Sun's Dawn, Tirdas, 24th:
Iron chipped at wood the moment his longsword's edge sliced against the training dummy's wooden chest. The dull thud reverberated slightly with the rattling chains as it swung backward in response but with limited mobility that kept it from fleeing. Confined to its space with nowhere to go and no way of defending itself, Sitirus' inanimate opponent could only receive the attacks dealt by absorbing each slash one at a time. Like all wooden training dummies, it made for a solid shield that could have become a suitable replacement for the much slimmer wooden training shields used for one on one practice had it not been so bulky and maneuverable. Sitirus kept his eyes wide open, attentive to its movements in anticipation as he imagined what its next move would be had it been a real person. Was it waiting to parry his next attack or would it strike now or wait for him to open himself up? That was a training dummy's greatest strength as an imitation built to take but also its most glaring flaw because it would never give or retaliate, lacking the life to provide any response or interaction with its opponent. Still, without anybody to train alongside him it would have to do.
He waited for the training dummy to stop shaking before stepping back to practice a thrust towards its abdomen that sent it reeling on the chains. As Sitirus learned, his footwork on a moving ship necessitated a much stricter balance than on solid ground. The constant mobility was throwing his weight around like a heavy sack, so both feet had to be firmly planted if he was to stand as still as possible. Each step taken needed more adjustment to keep himself from losing his balance, and had to be heavier so his feet would not slip on the wood floor. Even though he never fought on one before, Sitirus found that positioning himself on a ship transporting people and cargo across water was like a swaying bridge over a moderately fast river. He was moving back and forth in tune with the hull, just as someone would have on a rope bridge. Where the comparison ended was a lack of support to hold onto that would keep himself steady. Without distraction and by tuning out all the noise from earlier, he was able to position himself fairly well without help. He was a bit surprised earlier when he realized how used he had gotten to the experience, attributing it to a steady rhythm along the Abecean Sea uninterrupted by incidents that would have halted the journey or attacked.
The slow pace was actually quite atmospheric, and the cargo hold itself was now quiet save for the creaking hull, rattling chains, and the crew's muffled voices from the mess hall above. They had gone up around an hour ago but their muted din echoed through the Red Dugal's passages that carried it like leaves on the wind. Left to his own devices, Sitirus could hear himself think despite the muffled racket. It did not get on his nerves though, so he did not mind and found it comforting knowing he was not alone. He was reminded of the ghost stories his friends told him in childhood about lone sailors boarding ghost ships in the middle of the Abecean Sea to never be seen or heard from again. A chill went down his spine when he recalled that and his sighting of a woman's ghost in Anvil Keep that morning, hoping she had not somehow manifested aboard Horlka's ship or was not hostile if she was. Sitirus worried because he would have rightly been held responsible because he saw the apparition before. But since her spirit had not appeared or had yet to, he believed there was no cause for concern. The crew would have considered her presence an omen if they saw her.
A sudden bang from above distracted him though and he looked up in wonderment. While that opening would typically be exploited by a live foe, Sitirus was fortunate his only rival was the training dummy. The volume of all those voices in the mess hall increased, and there was laughter to be had it seemed in response to what Sitirus could only guess was either a practical joke or some punchline to a tall tale. It did not alert him to anything bad because they really seemed to be getting into their ruckus, probably celebrating and in good cheer, playing games, or whatever they did for fun. Eventually, the hubbub quieted down when he heard a woman, definitely Horlka, barging into the mess hall to yell at whoever was responsible for doing something they should not have. It was not his business to investigate, so Sitirus returned his attention to the training dummy and stepped back to perform a lunging thrust at its unguarded torso. He exhaled the breath he had been holding as he straightened himself up and lowered the blade, casting a sidelong glance at his shield. It was standing against one of the support beams as if observing his training with a keen eye. He practiced blocking with it earlier and set the shield aside early in the session upon finding it mostly unhelpful in a duel against a training dummy. Aside from gaining experience in raising and maneuvering his shield with the longsword in hand, he was protecting himself from nothing. If he was to make good use of the shield, he needed a partner to spar with who could strike it so that he could learn how to withstand each blow, react accordingly, where to position it next, and stand his ground against one opponent. Sitirus had hoped someone would have joined him, though the crew was too busy taking care of the cargo and were too tired after to assist with his training, so he had to make do all alone.
His stomach growled to tell him to wrap the session up and go up for dinner. He responded by looking down with a slight smirk, then jerked his head up just in time to parry the dummy's last imaginary thrust. His blade slid along its weapon towards the dummy's exposed neck, stopping at the wood to stun his opponent, before finally concluding with a downward slash. Exhaling, Sitirus walked over to a nearby table his sheath rested on to reinsert the longsword. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he ran a hand down his bare chest to feel how sticky it was. He panted as he walked over to the washbasin next and soaked a dry cloth to wipe his face and upper body. He had removed his shirt hours ago before the perspiration made wearing it uncomfortable, and took it off the hook above the washbasin to put it back on. Although he had gotten used to the feeling during his apprenticeship in Sutch and could ignore it in the heat of battle, he preferred taking it off while training or sparring with a partner. It offered no advantage but was a small luxury he could afford.
Retrieving his shield from where he left it, Sitirus sauntered through the cargo hold toward a ladder that would take him up a level. He climbed up and stopped at the closest porthole to look out at the late evening sky. Across the water he could make out the darkened shoreline of a fishing hamlet called Ocrar Catch. A tiny settlement built after the First Great War, the hamlet's populace was a mixture of Colovian Imperials and Nords with about a small handful of Redguards. Its small size was inconsequential because it only consisted of about seven shacks and a small inn that could only house up to two visitors but had a tavern big enough to accommodate both alongside its locals. Ocrar Catch hardly received any worthwhile trade because it was not on a main road nor at the end of a path, and there were no shops to buy and sell merchandise either. The only goods purchasable were food and drink from the innkeeper like at all inns of its size, and its people could only afford to feed themselves. Ocrar Catch also lacked piers but had posts the inhabitants could tie their small boats to. Although most of them were fishermen, they also hunted in the nearby plains for venison and other meat, hides, bones, and whatever else they could scrounge up. One of the Nordic families had their own acre of farmland to plant and grow crops and a pen split into sections to contain their livestock. Although unremarkable, Ocrar Catch could have made for a nice port town if it got more traffic and had the funding and resources required to grow exponentially into a greater settlement.
An outline of something bigger could be seen well beyond its borders, just over the rolling hills past an old watchtower. Sitirus recognized it as one of the towering spires of an ancient Nedic city known only as Cirkunhid. Little of Cirkunhid's history was known outside of its role in Saint Alessia's First Empire as one of the Gold Coast's trading hubs between the Ayleids who accepted her reign and the Nedes of Cyrodiil and Hammerfell. It was also supposedly used to persecute and torture those same Ayleids by the Alessian Order once they took power but records of the atrocities were lost to time. Sitirus only ever viewed the ruins' neolithic structures and stone megaliths from atop the hills he used to climb as a child looking for adventure. He was too young to explore them and when he got older his father forbid him from getting any closer. Luthiele was involved in some of the Synod's expeditions to Cirkunhid in search of answers to some of the Gold Coast's greatest mysteries or relics infused with great magical or Divine power. Sitirus was not privy to the details but recalled that little of significance resulted from the exploration and that little else was known.
Even though his apprenticeship in Sutch afforded him chances to disregard that order when he had days off, he respected the decision because he thought it would be a step toward bridging a relationship with him. In hindsight, even if he did not surrender to the temptation, Sitirus was such a fool for thinking obeying would have pleased his father. Nevertheless, the closest he came to the ancient Nedic city was below the mountainous hill upon which Crowhaven rested. One of the Gold Coast's oldest fortresses and one of its few to remain mostly intact, Crowhaven was once the home of a Colovian Imperial named Lovidicus, a lord heavily invested in County Anvil's fish markets. He was also said to have somehow lived for over two centuries, which everyone believed was just a fanciful tale made in boast or a ploy to cover up the passing or assassination of prior Lovidicuses. He was reportedly last seen by an Orsimeri woman who served him and fled the fortress for some reason, although the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil traveled to Crowhaven in 3E 433 as a personal favor to the Imperial City Arena's Grand Champion, the half-Orsimer named Agronak gro-Malog, who claimed he was the lord's son and heir. Although popular as the Grand Champion, nobody in Cyrodiil believed him. A noble falling in love with a servant was a scandal among royal Colovian and Nibenese Imperial families, as it was anywhere else in Tamriel. It was said to have been worse if the servant was an Orsimer, though no cases of any such affair were documented because it was against imperial law to romance one and marry even though they were viewed as people under the Empire. Each race had their own marital mors and norms with certain exceptions made for specific reasons, and the Orsimer were no different but, like Argonians and Khajiit, could not wed humans or Mer—despite the fact that they were Mer according to their shared creation myth with Malacath.
The Champion had gone to Crowhaven in search of evidence proving Agronak's claim and returned with Lord Lovidicus' journal. It should have cleared the issue in imperial court or at least offered some clarity and context to look into. But for reasons unknown, the case was never brought forward. Only the Champion and Agronak knew what was written in it but the latter's response to those contents, while unnerving, was not fully telling. It was said Agronak turned suicidal after he read the journal and never gave the Champion a fight when challenged in the middle of the arena. When asked why, the Champion refused to comment out of respect for Agronak and why he died. Unsatisfied with the pyrrhic victory and knowing what really happened in Crowhaven and the full truth contained in Lovidicus' journal, he turned down the Grand Championship and chosen title to walk away from the arena, never to return. It was clear he alone knew what Lovidicus had written now that the only other person, Agronak, was dead. Some people speculated that he murdered him by presenting the Grand Champion with something that he knew would make him lose heart in the face of their inevitable, and soon pending, duel. They demanded he turn over the journal to see for themselves because it was proof of Agronak's claim or the Champion's guilt if he had it fabricated. Only, Agronak was seen taking the journal when the Champion returned from Crowhaven with it. Searches of the late Grand Champion's quarters in the bloodworks and personal belongings yielded a charred book in his firepit, the ashes of which had been not been cleaned out in quite a while. He obviously burned the journal to hide its contents from the public and to avoid rereading or looking at it as if Lovidicus had written an unspeakable evil to page given Agronak's shock and depression. It was not known if Lovidicus was alive to shed light on their subterfuge, and not even Crowhaven, the source, held answers since the fortress had been set on fire. The Champion was most likely the culprit behind the blaze to erase the discovery and destroy all evidence thereof for Agronak's sake. That had to be why he also declined the Grand Championship and his title immediately after, since he regretted finding out what Lovidicus wrote and giving the journal to someone he saw as a friend and brother in the arena after learning how crestfallen the half-Orsimer was upon reading its pages. By ripping Agronak's last breath away, proper fight or not, perhaps he was fulfilling his final wish.
