{ === + === }
Hoookay.
I got shit to do.
Between the new land, new titles, new...I don't know what. I got shit to do.
…
Thus, shit gets done.
…
[Tada]
…
After, oh, one...one and a half years? The Warwolf mansion is finished. Sitting on the Hearthfire Lakeview site, it is a massive, gargantuan fortress of a nordic-style building, a castle in all but name, appearance, prestige, firepower...
...well it's nice, ok.
The bird's eye view floor plan is as thus: it's a huge-ass box, surrounded by two layers of walls. The outer layer of wall is short, tall enough to make flipping over it difficult but not tall enough to be isolationist. The second layer is entirely isolationist, tall and armored. The mansion is built pretty much on the coastline, with a channel dug into the western side to make room for the large boathouse and arsenal. The second wall serves to separate this part of the base from the rest, which is more home-ly.
Otherwise, the house connects to a more civilian dock area on the north side, complete with outdoor tables, chairs, a garden, wading pool, etc. This side also serves as an entrance to the house.
The house, then, has three public entrances: south, east, north. The south one is pretty much the one in the game, if a little more reinforced. The east is functionally the 'official' entrance, complete with a front garden, paths, lined trees, the works. The north is a utility entrance, the one that connects to the dock on the north.
The outside civilian area is built with the intention of sharing it with the nearby populace, of which there is one, but more on that later.
The insides of the house is basically divided into two sections: the civilian section on the east, the military side on the west. In total, it's five stories tall, with the entrance hall taking up a solid three stories. In general, the floor layout of the civilian section is built around the entrance hall, with balconies and walkways all overlooking the entrance hall. Rooms are attached to those walkways and the entrance hall and are purposed in various ways. Furniture is furniture, so we can move things around as needed.
In general, as far as the civilian part is concerned, the first floor is for entertaining guests, second is meeting rooms of permanence (i.e. map room), and third and above is quarters.
So, obviously, the way it's built is so that if shit goes to pot we can get complete firing lines on the entrance and killzone the fuck out of the house. Otherwise though, it just looks real badass.
The military side is for us to stay. It has similar amenities to the civvy side, if a little less gaudy. Most of it is just quarters and arsenals, since the civvy side is still, y'know, our house.
The house itself is armored with 10mm of steel, has a near-automatic fire extinguishing system, house-wide water services, magic/electric HVAC system, inside pumps, so on, so forth. All the things that would be needed for a house to survive getting Dragoned.
The attachment boathouse has its own structure, and serves as my forge.
Overall, armor side, it just looks like a huge Nord longhouse mixed with a Colovian Highland-syle (read: italian-ish) build. A little strange, but otherwise lore-appropriate, look.
It's great, not gonna lie.
Neighbors?
Ah, yeah, neighbors.
It takes time, resources, and effort to put a house together. That effort is largely built on the backs of workers, and those workers also help collect resources in the shortest time possible. That, of course, means that the workers mostly lived nearby the mansion, which naturally results in a town being built and inertia-ed into existence alongside the mansion. The village of Lakeshore, therefore, has a population of roughly 150 that live and work here even after the mansion has finished building.
…
[The Village]
…
Planning-wise, the mansion is the western edge of town...ish. The town itself sprung up from the longhouse-to-meeting hall that's immediately outside the mansion's eastern wall, and includes, among other things, a sophisticated dock infrastructure, automated well, paved roads...building code, firefighter training...things that we kind of need in case dragons show up.
I mean, not all of it is done done, but, y'know, in the works. We get a steady trickle of migrants coming in, mostly young'uns who are not interested in going to war and are coming to live here on the hopes that I would not draft them to battle. Not that they have a chance in case a draft happens, but eh.
The village has roads to lumbering camps to the east and west, as well as the mines to the south. We have a little bit of migrant labor on account of the new mines and furnaces, but it's pretty inconsequential at the moment.
...
[Upgrades]
…
So, one of the systems that seemed to have changed with our skill tree is that we gained the 'Limit Breaker' finishing effect, and lost all of our other finishing effects.
In exchange, each one of our numerical Finishing effects (level 500, 1000, 2000) now gives us a Finishing effect...slot, by the looks of it? Jake has been experimenting more than me and, to sum up: we can slot in a new effect whenever, we just have to focus. In exchange for the finishing effects being less interesting, each slot allows us to double the effect of a Perk, so a level 100 perk behaves like it's at 200.
...Which, as we found out, means that we can stack all the effects onto one perk, and, y'know, have it go up to 800. The only caveat is that the Perk has to be finished, at level 100, for it to get changed via finishing effect.
...Incidentally, from the last time we cared about upgrading our shit to now:
I gained 545 points, Jake gained 880. I'd call bullshit, but honestly he's been pushing himself hard, so it makes sense. No exp scaling is great.
I get to 100 the following: Fire/Ice/Thunder Mastery, Scrollcharge/Scrollcraft, Missile Awareness, Magic Acclimation.
Magic Acclimation: raise maximum mana.
Jake gets one more Finishing effect, because, what's a limit, and 100s the following: Evasive Instinct, Charm, Investigation, Intimidation, Persuasion, Investigation, One-hand ax mastery, Dagger mastery, stealth damage mastery, stealth action mastery.
As you can see, he's prepping for any shenanigans that may need to occur in close quarter environments.
