One of the things I like best in Skyrim is how bandits no longer came at you wearing daedric armour at high levels like they did in Oblivion. It really made no sense how poor bandits could actually afford to use daedric, ebony and glass armour.
I wrote the first part to show that there will still be a few dragons that refuse to follow the peaceful way of the Voice and mostly because I don't like Count Mott too much.
An extravagant carriage rode down the paved road. A troop of footmen rode along with it, four out front with another twelve ridding as rear guard; more than enough to deter any bandit. Two servants sat on the carriage as they drove it.
The valley they were currently traversing was empty of life. Thick forest covered both sides of the road and a distant hill could be spotted.
The most defining feature was the whiteness of the horizon to the east. There had been rumours of a strange new snowy land with fierce people. And the people that lived closest to where the snow fell whispered about how they heard and saw dragons.
Count Mott lounged within his carriage. His journey to the Academy of Tristain had been eventful so far and he saw no reason for why that would change. The Count was slumped lazily on the soft cushions within his carriage, his want within hands reach.
His reasons for this trip was twofold: her royal highness was apparently engaging in high level diplomatic talks with lord of the huge frozen tundra that now scarred Tristain's landscape. It would be advantageous for him to be there and perhaps… influence such talks in a manner which would benefit him.
As the royal messenger to the Academy of Tristain he had some power within the region around the Academy. He was sure the Princess couldn't just discount his wise advice.
The second was because the Academy always had the prettiest servants. He was certain that any of the low born maids would feel honoured to serve him; even if it was in the bed. And even if they weren't… well he always did like it when they played rough.
A loud but distant roar echoed across the small valley he and his entourage was crossing. Birds flew from their branches in fright and the forest that was a moment ago full of the noise of nature turned silent.
Opening his window, he leaned out to spot the source of the noise. "What was tha…" he did not finish his sentence as a massive dragon dropped in front of his entourage. Its golden-copper scales glittered in the sun as it reared up on its two legs.
"My Lord! Dragon!" he heard the servant driving his carriage shout in alarm. The man tried to turn the horses around when the Dragon attacked. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" a breath of brilliant red and orange flames blasted his carriage, consuming his vanguard of men.
Scrambling to draw his wand, he created a shield of water as the flames overtook his carriage. While it kept him from burning to death; it was not enough to protect him completely from harm as he was forced out his burning wreck of a carriage.
He could hear the twang of arrows as his men retaliated. Said arrows seemed to have little effect on the beast, serving to only amuse the creature. I jumped into the air and flew some distance away.
Thinking they drove it off the Count's men lowered their guard. They were not prepared for when it dived back down and unleashed a torrent of flames as it flew over them. His men scrambled for cover and those too slow were melted to the bone in a dance of flames.
"By the Founder! What is this thing?" he heard someone scream as he scrambled away from what was left of his carriage. A pair of armoured hands pulled him back to his feet; as one of his surviving footmen helped him up.
Just as he was going to stand up, his footman was consumed in another breath of fire that singed his clothes. More screams followed as his followers burned and died. Fumbling around; he noticed that his wand was now missing.
Cursing he contemplated searching for it but as the dragon neared him; he decided to abandon it in favour of surviving the day. He started running towards the forest; seeking shelter within the trees, cursing how large the road was all the way.
Mott panicked as he tried to flee. In his rush, he panicked and tripped on one of the immolated corpse that was once his footmen. He didn't need to look at his foot to know he landed on it wrong; the pain was enough of an indicator.
Ahead of him, he saw one of his servants fleeing. "I command you to get back here and help me!" he yelled in desperation to the man. The coward stopped in his tracks for a moment and hesitated. "Do so now! Or I'll see your whole family punished for this!" he threatened.
That was enough to persuade the man as he turned back to pick up his liege lord. Slinging the Count over his shoulder, they trudged away from the site of devastation. "By the Founder! Hurry; it won't take long for-"
Whatever Mott was going to say was cut off by a large draconic shadow overhead. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" already Mott could feel the flames hurtling towards him.
With no other option, he let himself fall to the ground; ensuring his servant was on top of him. The man screamed as he took the full brunt of the flames. Once the shadow had passed Mott shrugged off the dying man.
"M…my Lord… help me." pleaded his servants; his face a mess of recently burnt skin. His hand grabbed the good leg of the Count as he begged for the noble to save him.
