A/N: Sup' guys, Wildfurion here.
So, I recently started playing Skyrim after a year or two in a Morrowind/Oblivion binge. It's been pretty fun so far, so I decided to write up a bit- and came up with the idea of a rather…peculiar combination. What if the Dragonborn was a High Elf?
Perhaps not so much an Avatar of Akatosh, as of Auri-El- if you get the punch. Anyways, came up with this idea, and decided to give it a try. Plan to keep the chapters short, so I don't get too lazy when updating.
I'll try updating Pokémon very soon, for those who like that fic better. Either way, that's what I have for you today- on to the reading.
Wildfurion
Prologue
A crisp scent of salt, mixed with algae and the characteristic stench of cities filled in the air as the Imperial trading galley made its way into the docks of Solitude, capital of Skyrim, and the largest trading hub in the frozen, northern waters of the Sea of Ghosts.
With its foundations built upon a large stone arch overlooking the mouth of the Karth River, the city is an imposing stone fortress- positioned in such a manner that it completely dominated trade in the far north. In a way, Mithras was impressed- he'd never expected the brutish Nords to be this crafty.
"We're almost at the pier, my High Elf friend." The captain of the ship, a stocky Imperial by the name of Lucius Verus, says as he walks up to his position at the stern. "I suggest ya talk to a customs officer when we get to the Company's compound at the docks. Helps you avoid trouble with the city guard."
"Sure." The Altmer replies absently, while checking out the belongings in his backpack. There wasn't much, really- besides supplies and some money, he also carried a few potions, as well as spell scrolls and a pair of tomes. The latter, part of the payment from his last contractor. "Anything you can tell me about the city?"
"Nothin' much, friend. Solitude's the largest town in Skyrim, but there ain't that much to do here. There's the Winking Skeever, great place, with good wine and good women." He winks at that. "If ya looking for work, I hear the Legion's looking for good soldiers. Could be an opportunity for a man with your…talents."
"I'm afraid I'll have to tell the Legion I'm not for hire." Though it would have certainly been ironic- one such as himself joining the Imperial Legion's ranks. "I'm not about to become some fat, old general's lapdog. Besides, the payment's shit."
"Aye, aye. Not the best life." The merchant replies with a shrug. A sudden jerk as the ship brushes against the wooden pier nearly throws the High Elf off balance, if not for his reflexes. "That's it, boys! We did it! Solitude, finally!" the crew cheers back in response, the men happy to be back to their homes with a ship full of expensive cargo. "Now then, it's time we part ways. Safe travels for ya, High Elf."
With a pat to his shoulder, the merchant's gone, jumping over the rail to help his men unload the cargo. Mithras soon follows, though he barely takes a step before the guards are over him.
"Halt!" a man garbed in the Legion's uniform orders, puffing up his chest while holding up a badge. "I'm captain Aventus, the officer in charge of securing the docks. What brings you to the city, Elf?"
"Hmm…" For a brief second, the human's smug expression cracked- probably realizing his pathetic attempts at playing tough wouldn't work with him. But then again, trying to intimidate one almost two heads taller than you wasn't particularly intelligent on his part. He studied the two soldiers flanking the man for a few seconds, before deigning to respond. "Freelancer. Looking for work."
"And how can I guarantee you're not an agent for the Thalmor?"
"Would a Thalmor agent be talking to you right now?" the Altmer rebukes sardonically. That seemed to do it, and the men let him pass without any issues.
'The fields seem well kept, it seems that the war has yet to come to Solitude.' He'd first heard rumors about the ongoing conflict in Skyrim from a party of Redoran warriors at Blacklight. A couple glasses of sujamma later, and he had all the information he needed.
'I would sooner place an Altmer infant on the Ruby Throne, than surrender Tamriel to their capricious whims.' Such quote from the Aldmeri Queen Ayrenn regarding the recklessness of the races of Man certainly described his own opinions on the conflict.
It all came down to the worship of Talos, the God-Hero of Man. Following the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, which brought an end to the Great War between the Empire and the Dominion, the worship of Talos was outlawed in imperial territory. Apparently, this caused some uproar amongst the population of Skyrim, until everything culminated when one of the province's lords- Ulfric Stormcloak- rose up his banners in open rebellion against imperial rule.
For a while now, the two sides have been at war- the Stormcloaks trying to liberate Skyrim from the Empire, and the Imperial Legion making pathetic attempts to crush the revolt.
"Another stupid war, caused by stupid peo-" his monologue was cut short when a human boy bumped into him. With a surprised yelp, the child falls on his butt, dropping the basket of wheat he was carrying on the ground. "Are you alright?"
"Ah, yes…yes sir." the brown-haired boy stands up, looking down at the floor as if embarrassed. "I'm sorry, sir! I was in a hurry to deliver those to the docks; I didn't see you coming. I'm sorry!"
"You don't need to say sorry twice." The Altmer comments, and with a flick of his wrist, the basket's contents float back to their place. He then hands it over to the boy, who looks up at him in awe. "Next time, pay attention where you're going kid."