For Greaters, both of us take ten ranks of Perk Limit Uncap, which allows us to turn Great/Greater/Greatest (GRS) type perks and Minor/Major types (MM) into level type perks, up to the level of Perk Limit Uncap. Part of this is because we like what we have already, and part of it is because the amount of time we have to spend on reading the Perk chart is getting obnoxious.
And, of course, a part of is it that, remember, Perks only work when we're focusing on it, so it's a system that's basically designed around specialization. We talked about mirroring each other's combat perks, but it's like, eh. Only very limited sections are useful at once, so why go all the way.
Anyways, 10 ranks of Perk Limit Uncap aside, I take: 8 ranks of Overcast (MM+8), 7 ranks of Magicka Channeling (GRS+7), and 2 ranks of Magic Breathing (GRS+2). There's quite a bit of diminishing return, but, like, jesus.
Jake takes 7 ranks of: Warrior's Reach, Critical Mass, Critical Edge, Evasion Master (GRS+7). 5 ranks of Weapon Thrower (GRS+5), Unbreakable (reduces damage taken), and...other things. I don't remember.
Point is, Jake's doing his job as the face of Warwolf while speccing up for shady stabby shenanigans. I, on the other hand, do my job as being the man behind the mask while taking perks that let me roleplay as a thermonuclear device.
The biggest drawback of the new Finishing Effects system is...well, we don't know how to make good use of a Perk. Not to hammer the point home, but, again, Perks are only good while we're focusing, and even then the degree of focus affects how much power we can exhibit.
On the flip side, I can literally melt steel with magical flames alone, so it seems like a step-up in most cases. I mean, I could already do it before, but now it's less like 'oh the metal is warped' and more 'that armor is liquid'.
Anyway.
…
[Politics]
…
Oh god, I have to worry about politics now, don't I. Ugh.
Well, fine. The most pressing issue we have to worry about and work around is the fact that people lie, but that's not really news. To be specific, we came across some records while dicking around in Whiterun one day that showed twenty villages requesting for support due to the war.
Not really a problem, except they were all uniformly sitting at the bottom of the mountains northwest of Whiterun. So we did a little poking around.
Thus, we found out that, in Whiterun (and probably other cities), villages that get wiped from the map are reported as being destroyed due to 'the war', despite the fact that some of them show rather obvious signs of being on the receiving end of something big, heavy, and flamey. After asking around with Charms handy, the reasoning for this reporting is that the Empire is footing the bill for reconstruction so long as the damage is from the civil war. Something similar is likely happening with the Stormcloaks, because it just seems like a no-brainer move for maintaining public support and morale.
That being said, this does put into question as to how active dragons actually are in terms of their wandering zone, and whether if any of them have wandered out of Skyrim entirely. Skyrim as a province is a little isolated politics-wise, with Solitude being the only point of anything resembling fresh, up-to-date information for all of Tamriel. So it's a little hard to tell here in Falkreath, but at least we know Bruma is pretty much ok.
…well, it's just one more thing on the pile, I suppose.
…
[Summary]
…
So, yeah, shit got done.
…
[Things That Happened In The Middle of Things Getting Done, 3rd person cameras]
…
[Entry 1: The Start of the Village, Early Autumn]
…
"This is different."
A young man sits in a small rowboat, sharing the space with a small rack of fish. He stares, frowning, at a crowd of four slightly larger rowboats congregating around a ramshackle wooden dock. As he watches, the owners of the rowboats, a half-dozen fifty-something older village folk talk and exchange goods while their boats rock back and forth.
"Morning!" He calls out. "Don't you guys usually go to Clearwater for this?"
One of the men waves at him. "Morning to you too, lad! Clearwater's too much rowing!"
The young man rows his boat to the dock. "What happened here? This wasn't here before." He glances at the shore, at what seems to be a foundation of a large structure a distance from the shoreline, piles of rocks, lumber... "Is something getting built here?"
The old man laughs. "This is here, ain't it?" He slaps the dock's wooden structure. "I heard there's some new noble or whatever. Falkreath gave this plot of land to them."
The young man stares at the land, a forest of conifers that extends from the shore all the way to the ridges in the distance. "Lucky him."
…
A week later, the young man visits the dock again.
He stares, a little blankly, at the solid rock pier, pristine wooden docks, ample rope, dockside crew, and easily a good hundred people milling about. The trees that used to barricade the water from the land were gone, stumps too, and was now replaced with a low hill, shrubs, and a cobblestone road leading deeper into significantly more construction work. With the treeline severely thinned, he's also able to see some roofs in the distance, signifying a blossoming village.
"How long was I gone?" He demands of the sky. "Mornin'." He says to a nearby resting worker and rows his boat to an empty mooring. He takes the freely available rope sitting on the dock and ties his boat securely.
"Morning, lad." The worker greets him while chewing on some bread. "Welcome to Lakeview, still being built."
The young man shakes his head. "Last week it was just a dock."
"Aye." The worker nods. "The lord noticed and built a new one. Took him a day."
"A d..." The young man looks around. There were enough mooring spots for at least two dozen boats. "Just a day?!"
"You've heard of him, yeah?" The worker grins. "The new Windcaller."
The man scowls. "Ah." He heard through the grapevine about a new noble inheriting the Windcaller name, and he could feel his Nordic blood curdle at the idea of an ancient hero being reduced to a mere title. "I've heard."
