From Talos, with Love
"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."
Chapter 5—What lies within?
8-8
2nd of First Seed, 4E 200.
Dinya Balu came to me this morning. Said Mara sent her a vision of a Dunmerii wearing her cult's robes. He was with a Nord with the eyes of a dragon, and seemed most interested in my safety.
I don't know what to make of it. An Aedra I do not worship sending a vision involving me? Let alone this Dunmerii wearing Maran robes and travelling with a Nord. What to make of that?
That aside, there are more pressing matters. The meeting yesterday is as yet without fruit, but I saw it in their eyes. All know which house I hail from, for good or for ill. I doubt most would serve me, but all I need is a few. I'd take a few with undeniable loyalty, over a thousand treasure-seekers.
Frey visited last night. This Maven Black-Briar is indeed interested in me. So much so, that she wishes a private meeting with me. When I simply started talking about scouting Faldar's Tooth, he laughed. At any rate, I have his full support, but I must finance and facilitate whatever I intend this to be without him and/or his associates.
I am, however, curious. He visited me twice, neither time producing a list of potions.
8-8
I cast Telekinesis, focusing my far more malleable magicka into the Elven daggers I lay on the floor in my bedroom. Unlike how I usually pull it to me, I try doing other things. Things like pushing it from me—it just shivers. Things like lifting it off the ground—it just shivers. Things like making it rotate…hmm, it flips and flops as I please, its rattling a joyous music to my ears.
Hmm. Okay, I can turn and rotate it. I can bring it to me. So why can't I do anything else?
"Scarlet? Bring my Telekinesis spellbook?" I have it in hand not a moment later, and suddenly all eyes are on me. Their curiosity soars, wondering why I need the spellbook of a spell I'm currently casting 'well enough'.
Reading from cover to cover, I don't find any clue what I'm doing wrong.
"Do any of you already know this spell?" The four of them look nervous. "What? You know where the spellbooks are. Why would you not learn all of them?"
"Well…" Vilvyni's eyes dart about, as if trying to find the words. "You…did say you wanted to…teach us…after we mastered what we know?"
"Yes?" I narrow my eyes. "And just like with Scarlet, once she learned Bound Bow, I showed her how to summon quicker, and to shoot further. It's a work in progress, mind you. But it's meant to motivate you to practice each spell to perfection, not to tell you not to learn new ones."
The siblings share a look, their eyes wide. Scarlet isn't doing much better, her mouth acting as a fly catcher. At least Sofie is beaming—the only one that accepts I want them to grow strong.
"Come now. I fear disloyalty, not strength. And frankly, if you manage to outpace me, that just means I need to work harder to stay ahead."
Scarlet heads right over to my knapsack, fishing out the spellbooks. She takes two of them, Summon Familiar and Flaming Familiar. I nod, approving.
"Can. I borrow that?" Dovyn asks, hand trembling as he indicates the Telekinesis spellbook currently in my grasp.
"It's not doing me much good right now." I clap it closed, offering it to him.
"Hey, Serjo? Could you teach me to shoot arrows?" Even Sofie wants in on all the training.
"Hmm. Alright, but you're only allowed to practice with one of us keeping an eye on you. The last thing I want is for you to turn the manor into sawdust."
I turn to Vilyvni, wondering why she isn't bugging me for something. Her nose is buried in the Mark spellbook, with Recall sitting in her lap. Smart. Hmm. I should probably teach them Detect Life, it's useful. Then again, I haven't learned Mark and Recall, or the two familiar spells. I should probably get to that.
8-8
Another night, another patient. Patients, I should say. Three of them. A Khajiit, a Bosmerii, and a Nord—an odd collection, if ever there was one. Still, they sit by the hearth, to warm up, each with a goblet in one hand, filled with mead, and a rabbit haunch in the other to fill their stomachs.
Hmm. I should look into training one of my people in Restoration. It might well save a life one day, and it isn't as if we're lacking patients for them to practice on.
"Here." Sofie offers the Khajiit a sweetroll. Slitted eyes peer up at her, filled with questions. "I read that Khajiit love anything sweet. Serjo doesn't keep much in the manor, but we have this."
And I might just have the perfect candidate. Will discuss it with her in the m…why is she awake? Whatever.
"This one is most grateful, cub. My thanks to your Dra-Serdgio." Hmm. This one respects me? Curious. Or is that simply gratitude for saving her life? Not that it matters. They'll be gone by morning. They always are.
