Chapter 14: Road Trip
They'd gotten the lower level of Skytemple patched well enough that the modified bilge pumps could begin pumping out the water. They'd estimated it would take three weeks at least. The pumps were on the small side. Just as well. With all the small machinery, having any loose parts sucked out in a great stream of water and spewed into the ocean wasn't desirable.
In the meantime, it was road trip time as he and Drains-The-Swamp had been summoned to Windhelm by the Gray Quarter Steward for a review of the Shoreline Reclamation & Breakwater Project and the archaeological dig being conducted at the Skytemple Ruins.
That was four wagons plodding on a leisurely course to Windhelm. Two empty supply wagons for what needed to be picked up at the docks and farm sources, and the other two for passengers and wagon guards.
Of all the cities in Skyrim, Windhelm was the nearest to being a defensible, walled city/fortress. What wasn't in the game were the many stone watchtowers on the mountain overlooking Windhelm. The Hero Ysgramor had built it to last ages. Curtis darkly wondered how many thousands of enslaved Falmer died to dredge out the harbor and build the city.
There were more farms, a lumber yard, cattle stockyards, stables, and even a row of tents for merchants and artisans. The Khajiit were also in the area bringing more exotic wares and luxuries. Now, this was more like it for a major Skyrim city. Curtis estimated the base population of the city to be at about ten to twelve thousand. Pretty low density for what he was used to, but considering land resources and current technology, it was at a sustainable size for now. But with troops returning home and a likely population shift from those preferring a "free" Skyrim versus continuing to live under the Empire, there was gonna be population and economic strain on the horizon.
"Barely enough work for the True Sons and Daughters of Skyrim. We don't need any foreigners, much less elvish ones, especially dark elvish ones."
Yeah. Nothing like home-grown prejudices and nurtured isolationist attitudes. Dark elves and Argonians had supplied a lot of the base workforce and services. But with returning Nord troops, there was bound to be resentment and a push to reclaim "their place." Then further resentment when employers looked at the balance sheet of hiring Nord versus a cheaper non-Nord.
Then, too, Curtis couldn't keep track of how many times he lost business to white competitors. Sometimes, the only way to get a contract was if he was willing (not!) to reduce his job bid to where his own profit was zero or in the negatives; or do substandard work that would destroy his business and reputation in the long run. And then, when he did get a major contract, if he couldn't find adequate suppliers in the black community, he'd have to go outside, and they usually had ties to his white competitors. There would always be problems that cropped up in supplies in quality and delivery deadlines.
It made Curtis all the more curious to see how business was conducted in the ghetto. Oh, sorry. The Gray Quarter. From what he heard, they even had their own police force. Sadri, he'd heard, relied heavily on his Morrowind and Solstheim ties. Jarl Ulfric had been willing to overlook that during wartime. How would that change going forward?
"Do we have time to visit Refugees Rest, grandfather?" That was Tirenea, Mage Edd's granddaughter. She looked to be at least 10 but was actually 15 or 16. Edd had told him she was typical for her age group and that she was due for a growth spurt in the next couple of years.
Curtis had no idea what Elder Scrolls canon was on the elvish aging process. He had always assumed the elves of Tamriel were like baby Vulcans, meaning their physical and mental development outpaced their emotional development, and sexual awareness didn't hit until they were nearly 30. But that was comparing a real race to a fictional alien race based on pointy ears.
Oh, boy. He was just crazy talking now. Slitter, damn him, was no help at all. But nice to know he hadn't been a pervert and was actually a bit of a prude when it came to sex. See a fine-looking, young Dunmer girl and feel nothing if Slitter judged her immature. Human girls confused and irritated Slitter because children (by his standards) shouldn't be giving off sexual signals as they do. Thank heavens Slitter liked Colette, who looked to be mid-20s (barely legal) but was nearly 100.
Tirenea was a chatterbox. Master Edd grumbled that it was probably the Hlaalu blood in her. She was excited to stay at her cousin's house again. So, she was Sadri's cousin. Mage Edd had a passing affair with one of Sadri's cousins during the Oblivion Crisis and then years later had a son dropped on his doorstep. His son had died during one of the battles with the Argonians, and Edd had quickly assumed guardianship of Tirenea. Edd had brought her along on this trip, intending to leave her in Sadri's care while he attended several business meetings on the college's behalf.