Mott sneered and shook the hand off him. "Let go of me you plebeian!" turning his back to the man, he hopped away; leaving the man to die. A agonized scream echoed across the valley behind him. The Count didn't need to turn his head to know the man was now dead.
He had to get away from the monstrosity… he had to- It was at this moment that large claws closed around his body. As the sharp talons sunk into his flesh, Mott screamed in agony as the dragon flew back up into the sky.
"Let go of me you dumb beast!" he screamed. His pain made him louder and he screamed out.
The Dragon craned its neck to look at its prey. Count Mott stared into its eyes. Even in his injured state he could see the intelligence in its eyes and could swear he saw what might have been a glint of amusement within the dark green orb.
"As you wish human." it rumbled out. The claws trapping him released him allowing him to free fall in the sky. "Have a nice fall." The dragon mocked.
Mott had no time to ponder how a dragon could speak. Hundreds of feet above the ground; he could only scream as he plummeted to the hard and solid earth awaiting him.
Felgoraagkriid continued its flight after he dropped the pathetic man. As one of the few remaining 'true' dragons left; it was difficult to find time to fly without being found by his former brethren.
Those that had accepted the traitor Paarthurnax's words and those that now served the Dragonborn. Both were his enemies and their reckoning would eventually come to them, preferably at his hands.
Yet he was neither stupid nor arrogant. He was well aware of that with him alone; he would stand no chance against Paarthurnax much less the slayer of Alduin. So he gathered his strength and sought out other dovah that would share his hatred for what his race had become.
He hadn't been very successful as of yet but was certain that his time would come.
The shifting of different planes had come to an unpleasant surprise to him. Felgoraagkriid suspected that it was the work of one of the twelve Daedric Princes of Oblivion; the most obvious being Sheogorath, the Mad God, or Sanguine, the Prince of Debuachery.
Both likely had the power to perform something of this level and would probably do this for fun or to just screw the entirety of Winterhold over. Both were well known for the trouble they would place onto mortals for amusements though, unlike most other Daedric Princes, they weren't exactly evil… just mad and annoying.
No matter; it was better for him like this anyway. With the rest of the traitor dragons now busy discussing this on top of Mount Anthor; he was left free to do as he liked. And this new land didn't seem to have all those annoying Nords that liked to use actual arrows against him.
A roar of challenge erupted from behind him. Craning his head to look back; he spotted another dovah tailing him; only a few hundred feet from where he was in the sky.
It appears that not all of the traitors were at Anthor after all. Turning himself in the air he faced his challenger; his wings flapping hard to turn his large body. He roared back to show he accepted the other dragon's challenge.
Getting a good look of the dovah; he saw it was only a blood dragon and therefore not much of a threat to a dovah like him. His jaw twisted into a cruel smile. This would be over quickly.
The talks were nearly complete and the Jarl and his party would return to Winterhold soon. However there was an issue that Henrietta still had: its name was the College of Winterhold.
Magic was the gift that the Founder Brimir had bestowed upon nobles to lead the common masses. With it; it wasn't hard to distinguish who was to lead and who was to follow.
And while Henrietta was loathe to admit it; she was aware that there were more than a few nobles that took their power for granted and made it habit to abuse their power over the commoners.
And even if being nobility doesn't make you above the law; it does allow for lighter sentences and the more powerful ones could get out through the help from their 'connections'.
It wasn't the most fair of situations but it was the one they lived in; where the stronger ruled over the weaker.
Though she wished to remove such stains on nobility from Tristain; she was also aware that such an undertaking was not possible without rebellion. Nobles would see it as stripping their ancient rights and would defect from the crown.
If such a rebellion occurred then she would be left with only a few loyal families as support; nowhere near enough to oppose the opposition.
But while Nobles were unlikely to lose their power; with the College of Winterhold it was possible for commoners to gain more power to balance it out.
So while many nobles would balk at what she was going to do; she would do so anyway for a prosperous future for Tristain.
Corruption was a constant issue within the administration of Tristain. As nobles could use magic to intimidate and enforce silence among the commoners; it was often impossible to sentence nobles for corruption due to a lack of evidence and witnesses.
However if commoners were more capable of standing against them; then nobles in turn would be less likely to swindle funds from the taxes they collected if they couldn't force their silence.
Of course she had to take this slow. It was likely that there wasn't too many Tristainians that would give up their trade to join the College, especially with the fees they charge for learning.