Because it was located in what had been a secluded part of the Gold Coast in the Third Era, Crowhaven was left abandoned by County Anvil for decades and forgotten until settlements, such as Ocrar Watch, were built up to a day's walk from its hill. Surveys of the fortress and its grounds revealed it was still structurally intact albeit scorched by the fire. Its impregnability was impressive enough to warrant further exploration of its interior which was just as damaged as the exterior but had likewise survived. Since it was near Garlas Malatar and the other Ayleid ruin of Beldaburo to the fortress' northwest, the Count of Anvil at the time decreed it was to be garrisoned by Vigilants of Stendarr knowledgeable on Meridia worship and the two Ayleid kingdoms. However, the count made it clear that he also wanted to maintain Crowhaven as a personal estate away from the capital where he could entertain guests from across the Empire. His Steward allocated funds into its repair and gathered the resources needed to reinforce the structural integrity. The ashes were cleaned and new buildings were constructed within the walls and around the perimeter. A chantry dedicated to Stendarr was the largest, where the Vigilants prayed, organized hunts, and gave sermons about the Steadfast God of Mercy, Charity, Well-Earned Luck, Justice, Righteous Rule by Might, and, lastly, Merciful Forbearance. For a long time, they preached at Crowhaven and received permission from the counts to invite their own dignitaries to the fortress. But when the Vigil of Stendarr's prosperity declined, they pulled out and left their private holdings on the property to the Temple of Stendarr's Crusaders under the agreement that they would continue to uphold the Apologist of Men's defense against Daedra worship of any kind in the Gold Coast and cleanse the fortress frequently to fortify it against invasion from Oblivion. Its isolation left Crowhaven vulnerable during Lady Arannelya's passage through the region but its defenses hampered her attempts to besiege it. Despite her losses, she inflicted such serious damage that it was abandoned during Anvil's reconstruction nonetheless. Now just as wrecked as it was by the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil, it became a breeding ground where smugglers, pirates, and the Cyrodiil Thieves Guild could run black markets outside the law.
With Crowhaven's increasing desolation on the rise and King Grunak cracking down with what forces he had, Sitirus wondered if they still inhabited its ruins or went to another stronghold. The King of Sutch was right to be wary and increased patrols in the area, though had yet to raise levies to rout them. The Imperial Legion conscripted a lot of good Orsimer from the kingdom and contracted each of the Fighters Guild guildhalls in its domain to assist with the Second Great War. Military service and blacksmithing were vital to the Alliance's efforts in combat and the power to enchant weapons and armor with Orsimeri magic took part of the load off the College of Whispers, the Synod, and other Mages Guilds. The Anvil Fighters Guild lacked manpower to even attempt a raid of Crowhaven, let alone approach, and while the Kingdom of Rihad lacked the jurisdiction to get involved, its rulers were in talks with King Grunak to get that rolling. Both believed the effort to secure their domestic front would strength relations between Hammerfell and Cyrodiil for when the war ended. Unfortunately,, the war was more important than clearing out an old fortress which grinded progress to a halt and left King Grunak with no alternative but to rely on troops not drafted by the Legion, local guards from around the kingdom, and mercenaries not affiliated with the guild. Sitirus often wondered if he would have been conscripted by the king or could sign on voluntarily while apprenticed in Sutch, though had been too inexperienced for that sort of combat at the time.
Since he was now an apprentice warrior, there were more opportunities for him to attempt those kinds of missions with a team of fighters. Albeit as an extra number no more skilled than the seasoned veterans and experienced warriors he would learn under, though it was good experience.
Before leaving the porthole, Sitirus spent a minute determining how far the Red Dugal had sailed. From passing Ocrar Watch, he knew had already gone by the small island of Gleaming Hill west of Anvil. A small island of little note, Gleaming Hill was inhabited only by a solitary Dunmer who, according to gossip in Anvil, was a retired Legionnaire whose shack seemed too ramshackle and small for a distinguished veteran. Sitirus could not recall his name if he had heard it, though it must not have mattered if the Dunmer wanted to live a simple life in isolation, away from society. However, the island itself was not always known as Gleaming Hill. Its name was derived from the discovery of a strange Cyrodilic glass helmet called Fin Gleam found underwater. Nobody in Anvil could tell where it originated from but suspected the skeletal remains with it were of the diver who wore it while fishing or searching for sunken treasure at the island but perished along the way. No one knew how either, though slaughterfish were believed to have been the culprits since the waters were full of them. Superstitious fishermen who hauled the skeletal remains in believed something else was responsible, claiming the massive bite marks they observed were the work of a wereshark, the most fearsome lycanthropic predator across Tamriel. While their story could not be discredited, neither was it proven true as there was no evidence they existed beyond assertions on the contrary. Varnard Karessen, one of Tamriel's foremost scholars on lycanthropy, once wrote in a book called On Lycanthropy that his peers claimed weresharks existed in the seas around the continent. It was rumored that the Dunmeri fisherman was a wereshark himself. The belief had even become a local favorite among handfuls of fishermen in the region who told it like a ghost story around campfires and in taverns. Most people scoffed because it was just that, a tall tale without proof to support its telling; although, even the most ridiculous of stories contained grains of truth impossible to ignore.
The diver's identity remained one of the Gold Coast's unsolved mysteries. No name could be placed but people could guess the diver's race because the skeletal remains were not of Betmeri, Orsimeri, Breton or elven stock. That left Nords, Redguards, and Colovian or Nibenese Imperials, and the skeleton was definitely a man's. Further investigation brought attention to Fin Gleam itself when someone from the Synod learned it was enchanted so the wearer could breath and see better underwater without having to cast water breathing spells from the School of Alteration or drinking potions for the same effect. Moreover, it also enabled the wearer to detect aquatic life twenty feet away which made avoiding deadly encounters with slaughterfish and sea monsters and trailing fish to study or catch easier. Curiously, it was said to come in handy when following Argonians, whom could naturally breath underwater and would thus have had no need for an artifact like Fin Gleam. Detecting aquatic life complicated things though since it meant the diver knew the risks and could identify what dangers the water contained, allowing him to identify his assailant. Its application to aquatic life specifically meant the diver would have been blind to a killer from land that could also swim or had slain him on land and disposed of the body underwater to, if a person, hide the crime.
Despite the absence of a clear identity, House Axe-Sailor, a stately Nordic family of Anvil, claimed the diver was one of their ancestors and that Fin Gleam's discovery was not so much of a finding as it was a retrieval. The account of the diver searching for sunken treasure was thought to have been adopted by them instead, although some of the townsfolk in Anvil wondered how when House Axe-Sailor were among the first to spread his story. A few people believed one of the Axe-Sailors murdered the diver in cold blood and stole the treasure for themselves regardless of whether they were kin or not. The lack of proof in favor of either account left the mystery unsolved, though House Axe-Sailor benefitted the most because it gave them the legitimacy nobody else was coming forward to take or object to. At best, it was questionable but accepted as a matter of fact nonetheless if only to close one of the longest running cold cases throughout Anvil's history and cement House Axe-Sailor's place in upper crust society by making Fin Gleam the key to their wealth and power.
His stomach's growling tore Sitirus from the porthole and down the passage, eliciting a bit of an amused smirk. He should have promised to pay attention after his conversation with Horlka that morning. Had he, maybe it would have learned to moderate its cravings by not threatening to burst out of his chest for the Red Dugal's mess hall. He did not chuckle at his hunger for too long though, reminded of their discussion on the pirates who held Stirk. Sitirus tried to tune it out so he could enjoy his evening but found it difficult to. Horlka made no mention of the Dremora, Velehk Sain, nor had Sitirus inquired about him. Her referral to the pirates' leader as a commodore made it seem like he could be anyone. Sitirus wondered if he should have posed the question then before realizing he could the following night while they were having dinner together. It did not help that they were combing Garlas Malatar for any Auroran artifacts that may have been left over from the Second Divine Crusader's purge of the Ayleid ruin and its grounds. No gains did not necessarily mean they would lose anything. Garlas Malatar was one of the most brilliantly positioned Ayleid ruins in the strident coast, fortified against invasion by land and held out by sea. It had the potential of becoming the pirate's first landed stronghold in the Gold Coast to make encroachment on Anvil and the Kingdom of Sutch possible by cutting them off from one another. His hometown stood no chance, although the Kingdom of Sutch could outlast the assault. But as Horlka said, the transition to pirate rule could have been more passive than bloody but still intimidating by way of aggression.
It also reminded him he needed to write her that letter of recommendation to King Grunak. Sitirus had never written to or conversed with the Orsimeri ruler before, so he was uncertain where to start. King Grunak assimilated to some aspects of Colovian Imperial culture and spoke like one when addressing non-Orsimer. But in communication with fellow Orsimer, he always spoke in the traditional Orsimeri tongue. Sitirus was fortunate to have become fluent in the language during his apprenticeship and adopted some Colovian Imperial mannerisms himself. Should he have gambled and threw caution to the wind by writing as such in an Orsimeri voice or address him as a Nibenese Imperial with great care and attention to detail in how he presented himself? He needed more time to think but wanted to get it done tomorrow, hoping that by sleeping on it he would have a solution.
As he was approaching the mess hall, Sitirus put some thought into the next step following his arrival in Roseguard. He felt it was a wise decision and believed the port town made for a great start to his clean slate. There was no shortage of adventure if not, because the Kingdom of Taneth was a big place and Hammerfell as a whole colossal that itself did not exceed its continent, Tamriel. As somebody leaving home, not for the first time but taking his first steps into a greater world, he would become a free man able to take matters into his own hands and choose his destiny, deciding what fate would have in store for him. Whatever lied on the road ahead was a mystery to uncover, open but with certain barriers in place to keep him from getting in over his head. There was much greater agency than in Anvil, even while living under his father's oppressive shadow. Although he could choose to go back, just not on Horlka's ship because, as she put it, it was a one-way voyage, it felt permanent and irreversible. Sitirus left home twice; this was the first he would never return.
Reminded of his apprenticeship in Sutch again, the young warrior looked back on his years there with fondness. Sitirus was sixteen when he first arrived in Sutch, eager to find someone who would take him on. It did not take long for him to find one of the local Orsimeri blacksmiths in the Brena District, named for the Brena River to the capital's north, Shulmonk gro-Glorul. He recalled how he inadvertently offended him at first by calling him an Orsimer instead of an Orc. Shulmonk nearly threw him out of the store, stopping only when Sitirus explained he believed it was more of a polite term used in ancient times. Against his judgment at the time, Shulmonk relented and gave his new apprentice a chance. He did not think Sitirus capable since the young man was of Nibenese blood than Colovian and regarded him with indifference, believing Sitirus would soon give up and find someone else to train him or run home to his parents. Sitirus accepted the challenge of proving himself, eager to earn Shulmonk's approval and learn as much as he could. He was also open about his situation back home, so the Orsimeri blacksmith was somewhat understanding of that from the start once he learned Sitirus was Luthiele's son. It was no surprise that Luthiele's bigotry garnered much ire in the kingdom and was dismissed as just another Nibenese Imperial racist. Even though Sutch's citizens viewed him with disdain, they slowly warmed up to Sitirus because he worked to earn their respect. Even Shulmonk, one of the gruffest Orsimer in Sutch, had to admit Sitirus won him over by diligently absorbing everything he knew, dutifully attending the storefront and forging weaponry and armor, and dedicating himself to the warrior's path to make up for his deficiency in magic. Sitirus remembered with satisfaction the first time Shulmonk complimented him after three months into his apprenticeship; he was lucky since it took the Orsimeri blacksmith eight for others.