The worker doesn't miss the slight venom in the young man's voice and grins. "Yeah, you're not alone in that thought. Still." He jerks his head to the same gaggle of older folk the young man saw a week previous. "His lordship thought that the older folk could use a little help getting out of the boat, so he built the dock."
On one hand, the young man wanted to roll his eyes at the blatant pandering to the masses. On the other hand, he is now moored at a dock that didn't exist a week previous, so...
Letting the issue with Windcaller slide, the young man disembarks to get a better feel of the situation. Apart from his boat, he lacks any real trade, and if this is a new village…
His first impression is the quality of the road–it rivaled, no, was superior to that of the Imperial City itself! Not that he's ever been there, but it must be true.
His second is the sheer focus of the people working here. Most are beyond the age of a soldier, and some he recognized from the villages that he helped in. But, there seems to be a lack of options beyond the inn for things beyond the basics of food and drink.
Third, he sees an abundance of fish and shells, and gets an idea.
…
Next day, the young man returns to the dock, along with his wife and cooking equipment.
"Moving in?" The same dock worker greets him and his wife. "Morning, miss."
"I figured it'd might be good if you weren't stuffed into one house for food and drink." The young man grins. "Don't mean to brag, but I'm damn good with a fire."
"Oh, that so?" The worker returns the grin. "Show me."
The young man finds some boxes, makes a makeshift stand, and starts grilling and cleaning fish, about the only job he could find lately. He's pretty good at it, largely because his wife is much better with a knife.
The next day, he returns to do much the same thing, this time having bought some drinks from his home village's inn to resell here.
He continues this for a week. Considering the costs, the money wasn't appreciably better than simply working for someone else, but it felt good to have something to do that didn't disappear at the whims of the next sunrise.
Thus, imagine his surprise when, on the next day, he sees someone sitting on the stack of crates that he used for his stall. The man was lean, surprisingly well built, and felt dangerous to approach. Also, for whatever reason, the young man could not focus on this newcomer's face no matter how much he stared.
"Can I…help you, sir?" The young man asks cautiously. Maybe the innkeeper wasn't happy with having competition?
"I've heard that you've been setting up shop in this village." The stranger says. "What've you been doing?"
"We've been dealing with fish, sir." He says, moving to cover his wife just in case. Not the first time somebody took issue with neighbors taking work.
"Oh." The stranger blinks. "So the fish fry and the weird neighbor were the same person. Imagine that." He stretches. "Yeah, that's fine. Show me your business." He leaves the crates well enough alone.
The two, understandably leery of this weird person who's face they're having slight trouble remembering despite him standing right there, set up shop and do their business. Understandably, being watched by a stranger helps nobody, and their sales suffer some during the day.
As dusk falls, the sky begins to darken, and suddenly starts to rain.
"Oh dear." The young man mutters. "Going home in this weather is dangerous." He looks at the inn. "Do you think the inn has space?" He asks his wife.
"At this hour that seems unlikely." Most of the workers were daytoilers like her husband and thus did not have permanent lodging. The inn had rooms and there were apartments plenty, but…
"We'll need a place to stay." The young man looks to the large mansion that dominates the village skyline. "Hey, lad." He asks the stranger. "Do you think the lord of the house will give us lodging for the night?" He stops himself. Did the man really watch him the entire day? He can't remember. It's too fuzzy.
The stranger shrugs. "Yeah, man, I don't mind." Ash drops the illusion. "C'mon, getting a cold sucks."
The young man, understandably shocked at the situation, does as he's told, and follows Ash into the mansion. The rest of the night is a little bit of a blur. Shit was bright, the bed was soft, the lord's attendants had massive chests. His wife's grip was incredibly strong. Repeat that previous line.
The next day, the two found a proper stall, solidly built, where their jumble of crates used to be.
"Like it?" Ash asks. "I figured if you were doing business you might as well have a proper stall."
"It's wonderful, sir." The young man says, still stunned and more out of reflex than anything else. "But, uh…what is this?" He points to a metal slab on the stall. Now that he looks closer, the stall seems to be more metal than wood, just painted to look like wood…
"It's an experiment." Ash says. "As you may be aware, my goal is to murder some dragons. To do so, I need tools." He pats the metal sheet. "This is an experiment into something else." He looks at the young man with a serious expression. "So you can think of this as something like a curse."
The young man thinks on it, then shrugs. "With the war looming, what's another curse?"
And then he rather quickly regrets his decisions as he learns just exactly what kind of magical tool he's being expected to operate. Though to Ash, it's just the magical variant of a grill.
As a part of the 'curse', he's also given a small house in the village, near the stall. He and his wife had scarcely little beyond the clothes on their backs, so moving in was no issue.
Between having a house, thick clothes for winter, full meals, and even a little bit of money left over that could be saved…of all the curses to be afflicted with, the young man figured he could go for more of this.
"So he really turned your life around, huh?" A newcomer says at the end of the young man's story, nearly a full year later. "He does that for everybody?"
"Pretty much." The young man's wife says. "If you're willing to try, he's willing to help." She nods at their neighbors. One sells fishing gear, another, fresh vegetables. At the docks were two large barges, tasked with transporting goods to and from Lakeview, alongside smaller boats used by neighboring villages to visit and trade. Beyond it is a dock isolated and free floating, a part of some project to 'farm fish'.