Master Edd Theman had joined the College as a Mysticism instructor, for which he held small, instructor permission-only classes. But in the College's move to expand its presence in the community, they needed someone dedicated to representing them. He had fallen back into the role of Mouth, a job he had once held for Mage-Lord Timberwolf, an Imperial-Nord who had shocked everyone by succeeding in rising to the ruling rank of the Telvanni, even to being declared the Hortator of House Telvanni. It was felt that his experience in dealing with the powerful, dangerous, egotistical, erratic Telvanni lords was sufficient a practice for him to deal with magic-phobic jarls and other public matters where College representation was deemed necessary. He was Winterhold College's first official Public Relations officer, a new and vital office since the Archimage and Master Wizard Tolfdir had too much already to do.
"Hey, if Master Edd doesn't have time, I'll take you there. I've always wanted to see it since it was rebuilt," said Curtis. "I've heard more land was bought to build a small hostel for mourners and travelers and a chapel with a small reception hall for indoor services."
"Reclamations chapel," grumbled Master Edd. "They've pestered Revyn to open a mission inside Windhelm, but he's been finding ways to deny them. Couldn't refuse them a set up at Refugees Rest because that's technically Morrowind ground. Idealized, white-washed conglomerate of the three old religions."
"White-washed how?" asked Ilya. For this trip, she wasn't dressed as a Restorations novice but a Stormcloak officer. She wore most of her old uniform but had exchanged the bear-skull helm for an open-face steel helmet. Instead of a greatsword, she carried the spear-like Dwemer digging bar. Before answering her, Master Edd sent Tirenea back to the stables for a small bag he thought he might have left behind in the wagons.
"Reclamations priests dull the bite of the old religions, giving a false face to the Daedra Princes. It was the same way the early priests of the False Tribunal tried to bridge the understanding by saying the Daedra Three were 'anticipations' of the Almsivi. This Reclamation effort seeks to bridge proven lies back to their truths which are yet more false images. Our three Daedra, our Great Ancestors, are nowhere near as kind or caring as this new temple presents to our lost and confused people.
"Millions of souls since the change from Chimer to Dunmer were lost to Sithis or soul-trapped by their faith into the great Ghost Fence. The False Tribunal's origins were here on this plane of Mundus, and they had no other place to send the souls of their worshipers. Sad fates awaited the Tribunal faithful who slipped into the treaty realms of Oblivion. Those who worshiped Almalexia, seeking comfort from the Mercy of Morrowind, would find themselves the practice meat of Boethiah's arenas. Those intellectuals who sought Sotha Sil, the Mystery of Morrowind, would find themselves spreading dung for Azura's gardens of twilight roses and wandering long paths to nowhere. And those brave, honorable heroes who died for Vivec's ideals, the Might of Morrowind, would find themselves tangled in the skeins of Mephala, hapless tidbits to be snacked on at her leisure."
"Well, shit," was Curtis's opinion.
Ilya shook her head sadly. "Who do you worship?" she asked.
"I'm Telvanni. My soul goes to whoever wants it and is strong enough to take it."
"I see. Then what principles do you live by that define your god?" she asked instead. "From what I've heard of you, any number of Aedra would have you as well."
Master Edd merely shrugged. "Same conditions apply. I wouldn't object, but I would be strongly surprised. If we live by our natures, let the gods take accordingly."
"I see. Well, I still hope for Sovngarde."
Curtis smiled sadly, wondering if he'd ever see his family again. "Ilya, you'd pass that entrance exam, no problem."
At Edd's curious look, he explained, "The God Tsun is the bouncer at the Whalebone Bridge. He challenges everyone who wants to enter the Feasting Hall of Heroes to a test of skill. You're expected to be fight-worthy, whether warrior or wizard. Don't know how he tests the common folk or if even common folk get in. The hall is Heroes Only. But outside the Feasting Hall, there should still be feasting, celebrations, and a chance to connect with family and friends lost or only heard about… or a place to camp at until your kids and other loved ones can join you."
Tirenea returned saying that she couldn't find any missed luggage, and she and the drivers searched both passenger carts.
"I do apologize, my dear, for wasting your time, especially after a long journey. I should have kept it with me if it was that important. I should not have sent you after a trifle." Master Edd gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. "Now, let's get to Cousin Revyn's house."
"We'll see you tomorrow, master, Tirenea," said Ilya briskly, taking Curtis's arm. "Come on, my brother's got us rooms for tonight at Candlehearth, and he's paying for dinner. Don't take offense if he spews stupid things about mages and Dunmer. He's not a total icebrain, just has a bad habit of repeating what our parents and uncles have been drumming into our heads all these years."
"Yeah, punching out Rolff Stone-Fist was always fun."
She looked at him oddly. "Assaulting a Stone-Fist isn't really smart. Rolff's an embarrassment, but General Galmar won't tolerate any disrespect to his family. And I'm warning you now, so you don't have the urge to punch out my brother. Unlike Rolff, if you're on fire, my brother will run to fetch a bucket of clean snow to dump on you."