Shulmonk did not just teach Sitirus about blacksmithing and secure him training with some of the best warriors in Sutch. He showed him around Sutch and explained why it was important to the Gold Coast's Orsimer. As a major city-state south of the Brena River, Sutch was an example of four diverse cultures blended together into a single melting pot. Orsimeri strength to rule Sutch and defend the kingdom from conquest or wage war on its enemies. Redguard wit to outmatch any foe in swordplay and for honing their devotion to weaponry. Colovian Imperial guile in battle and the royal court by intimidating their rivals and pledging allegiance to staunch allies. Nordic control over the Abecean Sea to tame its vast waters and bring prosperity through maritime trade. Though one should not have forgotten what each of the other races offered, Orsimer, Redguards, Colovian Imperials, and Nords were the biggest demographics since they dominated the political, economic, religious, militant, and social levels through a shared warrior culture found in the Colovian Estates.
Under King Grunak's great-great grandfather, the first King of Sutch, the kingdom quickly prospered like never before, growing into a parallel of King Gortwog gro-Nagorm's reconstruction of Orsinium and rebranding it as Nova Orsinium in the year 3E 399. Many, even to this day, called Nova Orsinium by its original name since it was the same city rebuilt under a new Orsimeri ruler. Gortwog's intentions were for Orsimer to receive equal rights as people of the Empire and for the new Nova Orsinium to be named a province, elevated from its status as territory in the Wrothgarian Mountains of High Rock. He succeeded on both counts as the Orsimer of Orsinium finally became people while the city was given land between the Wrothgarian Mountains, the County of Menevia, and the Kingdom of Daggerfall. While the Kingdom of Sutch was every bit Nova Orsinium's equal in many respects, it differed because Sutch's Orsimeri kings petitioned for a much lower status as counts of Cyrodiil, or more specifically, County Sutch, one of the old Colovian Estates. They were willing to abdicate their monarchy unlike Gortwog's embrace of it because Sutch was only part of the Gold Coast. Not even the Bloodfall Kingdom was willing to give up its monarchy in Cyrodiil. For the Kingdom of Sutch to join the Colovian Estates' political climate, it must have meant King Grunak and his ancestors were desperate in trying to re-achieve what Gortwog won and go further to ensure they would not lose Sutch, not wanting a repeat of when Nova Orsinium had been sacked.
The first King of Sutch believed one of Gortwog's mistakes was not fully assimilating into Breton culture when he established Nova Orsinium. Many Orsimer thought otherwise because they wanted to be seen as people instead of Breton imitators, though Sitirus understood the logic. If the Orsimer were to be successful long term in his opinion, they needed to adopt the local cultures that had an established status quo. King Grunak's great-great grandfather recognized that and adopted Colovian Imperial cultures in order to carve a foothold in the Colovian Estates that was not actually his people's own but bequeathed to them. Shulmonk explained that he encountered some backlash against the decision but stood by it so he and his heirs could prove it was necessary. Unlike Orsimer in strongholds around Tamriel and the current Orsinium which relied on brute strength in the heat of battle, the Kingdom of Sutch established its own knightly order based on Cyrodilic knighthood, called the Order of the Strident Coast. Its knights did not display feats of strength for power nor to intimidate but for honor, glory, and sport. They were shrewd diplomats in the royal courts as well, using Colovian etiquette to improve public relations and negotiate treaties with allied rulers. They were poets, bards, and scholars too, honing their ballads and chronicles around Orsimeri lore, war and peace, heroes and heroines, rulers and the people. Even though they were not merchants, the Order of the Strident Coast aided in the administration of businesses and attended trade agreements to appraise merchandise and evaluate the best trade routes for delivery. While the order employed local blacksmiths like Shulmonk to forge its armor and weaponry, each knight learned the trade to take care of their equipment while out in the field where they would not always have a blacksmith or quartermaster looking over it for them. Squires could, though their expertise was rather limited.
The first King of Sutch strengthened the Fighters Guild too by providing a royal stipend to help maintain its guildhalls. His only condition in exchange was that the kingdom's guildhalls each convert to the worship Reymon Ebonarm, the God of War and Black Knight, to forge ties with the Hammerfell Fighters Guild and make the guildhalls safe havens for keeping attacking Daedra out.
Orsimeri enchanters were in high demand throughout the kingdom and across the Colovian Estates. Their skill in infusing weapons and armor with magic was unlike anything ever seen before in Cyrodiil. According to one of the capital's wise women, Orsimeri magic originated from a kind of shamanism that dated back to the Merethic Era and was passed down through generations from wise women to their apprentices. It was a closely guarded secret, so she could not fully describe it in greater detail but Sitirus inferred it may have been older than the first Orsinium's founding. She also told him the College of Whispers was keen on understanding its workings for themselves and went to great lengths inviting the wise women to join their organization. Though they turned down the offer, she herself had to admit the college seemed genuinely intrigued by their craft. The Synod, by contrast, was not so much interested, claiming Orsimeri enchanting drew on the Daedric power from Malacath's Ash Pit and should have been banned by the Empire before they turned it against Emperor Ashterius and the Elder Council. Synod mages only tried to pry into its secrets in attempts to prove it for political favor, giving Sitirus a feeling that his father had something to do with that.
King Grunak's great-great grandfather did not just stop there. One of his first orders when he became king was to give his people large acres of land to farm. Historically, Orsimer, including those of Nova Orsinium, were more hunter-gatherers than farmers and vintners. Under Gortwog's rule, farming gradually became a staple of civilized Orsimeri culture and produced plenty of crops for self-sufficiency and to sell in markets in the Kingdom of Wayrest and the County of Menevia. Orsimeri farmers took pride in their crops and it showed every time they accomplished a successful harvest. Moving to the Gold Coast where the farms were subject to a different climate and weather conditions had not dampened their spirits. They viewed it as a new challenge to overcome through determination and, like in Nova Orsinium, became some of the best farmers and vintners the Gold Coast had ever seen. Now, they were among the region's leading producers in cash crops and wine, able to feed their kingdom and offer to the rest of the Colovian Estates and the Kingdom of Rihad.
Even the old Drad Estate south of the city became an important part of the kingdom. It was once owned by a Dunmeri plantation owner from Morrowind who relished in using ogres as slave labor to grow cash crops for Counties Anvil and Kvatch and the Kingdom of Rihad. Though it was illegal to own slaves in the Empire, that only applied to people, not monsters like ogres. It allowed Lord Drad to get away with enslaving them since ogres were not considered people under the law. As Sitirus understood, slavery had long been a part of Dunmeri culture in Morrowind for centuries. It was established and maintained by House Dres as a business so Dunmer could save on the costs of having to hire, feed, and house workers. However, Morrowind's slave trade legally ended when House Dres entered into an accord with King Hlaalu Helseth. Although Sitirus did not know what all the terms of their arrangement were, House Dres clearly accepted the abolition of slavery since it gave them an edge over the other Great Houses. Competition between Dunmeri houses was quite fierce back then, or so Sitirus heard, as each vied for power to serve their own interests. By agreeing to abolish slavery, House Dres kneecapped its rivals by cutting off future purchases while Helseth annulled current ownership, forcing the other houses to spend on hired labor for work in an attempt to stimulate Morrowind's economy. Rumors suggested it was still upheld in secret and that Helseth did not criminalize its continuance to keep himself safe from assassination. But on the surface, the abolition of slavery in Morrowind only increased the chances of revolts against his reign, whereas Dunmer not prone to revolting searched for loopholes they could easily exploit and get away with.
By migrating to the Gold Coast where he was far from King Helseth's authority, Lord Drad could keep slaves without fear of reprisal. As a member of House Dres himself, he had no worries over the Great House sending someone to instruct him, as it were, on complying with Morrowind's regulations. That was until an Orsimeri adventurer arrived on his doorstep on business for a certain patron during the Oblivion Crisis. Ever since Nova Orsinium became a province, adventurers often traveled all over Tamriel in search of treasure under King Gortwog's orders to bring glory to Nova Orsinium and spread that fame across the continent. Several made their way into Cyrodiil in search of Orsimeri artifacts and whatever other treasure they could find, including the Orsimer who found himself visiting the Drad Estate. That adventurer stumbled upon the Daedric shrine to Malacath in the Gold Coast's wilderness and was appointed by the Daedric Prince to free all the enslaved ogres. The adventurer was said to have been a worshipper of Trinimac, the god King Gortwog promoted, although was suspected of secretly worshipping the Daedric Prince. Whether that was because the Orsimer hid their heresy or started to after gaining Malacath's favor remained unclear. All anyone knew was that the Orsimer carried out Malacath's will, then received Volendrung as a reward for the service rendered. But it was also unknown if they returned to Nova Orsinium with the Daedric Artifact or kept it for themselves. Given the province's devotion to Trinimac, it seemed likely that the adventurer chose not to so they could avoid persecution. Although knowing Malacath worship, it was possible they did anyway to try and prove the Daedric Prince was stronger than the Divine.
Ironically, the freed ogres spared Lord Drad and his wife by enslaving them, then promptly put them to work in the fields instead of killing them out of revenge. They had the power to murder both of their former overseers right then and there but did not. Their docile behavior was surprising to anybody who passed by, leading many in the Gold Coast to question if ogres truly were monsters like most of Cyrodiil said. Even more shocking was that they were gentle with Lady Drad than her husband, until it was revealed that she had been an abolitionist who sympathized with their plight. Unfortunately, although she yearned for the ogres freedom, she was outnumbered by her husband's guards. Had she tried, Lady Drad would have been killed for choosing the ogres over her husband, so they understood she was another prisoner of Lord Drad's in another sense. Although she failed them, her desire inspired some to petition for the establishment of an ogre sanctuary to care for the ogre population in Cyrodiil. Their call to action was answered by the first King of Sutch in a decree naming the Drad Estate as the land that would become the Sutch Ogre Reserve. Its caretakers were dedicated in their mission, traveling all over the province looking for ogres in need of rescue. They gave ogres who were too sick, wounded, old, and young a home where they could live happily and in good health without fear of persecution, death, and extinction. With the kingdom's backing, the Sutch Ogre Reserve was able to lobby Emperor Ashterius and the Elder Council to pass a new law naming ogres as an endangered species and protecting them from being hunted and killed for sport. Thanks to their activism, the sanctuary's ogres could grow, play, and recover from trauma caused by a societal norm dictating they be attacked and killed; and the reserve soon became an attraction.
When he first laid eyes on the Sutch Ogre Reserve and watched them live, Sitirus promptly realized it struck a chord in him that he could identify with. Their plight, while different from his, opened his eyes to the fact that he was not so different from ogres and Orsimer than he might have thought. It drove him to volunteer free time to the sanctuary so he could help care for its ogres and get to know them in their native habitat to better understand their culture. And it was also a means for him and Shulmonk to bond over a common interest since the old Orsimer was a volunteer too.