"Sounds like I should move in too." The newcomer grins. "I'm not bad with a hammer. Ash Windcaller's a smith, too, right? Think he'll teach me?"
"Can't hurt to ask." The young man says. "But it's still lunch, so what'll you be having?"
…
[Entry 2 : Falkreath, Sometime during Winter]
…
Falkreath winters tend to be a little milder, if a little wetter, than those in Whiterun, as far as Ash is concerned. Which, in some senses, made it worse: the constant mud and rain dampened everyone's spirits, and effectively shut down construction until the seasons passes for everybody except for himself.
As such, wintertime in Falkreath was a time where noble houses took the most time to solidify connections for the next year. While Ash would love nothing more than to just work on his new base for ten hours every day, he was convinced by Jake that, yes, interpersonal relationships was still a thing he had to work on.
Thus, on this day, the pair trod through the town on their summoned giant wolves—practically a mark of Warwolf and the Windcaller name at this point—towards a traditional Skyrim-style home. After a short moment of confirming their identities, they were allowed into the home with a little fanfare.
The herald of the house (a retasked butler) clears his throat as the two cross the threshold. "Announcing, Baron Windcallers, Jake and Ash." And eyes turn to look, judge, and marvel.
Baronets are lower than Barons. This is intentional on the part of the party planners.
The two had decided to lean a little harder into the Akaviri rumors that surround the two, and their outfits, an otherwise standard modern, non-Skyrim military parade uniform, also sport a rather long cloak designed to cover the left side of the body, held in place by a fluted shoulderpad of a light but supple metal. There exists a term for this kind of armor, but Ash rather insistently simply refers to it as a shoulderpad, because the Akaviri, of course, do not exist anymore.
In any event, the impeccable stitching and contrast of a white suit with a blue cape draws all eyes, and Ash takes the moment to judge the responses to their names.
To his expectations, the reactions of the other attendants were divided into three neat camps. Those with alignments closer to Skyrim and the Stormcloaks disdain the fact that they were given, or otherwise appropriated, the Windcaller name. Those closer to the Empire see him as a useful ornament, and react appropriately depending on how useful they think he might be. And, of course, those that have Thalmor ties see the Windcallers as a tertiary point of contact, one that can be used to further put Skyrim into disarray should the civil war tilt too heavily towards any one side.
I hate politics. Ash sighs in his head, and begins to intermingle with a reserved smile after the introductions are done.
Some hours later, with the party well underway. Ash and Jake have integrated into the party's attendees to their own comfort levels, and much of the dialogue surrounds standard topics around Falkreath for this time of the year.
One noble lady, a young daughter of a minor noble house, excuses herself from her latest conversational partner and returns to her father's side at a somewhat secluded and snug corner of the mansion.
"Enjoying yourself?" Her father asks with a slight knowing smile.
"About as much as expected." The lady sighs. "Every one of them."
The father raises his goblet towards Jake and Ash. "Even the newcomers?"
The lady tilts her head. "Per the rumors, Jake is a bombastic warrior and Ash is a reclusive academic. I do not believe they're going to be much use to us."
The father chuckles. "Is that based on how much you like us, or them?"
As a lady of a noble house, the lady was expected to wed into a more powerful or influential family so as to bolster the position of her own house. "Loathe as I am to speak ill of someone behind their backs...Ash is somewhat unnerving to be around, and Jake is too guarded."
That made her father's brows go up. "And here I thought it would be the polar opposite." Given his daughter's tendencies, he had figured that the more politically prominent and savvy Jake would've been the one to trigger her warnings.
The lady goes 'hmm'. "Jake took to his experiences in court very well, I think." She says after a moment. "So much so that it's hard to pick out points that out him as being from beyond Skyrim. Ash...when the man introduces himself as being 'not good with people' and then throws around Charms like it's his lifeline, anybody gets antsy next to him." Rumors tend to follow nobles and mages that specialize in illusion magic, and very rarely are those rumors good.
"It's not unusual for an academic to be wary of being in close quarters with strangers." Her father notes. Their family's retainer mage had the same inclinations, though he announced the spell before casting it. He then notes that the subjects of their conversation had moved to a more quiet location, closer to them, and nudged her daughter to pay attention.
"Fuck me I hate all of this." Ash sighs.
"You lasted for a full day." Jake laughs. "Want a cookie?"
Ash pauses. "...do you actually carry one around?" Jake produces a cookie from inside his coat. "Oh wow. Sure." He takes it and nibbles on it. "What are we here for today and did we get it?"
"Pretty much." Jake says. "Did we really have to insist so hard on dragons though? I mean, I get it, but..."
"I'd rather not get put into a situation where we can't back up our position because we're using something untenable." Ash says. "So, yeah, might as well go with the biggest, dumbest reason for why we're even here at all." He stretches. "This is the first party that I've seen with a full three-way split on factions, though, so that's nice."
The lady was in the 'How dare they take the Windcaller name from Skyrim' faction, being a full-blooded Nord as she was. She was uncomfortable about being called out.
Jake sighs. "I figured the Windcaller name was going to trip us up, but man this sucks." He leans against a pillar. "Sorry, man." The lady now sees a missive in Ash's hand. The markings on it suggested it came from an Imperial source.