"NO! PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THAT! PLEASE NO!"
I snap to the sound. It's coming from the courtyard? Screaming, sounds female. At two in the morning? I don't like the picture that paints.
I head into the meeting room, three pairs of footsteps right behind me. Mercer's boy opens the door without hesitation, vindication in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.
Out into the courtyard. There's a silhouette just outside the iron bars. I cast Telekinesis, grabbing the supposed man, jerking him towards me with all my might.
A surprised shriek rings out, but it isn't from my victim. No, it's the woman. A Dunmerii. In rags.
Red eyes find mine as I come closer, her jaw quivers, her arms wrapped around her middle as if a hug—or perhaps to place a barrier between us. "Serjo. Please, this…this isn't what it looks like. He. That man. He did this, he's responsible, I swear on my ancestors."
"Explain this. And hold nothing back," I demand.
"Serjo!" Her eyes are wide, perhaps more fearful than before. If she knows anything about the winolalvios, she knows this man is already dead. "I… he… Serjo, please. I swear, I wanted no part in this."
"And yet, here you are."
"He kidnapped my girlfriend. Told me I had to do a job if I wanted to see her again. But when he brought me here, he told me I had to draw you out. Please, Serjo. Please, believe me I wanted no part in this!"
Two shadows come out from either side of the alley, each wearing the same furred armour of what I'd expect from bandits. Nords, all three of them. The one on the left holds a Dunmeri woman by the throat.
These are the two that helped me the other day, the ones that spread the word for me. I never did thank them properly.
I reach out with my spell, grabbing the wrists of the Nord holding the woman. With a jerk, the sound of snapping bones fills the night, soon followed by his pain cries.
The woman flees from him, right towards the other woman. They embrace each other, keeping to the wall and making themselves as small as possible.
The sound of conjuring. Bowstrings tighten. And three arrows are loosed. All three men sport and arrow in their chest.
I turn, just in time to see Scarlet, Vilvyni, and Dovyn's bows fade from this plane, the last glimmers of light showing proud smirks on the conjurers' faces.
"Strip them."
"Serjo, no! Please no!" The women seem to misunderstand.
"I refer to the corpses," I soothe, motioning for them to calm down. "You two are free to go."
They stand there, too shocked to move. Too shocked too even breathe, by my guess.
"Sofie?" Little footsteps come thundering my way. I figured she'd want to know what's going on. "Bring me a bottle of ale and two loaves of bread."
It's not a minute later that my brunette is back. She slips the items through the gate, knowing they're meant for the women. "We ran out of ale, but we have some mountain flower mead. The bread's fresh, too. Serjo baked it herself."
They take the items from Sofie, running off into the night before we have the chance to change our minds.
8-8
"Serjo?" I jerk awake, already looking around to take in everything at once.
I…fell asleep? I never sleep after seeing to a patient.
"Come." Vilvyni motions to the chair by the heart with a half loaf of bread in hand. I stumble out of bed, and plop in the chair with a drunkard's grace. A wooden goblet is offered first, smelling of blue mountain flower tea. "Careful, it's hot."
"Thanks." I blow and sip, quite enjoying the sweetness—she added honey, just the way I like it.
"You're not yourself." She takes the empty seat beside me. "Not only did you fall asleep, which never happens after tending to the injured. But you slept passed noon."
It's passed noon?
"What's going on, Ser?"
I sip my tea, wondering about that myself. "I have been feeling sluggish lately," I admit, gazing into my goblet. "Sorry. I don't really know why."
"Any other symptoms? Something I'm not seeing?" she presses.
"Other than feeling tired?" Hmm. "Nothing I can think of. It's probably stress, with everything going on."
"We're worried about you. Please, Reyda."
"I wish I knew more myself. I find myself irritable and craving my muthsera almost desperately. Both of which are readily explained. My being tired is likely how frequent these nightly visits are. Other than that…?" I'm not usually this lethargic when I wake up. "Well, the listlessness is probably from oversleeping. But there isn't anything else I can think of."
"But you'd tell me if you thought something was wrong?"
"It depends on the situation," I admit. She shrugs, conceding my point. "When it comes to my health, though? Yeah. I'd tell you."
She narrows her eyes. "You think me loyal to Mercer."
I sip my tea—the only answer she needs.