Unlike Gortwog, Sutch's kings were fervent worshippers of Malacath who believed the old King of Nova Orsinium had been led astray by Altmeri doctrine. According to the Altmeri religion, Trinimac was a knight in service to Auri-El, the chief Divine of their pantheon, and a Divine in his own right. He was responsible for slaying the Trickster God, Lorkhan, and later attempted to keep the Prophet, Veloth, from leading his people out of the Summerset Isles so they could worship the Three Good Daedra, Boethiah, Mephala, and Azura, without fear of persecution from Altmer who worshipped their Divines. He was confronted by Boethiah and lost to the Daedric Prince, corrupted into becoming Malacath which turned his worshippers into Orsimer. To Sutch's Orsimer, Gortwog was a weakling who turned away from Malacath in a misguided attempt to find strength and spread his heresy so he could legitimize it as a religion and use it as a way for Orsimer to become people. In their eyes, Gortwog's sacrilege wound up costing him everything, including the sacking of Nova Orsinium by High Rock and Hammerfell. His blasphemy was either directly responsible or was at least a contributing factor. The Kings of Sutch were quick to discourage Orsimer from attempting to follow Gortwog's example, claiming that devotion to Malacath would bring their kingdom great prosperity. After close to two centuries of surviving in the Gold Coast, it appeared they were right.
The Empire and the Colovian Estates tolerated their monotheism to Malacath and protected it from the Vigil of Stendarr in exchange for their services, even allowing the Orsimer to claim the Daedric Prince was to thank for their affluence. To show their gratitude to Malacath, the kingdom built a great shrine to him in the city-state's heart for worship and as a pilgrimage site for Orsimer from around the continent. As thanks to the Empire for accepting them as people of Cyrodiil, each of Sutch's kings gave the Order of Arkay and their templars, the Knights of the Circle, permission to preach the Divine's teachings in the kingdom and establish temples in its lands, and invited the Master of the Order of Arkay in Sutch to join the royal court as one of the court chaplains. Various other cults and religious conclaves settled in Sutch too but were not as great as Malacath or Arkay.
Sitirus felt a drop of water sliding down his cheek and reached up to wipe it, realizing that reminiscing must have brought a tear to his eyes. Either that or the Red Dugal had somehow taken on water from the calm Abecean Sea, as unlikely as that was. Those four years in the kingdom had been among the best in his full twenty and the memories would never be forgotten with time. The young apprentice warrior did not feel embarrassed by his soft spoken weeping but wanted to keep it to himself. He was happy that the Kingdom of Sutch was doing so well and that its Orsimer were finally accepted as people longer than for how long Nova Orsinium lasted under Gortwog's reign. No longer taken as monsters or beasts, they were seen as equal men and women under the Empire.
The long road to inclusion had been one of the most difficult challenges they faced but the Orsimer of Sutch succeeded where Nova Orsinium failed. While many believed they proved it was possible and could be done, Sitirus was not so blind. Orsimeri rule in Cyrodiil was permitted only because there were people in power who recognized they could use them, not because the Orsimer achieved equal rights. Those were given and maintained to keep them loyal to the Empire even as its role in Orsimeri relations was now being usurped by the Colovian Estates in their bid for power.
However, the Kingdom of Sutch was not entirely devoid of problems. Like any ruler, King Grunak had to wrestle with nobles from Cyrodiil and Hammerfell trying to fabricate claims on his kingdom, including Sitirus' own father. He also had to keep tabs on violence in the kingdom while maintaining a close watch on activity in neighboring domains he trusted like the Kingdom of Rihad and County Kvatch to make sure whatever issues they faced would not spill over into his or try to betray their allegiance. The Kingdom of Sutch was not immune to the threat of bandit raids against its holdings either, having to fend against attacks that, now that the Second Great War was ongoing, were increasing in frequency and intensity. Sometimes Vigilants of Stendarr would overstep their jurisdiction and persecute the Orsimer for their worship of Malacath by defiling local temples and shrines to Malacath or carrying out unauthorized arrests without warrants. On one occasion Sitirus was witness to, a few Vigilants attempted to accost a young Orsimeri priestess for worshipping the Daedric Prince. He knew they would have detained her for questioning and were likely plotting to spirit her out of the capital so they could execute her in secret. They would have had his arrival on the scene been moments too late, buying the priestess enough time to escape in search of the nearest guards she could find to have the Vigilants reined in and carted off to the dungeons for their crime.
The Vigil of Stendarr was not the only religious order to threaten the worship of Malacath. When the Stormcloak Rebellion erupted in 4E 201, a cult of Nords from Eastern Skyrim abandoned the province in protest against Ulfric. Calling themselves the Knockers in reverence of the ancient Atmoran Death God, Orkey, who was also known as the Old Knocker, where they got their order's name from, they migrated to the Gold Coast to settle among its Nordic population. They were not a particularly dangerous cult, claiming their mission was to worship Orkey by placating him so he would not steal their years and, by proxy, their souls. But the Knockers preached against Malacath worship and Arkay worship because Orkey was, according to scholars of religious lore, comprised of aspects from the two. The Knockers saw the Daedric Prince and the Divine as either inseparable or intertwined, so they believed that to worship one was to worship the other and that worshippers of Malacath, the Order of Arkay, and the Knights of the Circle were promoting incomplete beliefs. At one point while Sitirus was apprenticed to Shulmonk, there were rumors that the Knockers were conspiring to assassinate King Grunak and the Master of the Order of Arkay. Several sermons they gave alluded to a vision their Primate was said to have received from Orkey himself. According to him, the Atmoran Death demanded two opposite halves be sacrificed to him so he could claim the years from Ulfric Stormcloak, the Last Dragonborn, and all Stormcloak Nords who followed them. It inspired the Knockers and many Nords in the kingdom who converted to their monotheism into such a religious frenzy against the Stormcloaks that talk of the sacrifices became synonymous with a plot to assassinate the two leaders. They sincerely believed it was necessary to go that far in order to condemn Ulfric and his Stormcloaks' souls to Orkey. Though their intentions sounded pure for Skyrim's sake, it was thought they were only trying to legitimize their condemnation of Malacath and Arkay and assassinate figures tantamount to the pair. Even though the Knockers also appeared to have ironclad alibis whenever they were tied to murders across the kingdom, King Grunak took the threat seriously by calling for a formal investigation into their organization and tighter security.
Nobody was in the passageway when he arrived at the door to the ship's mess but as Sitirus expected, the crew's obnoxiously loud din echoed through the wall. By his estimate, it sounded as if Horlka's whole crew were inside celebrating whatever gave them good cheer and getting drunk. He did not need to wonder why since he could guess but chose not to, instead pondering if a chair was available for him or if he would be taking his meal elsewhere. He did not mind waiting if there was no availability and nowhere to go, though worried how long his stomach would last for a fresh batch of food to be prepared. Composing himself, he opened the door to step into what must have been quite the lively party. The crowded mess hall full of noise was a glaring contrast to the empty room he ate in earlier. Apart from the Red Dugal's Breton cook, Dunsable Jenich, Sitirus had been the only occupant that late morning with nobody else to disturb him, including the busy cook. The cacophony of rowdy sailors was a far cry from its peaceful solitude, disturbing the peace and quiet with their revelry by singing songs of the sea and valor and gambling over cards and dice. He could only smirk in amusement at how alike it was to the sound of Anvil's taverns and bunkhouses each night, expecting nothing less nor any different from a ship's crew. Though he was mildly surprised by the rare few who sat by nursing their drinks and eating by themselves while he navigated a way through the crowd. One of the Nords got up to leave right as he passed by but followed Sitirus and put his plate and mug on the counter for Dunsable to clean before walking out the mess hall. When the cook came around to collect the Nord's platter, Sitirus negotiated for apple cabbage stew with some blackberries and strawberries, a pear, and spiced cider to drink. It did not take as long because the food was already prepared, so Sitirus only had to wait a bit for Dunsable to get his order ready.
Tray in hand, Sitirus turned back to the raucous throng of sailors and scanned the mess hall for an unoccupied table or a seat yet to be taken. He thought of the Nord's but observed that another sailor beat him in the time it took to order his meal. Sitirus sauntered through the crowd carefully, trying not to accidently spill his dinner and hoping he could avoid angering one of them were it to happen. Coming to an empty table for two close to the mess hall's center and stopping to look for one by a wall, preferably in the back to avoid disturbing anyone and being bothered vice versa, he resigned himself to the fact there was nothing he could do about it. Nobody had gone for that table and it was the only free table in sight, so he set the tray down in front of the chair that faced away from the door and sat down. There was something to be said for hiding in plain sight, except Sitirus supposed he might be sharing the table with a sailor soon and that everyone's eyes would be on it. He had no intention of getting involved in whatever conversation they had or game played though, wanting to eat his dinner in peace and return to his cabin for the night. Starting with his pear while the stew cooled, he took a couple bites and followed up with a sip of cider to wash the pieces down.
That was when he spotted the familiar silken white robe pass by a couple rows from where he was sitting, followed by the armored bodyguard. Though Sitirus could not see the Moth Priest's face through his back, he guessed the man was somewhere in his late forties to mid-fifties. Judging from how the priest carried himself so formally even with a casual gate, he also supposed the man was an experienced pilgrim who journeyed to distant lands before and knew exactly when and how to stand out in a crowd. Turning his attention to the bodyguard, Sitirus noticed the armored figure was another man from his physique and that he was adorned in heavy Imperial steel armor with an Imperial shield on one arm. The bodyguard had two blades with him, one clipped to his belt while the other hung over his backside, a silver longsword and Imperial broadsword respectively. Sitirus immediately knew from the armor and blades that the bodyguard was an Imperial Legionnaire who had been assigned to protect the Moth Priest on his expedition. He also assumed that, with the war ongoing, he was the only escort the Empire could provide. Sitirus thought more should have been assigned to the Moth Priest's entourage, then figured a single Legionnaire demonstrated what little regard remained for the Cult of the Ancestor Moth. He doubted there was a need for secrecy since the Legionnaire was decked in the armor of standard heavy infantry and was not even trying to be subtle. And although it was not uncommon for Moth Priests to go incognito when questing for the Elder Scrolls, even as the scrolls' value diminished after the Battle of the Red Ring, it was difficult concealing their objective when in need of information. Anyone asking for the whereabouts of one or clues leading to it could very well be a Moth Priest in disguise. It was easy to tell a Moth Priest from clergy of other conclaves when they were not because only they wore the silken white robes of their order, provided one knew what the Cult of the Ancestor Moth was. As this particular priest chose to wear the robe instead of disguise himself, secrecy was not warranted and he seemed to be confident enough in his bodyguard's skills as a Legionnaire and his own prowess to walk about so freely out in the open. It was almost like the priest was purposely taunting thieves or assassins into making a play against him. Then again, a room full of sailors seemed just as safe as the Temple of the Ancestor Moths or the Imperial Palace for a Moth Priest to comfortably drop the charade. Then Sitirus realized the priest could have been pretending to so someone with the opportunity to attack and a way to escape by blending in could move in unaware until it was too late to realize they had been outplayed. He shuddered as he suddenly felt the priest watching him without needing to turn.
