before sighing and dropping it. "Damn. I must be losing my touch."

"So?" Hjar tried not to look smug.

Margret lowered her voice and leaned in over the table. "I'm...well, I'm a spy. I work for General Tullius and the Imperial legion."

Hjar's fists tightened on her lap. "A spy? Who are you spying on?"

"I'm looking into the Silver-Bloods." Margret replied, pointing. One of the family, Hjar wasn't sure which one, was laughing with a group of friends a few tables down. "You heard of them?"

"Oh I've heard of them." Hjar growled. "Bastards own just about this whole city."

"And most importantly, the mine." Margret nodded. "That silver makes them some of the wealthiest people in Skyrim. Tullius wants me to make sure the Stormcloaks don't get their hands on it; or if possible steal the deed for our side."

"Had any success?"

"Hardly. Thonar keeps to himself, and keeps everything important under lock and key. But I have noticed that there's something suspicious going on in this city. The Silver-Bloods have the guards in their pockets and this isn't the first time the Forsworn have made an appearance. Sometimes I've walked back into my room in the evening and found things moved...I think they know who I am."

Hjar frowned. "You think you were targeted?"

"Either that or they accidentally picked the one spy out of a crowd of normal citizens." Margret grimaced. "I think I might have to leave for Solitude."

Hjarnagredda thought. Her views on the civil war in Skyrim were...mixed. On the one hand, the Empire could go to Oblivion because they were the oppressors; the ones who had abandoned the Reach in its time of need, and yet demanded control the moment it suited them. On the other hand the Stormcloaks, Ulfric Stormcloak, was the one who had come to the Markarth and retook it from the Reachmen, driving them out to become the Forsworn.

Hjar didn't remember much of that time. She knew that she'd been born in Markarth, but that before her second birthday there had been a few days of loud noises and screams. After that, there had just been the camps out in the mountains.

Ultimately, she supposed it didn't matter. Margret was an enemy (an enemy with nice hair), but now wasn't the time for Hjar to do anything about her. She needed to find her people, and Margret might know where they were.

"I mentioned I was here for my family." Hjar told her. "They're...well, I'm worried they're involved. I was hoping you might know more about the city, anything that might help?"

"I can tell you where Thonar lives." Margret smiled. "But if you're looking for someone, and you think they're in trouble...well, they're probably working in Cidnah mine. The people that work there get holed up in the warrens when they're not mining themselves into an early grave."

"Thanks." Now do I go there when the miners are in or when they're out?

"Do you need a place to stay?" Margret asked.

"Uh. Huh. I'll have to go talk to the-"

"If you want, you could stay in my room?"

That stopped Hjar up short. "Oh, I wouldn't-"

"No, please. It's the least I could do. I've already booked the room for the rest of the month, but since I'm ditching town tomorrow morning I'd be happy to give you the key. We'd have to bunk together for tonight, though."

She was low on coin...

"Alright, sure." Hjar smiled. "I'll take you up on that."

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"It was ghosts."

"You-what?"

Falk Firebeard was stood in the Blue Palace waiting for his Jarl's arrival, when he suddenly found his shoulder grabbed by a very tall, very frightening Orc.

"Ghosts." Dulurza told him, simply. "In the cave."

"Oh, right, Wolfskull." He shook his head, then jumped, catching up with her words. A few guards gave him questioning looks, just as on edge as he was by the Orsimer's sudden intrusion, but he waved them off. "Wait, that wasn't just some hoax?"

Dulurza shook her head. "There was a whole cult of necromancers there. Trying to summon someone. Heard of a 'Wolf Queen Potema?'"

Falk blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "By the Divines...if it was Potema they were trying to summon, you've done us all a big favour. She was one of the nastiest-"

"What happened?"

For the second time in half a minute, Falk jumped out of his skin as someone else appeared behind him and started talking. He turned and took in hooded blue robes. "Sybille? Where did you-"

"The ritual. In the cave." Sybille Stentor zeroed in on Dulurza, staring intently at her. "Did you interrupt it? Did you see what happened?"

Dulurza shrugged. "I killed everyone who was involved, and all their undead. There was a big ball of blue-purple energy above them shouting at them angrily; once I put them down it floated out a hole in the ceiling."

Sybille tutted. "About as knowledgeable an answer as I could expect from an Orc. Still, helpful enough." She turned and began to walk towards her room.

"Sybille!" Falk called after her. "Didn't you say you hadn't detected anything in the cave? What do you call this?"

She stopped, and turned with a curt look. "You would be wiser not to question me on matters where you are ignorant, Falk. The fact that they evaded my observations is concerning, but irrelevant now that they are dead. More worrying is that now I must calibrate my instruments to detect the restless spirit of a dead queen. If Potema has been called back from Oblivion, then she is loose upon Skyrim. We must find where she has gone." She turned again.

"You're Sybille Stentor?" Dulurza called, making her stop again. "The one who kidnaps and kills the prisoners?"