"Well. Can't say I blame you. Especially in these circumstances." She offers me the bread. I take it, taking a bite. "Scarlet told me your tale. Or what she knows, at least. So level with me. Are you in love with a Dunmerii from House Telvanni?" She tries to keep her face blank, but a sliver of yearning slips through all the same.
"You know I cannot answer that."
"Is it the alchemist that built his shack near Ivarstead?"
I square my jaw, looking away from her.
"B'vek."
I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see her reaction.
"So that's how you learned so much about…"
A weight lands on my knee, teasing a weary sigh from me.
"Your tea'll get cold."
8-8
"You want me to do what now?" Scarlet is not impressed with our current training. No matter that it's the first semi-warm day of the year, no matter that the sun shines brighter than it has in months.
"You heard me." My patience is already low, woman. Don't test me.
"Hearing ain't the problem. It's the believing."
"Look." I walk over to the archery target, sit down, and get comfortable. "All you need to do, is shoot the arrows at the target. You train your archery. I train with Telekinesis. And we see if there's a way to capture the arrows mid-flight. I see nothing but gain."
"You're not the one firing arrows at her Serjo," she complains, groans, and rolls her eyes up to the heavens. "You know what? Fine. But you forfeit the right to complain if I shoot an arrow through your skull."
She conjures her bow, nocks an arrow, and draws. She eases her draw, slow to not risk loosing the arrow.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Loose the damn arrow!"
"Alright, alright." She draws back, but slowly eases again. "Maybe we should practice with—"
"Nchow! Just do it!"
I cast Telekinesis. The second she draws back, I pluck the damn arrow from her.
"Hey!" she complains. Realization hits her like a hammer to the face.
"Again!"
She nocks and draws, loosing without a problem this time.
I slap at the projectile with my magicka, but it hits the target all the same. I missed, she didn't.
"Again!"
She looses and I slap at the arrow again. I hit the arrowhead, sending it spinning. I was closer that time.
"Again!"
8-8
We walk through the crowded marketplace, over to Marise Aravel, the Dunmerii food merchant we buy from. We make some small talk, as usual. The latest gossip—some Bosmerii's new in town, but no one knows much about him. Her pointing out that Keerava orders from her, so I should feel free to make such a large order there again—good for her business and her stomach, since she was there and ate her fill. Selling fresh herbs we grow in our garden. Buying some meats and fish—tasting and smelling fresh, of course, since it's still chilly enough, and she uses crushed ice wraith teeth soaked in resist fire solution to boot. She's been so agreeable since I started slipping her a flask of it now and again, and her prices have suddenly gotten so much better for us.
It's nothing special, all things considered.
A Nord woman walks over to us, bags under her eyes but smiling best she can. "Sorry to jump in."
"Not at all," Marise assures her. "What can I get you, Svanna?"
"The usual." While Marise gathers the things—I don't know what, nor do I care to—Svanna's attention turns to us. "Oh, hey. New faces. Well met, friend. I'm Svanna. I work at the Bunkhouse. Who might you be?"
"Oh, you don't know?" Marise seems more than a little surprised, for some reason. It's not like we're that important. "This is Reydaserjo." She sighs and rolls her eyes at the slip. "Lady Reyda, I mean. And her…uh…dahroshir chap'thil gher common?"
"Well, usually guards, but these two are housekarls," Scarlet supplies. Marise looks surprised. "What? I hear these three talking each other's ears off in Dunmeris. Of course I'm going to pick up some of it."
"You…hear them speak?" Marise asks, so taken aback that she stops gathering Svanna's order.
"Not in public, obviously. But yeah. A lot. Can stop yacking, really." I swat Scarlet, but she only laughs.
"Must be nice." Svanna's wistful tone ticks my eyebrow higher. "Being treated well by your employer, I mean. I work for my aunt, but really, it's little better than slavery."
"You don't say," Scarlet says, nudging me with her elbow. Subtly done, so the message is for me, not Svanna. "She mistreats you?"
"I'd. Rather not talk about it." You're the one that brought it up.
"Suit yourself. Anyway, Marise. We'll be off. You be sure to let us know if you run out of herbs, okay?"
"Speaking of which. How do you grow them so quickly?" Marise tries. I smirk. "Of course. Should have known. Azura's wisdom upon you."
"Three blessings upon you."