"It was going to happen eventually." Ash says. The lady suddenly feels a tingling in her stomach. "The Empire already put us in a situation with giving us the family name, so it makes sense that the Thalmor would take notice too." His tone shifted in such a way that suggested that he knew there were others listening.
"Oh yeah, that whole Wolf Queen business." Jake nods. "You're a dude though." He grins.
"I mean...wasn't she like a pissed off purple thunder ghost?" Ash says. "Could be anybody."
Wolf Queen? The lady muses. She had heard that there was something happening around Solitude that required significant magical intervention, and that many skilled mages from the Imperial Capital had been called in to deal with it. Potema? She catches her father's slight shake of his head.
Jake lowers his voice. "What are the odds that we'll get wrapped in that one, given we're, y'know, in Falkreath?"
Ash moves slightly so that he has full view of the lady and father listening in. "If somebody's interested in fucking us over, a hundred percent." He shoots the lady a look and moves on. "Aiight, I think I'm ready to go back into the hell that is public speaking."
The lady waits until Ash is definitively out of earshot. "And that's why I find him unnerving." She grumbles.
...
As the night continues on, the conversation turns more familial—the time of making overt deals done, things are now more concentrated, more focused, less formal.
The lady finds herself in the company of her girl friends (because drunk young men tend to make for poor conversation partners) and notes a conversation between Ash and the patriarch of the host family, an older gentleman well past his sixties. Right, the rumors did say that he tends to get along with older people. She notes.
She watches as the conversation, too far for her to hear, seems to move to something concerning the older gentleman's body. From across the room, she sees the two converse, and then the patriarch puts a hand on his knee as if to demonstrate something. Ash nods and adopts a thinking pose. He says something, and the patriarch nods, then shifts his body in something that she recognizes as a posture similar to a patient.
Ash lays hand upon the patriarch's knee.
That's to be expected. The lady muses. He does have a reputation of being trained by The Danica Purespring, after all. And returns to her own conversations.
…
[Several Days Later]
The young lady goes shopping. Not because she needed anything, but because she was bored and it was a way to 'give back to the community'. Or something to that effect. She enjoyed sneaking around, and had a habit of buying candied goods and leaving them around for children to find.
Healing magic exists for any irregularities.
As she walks the snowy streets of Falkreath, she passes by the mansion that hosted the party several days previous, and pauses slightly upon seeing the Patriarch of said family walking around as well, cane and all.
"Good morning." The lady greets him with a polite bow. "It's a wonderful day we're having."
The Patriarch nods. "Indeed. It's been a long while since I've been able to walk with nary a worry."
The lady smiles and the two engage in some small talk, until she finds a good place to separate and bids goodbye. "Didn't he break his leg last year?"
Her guard nods. "At the battle of Whiterun, if I remember correctly. He was a cavalry captain."
"Oh, right." The lady frowns. "That." She remembers rather vividly the train of bodies coming back to Falkreath from that little debacle. "Weren't the Windcallers in that fight, too?"
"Ah, that's correct." The guard says. "I heard that they were responsible for saving much of the infantry." A bit of a historical revision, as Ash ultimately was only able to command and support his immediate line.
The lady goes 'hmm'. "A man of the people, is he? I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised, considering his station and peerage…"
Thus, on the next day, when she saw Ash wandering the streets, she had a rather high opinion of him. She then saw him step into a brothel, and that opinion then promptly dove into the earth, never to be seen again.
Ash, for his part, had taken the number one lesson of humanity to heart, which is that people who are horny and looking for an outlet tend to be excellent sources of information…and that workers in the adult entertainment industry, regardless of era, tend to be shunned.
And, of course, the sex industry is the best way to sell outfits that would otherwise get him stabbed in his sleep. Given the current climate, sheer, translucent dresses are in vogue and pricey.
To that point, the matron of the house takes Ash's latest package–half a dozen silken sheer dress-like thing–and looks at it with a mix of surprise and disappointment. "Your, uh, enthusiasm for the unusual never ceases to impress." She says.
Ash shrugs, red behind the ears. "I'm getting paid, that's all that matters." It was good that T'Ma was into modeling for the outfits.
The matron smiles. "I'll get Laila, I'm sure she'll give this dress the attention it deserves." The smile was quite predatory.
Ash's color deepens. "That, uh. Maybe not right now." He takes a short breath. "So what about that other thing? The, uh." He snaps his fingers. "What's-his-face. The old man." The two are alone in the Matron's office.
"Per your instructions, we looked into the territory of the Frost family about these…dragon attacks." The Matron says slowly. "Economically they do not seem to have suffered much. The only ones who come and complain are those with meager power and a desire to be, shall we say, respected for it." She scowls. "Apparently helping their Patriarch did you no favors. Certainly none for us."
Ash makes a face. "Sorry about that. I'll take a look at them later. Did the bracelets help?"
The Matron nods. "The added layer of protective magic did wonders to help some of the girls avoid breaking bones." She's wearing one too. "But these are quite expensive." She had someone appraise the bracelets and, to her rather uncomfortable surprise, found that they were significantly more powerful than a standard trinket at the market.
Ash shrugs. "So long as they work." He was also using them as a testbed for technology. "No side effects? Strange feelings?"
The Matron shakes her head no. "Nothing more than what we have already discussed."