Although it was rude of him to keep watching, Sitirus found there was something hypnotic about the way this Moth Priest behaved. The man walked with a sense of dignity not unlike a noble of imperial society and a certain arrogance so alienating yet alluring at the same time. Sitirus could not hear the Moth Priest address Dunsable above the noise but imagined he sounded dismissive in tone while still commanding an obedience the recipient could only bow to. There seemed to be an attention to detail that refused to overlook the slightest imperfections as well, so anything less was cause for concern. For how powerful and immaculate he must have looked to the average man, the priest gave the impression of just the opposite as a simple man himself. Sitirus found it difficult to think of someone to compare the Moth Priest to because he was the first Sitirus had ever seen. The nobles in Anvil, including his own mother, would be middle class citizens anywhere else or if their town was any bigger, and his father in particular was definitely a far cry from being even that. The magnitude of a Moth Priest was said to have only been rivaled by that of the Elder Council before the cult's decline and it showed even now. Recalling the priest's arrival aboard the Red Dugal that morning, Sitirus thought he had to have been quite the sight to behold. When had anybody in Anvil last seen a Moth Priest passing through? Was this particular Moth Priest the first? Was he originally from Anvil or had he visited before? What did people in town think? Moth Priests were viewed in such low esteem that to perceive them with favor, as Sitirus did, was to be part of a small minority so rare and slim that it could go unnoticed, be drowned out, and be isolated from the rest of Tamriel. Those who were a part of it like him must have felt they were only ones to dare believe in the cult.
The man whose back was turned towards him unaware of the Nibenese Imperial staring at him directly somehow appeared to know everything going on behind him. Sitirus had to hurriedly redirect his gaze back to his dinner when the Moth Priest started turning around, knowing he should not have watched with fascination like he was prying. It and looking away that fast were red flags the priest's Legionnaire bodyguard would have noticed had he been facing the apprentice warrior's direction. Either scrutinizing the whole mess hall was unnecessary or the Legionnaire did not care to. He did not look too attentive to their surroundings since his head appeared to be facing towards the cooking pots over the counter, ordering a meal as if prioritizing his own stomach over the priest he was supposed to be protecting. Sitirus wondered how long the bodyguard had been in the Legion if he could turn his back to a mess hall full of sailors and him, the other passenger. It would be too presumptuous thinking the Legionnaire was barely out of training to only reaching either Spearman or Trooper. A part of him hoped he was wrong and that the Legionnaire was just playing the fool, lulling the room into a false sense of security like his charge to assess threat levels all around them and draw out whoever stood to gain from attacking. If he was, the Legionnaire would be happy to know the crew was not even trying because they were too drunk or focused on whatever they were doing to bother the Moth Priest. None of them even so much as registered their presence, especially the Moth Priest's as if he did not exist or they did not care that he did. A thought suddenly occurred to Sitirus that maybe the priest did not exist to them because he was an illusion meant for his eyes only. Two sets of footsteps approaching his table seemed to confirm it, causing him to worry if he should have looked natural or resist the urge to glance up. He did not want to send the wrong signal if it looked like he timed the response, hoping to keep his curiosity idle long enough for the Dugal to reach Roseguard when he could forget about it and hope appearing impartial caused no offense.
His polite indifference lasted only until the Moth Priest suddenly claimed the stool opposite him so they could sit across from one another. He pulled it out so casually, surprising Sitirus while setting his own tray on the table without asking if it was occupied or for an invitation to join him. "Sir?" the Legionnaire questioned him, "I don't think it's wise to—" but was cut off by his charge raising a hand to shoo him away towards another table just vacated by its previous occupants. The Moth Priest did not even need to repeat his unspoken command nor watch, taking the bread on his tray to dip it into the vegetable soup he ordered and biting into it with surprisingly refined gluttony.
He looking at Sitirus to ask, through chewing, "This seat taken?" as if it already was.
"O-oh!" the young man gaped while motioning for the Moth Priest to feel free even though he had already helped himself. "Go right ahead, sir," he said between bites, not wanting to be rude in spite of preferring to eat alone but believing he would not have been there much longer himself. Sitirus thought the Moth Priest would have ignored him or offered a curt nod of acknowledgement at least if he chose to look up at him. He had not expected him to suddenly join him out of the blue but began to wonder if it was simply a case of limited seating or that the priest already figured out who he was and why Horlka changed course. Looking at his guest, Sitirus confirmed he was middle aged from the wrinkles on the priest's otherwise clean shaven face. The priest also had a head full of black oiled hair that reached down above his neck and was neatly combed, and brown eyes that appeared to contemplate the bread while chewing before dipping it into the soup again for another bite. Although the Moth Priest's face was the pinnacle of cleanliness, Sitirus noticed his robe was not as neat and tidy as he thought was normally expected of one. It was stained and dirty in places, and generally so unkempt that the silk looked more like thick cilice than refined fabric which spoke to a certain lack of care for the uniform. Despite its hideousness, the silk robe somehow retained a clear measure of exquisite perfection even if it was not too immaculately impeccable, almost as if its wearer thought that he needed to look proper at least even though he had no need to. Watching the Moth Priest like he were anyone else but worried about the distance from his bodyguard, Sitirus asked, "I do not mind, though are you really sure you should leave your bodyguard's protection?"
The Moth Priest looked at him again, staring at Sitirus as if evaluating him too but brushed his question of by saying, "Oh, don't mind him. Varulin Gonollius is anything but incompetent. If he thinks my life's in danger he'll leap to my defense even when it's not warranted. Lad just made Champion a month before he's been assigned to safeguard me. He knows when I'll need his help," he cast a glance at Varulin while adding, "and when to renew his objections, which is to say, never. Besides," he went on, turning back to Sitirus, "I wouldn't have gotten up anyway regardless." The way the Moth Priest shrugged the question off even while answering was so abrupt and blunt that he hardly sounded like one. It made Sitirus ponder if he was truly a Moth Priest or some charlatan or peddler in their clothing but not even trying to maintain the illusion. "Day's been so uneventful that I'm practically exhausted from all the boredom of sitting doing nothing, wouldn't you agree?"
Sitirus blinked, caught off guard by the question. Normally, he would have concurred with an opinion like that but had a feeling his guest was referring to Horlka's argument with his father. Had the Moth Priest deduced anything from it and if so, how much? He did not have enough time to consider a response other than to say, "It has been for me. I got some needed training in and felt my sword arm improve," in an attempt to disarm the priest by blocking without having to fabricate an answer. It was well-timed, the perfect solution to keep his guest's curiosity at bay, and not a lie.
"An aspiring warrior?" the Moth Priest seemed to guess correctly while they kept eating.
Sitirus had to nod at that but was prepared to block again. "For the past four years," he said honestly, offering only the correct amount of truth required to more than satisfy the priest's inquiry. It came as no surprise that his guest was on point because anyone could make the same inference, though it made Sitirus more alert as he explained, "I have only just become an apprentice," to keep the question lodged in his shield until it could be reflected later. Although the Moth Priest was not privy to the details, he had no reason to keep his apprenticeship a secret even as he maintained the appropriate confirmation. "I learned from the Orsimer in Sutch," letting himself make that mistake because he had a counter to the question it could provoke. He was almost certain it would not work if the Moth Priest realized he did it on purpose. Sitirus was definitely playing with fire attempting to outwit a Moth Priest who, he suspected, was already picking his account apart with ease. "They taught me everything I know about combat and blacksmithing. Learning their crafts firsthand was such an enlightening experience. To my knowledge, there is no one better in Cyrodiil who can take to the battlefield and work its forges with ease." He tilted his head in thought so that he could add, "Apart from the Nords in County Bruma and the Redguards of County Chorrol, or so I have heard."
"It's why they're among the best in the Gold Coast, after all," his guest agreed as they kept eating, asking, "So, you're from Sutch?" as if gauging Sitirus' truthfulness or skill in speechcraft.
Sitirus knew where he was going with that question, countering by replying, "Yes, though I had to book passage in Anvil. The price went up in Sutch, so I would not have had enough drakes leftover for when I disembark. I was lucky to have found the Red Dugal at the last second, though it cost more than I expected because of that." He did not say he was from Anvil originally because the question, though asking for it, could be answered otherwise; nor claimed his passage had been documented since it was implied. He would be lying if he tried to assert both statements were true. Fortunately for him, it was true that the turmoil caused by the Second Great War caused the prices of booking passage aboard ships to increase. Without enough sailors to go around, captains needed more drakes to pay whoever stayed aboard or hire more to replace those who went to join the war. They could have even kept the drakes to be conservative or to pay themselves for doing the work.
The Moth Priest appeared to look surprised, though Sitirus could not tell if he was parrying the shield or genuinely lowering his guard. "Has it now?" he asked. "I'd never have known if you didn't say. I've not been to the Gold Coast before, so I don't know the local economy works. Good thing mine was chartered beforehand, otherwise I'd be out of luck or I'd have to pay more as well."
"The past few decades have been tough on the Gold Coast," Sitirus agreed. "It is almost as if the Empire is leaving the region behind, inadvertently or otherwise. I doubt it will reassert itself."
"Empire's not going to last for much longer, I'd say," the Moth Priest offered his opinion. "Way I see it, the Second Great War's widening gaps in its rule. Its hold over High Rock practically ended. The Breton kingdoms are already well into the transition away from imperial rule, alongside Cyrodiil's Colovian Estates, Nibenay's House Hlaalu, and kingdoms such as Sutch and Bloodfall. That's not to say Cyrodiil itself won't last much longer; the Empire's still got the strength it needs to keep ahold of its increasingly unruly factions in the province for some time. Unfortunately, each passing day its decadence brings the Empire much closer and closer to inevitably crumbling in on itself and it shows. Independence planted its seeds to sow revolution after the First Great War and now it's already begun to bloom. The Empire knows this and has tried to water it down for as long as possible even though it's also doing its best to leave Cyrodiil with a bright future should it end."
"Mm," Sitirus grunted in agreement, letting his guard down but still wary of the older man. "Now sounds like a good time to be leaving Cyrodiil, then, if there is nothing more it can provide."
His guest smirked, chuckling in disagreement. "I wouldn't say that. Opportunity is ripe for the picking these days. People are testing their limits every day to see what more they can do, how far they can go without somebody—namely imperial law and local laws—preventing their success. Once the Empire's gone, there'll be wars between rulers over powers they've once held before the Empire took them away. Its increasing absence is giving them enough they need to fight each other when this upcoming Interregnum rolls in. It's only a matter of time until someone on a throne gets the idea to start calling in soldiers and mercenaries alike with promises of riches, fame, and glory." He took another bite of bread, adding while chewing, "That's why you're really leaving, correct?"