We barely get ten paces before a friendly face greets us. We exchange greetings, exchange gossip, and I marvel at Scarlet's ability to never lose her patience when dealing with people.
Soon we arrive at Brand-Shei's stall—after at least another six exchanges. Another Dunmerii merchant, though he doesn't make a distinction in what he sells—as long as it isn't stolen, he's fine with buying and selling it. Really, do people just not realize that I'm not going to pester them for them to join me?
"Ah, Serjo. I have your order right here. Cost a pretty septim, but nothing's too good for nobility." He fishes out a package, wrapped in paper. He carefully unwraps it, showing the contents. "Ash yams, scathecraw, and trama roots. Three each, as ordered. And I'll have the bags of ash delivered to Riftweald for you. So you don't bog yourself down with it."
"And our other order?"
"That's taking longer. My supplier in Blacklight assures me they are common enough, so he'll have them ready the second he gets back. Should arrive by next week."
"Including…?"
"No." I can't say I'm surprised. "Siltstrider eggs are quite rare these days, even if those that have them are doing all they can to bolster the numbers. The kwama eggs are a virtual guarantee, though. In fact, he offered to double the volume for only twenty-five percent more coin. I figure, if you won't buy it off me, I'll get it sold just the same."
"Good." Scarlet looks to me, to see if I have something to say. I shrug. What is there to say? We won't know how much space we'll have until we control Faldar's Tooth. "Well, no promises. But thank you for the information all the same."
"Of course. That'll be fifty septims. And another hundred on delivery of the ash. What time did you want it delivered?"
8-8
It's almost midnight. I can tell just by the harried movement downstairs, by the harsh whispers, and the careful demands to wake me. It's back to this again. Fifth night in a row—dunno what their deal is, getting messed up this regularly. At least it's different thieves each time, but it's still bothersome.
"Please. She's the only one I'd trust…please."
I get out of bed and make my way over to the alchemy alcove. I don't know how many are injured, and I don't know how bad said injuries are. But if they need me, there isn't a doubt in my mind this is going to be gruesome.
I grab a few of each potion, and down the stairs I go. Into the meeting room, only to find no one injured. The Bosmerii from the other night is here, with his Khajiit accomplice. The Nord is curiously missing. Scarlet gives the pair a dirty look, coming to me.
"I'm sorry. I tried not to wake you." She scoops the potions out of my grasp and lays them on the table. "These are La'Vaar and Engrien Ivyrun. They're here to…bother you at the wrong time."
I motion for her to get on with it.
"I really don't want to weigh you down with this, Serjo. You…" Still motioning, but it's the sigh that shuts her up. "They're looking to quit the Guild. But they have no other skills of note. Engrien was in the Bee and Barb during our little talk. So, they're hoping to either get a few small jobs from you, or to butter you up enough that you'll consider letting them join."
Still motioning for her to continue. I know there's more.
"Engrien was the one that had the run-in with the Thalmor. They put quite the bounty on his head. And if anyone even notices La'Vaar within the city, she'll be arrested or killed. She's tired of living on the run."
"Actually." The Bosmerii seems to have more to say, but I don't turn to him. "The bounty was there before I left Valenwood." The slight edge to his tone hints at a deeper tale than this.
I lean towards Scarlet. "Green Pact."
"Ah, good point. What's your stance on the Green Pact?"
"I adhere to it religiously," Engrien intones, obviously being sarcastic. I turn to him, finding a rakish grin on his face. He's quite a bit shorter than me, the top of his head perhaps reaching just under my bust.
"You are aware of what I'd have to do to you, if I decide you flirt with Serjo?"
"Heh." He's too amused for his own good. "It's her beloved's reaction I have to watch out for. And I don't doubt you'd tell him every detail."
The door behind me opens. Dovyn and Vilvyni walk in, both with creases on their faces to show they just woke up, and each brandishing an Elven greatsword. I smirk, cocking an eyebrow at the Bosmerii.
"This one thinks you might not survive long enough to find out," La'Vaar teases, the corner of her mouth quirking up. Curious, that this La'Vaar looks different from the few Khajiit I've ever seen. She's lithe, less wild-cat-like, and she walks more on her toes than man—far more domestic-cat-like. Her sandy brown fur, though? Not sure if that's common or not. "Oh? Do the moons smile for this one?"
I lean to Scarlet. "The trust thing."