"Nice, nice." Ash grins. The two finish their discussions and Ash excuses himself to make the rounds to the building's infirmary. He takes the time to make some rather awkward small talk, dodge the batting of eyelashes, check on bruises and broken bones, and in general makes himself useful without going beyond a sense of polite friendliness.
Skyrim respects strength, huh? Ash muses as he mends a girl with a broken wrist. Some strength this is.
Suddenly, there's the sound of something heavy falling over on the floor beneath them, then yelling.
"That can't be good." The girl grumbles, to which Ash takes as an immediate red flag.
Ash shoots to his feet. "Alright, then, hold tight for a minute." And bounds out the door. Ignoring the onlookers, he shoots down the nearest staircase and, upon arriving at the room in question, kicks the door open.
Inside the aptly if euphemistically named 'service room' is a nobleman, round of belly and richly dressed above the waist, stark naked below the belt, is flanked by two guards with their hands on the hilt of their swords. The nobleman had one hand firmly wrapped around the dress of the girl performing the service, and, in an act of incredible concentration, did not stop beating the girl with his free hand despite being intruded upon.
Ash is a lot of things, morally upstanding is not one of them. With one blast of lightning, he sends the noble flying into the wall, bleeding at the temple. The two guards draw swords, and immediately get struck as well.
"Having fun?" Ash asks with incredible venom. "Hey, you alright?" He checks on the girl. She nods, still bleeding rather badly from multiple ring-inflicted cuts on her face. He soothes her wounds with some frost. "I'll check on you in a second."
The noble, sturdier than he looks, stumbles to his feet, one hand on his bleeding temple. "Who the hell do you think you are?!" He snarls. A sight of rage, severely diminished by how he has no pants.
"I'm meddling." Ash replies. "Tell me who you are so I can find you later."
The noble, who was actually about to go 'don't you know who I am', swallows his words. "I am a proud Son of Skyrim, boy, and my might is my right!" He draws a concealed blade.
Ash smirks, and the room becomes charged with the tingling of magic, so thick it makes breathing difficult. "Might makes right, huh?" He cracks his knuckles. "Alright, then, bring it."
The noble, much more accustomed to having people just back down at his provocation, was slightly put off, and thus did not react to Ash suddenly zipping through the room to sock him in the face, nor the sudden sense of pressure being placed exclusively upon his chest. Inside his chest.
"Well then, I think I win this one." Ash says lightly. "Now fuck off."
The noble, now calmed down enough to realize the situation, beats a hasty retreat while collecting his pants. As he's far from a first-time visitor, he beelines out of the building through the back door.
Fucker. Ash notes. "Here, let me see." He sits next to the beaten girl. "I'll have you patched up in no time." And back into the business. He grimaces. Yay, good deeds.
Ultimately, the fact that Ash did beat up a noble of a significant higher rank was not something that the nobility of Falkreath could not just ignore. On one hand, it was a serious breach of protocol, on the other…the dude did get his face caved in after beating up a girl in a whorehouse while threatening her with guards, so the general feeling is that he deserved what he got.
Thus, without an official adjudication on the legality of the situation, especially because both sides' actions were, technically, legal, the outraged noble and his circle of friends were left to their own devices as to how to properly teach the young upstart the meaning of 'class'. Their stewing would be dangerous later.
As for Ash (and by extension Jake), the two of them started to think about any possible side missions they might feel like taking, in case there becomes a need to…clean house, in Falkreath, in the future.
"The world as a whole may be worth saving." Ash notes. "But sometimes a closer look at who's deserving is required."
…
[1st Person Camera]
…
It is now, uh, mid-summer. I think. House is built, blah blah blah.
Think of it as about a week after the starting point of flashbacks.
At this point, the party has reconvened at the mansion and people have gotten settled in. Those that were mostly in Winterhold have taken their rooms and decorated it as they felt the need.
Atra and Alma, in particular, have learned a lot. In the grand scheme of things, they now have a broader mastery of magic than I do, though I obviously have more firepower. They also have made the decision that they would like to study in the Imperial Capital. Considering the circumstances (read: civil war) having them out of Skyrim sounds like it would be a good idea in the long run.
I'm a little worried about what it means given that they also now carry the Windcaller name, but that's something that's a few years off. They have recommendations, but going by what they've heard in Winterhold, they should at least be either fifteen years old, or else have achieved a Journeyman equivalent rank in a field of magic, before they attend for realsies.
In any case, the main reason why we've gathered: the Elder Scroll(s).
Jake made the point that there were others in Skyrim from the DLCs, but I've never played the DLCs, and he doesn't remember how they went, so...
...like, honestly, and not for the first time: I wish I had a (the?) wiki. I also wish it hasn't been...between here and there...a grand total of nearly five years since I played the game last.
Either way, Aria's research and work have given her a fairly reasonable conclusion that the Elder Scroll is where it's supposed to be, within the ruins near Winterhold.
Now, I'd like to pause for a moment and say that research, especially diving into history and logs within...uh, the real world? The...other world?
Within Earth. Historical research within Earth is already pretty difficult: historical records are written by people, and depending on circumstances by people who either have a vested interest in describing things in alignment with their nation or politics, or have a, uh, sharp pointy bit that forces them to have said vested interest. Add in psychological trauma, manipulation, mass media...there comes a point where if you only have a singular source it becomes very easy to have a calcified and false belief of how things used to be. I guess false isn't really fair...one-sided.