"That, and a change of scenery," Sitirus replied easily, though took the time to consider the question as food for thought. Opportunity was as much of a reason to stay as it was to depart even though it was not his motivation. That made him realize his response was not actually much of an answer as he thought. He gained nothing and was uncertain of what ground he just lost. It left him grasping for something more conclusive but his choices were few and hard to reach. Confirmation, while not perfect, became his only reaction to the inquiry. "I lived my whole life in the Gold Coast and feel as though I have already seen all of Cyrodiil and what it has to offer," he added succinctly, keeping his elaboration brief and straight to the point so it would satisfy the Moth Priest's question.
"Never been to the rest, eh?" said his guest, making it clear he was not asking for an answer. "Can't say I blame you though, Cyrodiil's quite the big place. But then again, so's all of Tamriel."
Sitirus took the wooden spoon by his bowl and dipped it into the apple cabbage stew while putting a strawberry into his mouth. He wondered what the Moth Priest was getting at as he chewed and swallowed. "It certainly is, and I am eager to see it. The other provinces seem more appealing."
"Any in particular?" his guest asked as if expressing his curiosity in a polite interrogation.
Sitirus considered eyeing the Moth Priest suspiciously to make it seem like he doubted who he appeared to be. He decided not to, realizing it would have made him look like a criminal on the run. "Hammerfell, to start," he answered, figuring he could give away that much. Although Sitirus probably should not have chosen the province he was heading towards, the Red Dugal already set sail for Roseguard. It would have been easy to see through the lie if he had said otherwise, and that included the Dominion's provinces, especially if he had his armor on. "I hear the province is more intact than Cyrodiil, and I always wanted to experience the Redguard culture in full. The Kingdom of Sutch has some because it neighbors the Kingdom of Rihad, though it does not have everything."
"Hmmm," his guest hummed, before asking, "But why couldn't you have chartered a ferry over the Brena River or taken a bridge if there was one? It should've cost you less drakes, correct?"
Sitirus was nearly disarmed of his shield that moment. "Trouble north of Sutch," he replied, aware that bandits, wild animals, and monsters still roamed that part of the Gold Coast. "It was too dangerous for me to reach the Brena River when I left, so I headed down the road to Anvil instead." He popped a blackberry into his mouth and ate it before finishing by saying, "I know it is not what an aspiring warrior should do but I am still new to my apprenticeship. Better to be safe than sorry."
"There's trouble in Anvil too," the Moth Priest countered. "Like this morning for instance."
"That has nothing to do with me," Sitirus was quick to dismiss it but as politely as possible.
"You sure?" the Moth Priest pressed, obviously not convinced.
"Yes," said the young warrior, finding the blade at his throat. "Why the interest?"
His guest smirked. "Because I wanted to meet the lad responsible for diverting my voyage."
Sitirus sighed, realizing he lost. "Was it really that obvious?" he asked, accepting defeat.
The Moth Priest's smirk softened a bit. "From the start," he began in earnest. "Who doesn't overhear an argument while waiting to board a ship? And since the captain told me she was taking a detour north, I knew it must have been serious enough for her to ignore the chain of command. You can't willingly defy an imperial order unless it's that important." Dipping the last piece of his bread in the vegetable soup, he added, "Not that it matters. Imperial orders don't carry much weight these days, apart from the shared desire to destroy the Thalmor and their Aldmeri Dominion. That said, the Cult of the Ancestor Moth's also becoming just as irrelevant and the Elder Scrolls just as worthless. Our financial situation has never been the best since the First Great War, you see. We're hoping the Second Great War could change that but I'm not so optimistic. We contributed nothing the Alliance needs for their war. Our expeditions can keep Elder Scrolls from falling into the wrong hands, especially the Thalmor's, but we've had no success. The Alliance doesn't give a damn one way or the other even our order still has enough influence to at least persuade the Elder Council to let us go on expeditions. However, local rulers still need some convincing and with good reason it seems, because our order's partly to blame for not having done enough to stop Naarifin. I may not even find the one I'm supposed to be looking for or get word it's no longer required or necessary. Supposing I do stumble across it, chances are it'll have already lost all value." He looked in Sitirus' eyes as his own reflected not sadness but a resignation different from the young man's that Sitirus could still identify with. "Time's not been kind to my order since the Battle of the Red Ring's end. We Moth Priests are now a dying breed kept alive only by a faint glimmer of hope that is, in reality, a thinly veiled illusion. We're fighting a losing battle that's part of an even greater war of attrition, and we're losing heavily. No longer bound to Tamriel now that the wheel's made another turn, our lease on life is slowly coming to an end. Soon, we'll decline in number and health as age takes its toll and the pool of novitiates dries up. The Empire's moved on by now while slowly dying and so must we with it. Although, I'm afraid our road ends soon, so we won't be there to witness its end."
Sitirus gave the Moth Priest a downcast look as the explanation showed him a glimpse into the cult's inevitable erasure. Just listening to the eulogy made him feel guilty for having been made a higher priority than an expedition that could slightly alleviate their plight. Had he known, Sitirus would have done everything he could to try and convince Horlka to resume course for Hegathe so his guest could begin his quest without further interruption. "Sorry for interfering in your mission," he apologized sincerely even though he was not to blame. "I did not mean to supersede you. I tried to argue in your favor over mine but failed." He shifted in his seat slightly so he could sit up a little straighter. "I know it is not much but at the very least I swayed Horlka to shorten my own voyage."
The Moth Priest chuckled dryly. "No need," he insisted. "It's not like I would've convinced her either. That's the thing about the Gold Coast's Nords; they're some of its most stubborn sailors. You don't tell them how to do their job if you're not the captain, and if they're the captain they've got the last word and control over their ships." He picked up his bowl to sip from it like a drink as he added, "Shame they're out of mead right now, I could've gone for a few mugs to kill time. But I guess the crew needs it more. Still, arriving at this time hasn't been a waste." Showing his host a proud smile, he complimented him by saying, "You've got quite the tongue, lad," while gesturing towards Sitirus' mouth. "Despite having already seen through your deception ahead of time, I must confess you still gave even me a run for my drakes. I've honestly never met a man so young who could lie with the truth and duel meanings, and I've encountered plenty of liars." He took a sip and let the vegetable soup run down his throat before adding, "You fought the battle of wits well, better than even the cult's own novitiates after a year's worth of training. That's something unique, a feat too impressive for a novice diplomat. You must've had quite a teacher when learning speechcraft."
For the first time that day, Sitirus found himself chuckling at the praise even though it also gave him a dull smile. "Thank you," he expressed his gratitude, "though I am afraid my speechcraft is not as splendid as you might believe. In spite of my prior upbringing, my training left little time for wordplay's minutiae. I only know how to speak proper and conduct myself with etiquette." He did not think he was going to finish the berries by himself, so he set it up between himself and the Moth Priest to share. "I have never even seen the inside of a royal court, let alone a political office."
"Don't sell yourself short, lad," the Moth Priest advised, accepting the offering by popping a strawberry into his mouth. ""If you've got something your good at, master it. Tell the world what it is and prove it as you've just demonstrated. Use that power, that gift, to make a difference where you're going. People will appreciate that you're doing it for them on their behalf." He took another sip of his vegetable soup. "But I'd refrain from adopting a silver tongue if I were you. People like me know when it's wagging, and a lot of them don't take kindly to when it does and whatever it's saying." He pointed at Sitirus' chest. "Speak from the heart, and don't let anybody silence its beat." He then took a blackberry while adding, "That said, if you've got to lie, make it convincing enough. Play into their hands by telling them what they want to hear and, if able, give them what they want. Make it sound like something's their idea and let them take all the credit for it if they want. They'll be indebted to you that way, allowing you to blackmail them when they try to worm their way out. Just be careful though, that they don't get you in trouble with the law if you've got to bend it or in some cases, break it. Be sure you've already got other favors ready to call in to bail you out should the situation escalate. And keep lawful guards in the loop to preserve your reputation and integrity. If you're dealt a good hand and play your cards right, you'll be so persuasive they'll have no reason to doubt you for a second. But know someone like them you could finger if they suspect foul play."
Sitirus nodded, saying, "Thank you, I will keep that in mind," before realizing he forgot to introduce himself. He considered refraining since the Moth Priest probably knew his name already and he was uncertain if he should have given it. But to be polite, he offered a hand and said, "Sorry, where are my manners? My name is Sitirus," without sharing his surname. He did not think it was needed because he would be disembarking in a week as a new man no longer of the House Kratian.
The Moth Priest accepted it, introducing himself as, "Astirian Mercotis, Brother of the Cult of the Ancestor Moth." As they shook hands, he looked at Sitirus inquisitively. "Sitirus…" he said in thought before asking, "Would you happen to be of House Kratian, one of Anvil's old families?"
Not wanting to confirm aloud, Sitirus nodded but asked, "Are you familiar with them?" He figured Astirian must have given his father's notoriety and their family's history in Anvil. He also knew his family tree branched out to Bruma and Cheydinhal and some cities and towns in both of those counties, though Sitirus could not remember those relatives from the few times they had met.
"I know of a Kratian from Cheydinhal who often visits the temple," Astirian replied while taking another sip of his vegetable soup. "His name eludes though, but he's a pompous ass I don't care for. The braggart's always seeking donations for whatever causes he represents in the interests of House Hlaalu. On one occasion, I happened to overhear him mention a Sitirus Kratian of Anvil having a peculiar defect he would not elaborate on and who he didn't like. He must've meant you."
"Mm…" Sitirus' reaction quietly confirmed he was who Astirian just described hearing of. "It is true," he said, keeping his voice low so the sailors and Varulin would not hear but only loud enough for Astirian to. "I cannot cast spells since I have no Magicka; I was sadly born without it."
"That why you became a warrior?" Astirian asked.
Sitirus nodded in agreement. "You are correct," he agreed, taking a bite out of a strawberry. "And you are of Colovian stock, am I right?" he then guessed based on Astirian's physical features.
"You've the right of it," the Moth Priest confirmed. "Born and bred in Skingrad."
"So, why did you become a Moth Priest?" Sitirus asked.
Astirian tilted his head. "Tradition, mostly. I come from a widely religious household with ties to the School of Julianos and their Knights Mentor. House Mercotis is also affiliated with some of the other temples, brotherhoods, conclaves, and orders in Cyrodiil, but mostly the School. Never once had someone join the Cult of the Ancestor Moth because they're too far northeast in the Jerall Mountains, so I had the honor of being our first. Have been ever since. Even worked in the library."
"When exactly, and for how long?" Sitirus pressed politely.
"Since during the First Great War," said Astirian. "Remember I said I'd never been here?"
"That was a lie," Sitirus deduced from the response. "I thought it was but was uncertain."
"Smart lad," Astirian complimented him before reminiscing. "Anvil was such a lovely city-state before Arannelya. Sad that those canticle trees and many Ancestor Moths got torched by her."