"Actually. I think it's because of the other night." I narrow my eyes, wordlessly asking Scarlet to elaborate. "Think about it. You saved their hides more than once. You treat La'Vaar like a person. And your connection to non-Hlaalu Dunmer means Engrien doesn't have to worry about you turning him in to the Thalmor."
That's at least plausible.
"They stay tonight."
"Serjo requests you stay the night. Be warned, going upstairs is strictly forbidden."
8-8
We stand on the hill overlooking Faldar's Tooth. Whoever designed this place, was an idiot. I can see every bandit in there. Well, every bandit not actually in the keep. The walls have deteriorated with time, one of the towers collapsed entirely. There's a part to the back where we can easily scale the wall and avoid the two front entrances altogether. And the idiots on patrol seem only lightly armoured.
This place will be easy to capture. It's keeping it that worries me.
We'd need at least ten on patrol at all times. And another twenty, if not more, to start rebuilding this place. That's a lot of food, a lot of beds to fill, and a lot of money we don't have.
I blink.
Well. These bandits are marked for death. And House Telvanni is known for…free labour. Hmm. But that would require strong guards to keep them in check. Unless, of course, they learn to fear me so completely that they'd piss themselves just thinking of my anger.
Is that really a path I wish to wander? Slave-keeping? Hmm. What if I do this differently? What if I swoop in, knock them out, and tie them up? There must be cells to keep them in. I mean, it's a fort. I could interview them, see which are willing to serve me. Any that resist, die—per Law-Giver's orders. And if they know that, they'll likely be more malleable. Well…It couldn't hurt. Now, how do I dis…arm…them…?
Now that's just bad.
"Let's go." I saunter down the hillside, right towards the fort, to the spot where the wall is lowest, and the ground is highest. I jump up onto the wall, easing myself up and into the fort.
"Well ain't this a surprise."
"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend."
I stand up to my full height, seeing the fools nocking arrows. I cast Telekinesis and rip the bows from their hands. To be sure, I take their daggers while I'm at it.
One of the Nords, angered for some reason, decides to rush me. "Victory or Sovngarde!"
I wrap my magicka around his shin, tugging just before its next footfall. He does the most painful looking split I've ever seen, his hands shooting to his crotch as a pained and mute cry of anguish erupts from the depths of his soul.
One of them turns heel, running and crying about how they're routed and to fall back. I give him the same treatment.
Walking up to my first victim, I kick him in the face, knocking him out cold.
"What's going on down there?!"
I look up, finding the bandit chief atop the tower ledge looking over. Well, if he's the leader, odds are he won't be taking orders from anyone—and if he does, it's only until he turns on me.
I nock an arrow to the newly confiscated bow, firing it up at the chief. It barely makes it halfway up—I must be used to a heavier bow. I drop the worthless junk, conjuring my bow instead. This just wasn't meant to be all too challenging.
8-8
Dovyn drags the bandit chief's corpse by the leg, the studded leathers scraping against the cold stone. In front of me are three dozen bandits, unarmed, bound, and on their knees. There are groans here and there, signalling the last few rouse at last.
We are in some kind of arena, where the fools had wolves fighting for sport. There's blood everywhere, even on the stairs outside the bars. Not that it matters. These fools will be cleaning that.
The bandits are arranged along the circular pit we're in. The leather strips we found, bind them to the cold iron bars—feet and arms, so there won't be any nasty surprises.
All eyes are on the pincushion that used to be their chief.
"I assume we have your attention," Scarlet says, just as Dovyn releases his grip and comes to stand at my flank. Curiously, Vilvyni comes down the same path, with a Dunmerii wearing plain clothes. I don't remember seeing…Oh. The man in the cage. Right. He wasn't armed, and didn't appear threatening, so I let him be.
Vilvyni stops him at just shy of three paces from me, places her hand on his shoulder, and shoves him down onto his knees.
His eyes are wide, fearful. But it isn't from the gaggle of bandits tied up around him. No, it's how Vilvyni comes to me, how she whispers into my ear.
"He's harmless. The ex-cook here."
I nod, looking to Scarlet, who comes to my side. "Speak, sera. That Serjo may hear."
The man's ashen face turns pale, his jaw hanging low. The surprise is quickly replaced by cold dread as he spies Dovyn and Vilvyni now behind me. He spies our lack of armour, as well. Given we just took out the entire fort, he knows that means we're spellcasters.