History in Tamriel is exactly like that, except now we also have things like Charm, and Illusion magic, and methods where unusual activity and descriptors have to be judged on several levels. Like, on Earth, describing a person who's hair "shimmers like the night sky" is usually regarded as metaphorical.
With illusion magic I can literally make my hair shimmer like the night sky. So...y'know. Also it looks really stupid, like I got doused in glitter.
Or maybe we're just not the most creative folk.
Point being, there's a big gap in terms of what's considered believable in regards to history and texts, so for Aria to draw the conclusion that there's something there is a fairly big ask.
So, in order to prepare for the expedition, I'm making gear. As Aria puts it, "the best weather in Winterhold is about a month away, so I'd like to start at that time."
A month it is.
…
So, in order to better understand what the dungeon is like, I took my fast wolf and spent a day scoping out the dungeon.
Verdict: Fuckin' Cold.
The temperature drops significantly within the ruins, and oxygen supply is not guaranteed. There are pockets of mana readings, which I assume are Falmer. I didn't go deep enough to get a clear look (because that would be dumb) but as far as I can tell, it's probably safe to assume that the Falmer have claimed areas where oxygen is not a problem, so an expedition should...
...should assume that they'll come into contact with them, but Aria is death personified, so the combat aspect shouldn't be a problem.
In that sense, all equipment should operate with the assumption that there's limited space, cold resistant, and probably need to be reinforced against impact, incidental or otherwise.
Fuck.
WELP.
…
So, first up.
As a part of the mansion's built-in features, I have a heavily reinforced smelter designed to work at extremely high temperatures. Downside is, I can't get close because I can't handle those temperatures. Still figuring out the whole workplace safety thing.
What this does is that it allows us for me to work with some of the materials that come out of the Lakeview mines with regularity. For the time being I'm filing it under the same umbrella as Titanium because I can use it like the other materials under the same umbrella. I just have more of it.
Still, a lot of experimentation needs to go into having a metal that is durable, lightweight, and has single-sided magical conductivity so it can repel magic on one end while also circulating defensive spells on the other.
This kind of research will take me a long-ass time, far longer than a month, so...going with what I got, I guess.
I have an end goal in mind for what I want Aria to have in order for her to murder dragons, and this will be a useful first step. Or, more accurately, a culmination of all of the other first steps I've taken so far.
I should also note that when the expedition happens, I will not be present, because I have built a house and am now no longer going outside. Balls.
…
[Dungeon Crawling, One Month Later]
…
After some debate, it was ultimately decided that Aria would go solo into the dungeon, under the basis that she would be the best at something that would be the functional equivalent of heavily armed larceny.
To which Aria's response was a sulky "At least call it adventuring."
Either way, Aria now stands at the edge of the Grand Lift into Alftand. Once a thriving Dwemer ruin of unprecedented size and riches, now dead and empty. Some years ago, an adventuring team made it to the core of the ruins and removed its 'heart', heavily damaging the central processing system that preserved the ruins and allowed it to run.
The damage caused the ruins to shut down, which was greeted with hearty cheers and immense looting. Unfortunately, having the ruins shut down also caused all infrastructure within the ruins to stop working, including such things as the lifts, some of the lighting, and, most crucially, the life support system.
Fortunately for the adventurers at the time, they had enough equipment to navigate themselves and their massive support network out of the dungeon, and recovering what remained of Alftand that was within easy reach and taking it out of the dungeon became top priority.
Ultimately, the cost of doing business outweighed the potential benefits, and thus the site became the abandoned wreck that it is now.
"Hoo…" Aria breathes out, staring down into the darkness. "If only this worked." She glances at the mechanisms of the Great Alftand Lift. The Lift itself had long since become a victim of gravity, the magic gone from its construction. What's left behind is a deep, dark hole of tremendous size.
She takes a giant cord of rope and ties it around the cage-like structure built over the lift, ties it up as securely as she can and attaches a lead weight to the end, and drops it into the darkness.
The rope goes taut.
"Fuck." Aria mutters. 200 feet of rope (more or less) and no touch. She takes a moment to think about it, and then, with a small sigh, returns to her camp to get the gear Ash has built for her.
Her new armor, a mix of leather and cotton with a layer of some strange metal, was curved in as many places as possible and infused with a layer of charcoal for low light operation. A backpack of 'Titanium' held other parts, designed to do more specific spelunking things, fit onto her back and seriously messed with her ability to fight.
The backpack is basically 90% an electric generator using a soulstone for power, and 10% supporting equipment.
It was, by her standards, ugly. But it was functional.
Grumbling, she hitches the backpack onto her armor, and detaches a powered roller. She attaches the roller onto the rope and, testing its weight, starts to descend down the rope.
Not twenty feet down, and light was already starting to vanish. She pops a magelight and attaches it to her helmet. Slowly, she descends, using her feet to control her speed, until she reaches the end of her rope.
She pops more magelights, and sees that the broken lift lies beneath her, another twenty feet away or so.
She sighs again and pops a pair of picks from her backpack, and, through her dragonborn brute force, descends to the bottom by smashing her way down.
Now fully descended, she compares her surroundings with an old map copied from the College. Enough passageways have collapsed that they look nothing alike, but after a fashion she was able to deduce where she, potentially, needed to go.