That and if too many commoners learned magic too fast; the Tristain may fall afoul the same revolution that Albion was suffering. Similarly nobles would crack down on her if they noticed a huge influx of common mages that now stood against them.
It had to be slowly done so that people had time to change. With enough time she hoped that nobles and commoners would be able to work together more closely for the benefit of Tristain.
Too often a better man could not rise up because someone else, with a more influential family background, would be given the position. Preferably she hoped to find a way in which to lift up those with the talent but not the means to rise up.
And so this was what she was discussing with the Elf that headed the College of Winterhold. Restrictions would have to put in place to limit the amount of Tristainian commoners learning magic to a manageable level. New laws would have to be set up for these mages.
As this was a private discussion, and to the best of her knowledge did not involve Winterhold as a whole; she had invited only the Archmage to the conversation. Outside Captain Wardes stood guard to ensure there was no one who could eavesdrop.
"You called for me your highness." The elf said as he took a seat opposite her.
"Yes I would like to discuss your College." she replied. Motabe stiffened and narrowed his eyes at her.
"And what about my College worries you?" he asked cautiously. He was worried about any further restrictions that she might place upon Winterhold and rightly so; as while the Princess seemed earnest, she was also quite pragmatic when she needed to be.
"It is about entry into your College for Tristainians." she answered; her face passive as she began to outline what she meant. "There is no need for grave concern as I don't want to limit the College in anyway. In fact I believe what your College can share with Tristain would greatly benefit us."
The Archmage relaxed slightly but remained careful in how he talked. "And what restrictions would you have me put in place then?" he asked; getting straight to the point.
Henrietta wasn't surprised that Motabe had guessed her intentions. He had so far proven himself a cunning and intelligent person. "Just to limit the number of Tristainian students and that they have to receive permission from the crown first." she answered.
"I will not show favouritism towards your nobility simply because they were born to a higher station. If they fail then I will kick them out like any others." declared the Archmage; misinterpreting what she intended.
"My apologies for leading you on incorrectly Archmage; but that was not my intent." she reassured, her hands waving to emphasize her point.
"Then why would we require your permission to admit Tristainian students. So far everything I've seen here suggests that your kingdom favours nobles far more than even Cyrodiil." he said loudly.
"It's merely for administration purposes and if commoners are to learn magic then there needs to be laws in place so they won't abuse their magic." she pressed.
"And what of your nobles? are there laws in place so they won't abuse their magic?" the Archmage demanded.
Henrietta's silence at the question was all the answer he needed. Scowling; he took deep breaths and calmed himself. "What exactly are these restrictions you want then?" he asked after a moment.
Seeing that he had cooled down Henrietta outlined her restrictions.
Taking down the names and details of Tristainian students was acceptable. The Archmage actually encouraged that as it allows for better management of the College's huge student body.
That a prospective student had to be approved by the Crown of Tristain before they could even apply was a stickler. The Archmage and the Princess argued over this for quite some time.
Eventually it was toned down so that the majority had to commoners. Henrietta didn't mind allowing there to be more common mages learning Winterhold's clever craft; she doubted that there were too many nobles willing to learn such magic anyway.
Both of them agreed that the applicants had to pay for their own fees; though she felt as if the elf was withholding something from her. It was probably nothing; but she had a strange feeling that indicated the Archmage knew something she didn't.
This time they had two written agreements that would serve to bind them to what was agreed. One written in Halkengenian runes and the other in whatever Tamriel used.
Overall it was over quite quickly; allowing them to just make it in time for lunch.
As the Archmage left the room; he chuckled slightly. The Princess was extremely perceptive despite her age but even so that was not enough.
While he had agreed to report all new students to the Tristain crown; he had managed to elude placing Siesta there. It was rather childish of him to use such a petty thing as a form of vengeance for her policy against the Elves; but it felt good nevertheless.
Siesta was already technically accepted as a student of the College of Winterhold; and the agreement he and the princess had only stated that he was to tell them of all new students.
This would probably not matter in the slightest; as it wouldn't take long for the Princess to find out about Siesta. But it allowed him to stroke his damaged racial pride somewhat; so it was rather worth it.
A rather short chapter as I've given up on coming up with more diplomatic scenes. My head is starting to hurt trying to think of more. So I'm going to focus more on Winterhold now and Reconquesta.
By the way; does anyone know why Wardes turned traitor again? He had seemingly good life so I see no reason as to why he deserted to Reconquesta.