"My. My name is. Is Ulen. I was. Was the cook. Please, Serjo. I know your House. I would serve you. You and yours. With all my heart. Please. Spare me." Through his little speech, his jaw quivers and tears pour down his cheeks. This isn't acting. He's deathly afraid.
"Bah. Elf scum cowing before his elf-loving master." I conjure my bow, loosing an arrow right into the speaker's crotch. Another arrow is loosed right into his gut. Two more, one for each lung.
The Nord foolish enough to take that tone stands there, his gasps for air becoming more and more desperate as his lungs fill with blood. The coughing starts, spilling the remnants of his life down his jaw and staining the stone at his knees.
The rattles come next. His death throes.
I loosen my focus, letting bow and quiver fade from this plane.
No pair of eyes is without fear. None fault this Ulen from pleading for his life. Their disadvantage is that I know Nord ways. If they do not die in battle, they are denied Sovngarde. A fate worse than slavery—a form of death they fear.
The Redguards, while in the clear minority, are just as fearful. Curious.
"If there's no one else dumb enough to mouth off?" Scarlet intones. A full minute passes, soundless as the grave. "Good. F'lah, stand and speak of what services you could offer."
Ulen slowly makes to stand, his motions jerky and twitchy. "I'm a cook. Trained in Blacklight. I make scuttle and greef." His eyes dart back and forth. "I helped build my former masters manor. Kept it clean too. The whole thing. And I'm strong as a kagouti. I can carry anything you need."
A slave, through and through. I look to Scarlet, nodding.
"Very well, Ulen. Serjo hears your plea. She awaits only your vow."
8-8
With Ulen locking the last bandits in their cell—this place has a dozen cells, most of which have troths, odd—I figure now's a good time to scope this place out. I mean, staying here and planning just isn't going to work, not with the bandits all begging to serve me.
I send Vilvyni and Dovyn to check every inch of the interior—they know what that means. I head out into the courtyard. Well, one of them. Up the stairs, onto the main terrace. From there, I head towards the lowest tower, up the winding stairs. There's a walkway to the middle tower, giving me a view of Riften and the lake that separates us. Hmm. There's a collection of isles in the lake, with an estate tying the four largest together. Interesting, I didn't notice that before.
Into tower number two, up more winding stairs. It's odd, that these staircases are so wide. Out onto another terrace, overlooking the lower tier and the two courtyards. This is where we first entered, so that wall has to be raised at least another meter. Or perhaps claim that section of ground and build another wall around it, turning it into a third courtyard, perhaps a garden.
Into the final standing tower—I'm still annoyed the let the fourth tower collapse—and up yet more winding stairs. At the top, the tower opens up to the heavens, with a wooden scaffolding above me, and a wooden veranda overlooking the lake.
I climb the last set of stairs, and the view robs the air from me. I can see every detail of the estate on the lake, and though hazy from the distance, I can see the same of Riften. The dense woodlands that make up The Rift are splayed out before me.
Something from the corner of my eye draws my attention. Another fort, hugging the mountainside in the distance, due south. Its smooth stone looks odd amongst the jagged rocks.
But that's beside the point. I look down on the fort I now own. Yes. That fourth tower needs to be rebuilt. Those worthless gates need to be replaced, and I'm not too fond of iron.
Much of the stonework needs to be replaced. And the support I've seen inside is almost non-existent; it's no wonder so much collapsed. The builders were all idiots.
Hmm. Ideally, I'll rip this fort apart and rebuild it from the ground up. But that'll take time I don't have, materials I have no access to, and manpower isn't a factor to ignore. Let alone the expertise to pull something like that off.
No. I'll have to reinforce what I can. Perhaps with clay, then use spellflame to bake it into place. But that means I need clay. And lots of it.
Alright. Take a minute, and think. What do you currently have at your disposal?
A forge, tanning rack, grindstone, and cooking spit. There's space enough to house a small army—that's only a boon if I command said army. I didn't notice any ore or ingots, but even if there are some, it'd never be enough for the work I need done.
I'll need to either start making some serious coin, or gain control of a mine. Somehow I doubt Law-Giver will be happy knowing I control one of her hold's mines. So we need to start making money. Lots of it.
Hmm. There's lots of space. Enough to farm—while it'll never be a get rich quick scheme, it's sure to make money. Everyone needs to eat.