"Things have not gone well for the town since then," Sitirus added. "It is sad how far Anvil has plummeted in the years that followed. What makes it melancholier, for me, is that it will never fully recover. I was born twenty years ago, Astirian, so I never saw or experienced Anvil as it was prior. Just six years after the Redguards routed the Dominion from Hammerfell in full, then signed the Second Treaty of Stros M'Kai with them. All I have known was the reformed town in its place, lacking the things that made Anvil what it was. I have met and spoken with people, like my mother, who lost the meaning those things carried. And I witnessed a resurgence in crimes all over Anvil." He held a hand up with his fingers spread out so he could tick off the list, beginning with, "Piracy; smuggling; theft; murder; black markets; and the like," then rested his arm on the table as he took a blackberry from the bowl while giving the Moth Priest an inquiring look. "You sound reminiscent of Anvil before Lady Arannelya since you remember the canticle trees and Ancestor Moths. Were you assigned to the city-state by the cult to work with the trees or had you ever visited?" he asked.
"And everything else," Astirian answered reminiscently. "Chapelgate was Anvil's greatest strength, other than its army, of course. As the House of Dibella's capital throughout the city-state and the whole county, it ushered in golden age after golden age of her worship. The Lady of Love herself practically walked its streets in person and tended to the lily gardens with a mastery unlike any other. Not even the Cult of the Ancestor Moth's own glory in the district could compare itself to her splendor because although the canticle trees were blessed by her care too, such maintenance was done by our hands." He held his hands up, emphasizing, "Mortal hands, Sitirus," then lowered them to take a blackberry for himself while his host finished the apple cabbage stew. "Hands which may grasp the Queen of Heaven's gifts but cannot even hope to touch her." He sighed, recollecting the warmth in such delicate bittersweetness that only a Divine could offer. "Partly because Divines, gods and goddesses so to speak, are, as seculars believe, metaphysical and woven from fabrications produced by faith. It is difficult to measure a Divine's influence and power when there're only few instances of their involvement in the mortal plane. I can think of at least a few that took place over on Vvardenfell in 3E 427, same year as the Nerevarine, if what the Imperial Cult claims is true. In spite of that, those encounters pale in comparison to the number of times the Daedra, including the Daedric Princes, interfered in mortal affairs. And can be disproven or debatable without evidence.
"Mortals are unworthy creatures, Sitirus," he went on. "We're prone to questioning divine intervention, doubting the Divines' existence, and blaspheming them with heresy and criminality." Astirian took a strawberry and popped it into his mouth as he broke eye contact to glance towards the nearest porthole. "Piracy oozed across County Anvil for centuries, stretching from the Abecean Sea to the Brena and Strid Rivers. Thievery was ignored or abetted by corruption among the guard and in the royal court. Black markets opened just as fast as they were shut down, always migrating from one part of the capital to the next with ease. The façade of holiness and imperial rule was just as thin as it was thick. The Count and his royal court were stuck in a political quagmire, promising things one day but failing to keep them the next while trying to hold onto the power they wielded."
Sitirus inclined his head. "That does sound like the Anvil described to me," he reflected on accounts heard since his youth. From what he recalled, it seemed Anvil's citizens had long deluded themselves into thinking it had still been a glorious city-state up to the First Great War. Or resigned themselves to the fact that majesty ended but could not bring themselves to say otherwise, whether they believed it or not. Reality was allowed to ease its way in over time. Still, he added, "But surely it could not have been all bad," trying to reason with Astirian whilst acknowledging that they both came from different times in Anvil's history. Because as much as he agreed with Astirian, he could not help but come to its defense. "Despite the piracy and thievery, Anvil was one of Cyrodiil's big maritime markets besides the Imperial City; and even Bravil and Leyawiin before their steep fall."
Astirian snorted with mocking laughter. "Boy, if you even knew the histories of Bravil and Leyawiin, you wouldn't be including them. Those towns were so worse that trade avoided them."
"Given their current state, I suppose I could stand corrected," Sitirus admitted. "Neither of those places could withstand Lord Naarifin's might for long. But Anvil had the capacity to survive Lady Arannelya's from over the Strid River and the Abecean Sea for much longer. It was a fortified bastion even though its walls eventually collapsed. It stood strong for as long as it could so it could give the people hope for survival and escape. Had Anvil fallen much sooner, Lady Arannelya may have gambled her army on Counties Kvatch and Skingrad to join Lord Naarifin in conquering the Imperial City. The Empire would have been utterly demolished in full if she were to succeed. The chances of there being a Battle of the Red Ring would have been much slimmer or, worse, nothing without the kind of resistance Emperor Titus Mede II generated from Skyrim. The battle, if fought, would have had a much different outcome. It would have been a more pyrrhic victory if the Empire won or further confirmation of the Dominion's strength if the Thalmor crushed them once and for all. It may not be the best point in Anvil's favor, though one could say the length of her siege kept her army at bay." Sitirus could have said it kept her on track for Hammerfell but kept it to himself, knowing the remark would have offended Redguards were they to hear him speak of their province like it was meant to be invaded by Lady Arannelya on purpose. Though an objective fact, he could not deny it was interwoven with a subjective bias for the Empire because it survived in part due to her invasion of Hammerfell. Even as the two reconciled, there were Redguards who bore a grudge against the Empire for signing the White-Gold Concordat to finish the First Great War in Cyrodiil and give much of southern Hammerfell to the Dominion, a betrayal they answered with secession.
Astirian scratched his chin. "Perhaps," he conceded, albeit to a degree from how it sounded to Sitirus. "Anvil had one of the strongest and most durable populations in Cyrodiil back then, and there were more good people than there are today. Most of them would have given their all for the county if they could save it because despite its vast criminal underworld, its surface was one of the Gold Coast's most beautiful places in the whole province. They were willing to sacrifice so much for it and for good reason. Anvil had personality, character. Its festivals were absolutely stunning, mesmerizing even. Coin flowed from its shops, banks, and guilds; the Imperial Trading Company and the East Empire Company both snagged some of their most lucrative trade agreements in Anvil and controlled maritime trade throughout this side of the Abecean Sea. New recruits in the Fighters Guild flocked to the capital's guildhall for about as much work as they could do in County Chorrol. It paid to take contracts here more often than there since clients gave better rewards and they earned more pay from the guildhall's coffers. Fame itself was practically built in Anvil just as much as in the Imperial City itself." Astirian paused to pop another blackberry into his mouth before finishing with, "But that was a long time ago. Nowadays, there's so little left and nobody to fight for Anvil."
"It was," Sitirus agreed, "and it still is, even if to a lesser extent. I lived in Anvil for sixteen years before my apprenticeship in Sutch, Astirian. Although its quality of life declined further after my departure, it was still the same town I grew up in and experienced in person. I could feel there was still some good left in it even if it was diminishing rapidly." He leaned forward, taking one of the strawberries. "But honestly, I wonder if Anvil's going to be the same if I were to turn back or return at some point. People have been leaving it for the war or better lives elsewhere. Or to escape from obligations, the law, bounties, and with their lives." He sighed. "I suppose I am no different."
"You are no different, Sitirus," the Moth Priest emphasized somewhat glibly. "Just because you're getting out of Anvil doesn't mean you're not like everyone else who is too. Including me."
Sitirus tilted his head and blinked in mild surprise. "Were you there when Lady Arannelya invaded?" he probed despite getting the impression his guest was and thinking it was that obvious.
"Not at the time," Astirian answered oppositely. "I was actually in the Imperial Library."
Sitirus' eyes widened with interest. "Were you there when the Elder Scrolls disappeared?" he pressed, wondering if he had an idea of what the cause might have been and why it had occurred.
"Sure was, though never saw it happen myself," said Astirian. "Another priest reported it," he added as one of the sailors brought a bottle of mead over to their table and pointed at Dunsable.
"Cook said to give this to ya," said the man, a Nord, before melting into the crowded room.
"My thanks!" Astirian called out to him and the ship's Breton cook before resuming, "Guy practically had a heart attack when he saw them up and vanish before his very eyes. We panicked, bewildered as we hurried to the library and found, to our horror, that the Elder Scrolls were gone."
"Why do you think it happened?" Sitirus pressed.
Astirian shrugged, uncorking the bottle and taking a sip of mead to quench his thirst which reminded Sitirus that he had yet to drink his own cider. "Who knows?" he asked rhetorically while his host took a sip of the cider. "Perhaps the Divines thought it best to keep them safe or send them to the far corners of Tamriel or beyond. Maybe they believed we've become too unworthy to have the Elder Scrolls. Could be that the Elder Scrolls themselves had similar intentions. Some say that we Moth Priests ferried them out of the Imperial City before Naarifin's invasion, though I can tell you that isn't remotely true. Emperor Titus Mede II, his generals and his private council, and Elder Councilors all saw that the Elder Scrolls were still there even by the time that High Elf showed up with his army. And they were still there once the Imperial City was retaken but disappeared shortly after my order made sure the library wasn't raided. We placed wards upon its doors, and those who couldn't get out of the city-state in time laid low to keep an eye on things and sneak in whenever we could to confirm those wards held. Naarifin and his mages never made it in as far as we know, though we couldn't tell for certain. The Battle of the Red Ring only just ended, so we just assumed they didn't and accused them when the Elder Scrolls did vanish. We're at a total loss as to how the bastards did it with us unaware but while we were in hiding right under their noses in plain sight."
Sitirus took another sip of cider. "You make it sound as if Lord Naarifin and his army were unobservant," he commented, believing the Thalmor had just been preoccupied with their conquest of the Imperial City. "I heard his victory was due in large part to being a step ahead of the Empire. That, to me, does not sound like they were unaware of your presence. Rather, they saw your order and, in their arrogance, believed you were not worth pursuing so long as they had the Elder Scrolls under lock and key. Security given by the cult as you said. All they did was usurp custodianship."
"In a manner of speaking, yes," the Moth Priest had to agree. "But do you know why he'd been a step ahead?" Seeing his host take an interest, Astirian leaned forward while looking around shiftily as if a Thalmor agent or contracted spy was eavesdropping. He cupped a hand to his mouth and whispered in a hush tone, "According to rumor, he so happened to have the Orb of Vaermina."
Sitirus blinked as his eyes widened somewhat in surprise. "The Daedric Prince?" he asked.
Astirian nodded. "It's how he supposedly kept track of Titus Mede II's army. I don't know much about the Orb of Vaermina myself, but overheard it was a secret to his success in Cyrodiil."
Sitirus nodded in understanding. He remembered learning that Daedra worship had surged in Alinor around the time of the Oblivion Crisis. Since the Thalmor were believed to be followers of the Daedra, it was not surprising that they would use Daedric Artifacts to get an edge over their foes. "Lord Naarifin worshipped Vaermina?" he asked, thinking the Thalmor general served none other than the Dark Lady who was also called the Dreamweaver, or otherwise Weaver of Dreams, and the Weaver of the Panoply. That would have explained how he acquired the Orb of Vaermina.
"Not her, no," Astirian promptly dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand. "Boethiah."
"Boethiah?" the young man parroted as a question, now confused by his guest's correction.