After a few more minutes of walking at a relaxed pace- his legs still getting used to having solid ground under them after so long in a ship- he finally arrived at the city gates, where one of the guards commented he was just in time for the execution.
"And who's the one being executed?"
"Roggvir." The guard replies, spitting to the side with an expression of clear disgust. "A traitor who helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape after he murdered our King!"
"Murder? How did that happen?" Not that he was foreign to the concept itself- he'd saved more than a few Breton nobles from knives in the dark during his time as a mercenary, not to mention the Thalmor 'purges' back home. He'd never heard of a lord doing it with his own hands, though.
"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak walked right into the Blue Palace and killed High-King Torygg under the pretense of a duel. King Torygg was just a boy, yet Ulfric still Shouted him to his death!" He shook his head in disgust. "Poor Jarl Elisif, so young, and now a widow."
"I see…" That sure was…interesting, to say the least. "My condolences."
"Thank you." The guardsman nods gratefully. "What's your name, friend? I never asked that."
"Mithras, at your disposal."
"Well, Mithras, my name is Eric, pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"They should have drawn it out. He didn't deserve a clean death."
"Hm?" Raising an eyebrow, Mithras turned to look at the Altmer walking by his site as they left the plaza- the bloodthirsty crowd now dispersing after Roggvir's public execution. She was definitely pretty and well-groomed, standing only a few inches shorter than him, and dressed in fine garbs. Probably a merchant or courtier- maybe that's why he decided to play dumb. "What do you mean?"
"Roggvir was a traitor, he should have suffered more." She scowls, before her eyes meet his, and she states. "It is rare to see a fellow High Elf in these parts. My name is Taarie, and if you ever want to replace those old rags, stop by Radiant Raiment."
"Do you always insult people when you meet them?" he rebukes, barely holding back a grin of his own. Altmer straightforwardness was something that reminded him of home.
"It's not an insult, just an observation. If I were walking around with a wound, I would want you to tell me to see a doctor." Taarie explains with a gesture, her face plain and expressionless- like most Altmer. Though the curiosity in her eyes was obvious for a fellow Altmer such as himself. "Your outfit is something of an open wound... where attire is concerned. Not many people care, these days. The world is the worse for it."
"Never thought I'd hear that about my armor." Is his sardonic response, glancing down at his parted mantle to look at the worn down elven cuirass. It had been a parting gift from a Redoran retainer, back at Blacklight. Though it was now all battered and scratched, it still served its purpose quite well. "I'll pass by, if I need something new."
"Very good, we're going to fix you right up." She then gives him a slight bow, which he responds with one of his own. "Now, if you excuse me. I'll be on my way."
"Hm." With that, she turns on her heels and leaves. His eyes stay on her as she walks away, taking in the graceful outline only an Altmer woman can possess. Noticing these thoughts coming up in his mind, he grins slightly, before adjusting his mantle once more. "Now then, the Winking Skeever…"
It took him a while to find the inn. Wandering through the streets of Solitude in elven armor did attract a fair bit of undesired attention- and while he did try to be discreet with his mantle, it probably only made him look shadier.
"Welcome to the Winking Skeever, best inn in Solitude!" the innkeeper, an aging auburn-haired Imperial, cheerfully greets. "I'm the owner, Corpulus Vinius. What can I help you with?"
"How much for a room?"
"10 drakes for a night."
"Hmm…" Expensive, though it was still cheaper than most inns at Daggerfall. With a grunt, the Altmer takes out a coin purse, and drops it at the owner's waiting hand. "I'll take the attic room for a few nights. There should be enough there for a few days." He then looks deep into the man's eyes, and says. "Also, an extra, to keep your nose off my business while I'm here."
"Sure, sure, thank you for your patronage." The Imperial replies, scratching the back of his head nervously. "I'll have Minette show you to your room. Minette!"
"Yes, papa." A young girl hops up from a chair behind him, dropping the book she was reading.
"Show our guest to his room. He'll be staying in the attic."
"Okay!" the girl then walks up to him, and grabs the sleeve of his cloak in her tiny hand. It was rather comical. "Follow me!"
"Lead the way."
"So…" Minette starts, as she leads him up a flight of stairs to the second floor. "You're a High-Elf, aren't you? Can you do magic?"
"Hmm…" Still being pulled by his mantle, Mithras pondered for a couple seconds, before giving her his response. "Yes, I can do magic." He then continues. "And no, I'll not show you."
"How did you know I was going to ask that?!"
"Intuition." The Altmer rebukes, his expression ever neutral and serene- though there was a slight glint of amusement in his eyes. Human pups were so painfully naïve and curious, though some of them could show remarkable intelligence at times. "Hmm…tell you what, I can teach you a spell. But I need you to do something for me."
"What is it?" the girl asks, now a bit more guarded. Good- the earlier one learned who to trust and who not to, the better.