Sybille's look back was deadpan. "I am the court wizard of Solitude. I serve Jarl Elisif as I served her husband and as I served his father before him. You would be wise to remember that before you make such accusations."

"How long was her husband Jarl for?" Dulurza asked Falk, who had up till then been gawking at the two of them.

"What? Oh, uh, about ten years?"

"Hm." Dulurza squinted at Stentor. "You look awful young. Orc wise-women are more proud to show lines on their face; proves they've survived long enough to amass real wisdom."

"I've aged gracefully, I think." Sybille answered, while Falk was making frantic silencing gestures at Dulurza. "And I've learned many things, such as when I should speak...and when I should hold my tongue."

Dulurza snorted. "You know, there are less pretentious ways to tell me you're a vampire."

The Blue Palace fell silent, as everyone else in that early stopped and gaped at the Orc.

Sybille glared at her challenger for a long few seconds, before turning and calmly walking out of the room.

"That wasn't-" Falk coughed. "Stentor isn't a-"

"The Jarl." Dulurza turned to him. "May I meet her?"

Divines, I need some Firebrand wine. This is the first time the palace has fallen into chaos before court even starts.

"Uh, yes. If you come back at say, three, I can get you a private audience with her to receive your prize. If you'd-"

Dulurza had already walked out.

Falk breathed in, heavily, then exhaled, before clapping his hands. "Alright people, enough staring. We have a hold to run!"

8˂

"Ahh, yeah, there, right there..."

"Friend, if you keep making such noises, those outside may begin to have strange thoughts about our actions." L'laarzan giggled, reaching down into her washbowl to clean her hands.

"Right, sorry." Veezara coughed. "It's just...where did you learn to do that?"

"Khajiit told you! L'laarzen is the greatest hairdresser in Mundus." She purred, modestly.

"Well, yes, but, where did you learn how to professionally wash scales and clean horns?" The Argonian slumped back into her chair as L'laarzen resumed her ministrations. "I haven't gotten a proper cleaning since I left Black Marsh."

"L'laarzen entered Skyrim from Windhelm's ports, where she spent a long time among the Argonian dock workers there." She replied, honestly. "Your race is much different to many in Tamriel; with horns and feathers where most have hair and fur. But L'laarzen would not be the best if she could not tend to all her customers, hmm? A shame you have plucked all your own feathers, they are so beautiful when allowed to grow."

"I wasn't in much of a position to maintain any." Keevara admitted. "Though that may change now, if you intend to become a permanent fixture of the city." She stretched out as L'laarzen finished, and sighed. "Alright, how much?"

L'laarzen sighed. "Well, there are two options. Five septims...or one hundred."

Keevara tilted her head, suspiciously. "Oh really? What's the difference?"

"Well, five is what L'laarzen usually charges when plying her craft. This covers all cutting, styling and washing. But...Khajiit understands that one hundred is what you owe some friends, and have been until now reluctant to pay them."

Keevara's face fell. "Oh, no. Tell me you've not been swallowed up by the Thieves Guild."

"Khajiit thought it prudent to make as many friends as she could upon entering a new place." L'laarzen stressed, wringing her hands. "For instance, she has much in common with the members of the temple of Mara; Dinya Balu is a lovely Dunmer, such nice skin to complement her-"

Keevara stared, and L'laarzen stopped.

"Khajiit will not force this one to pay." She sighed. "Nor threaten you, nor steal from you. You are a customer, and a friend, and your choices are your own. But if L'laarzen does not return with the gold, another will be sent, perhaps one with not so kind a disposition. The Thieves Guild is determined to send a message, it seems, that they can no longer be ignored."

Keevara stared at her for another few seconds, before sighing. "Alright. I'll get into my stash, pay you what you're due. But if the guild wants to be taken seriously, they had better make good on this 'protection' they promise."

"If anyone gives you trouble, you need only to call for L'laarzen." She grinned, flashing teeth. "Khajiit's friends will always be safe while she is nearby."

Keevara chuckled. "Have you perhaps been making the same case to other business owners in Riften?"

"This one is the third that Khajiit has visited today." L'laarzen admitted, giggling and packing away her things.

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Torn between making a dramatic entrance and not drawing any attention to himself, Alexander strode dramatically yet stealthily into the hall of the elements. The teacher, Tolfdir, was obvious by age alone, supervising two students who were alternating casting wards and fireball spells at each other. Xander also noticed a Khajiit and a Nord practicing by themselves off to one side. He had planned to go introduce himself to Tolfdir, but upon witnessing the Khajiit's technique, he found his feet walking off in that direction without much conscious interference.

"You're not channeling the Aetherius properly." He told the Khajiit, approximately half a second before realising that this apprentice was probably significantly more powerful and talented than he was and that this was a terrible idea.

"What was that? Are you questioning J'zargo?" The cat turned his head around and glowered down at him.