"Apparently, he was conducting a ritual to sacrifice the Imperial City's population to her," the Moth Priest briefly explained. "For what purpose, I don't know. Nobody does." Before Sitirus could open his mouth to inquire, he added, "Although, come to think of it, I'd posit that's gotta be how Naarifin and his mages would have stolen the Elder Scrolls. Or was a large part of their plot." He took a swig of his mead, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after. "Wouldn't surprise me if Boethiah spirited the Elder Scrolls to her realms in Oblivion. What Daedric Prince wouldn't? Problem is, we can't exactly get into her realms to investigate. There aren't any known portals that we could find unless we happen to stumble upon them by accident. We'd be breaking the Empire's laws prohibiting Daedra worship, summoning, and accessing Oblivion by opening some ourselves. Everyone knows the Empire's been against Oblivion and the Daedra ever since the Oblivion Crisis, so they won't permit it like they used to when the Battlespire was active until its destruction during the Imperial Simulacrum." Astirian took another sip of mead and then another blackberry, popping it into his mouth before scratching his chin. "I suppose we could train one of ours to participate in the Tournament of Ten Bloods, though currying favor with Boethiah is ill advised in the Empire."
"The Tournament of Ten Bloods?" Sitirus asked.
"A competition held in one specific realm where Boethiah takes champions from the races that each represent Tamriel's provinces and Orsinium and pits them against each other," the Moth Priest elaborated and made a circle in the air with his finger while adding, "Like spokes on a wheel, as if Boethiah created that particular realm as a mockery or pastiche of the Aurbis." Then lowered it, explaining, "It's how she determines which one's the strongest. Until the next tournament's held whenever she so desires or whatever. Last one I know of was during the Crisis when a swordsman claimed to have found a shrine to her in the Valus Mountains and walked away with Goldbrand."
Sitirus' eyes widened as he gasped, "The very Daedric Artifact Titus Mede II wielded?"
"Legate Justianus Quintius wrote that it was unconfirmed by the Empire," Astirian righted again by alluding to that soldier's Concise Account of the Great War Between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion. His eyes seemed to glint knowingly as he smirked while saying, "But I've got it on good authority he did. We Moth Priests who work in the Imperial Library are privy to certain kinds of information and sometimes overhear secrets our ears aren't supposed to hear. How he got his hands on Goldbrand though, remains a mystery. Not even I know the solution to such riddles."
Sitirus raised an eyebrow, suspecting Astirian knew more than he was letting on. He knew it was a half-truth but said, "Classified, I am sure," while sipping his cider, letting the matter rest.
"Like all imperial intelligence," his guest commented dryly. "Not that it really matters too much anymore. The Dominion's losing and will soon be destroyed, and the Empire will eventually follow in its wake. The Emperor and Elder Council will ponder when after the war has concluded."
"Are you not worried about the repercussions of sharing intelligence with someone who is not authorized to hear it?" Sitirus asked, alluding to himself, then added, "And in a public place?" while gesturing at the room with his eyes, scanning it to see who could have been spying on them even though there was no way he would have been able to identify a covert agent from the sailors.
"Who cares?" Astirian chuckled frivolously. "It's not like they'd do something to just some random Moth Priest who's gone senile and is on a fool's errand. My cult's credibility died with its use, so anything I say can easily be dismissed as the ravings of an old man. Most they'd call for is my retirement at this point. And you know what, Sitirus?" He leaned forward with a devious smirk, resting his arm on the table. "I quite frankly don't give a damn what the Empire thinks of us now. We've so detested by the masses and upper echelons alike that we don't have to trouble ourselves with public opinion anymore, and it helps us keep a lower profile as necessary. They can sick their mobs and guards—by Azura, even the Penitus Oculatus—with torches and pitchforks all they want for all I care. It wouldn't make a damn difference one way or the other because we're that irrelevant to Tamriel. Doesn't even matter whose call ending the Cult of the Ancestor Moth is anymore; that decision's been up for grabs since the First Great War ended in Cyrodiil, available to anyone who'll take it. I suppose, if given the preference, some of my brothers and sisters would do it themselves to have at least that much of a say in the matter. I personally could care less, one less thing to worry over; it'll take a huge load off having to come up with something, and I've come to terms with it."
"So, why are you still looking for Elder Scrolls if your order is no longer needed?" Though he meant no offence, Sitirus knew how he phrased the question would have irritated a Moth Priest desperate enough to regain their cult's prominence. It was also obvious because anyone could have gotten their hands on some Elder Scrolls for themselves if they had not already. Keeping the scrolls out of the wrong hands was so clear that it voided his question. However, Sitirus thought there was more left unsaid and wanted to understand the cult's plight from one of their brother's perspective.
"Why indeed?" Astirian responded by repeating the question's purpose. "By my own logic, I shouldn't even be going out looking when there's no telling I'd succeed." As he spoke, he brought the bottle closer to look through the opening at what remained of his mead. It looked to Sitirus like his guest was trying to scry at something in the beverage that only he could perceive and interpret. "I doubt it'd lead anywhere. For all I know, there might not be Elder Scrolls to find. The few leads we've tracked so far besides the several that we have confirmed were too unreliable for us to go after. All too often people mistake plain old scrolls and spell scrolls for Elder Scrolls because they don't know what one looks like. They've never seen one in their lifetimes." He looked up at Sitirus to add, "Many in my order, myself included, are already prepared for the worst that's yet to come: That the scrolls are simply no more. You might say we've only just begun to open our eyes to see the truth of reality for what it is after having been blind for centuries by the power we believed we understood and, in all likelihood, weren't supposed to have, and a fame we likely didn't deserve."
"But the fact several still exist means they are not gone, right?" Sitirus asked.
"I don't think we'll get our hands on those," said Astirian after taking another sip of mead. "Rivercrest's was first wielded by the Ayleid Sorcerer King, Valentis, against his brother, another Ayleid Sorcerer King named Celemaril Light-Bringer, as part of a rebellion against his rule. It was placed within the Elder Statue he created to seal Celemaril so he could never return. I think Valentis knew of how Umaril would return and wanted to prevent his brother from doing the same. Though those mercenaries the Bloodfall Queen hired to collect taxes from Rivercrest's citizens in the year 4E 180 unknowingly released him by damaging the Elder Statue, giving Celemaril the opportunity he needed to escape. His undead army would have ravaged the town and threatened to bring about the return of Ayleid rule under his reign, like when Umbacano and Umaril attempted to in 3E 433. That is, until the town's warrior, one of the last remaining Blades, resealed the lich after defeating him in single combat by restoring the Elder Scroll to its proper place. The danger of removing the scroll far outweighs the cult's desire to acquire it for the Imperial Library. We can, however, assist with the new statue's maintenance. It's why we've established a priory in Rivercrest after to ensure it's never destroyed again and to keep Celemaril in his tomb for good. Easier said than done when the Thalmor were in Rivercrest examining it so they could take the scroll and unleash him again."
"Good thing the war is stopping them," Sitirus commented at that, finishing his meal.
"I still wouldn't put it past them," said Astirian. "They've still got spies in the province but it's uncertain just what effect their subterfuge is having now that the Dominion's finally under fire. No telling what they'll do to try and get the Empire out of the Alliance, by its exit or with its fall."
"You do not think they will succeed, right?" Sitirus asked, worried for the Empire's sake.
The Moth Priest laughed. "You really believe the Thalmor are that competent, Sitirus?" he responded with a question. "Please, I'd sooner fear Ulfric Stormcloak and his Stormcloaks turning their weapons against us, their erstwhile allies in this war." His good humor quickly died out then as he became serious again. "Although, speaking of, he's still got those three Elder Scrolls the Last Dragonborn found in Skyrim." He held up a hand to tick off each one. "The one the ancient Nords used to send Alduin forward in time to 4E 201; and the two held by Clan Volkihar in that bid Lord Harkon made to fulfill the Tyranny of the Sun prophecy." He lowered his hand and rested it on the table. "As much as I'd like to believe the Stormcloaks incapable of using the Elder Scrolls, I fear they'll find a way sooner or later and that their success, as unlikely but possible, would be beyond devastating. Not just for the Empire but all of Tamriel; the whole continent is in grave danger and will fall to Stormcloak barbarism and heresy if nothing is done to stop them from seizing power."
"Mm," Sitirus murmured his agreement. "I said the same thing to Captain Horlka before."
"I'm assuming she didn't give a damn?" his guest asked rhetorically, to which Sitirus gave a confirmative nod. "Doesn't surprise me, nor is even too shocking considering the lack of faith in the Elder Scrolls." Astirian exhaled a breath that could have been interpreted as a sigh. "My order's to blame for that, in all honesty. Had we known the Thalmor would've attacked, we would've told Emperor Titus Mede II and the Elder Council straight away. In an ideal world, they wouldn't have even seized power as quickly as they did or any at all if the Empire hadn't taken too much damage from the Mythic Dawn and Mehrunes Dagon's attempt to destroy Tamriel. We should've done so much more when we were supposed to instead of simply waiting for things to happen as they did."
Sitirus frowned, pitying the Moth Priest and his order for their failure. "I do not believe the situation was entirely your fault," he tried to cheer Astirian up. "The Elder Scrolls might not have prophesized the Thalmor's advent. Or maybe they, if sentient, felt we were not worthy of knowing or should have found out a solution for ourselves. It is a shame it has taken us this long to find it."
Astirian smirked as he chuckled wryly. "Funny how everything always comes down to two opposing forces blaming one another for the shortcomings of the other," he remarked on the irony of that perspective. "Like the Thalmor and the Empire in this Fourth Era. Or the Old Ehlnofey and the Wandering Ehlnofey from eras ago. Even as far back as Anu and Padomay of creation myths."
"Humans versus Mer," Sitirus summated.
"Exactly," said Astirian as he pointed at the young man. "Been that way since time began." He finished his mead, adding, "Some things just never change, Sitirus. That's how the world works since it doesn't know what else to do. You can change the world but the world can't change itself."
Sitirus looked into his bowl of stew. "But will the person be able to make that difference?" he asked somberly, pondering his own place in the world. Talking to Astirian had given him some new insight into the current state of affairs and how they impacted the future. But it afforded little comfort, making him better comprehend his inconsequentiality while serving as another reminder of how insignificant he must have been in the grand scheme of things. "Could they even hope to?"
Astirian instantly understood what the young man was getting at. "I'm afraid I can't answer that for you," he said knowingly. "Only you can determine what you must do to change the world."
Dipping his spoon into what remained of the stew, Sitirus observed as his reflection in the liquid stared back. Astirian's response rung true, striking close to home. It made him question what he was worth and how he of all people could make an impact. He already believed he should have been plain and dull to avoid causing trouble for his parents, that he was not meant for greatness as it was not his to find and because he was unworthy of pursuing it by casting off his reputation. He never had the chance to build it and what defined him was forced towards infamy against his will. Sitirus never had the chance to turn it into fame because of his father's views and slander. Though by speaking with Astirian, he suddenly realized a seed was planted nonetheless and that, provided he cultivated it properly, his willpower could grow into something greater than the noble son now sailing off into exile. Or he could allow that to wither and accept with resignation his simple place in the world. Although time would tell, it did not have the power to make that decision for him and was dependent on circumstance. The choice was not entirely his to make, so right then he believed it was better to just accept the fact he might never experience such a transformation. Unless destiny thrust him into an active role, Sitirus felt content knowing he at least had the power to be himself.