"Can you read and write?" A nod. "Good, I want you to keep your ears open for rumors in town. Anything you find interesting, you write a note, and give it to me. Is that acceptable?"
"I can do that!" Minette replies with an eager nod, her eyes glinting with enthusiasm. "By the way, do you want something to eat? Or a drink? I'll bring them up to your room if you don't want to eat downstairs."
"What do you have?"
"Hmm…we do have some Blackbriar 195 Berry-Blend. It should be at its peak right now. As of food, tonight's menu is roasted lamb, eel stew or Mudcrab legs with butter."
"I'll have the lamb, and the mead."
"Alright! I'll be getting it then!" She grins sheepishly, before hopping down the steps to the dining room downstairs.
"Hmm…" Walking into his room, he found it furnished in the simple, rustic style of the Nords- with a wooden table, a large, comfortable bed covered in animal skins, and a large bearskin rug. There was also a fireplace- which was extinguished at the moment- a nightstand, and a chest where he could keep his things. "Cozy."
After settling down and washing off the grime of his voyage, Mithras lights up the fire with a flick of his fingers, before taking a seat on the bed with one of the wrapped tomes in his hand. A warding rune was placed upon the tomes to keep them safe during his travels, and to undo them, he only needed a single drop of blood and the right password. Fortunately, he had both.
"Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes: Book One, by Mankar Camoran." he reads out loud, his lips contorting into a small grin. As expected of a Telvanni wizard- they always knew where to find the best sources of knowledge, even when said knowledge was considered taboo.
As one of the most dangerous and controversial arcane practices, the School of Conjuration was nonetheless sought after by many spellcasters due to its potential for great power and virtually unlimited possibilities. Calling forth weapons and Daedric servitors from the planes of Oblivion, a skilled Conjurer can be a force to be reckoned with.
Yet it also led many a Mage to his grave, as even a slight mistake in the binding of a Daedra might sever the link between the caster and the summon. As a student, he'd often hear stories about inexperienced spellcasters being tricked and having their souls stolen by a summoned Dremora.
'My own summons came through a book Lord Dagon wrote himself in the deserts of rust and wounds. Its name is the 'Mysterium Xarxes'…' The name sounded familiar, though he couldn't be sure of where he'd heard it. Even centuries after the end of the Oblivion Crisis, knowledge of the Mythic Dawn- the cult dedicated to Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction- was rather limited, at least to the public eye.
'Not sure I want to know more either…' Though their knowledge of the School of Conjuration was nearly unparalleled, the Mythic Dawn had committed unspeakable atrocities in service of their Daedric master.
As a child, he remembered sitting on his grandfather's lap- listening to the old mer's stories about the events at the end of the Third Era. About how the Gates of Oblivion opened in the Summerset Isles, and infinite hordes of Daedra poured out of them, bringing chaos and destruction with them. That was, before the Thalmor…
He pushed those memories to the side. They were in the past now, and no good would come out of reviving them.
"Heretic or not, Camoran really knew his craft." The amount of knowledge contained in the tome was impressive, to say the least. Though it was supposedly just an introduction to the Mythic Dawn's teachings, its insights on Atromancy and Bound artifacts were remarkable.
For instance, while his studies at the College of Sapiarchs mentioned how it was possible to summon Atronachs in different sizes and shapes, the process itself was deemed too complicated to be taught to all but master Conjurers. In this tome, the theory was explained in detail by the author.
No wonder why so many people were after these books.
"Hmm…" Standing up with the tome in his right hand, he brought up his left and called for the enchantment to summon forth a Flame Atronach. In a pulse of magicka, the Daedra emerges from a portal of flames, its vaguely humanoid shape made of pure fire and lava. "Worth a try."
While being an adept mage himself, the Altmer still had a long way before achieving the mastery the likes of Camoran, or his grandfather possessed.
It is to this scene that Minette walks in, carrying a tray with food and a bottle of Nord mead in her hands.
"Wow!" Placing the tray on the table, she looks at the Flame Atronach with wide eyes. "Can you teach me that?"
"No." Mithras sighs, placing the tome upon the bed, before turning to face the human girl who looked up at him with eyes like that of a pup- pleading. "Conjuration is too dangerous to be taught to pups."
"Bleh, you're no fun." With a pout, she sits down on the chair, before pulling out a note from her skirt's pocket. "One of the Jarl's men left this at his table. It's a bounty, I think. Here." She makes a move to hand him the note, before suddenly pulling back. "But first, you have to teach me a spell."
"Fair enough." The Altmer replies calmly, before pulling out a piece of parchment, and a quill from his inventory. "Let's start with the basics, then. First, what is Magicka…"
Chapter End
A/N: Pretty chill prologue, preceding a chapter with a show of our Mage's skills in battle.
The idea behind the character is rather simple- a freelancing Mage who travels around, making money where he gets it. There's more to him, however, as this chapter may have foreshadowed- especially when it comes to the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion.
Hope you guys liked it, see you next time.
Wildfurion