And with the ingredients I already ordered from Morrowind, we're talking a niche for the Dunmeri populous of Skyrim. But fact is that's a minority here, and a predominantly impoverished one at that.
No, that just won't do.
Hmm. I could, however, turn these bandits into a proper army. Hire them out to…No, that's Redoran's shtick. Telvanni is the wizard lords' house, we're the ones that take a few good spellcasters and turn each into an army unto themselves. And that's exactly the kind of power I could never give to these bandits. Theirs would be a loyalty born of fear and that will never make them loyal to me, only to their desire to cling to life.
Unless. I turn this place into both a farm and a college. Train them to become the fiercest spellswords of the land.
But why would they be loyal to me? I'll need to learn a lot more about them before I can gauge if they'd be worth that kind of risk. And that's assuming I can even train them. I have a lot of training to do myself, which means I can't be here to hold their hands and study them. Perhaps killing them is the kinder fate for them and for me. Mostly for me, though—I really don't want the headache.
No, Reyda. There's an angle here. An angle you can make work for you. I need to farm regardless. Even if only to ensure my own people are fed. The surplus can be sold at a reasonable price to the merchants in Riften. Small amounts of income, but that cuts my expenditures. A solid idea.
If I keep the majority of these bandits around as unskilled labour, I can start building up this place slowly over time, and they'd make for excellent farmhands. Perhaps there'll be a few among their ranks that I can earn the loyalty of, but this way I won't care if it's impossible.
As an added bonus, if any of the Dunmeri of Riften offer themselves to me, I can reward them with a servant or two. But that's not something I'm going to advertise, now is it.
8-8
Dovyn and Vilvyni find me putting the final touches on the drawing of Faldar's Tooth—the chief was so kind as to leave three rolls of paper, a quill, and a well of ink here for me. One is the map of the outside (roughly diamond-shaped), one a map of the inside (from what Scarlet and I could gather, triangular from the collapse of the fourth tower), the last is notes of things I need and plans of things I want to change (which includes plans to tear down this junk pile and build a new fort in its place).
"We have everything not nailed down. Other than the furniture. That's too heavy to lug back," Dovyn teases. I only nod, setting the quill aside. "Ulen's keeping an eye on the bandits. So you can speak freely."
"Good. Here's the plan." I roll up the paper, hoping for the best with the ink—it was more for my sorting through things, but still. It'd be nice if it was legible. "We're going to turn every possible surface into farming area. We want to grow enough food to sustain us and all those we house here. Any surplus would be sold to Marise Avarel. That cuts down costs, at least. Fact is, though. Our main concern isn't food, it's our training. We need to start taking high paying jobs from Law-Giver, bolster our funds, and use that to buy the theory and spellbooks we need."
"What about making greef?" Vilvyni suggests. "It would make some serious money."
"In Morrowind, and maybe in Solstheim. Here in Skyrim they only buy mead, ale, and wine. Brandy is too imperial for their tastes."
"Unless we market it to Solitude," Scarlet chimes in. "They'd buy anything with alcohol."
"Hmm. There's the chance, yes. Perhaps market it to the Dunmeri of Riften under a different name, but that's going to take time and resources we as yet lack. What I need from you three is for you to kick up your training. And we need to start making use of Mark and Recall. Mark this room. If things go belly up, we Recall here and regroup."
I focus Mark and cast it with a tingling as speckles of light arc off me. The three of them follow suit.
"Now. What we need to acquire materials to fortify this place. We'll need straw, glass, quarried stone, clay, wood, and only Azura knows what else."
They nod, filing that away.
"What do we do with the bandits?" Scarlet asks, nervous.
I sigh, unsure what to even think about them. I should have just killed them. Really. "I'm not leaving Ulen here. Maybe we can ask Engrien and La'Vaar to mind them and keep them fed until we come up with something?"
"You checked that chest, right?" Dovyn walks right over to it, opening it. A low whistle tells me this is going to be interesting. "That's one big gem."
I narrow my eyes, walking over to see. Sure enough, alongside a daedric dagger, a silver and sapphire circlet, some gold in a little pouch, and a silver ring with a sapphire, there's a gem half a forearm's length. White, with dozens of little facets.
Dovyn reaches for the gem.
"Don't touch it." I slap his hand away. "Something tells me that thing's more trouble than it's worth."