"You're treating the ward like its a Destruction spell." Xander gestured at the blue shield J'zargo was trying to form, which was flickering angrily at the edges. "It's a pretty standard mistake, actually, I wouldn't-"

"This one is awfully presumptuous." The Khajiit squared up to Alexander, and oh good, he was scary and tall. "J'zargo is the most talented student here! Khajiit does not 'fail to understand' his spells-"

"No, no, no! It's a good thing!" Xander lied to protect his own ass, "That just means you have a really strong Magicka supply, that you can perform this type of spell off your own back!" Sure, that sounds believable. "Destruction is all about using your Magicka to push entropy onto the world. Restoration is more about channeling the energy of the Aetherius to accomplish what you want."

He held his hand out. With no small amount of effort, he conjured up a basic healing spell in his palm, gold light flashing around his body. "See here? I'm not using my power to directly make a glow, I'm just shaping the natural Magicka that has seeped into the world from the sun and stars."

"Hmm..." J'zargo stepped back and put a hand on his chin, as Xander cut power to the spell and tried not to let the exhaustion show on his face. That damn cat could stroke his fur all he wanted, didn't even have to worry about growing a beard...

"There is some sense in what you say. You are quite knowledgeable." J'zargo admitted, finally.

"Thank you." Xander nodded. "If you'd like, I could give you some more pointers? The actual methodology for Restoration can be difficult to grasp for people new to it. Uh-even if those people have a lot of natural talent."

He'd tacked that end bit on to cater to the Khajiit's obvious ego, and it seemed to work, as J'zargo nodded and allowed Xander to talk more on the subtleties of how handling the spell should feel, ideal hand positions, and more.

Make no mistake, Alexander Meteuse knew what he was talking about. He had devoured book after book on the schools of magic, magical history, the Aedra, Daedra and Magna Ge, and the secrets of the universe. He had talked for hours with some of the brightest minds in the Synod, amassing knowledge of the arcane arts.

He just...couldn't actually use most of it. That was why the Synod had kicked him out.

After about half an hour of helping, Xander realised that the Hall of the Elements had gone very quiet. He turned around to see Tolfdir (and most of the other students) staring at him.

"I certainly don't recall the Archmage hiring an assistant teacher." The old man declared, not unkindly. "Who might you be?"

"Uh, Alexander Meteuse, sir." He gulped. "I'm a new apprentice."

"Is that so?" Tolfdir held out one hand, flames forming in his palm. "We've been working on wards today, as you seem to have noticed. Would you care to demonstrate your own?"

Oh dear.

Tolfdir must have seen something in Xander's face, because he smiled easily and said "If you don't know one, I can provide you the spellbook for a basic ward."

Yes! This is good, I can just say that I think it might take me some time to-

"Of course this one knows how to cast ward spells." J'zargo laughed, dismissively. "He understands them just as well as J'zargo does!"

Divines damn you you furry git that was my one way out-

"Yes," he coughed, "I know the theory, but-"

"Then you wouldn't mind?" Tolfdir asked.

"I'd rather-"

"Please. I've heard from my colleagues that you're quite adept at summoning, I'd assume you would be easily able to show your defensive prowess?"

What am I, a draugr? Because I seem to be pretty good at digging my own grave! Hey, that was good I should use that-

On the outside, Alexander just made a face and fell into a stance, pulling up the restoration magics in his hands and thinking desperately through the ward matrices he had just been teaching J'zargo. It's only a simple ward, right? We have enough Magicka for that, right? Even if we've never pulled it off before? C'mon, man. Use the fear of being fireballed. One, two, three, hnng-

A bright blue shield blossomed into existence in front of him.

Alexander had a full second of standing there in complete shock, as Tolfdir's firebolt crashed harmlessly into the shield. He wondered briefly whether panic had awakened the ancient Elven bloodline from within him, before realising that the ward wasn't actually his doing.

J'zargo walked out from behind him, maintaining the ward with one hand while using the other to point at Tolfdir.

"You would question the friend of the great J'zargo?" He accused. "This one has shown Khajiit more in the last half hour than your college has in the last week! If you want to test a ward, test this one!"

Xander was about ready to completely denounce his new friend in order to not get expelled on his first day, but instead of getting angry, Tolfdir simply smiled. "No, I think I've already gotten quite enough of a demonstration. J'zargo, excellent work, you've improved greatly. Mister Meteuse, it's one thing to learn a spell, but quite a different thing to teach it to another. I believe it's going to be a pleasure to have you in the college."

"Ehehe. Likewise." Xander's legs felt like blubber, he almost fell over when J'zargo clapped him heartily on the shoulder and went over to join the others.

"And everyone present should see no harm in going to Alexander, or to each other, for advice!" Tolfdir clapped his hands. "Now, I think it's high time to demonstrate some of the ways magic has been used throughout history..."

Next Time: Someone gets lost in the snow, someone get's beaten up, and someone gets a new wardrobe.