…
It's slow going. Whatever the Dwemer civilization used to keep their underground city in full working order in other places like Markarth was obviously not active here, and the path forward had very little space to work with. The sheer bulk of her gear made it impractical to shimmy her way through the narrower cracks–not that she was particularly keen to do so–and the landmarks that she was expecting from the map were nowhere to be seen.
Still, satisfied at the results of the expedition, she retraces her path back to the lift and, again, through sheer brute force, climbs back up to the rope, then back into her camp.
She takes the next two days to get more gear together, and on day three, returns with a second bundle of rope that's a good double the length of the previous, allowing her a relatively safe descent onto the floor without needing brute force.
But, again, the bigger issue is the sheer lack of walkable space. Fortunately, Aria has an answer, and the answer is Shouting. Not full-on Shouting, but still.
The noise and incredible destruction did get her into trouble with the Falmer on occasion, but they either chose not to get involved in a fight with a person of incredible noise, or did not live long enough to pass onto others that crucial lesson. For the most part, Aria avoided fights whenever possible just to save on time and material: Falmer gear, while not exactly stubborn, did cut into her weapon durability.
After a good five hours of spelunking and using up about half of the specially made yarn Ash had woven for her, Aria finally got the feeling that she was starting to approach Blackreach.
Aria sighs. "Y'know, I'm definitely regretting my choices right now." She says to the magelights. "I could be home and warm and comfy and just…waiting for Alduin so I can stab him." She heads down the cavern, towards the slight glow of Blackreach's flora. "Even if I can't kill him for real, I should be able to stab him hard enough that he'd rather be dead." She sighs again. "Can't have everything, I suppose."
…
[1st Person Camera]
…
So…
Not to be, uh, alarming, or whatever.
But it's been three weeks since Aria went down into Blackreach.
Fuck™.
I mean, I'm definitely just stressing out for no reason, but, uh, y'know. Worried.
Aria aside, other issues we have on the docket is…
The Empire has considered its situation in Riften and Whiterun to be stable enough to launch an attack onto Windhelm proper. Somehow, I really doubt it, but eh. Troops are being mustered at those points, and Falkreath, as always, is expected to contribute as well. Since this is going to be the Final Battle, all Empire cities in Skyrim are contributing troops, with the Thalmor adding their own firepower to the mix.
Considering who we know started this mess…yeah, no way this is getting resolved just like this.
In support of this, we (Warwolf specifically) have been asked/drafted to accompany a smaller strike force to Dawnstar to hold them up just in case if Dawnstar wants to try something in the interim.
Because of the amount of troops being dedicated to this fight, if it is lost, then Riften will likely go back to Stormcloak hands, and Falkreath will likely be in danger of a counterattack.
So, in other words, Jake will be staying behind to defend Falkreath from the Stormcloak counterattack because come on now. That said, they will be getting reinforcements from Markarth, so that's a plus.
In lesser news, also relevant to Jake:
Dude played around with T'Ma a little too hard and she got pregnant. Woo? T'Ma wasn't interested in going down that path so I got to do my…well, in all honesty, with what I've been doing? My, like, over 150th Magically assisted abortion. It's real straightforward when magic is involved, and, if I do say so, a significant step up from…
…punching the problem away, I guess. A disturbing amount of horny rich people tend to do that when the lady counterpart isn't rich. It's like just randomly challenging somebody in a bar to a fight, only significantly less enjoyable to watch.
That aside, because it's making me depressed. Though, I guess, related.
There was a rich fat fuck I punched out as a side effect of doing healing to Falkreath's Adult Entertainment Industry and I'm pretty sure he has my number. There's definitely going to be shenanigans as a result of this.
…
[Summary, Again]
…
I'm going to Dawnstar with T'yanna, T'nerem, and Mell.
Jake's staying at Falkreath with T'ma. I swear to god if I have to do that again when I come back…I'm going to have to do it again when I come back. Sigh. I mean, at least they're having fun?
Eric's working the Whiterun branch of Warwolf with Brynjolf doing shadow work.
T'Mare is running the show at Lakeview.
Our secondary mercenary groups are distributed between Falkreath and Whiterun, and do side quests under our banner. When they need rest, they're allocated to Lakeview.
…I think that's all of our leadership positions. We're on the lookout for more talent, especially ones that are willing to go into Warwolf's banner, but uh…those who are willing and trustworthy are kind of few and far between.
Aria is still on her mission with Delphine running support. She's how we were kept up to date, for whatever trickle of news there is.
Esbern's recruiting old contacts for…something. He was very reserved about it, but my assumption is that it is for reviving the Blades. Honestly I really haven't talked to the old dude much. He liked Jake more than me, anyway.
Alma and Atra are studying in Winterhold. I'm debating having them transfer to the Arcane University early if this campaign goes sideways, and have told them as such. They weren't too happy about it.
Largely because it sounded like 'if I were to die, please run away.'
On the grand scale, I'm not too worried. Like, if shit goes sideways we, the four of us, can get them and bail back to Lakeview and abandon everyone else. It's far by local standards but I have a super wolf.
Like…this has to go super, mega well for the fallout of victory to not be a Skyrim-wide destabilization. And because of how little planning has seemingly gone into the main campaign, I'm expecting it to go to pot.
Yay.
.
.
.
{ === + === }
Author Notes:
I bought Factorio.