Stiff. Aching. Burning. Aderyn felt horrible. Maybe he should have quit when Talasma suggested he do so after finishing the first bottle of wine. But no, he had to try for a second… plus a shot of brandy. He felt excellent last night, his tongue pleasantly coated in the savory liquid now numb and swollen. And the agonizing headache amassing behind his eyes imperiled to explode into a full-blown migraine. He again realized why he usually tried his best to stay away from large amounts of liqueur.
Gingerly, Aderyn sat up. "Where am I?" He noted the velvety blue linens blanketing him, and matching blue drapes veiling the window, small streams of light sneaking in through several minute unrepaired holes. And, except for those small sections of lit floor, the room remained relatively dark. That is until a cheery female voice painfully reverberated through his mind like a small marble ricocheting in his head, mashing his brains into mush.
"Wake up, sleepyhead. You've been out cold for far too long." The familiar voice flung open the curtaining, the assault of sunlight momentarily blinding Aderyn. Reflexively throwing his hands up, Aderyn tried to protect his eyes from the intense beams, his hands contacting a welt on his forehead. Pain streaked outwards from the bump, the pain elevating to twice as terrible.
"Ooh, I wouldn't touch that if I were you." She went over to aid him, her voice sounding more familiar the more he heard it. "You earned that after coming out of the tavern, all drunken and disorderly you were. Slipped and whacked your head pretty good against the light post." She dabbed the raised bruise with a cool, wet cloth.
Aderyn sank back into the bed. Great! He had two headaches to worry about. One on the inside and one of the outside. "Who are you? And, where am I?"
"Silly, it's me, Nardhil. And you're at the Oak and Crosier. But don't worry, I slept at my house." Even greater! A third nuisance to deal with. Aderyn moaned, distraught as to why she, of all people, had to help him out. Maybe this was some sort of sick prank at his expense the gods found humorous. They knew his dislike for her. He moaned again. Though, her touch seemed soft, relaxing even. At least he'd slept alone, the thought of anything else drowning out as her touch softened. She could be so odd sometimes; her moods seemed to change too often for his liking - yet another thing he disliked about her.
Gently she stroked the bruise, the dampened rag a reliever in its raw condition. In combination with the rag Nardhil sent small tendrils of healing magic into his aching cranium. The pain lessened with each caressing wipe, her fingers fondling a stray strand of hair as she worked from temple to temple. Maybe she wasn't so useless. Aderyn slowly slipped back into a restful sleep, and when he once again awoke Nardhil – thankfully – was gone.
--
Back in the Fighters Guild Aderyn scrounged around for a decent piece of armor. His rest at the Oak and Crosier helped, but frustration once again built in his mind. How was it at all possible that the renowned Fighters Guild of Chorrol, the headquarters for the entire operation – who handled majority of the recruiting for the guild – didn't have at least some miniscule scraps of iron armor? Sure, work had been rough, but the guild should at least have a stock of some extra armor! He then found himself wandering the streets, looking for a decent armory.
"Fire and Steel." He read the sign mounted atop a small building – a well-built hovel was more like it. Though, a great heat arose from beneath the door, warming his feet and warding off the cooler element of winter, and reminded him of summertime on the shores of Anvil: the warm sands of Anvil's beaches in between his toes comforting him from the soles of his feet and rose to warm the rest of his body. Despite winter's cold embrace over Chorrol, snow had not yet fallen. And, in spite of this fact, lingering about in the cold air remained and obsolete idea as Aderyn quickly shuffled inside, welcoming the new warmth.
An odd assortment of armors and weapons lay on display – and not even a full suite of any particular kind of armor. Though the weapons exhibited a magnificent flavor, and none of any Cyrodillic fashion had Aderyn ever seen. They were all types of weapons from the lands of Hammerfell, the homeland of the Redguard warriors.
"I'm Rasheda, the best smith in town. Can I help you?" A more red than brown skinned Redguard walked into view, her tousled hair pulled back into a hastily made ponytail. A set of hammer and tongs dangled from her belt, clinking together every time she made a movement. And her work stained apron reeked of smoke and her face was smudged with soot – an average sized kiln blazed in the back evidencing her appearance.
"Actually, maybe you can." Aderyn gazed over the several sets of armor – each categorized in their effectiveness of protection and agility. Finally deciding on a not too bad match of armors, he picked out the only cuirass she offered, iron, a set of Orcish gauntlets, matching Orcish boots, and an odd set of black leather greaves – though armored heavier than leather in the vital areas, two flaps aesthetically attached to a nice black leather belt and trailed down to ankle level. Several pockets and niches allowed for secretly hidden daggers and other paraphernalia. She claimed to have acquired it from a peculiar Bosmer smith in Bravil selling the armor. He filed that bit of information into the back of his mind for the next time he visited Bravil while "earning" his recommendations.
Trying out his new ensemble he asked her how it looked. With a critical eye, she gazed over the handiwork, adjusting a strap here or fixing a loose iron plate there. Once finished, he searched through the assortment of weaponry, two in particular catching his eye.
"Those are two of my best," she said picked up both weapons – one a broadsword, a brown leather spiral bound grip with an iron diamond-shaped pommel. The iron guard curved slightly upward, the entire handle just over ten inches. And the blade itself, a strong steel expertly tempered, boasted a nice twenty-nine inches. The second sword, called an Elhazan Saber, sported a slightly curvaceous blade at thirty-six inches, a tilde shaped guard, and a foot long red-leather bound grip – a two handed weapon crafted for deadly, cleaving swipes.
After purchasing both weapons, his personal choice of weaponry leaning more towards two handed swords, but a shorter blade would help in tighter sections – caves in particular – he also purchased a plain iron bow and some arrows and headed towards the guild.
Modryn greeted him at the door, another of his wicked smiles showing he had some sort of added torment to give Aderyn. Once Aderyn came into speaking range, Modryn revealed his intent.
"I want you to meet your new partner."
"Ankle biting wingless Cliff Racers!" Aderyn's unusual curse caused them to laugh, though he found it not quite so funny. Obviously this was another form of Modryn's torturous ways to get back at him for quitting in the first place. He hit below the belt this time. Why me?