"All the more reason I should touch it and not you." He stubbornly takes the gem. I wait. Everyone waits. A full minute, not a sound, no explosion. Nothing. "See. Perfectly safe."
I reach out and touch the gem.
"A new hand touches the beacon."
I jerk my hand back. "Did you just hear that?" I get three shaking heads, with eyes narrowing in suspicion.
I touch the gem.
"Listen, mortal. Hear me and obey."
I move my hand back. All I hear is the chirping of rock warblers.
I touch the gem.
"Will you stop doing that!"
"A talking gem. Oh. Kay. Dovyn didn't hear anything, which means either I'm susceptible and he's not, or we're dealing with some kind of mystical device."
"A Nord with a brain, a true rarity. Though one with more mouths than ears. Listen. Hear me and obey. Return my beacon to—"
"Let me stop you right there." The others are really starting to get freaked out. Dunno why. Talking gems are far more worrying than my sass. "I don't follow orders from talking gems. And I certainly don't like where you're going with this."
"Who do you think you are?"
"A simple mortal with enough sense to know that if I stop touching this beacon of yours, I stop hearing your voice. Now, either you start being civil, or I toss this into the lake."
"Please stop antagonizing whoever that is," Scarlet begs. Dovyn nods emphatically, his eyes wide.
"Very well, mortal."
"Reyda."
"Mortal."
"Reyda."
"I heard you."
"So listen. Hear me. And obey."
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU'RE SPEAKING TO?!"
"No. Someone won't be civil and introduce herself. Imagine that. You'd almost think someone with the power and intellect to enchant a gem big enough to replace someone's skull, would have learned simple etiquette. Let's try this. Hi. My name is Reyda Bear-Slayer. What's yours?"
"I am Meridia. Daedric Prince of Life and Infinite Energies. I am the Scourge of the Undead and the Angel of—"
"So you're Meridia. Noted."
"I wasn't done." Hold your horses, oh prince of impatience.
"Your name is all I need. I know your history as well as any puny mortal. You need something undead killed. Likely along with the necromancer that conjured it. Right?"
"Yeeeees?" She's being cautious. Curious.
"Good. What do I get out of it?"
"EXCUSE ME?!"
"Look. Undead don't like staying dead. Add a necromancer that you already admit is part of the equation, and I'm looking at some serious trouble. Now. Either you're going to help me, or I'm getting a major reward for the trouble. Otherwise, you best hope the next person worthy of touching this knows how to swim."
"Mortal."
"Reyda. You heard me the first time."
"You owe your very existence to me and mine. As such you—"
"You can shove that right up your daedric ass. You didn't seem to give a flying fuck when two men kidnapped me in the middle of the night, when they threatened to murder my family if I didn't cooperate. So why should I care that you want something dead?"
"Because he defiles my temple!"
"I have one of you in my life as is. I am not taking on a second." I grab the stupid beacon from Dovyn, shove it in the chest, and take the other things out. I slam the damned thing shut so hard something breaks. I'm not in any pain, so I really don't care.
8-8
Once back in Riften, we head straight for the manor, to offload our haul. Dovyn gives Sofie the doll he found—not sure I want to understand where he found that, we make some small talk and introduce Ulen, making sure to tell him that he's in charge of cooking all meals for us.
With that handled, we head over to Mistveil Keep, and inform Law-Giver that the bandits have been handled.
"Excellent. Then from this day on, Faldar's Tooth is your property." Anuriel comes presenting the deed. Scarlet accepts it. I bow, and turn to leave. "Are you quite alright, Lady Reyda?"
I walk off.
I should head to the manor, I know I should. It isn't smart to be around people right now. But if I go there, I'll take out my anger and frustration on the people closest to me.
Instead, I find myself down on the lakeside. On the docks, gazing out at the placid waters.
Plopping onto the rough wood, gazing longing out at the life I should have had—simple and predictable like the fishermen.
But I just had to go and fall in love with a Telvanni lowborn. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if one of the higher-ups is behind this, behind all of this. And even if they aren't, it's not as if they'd lift a finger to aid me, no matter how Cylben pleads for it.
That's the reason winolalvios even exists. A means to ensure that outsiders can impress even the stoutest and deadest of hearts—should we perform admirably enough. Then again, are there heights high enough for a Nord to impress the xenophobic asses that are the Telvanni elites?
I'd have to ascend to godhood. Maybe not even then.
8-8
End Chapter 5
8-8
A/N: