Songs: Fogarty's Cove (Stan Rogers) * Kiss From A Rose (Seal)
A/N: Krosis. No great action, just a data dump for staging. Everybody needs time to pause and reflect.
Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, likewise for mod creators. (And song creators!)
Chapter 21: Krosis And A Kiss
Flip. Roll. Flip. Roll. Flip. Roll. Flip. Slam. Flip. Slam.
Meditative masochism and thoughtful study of how his new chitin armor felt as he impacted the ground, how it bent and flexed under sudden impact pressure, how it aided or hindered recovery.
Then he picked up his Dwemer greatsword. Flip. Block. Flip. Block. Roll. Recover. Slash. Roll. Recover. Block.
The new Winterhold guards, ex-Stormcloak soldiers, watched. Some look interested, but most just laughed at the Dunmer insect rolling in the dirt between two practice dummies and pretending to fight.
It finally irritated Ilya. She had been chatting with three ex-comrades from her Stormcloak unit in the Reach who had recently joined the Winterhold guards. She unholstered her Dwemer digging bar from the spear holder on her back and challenged one of the more obnoxious mockers to spar with her, her "spear" to his greatsword. Her spear, again, was a Dwemer made digging tool, a rod as tall as she was, one end was flat, with a slight curve, and the other end was a two-tined fork with one tine straight as a spear point and the other sharp tine that dog-legged out then paralleled the first point. In no time at all she'd knocked him on his arse. Then another. And then another. Afterwards, she walked over to Curtis and slapped the butt end of her spear against his back as he was rolling back onto his feet.
"Oh, hey, Ilya. What's up?"
"It's been a long time since I played stick and hoops through the streets of Winterhold. Watching you, I've a mind to try it again with my stick here."
"Oh, I get it. And I'm the hoop." Curtis laughed. "Bring it, little girl."
After a few rounds she snarled, "Stand still, you!"
"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. Gotta try harder if you wanna touch me!" he taunted.
She upped her attack level. He changed from evade and block tactics and started making shin-level sweeps of his sword or leg, and upward sword thrusts. Attacks from below were unfamiliar and broke her momentum by forcing her to jump back. Then she tripped and it was over. Fighting on the ground tactics, undignified scrabbling on the ground like untrained . . . Except that Curtis obviously had training to fight in that situation. He'd easily disarmed her and had her locked in a choke position and was leveraged for advantage and control.
And again. This time she anticipated the low strikes and attempted to block, but her spear was too light in that position and she, again, ended on the ground and in a position where he could easily shatter her arm and shoulder if he wanted.
A third round and she used one of the wooden training double-edge battleaxes. That had him scrambling back because low sweeps with that weapon would certainly take limbs. So he became a serpent. Her recovery time from a sweep swing was just enough for him to coil and then make a tackling leap. He had her on the ground again.
"Where did you learn to fight? I've never seen dark— Dunmer fight like that!" She demanded.
"Yeah, well, I went to different schools." Curtis rolled to his feet and stretched, idly noting that his chest plate felt loose. Hm, the connection points of a couple of straps had cracked from all the impact rolls and they were cutting their straps.
"A school I'd like to learn," said one of Ilya's buddies. "I'm Alfher. I've heard from Sergeant Beck that you teach."
"Nice to meet you, Alfher. Co-developing," Curtis corrected. "I've got a style I learned with both opponents being unarmored. Armor and weapons throws it off so Beck and I are working the kinks out. But, yeah, I did start some classes some time ago, but then I had to stop because things are getting crazy busy for me to teach on a regular schedule. I make time to practice as I can, but . . ." he shrugged. "I'm always happy to show stuff to interested people if they're here when I am here. Talk to Beck if you're interested; he can show you the basics. He's been the one helping me rework my style to handle Nord weapons and disciplines." He glanced at the sundial. "Excuse me, Alfher, but I have a meeting I need to clean up for."
He went to the new laundry and bathhouse and showed the service ticket he'd prepaid for. "Hey, Lethnal, how's it going?" he said cheerily to the owner, a Dunmer fire mage. The owner paused from recharging the heating runes on a tank of snow melt to greet him back. Relaxing in a steam room would have to wait 'til later, but for now just a quick hot shower while attendants brought out the fresh laundry he'd dropped off earlier for washing.
Today's meeting was a hasty but formal presentation at the College to King Ulfric on the progress of the Breakwater & Harbor project. Curtis was required to attend in case Ulfric had questions about the Skytemple excavation. On the way, he and Ilya joined with Jarl Korir's party, also making their way up to the College. Ulfric's visit had been unexpected, the herald arriving only hours earlier this morning. Korir was pissed, and Curtis was carefully sympathetic.
Turns out, Ulfric had stopped here on impulse. He would be leaving tomorrow for Dawnstar because Jarl Skald's mis-directed obsession with giant killing (the "giant" Empire and it's mandates were gone; let it go, man!) was angering his thanes and other wealthy families who were invested in some business venture run by Steward Sadri (also present) that involved giants and bone dust. Ulfric, as it happened, was the first investor in that operation after circumstances (Skald again) forced Sadri to change his model from privately-held to public. It mollified Korir somewhat as he also had money in that operation, and he didn't want Skald killing his income from that very profitable business.
The meeting was in the Archimage's quarters. The fake Archimage. Tolfdir had explained it very carefully to Curtis that the real Archimage found it necessary to have someone pose as her in the College. Something about the fake Archimage gave him bone-deep chills though there was nothing in her words, tone of voice, or body language that should've goaded that reaction. Tolfdir assured him, though, that this lady was a good friend of the Archimage.
During lunch break, he wandered over to the magical garden in the center of the chamber. Colette had told him it had been Archimage Aren's garden that he'd built and cultivated, and now that he was gone, she or one of her trusted students tended it because Archimage Antonia wanted it kept alive, but was too busy to do it herself. Alchemy, in the Archimage's opinion was too easily dismissed at the College, which made no sense to her, and so a larger, multi-level magical garden was being built in the Midden. Someone came close to him, and he stared up, not really focusing as his mind had wandered off to the Falmer garden he'd found in Skytemple.
Krosis, he thought as he stared at her masked face. The dragonpriest buried at Shearpoint, the mountain area at the southmost part of the Pale between Whiterun and Eastmarch. The shout there was Zul Mey Gut, official translation was "Voice Fool Far," though he always heard it as "Fool Me Good" or "Zuul Me Good" as in "There is no Dana; only Zuul" ("Ghostbusters" movie). It was a decoy shout. Like the Game bandits always say, "You start running and I'll stab you in the back!" A great shout for luring enemies away or into kill zones.
He wondered why the Dragonborn wore Krosis as her face. Sure, it gave 20% boost in lock-picking, archery, and alchemy, all great for beginning adventurers, but was there another meaning? Krosis mean "sorrow" in the Dragon tongue. Maybe the Dragonborn felt sadness, as in "Sorry, it's time for you to die?"
"Did you wish to say something, Master Curtis?" the Archimage asked, her tone amused.
Curtis shook himself mentally. "Pardon my rudeness, Archimage. I, um, I was, I was wondering if you'd, um, be available later for consultation regarding some, uh, aspects of my project. Projects." He was painfully aware that Tolfdir was nearby and listening in, so was Sadri and Ulfric and Korir.
"Absolutely. I've been reading your reports. Lost treasures deep underground, or underwater as in this case, is fascinating," she replied.
"The Argonians have made great progress these last three months," Korir grudgingly conceded. "They've just found the treasury hall of the old palace." He looked to Ulfric. "We should be able to repay this year's cost and part of next year's with this initial haul." Ulfric nodded, a pleased look on his face.
Sadri drifted closer. He and the Archimage both reached out to clasp hands briefly.
"Things are going well, sister?" he asked.
"Very well and very interesting, dear brother," she replied. "How is my rebellious sister now that she's pregnant?"
Pregnant? Well, well, well. That explained why the Dragonborn felt it necessary for someone to publicly impersonate her at the College. Curtis also figured this was why Baladas had been absent the past month. He was probably making good on his goal of bringing up the Archimage to Telvanni standards and teaching her levitation and teleport, the "fast travel" ability a Dragonborn needed to keep up with her flying Dovah kin.
"She's getting used to the idea. But she's staying at Goldenglow in The Rift with her cousins. By the time she's ready to give birth, most of the family will have traveled from Cheydinhal, from Colovia and from West Weald to be there. Do come. You would be most welcome."
"We'll see." She shrugged. "But for now, if everyone has finished eating, let us resume the meeting."
They all split up at dinnertime. Ulfric would be dining with Korir at the Jarl's Hall, the Argonians and Dunmer engineers retreated to the docks, mages retreated to their rooms or their labs, Sadri stayed with the Archimage, and Curtis and Colette went to the Frozen Hearth.
It was crowded down there, but Dagur and Haran and their half dozen young servers were managing. Talsgar the Wandering Bard had been in town the past couple of weeks observing the projects and talking to people and composing songs celebrating Winterhold's rebirth, it's entwining of magic and industry and knowledge.
Curtis was performing tonight at the Frozen Hearth and he had his latest guitar created for him by a master bonemold crafter in Windhelm. Kind of like a pressed laminate guitar with gut and silk strings. It sounded good to Curtis, who had been delighted to find that relearning how to play an instrument was surprisingly easy. Seems there was some latent talent in his new body that had been long undeveloped, a good sense of rhythm. He suspected, though, that a drum set would be a better fit, a faster medium to sync mind and body.
Talsgar sat ready to back him up if performance nerves got the better of him, but Curtis had worked out most of his nervousness this morning and the long-ass meeting at the College had worked him into another nervy, tense state that craved creative release. Soloing tonight with his reworked classic (to him) songs wouldn't be a problem.
He started with a sea chanty.
We just lost sight of the Dawnstar light
Down the bay before us
And the wind has blown some cold today
With just a wee touch of snow
Along the shore from Pilgrim's Trench
Hard abeam Skytemple
Tonight we'll let the anchor go
Down in Winterhold
My Sally's like a ravens wing
Her hair is like her mother's
With hands that make quick work of a chore
And eyes like the top of a stove
Come suppertime she'll walk the beach
Wrapped in my old duffle
With her eyes upon the masthead reach
Down in Winterhold
She will walk the sandy shore so plain
Watch the combers roll in
'Til I come to the Frozen Hearth again
Down in Winterhold
A couple more sea chanties, then he ended his set with Seal's "Kiss From A Rose."
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da-da-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da-da-da-da, ba-da-da
There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea
You became the light on the dark side of me
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill
But did you know that when it snows
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen?
Lady, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grave
Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah
And now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grave
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da-da-da-da, ba-da-da
There is so much a man can tell you, so much he can say
You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain, lady
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny
Won't you tell me, is that healthy, lady?
But did you know that when it snows
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen?
Lady, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grave
Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah
Now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grave
His voice was nowhere near as smooth, but he thought he hit most of the notes. And, more importantly, Colette seem pleased, if somewhat embarrassed, since his posing and looks made it clear to everyone he was singing to her.
"A fine song, friend," said Talsgar afterwards. "The College is the ruined tower, Winterhold is virtually coming back from the grave, and I assume, since you're Dunmer, you refer, of course, to your people's Lady of the Rose, Azura, whose statue can be seen from many parts in Winterhold. A fine tribute to her."
"Oh, um . . ."
The bard laughed, clapping him on the back, then he grinned and winked at Colette. "I just want to be sure I get it right when I share this song throughout Skyrim, a Dunmer's praise to his goddess of dusk and dawn. That is, once I've gotten some mastery with this new instrument," he added, tapping the bag holding Curtis's old guitar, same maker, but a first attempt at making the instrument from Curtis's sketches. It lacked the resonance and artistry of the second making, but Talsgar seemed happy with it. It was, after all, a new configuration, and he was a man who loved challenges when it came to music.
Colette blushed. "If you must," she said snappishly. "I doubt the Nords will appreciate their city being associated in such a way with a Dunmer goddess rather than Talos."
Talsgar shrugged. "I have plenty of songs about Winterhold and our Atmoran founders to counter such petty concerns."
The crowds thinned a couple hours after midnight. Talsgar and three of the local talents (two Nords and one other Dunmer), had put on a good show. Even Ulfric had dropped in to listen and do a little public relations building. Curtis had reluctantly been impressed after today's meeting. This wasn't the blindly prejudiced blowhard from the Game. Maybe he was that before the Dragonborn, but since then he'd softened his stance against non-Nords. For instance, here, in the Frozen Hearth, Ulfric even briefly praised the contributions of the Dunmer and the Argonians to Winterhold's rebirth.
Curtis and Colette had stayed until Dagur finally shooed everyone out so he and his wife and the staff could clean up and rest. Ilya followed at a distance, giving them privacy as they all walked up the bridge to the College.
"Thank you, Curtis," said Colette, squeezing his arm tighter against her body. "You keep saying you sound like a frog when you sing, but you sounded better than Talsgar tonight."
"Thanks, babe, but you need to look into something for your ears," he teased, but very pleased that she liked his singing.
"Curtis," she sighed in a tone of displeasure.
"Sorry, sorry, my dear lady. I know you don't like it when I call you 'babe.'"
"It's just so patronizing. You're a man; you should be able to handle a woman."
"Hm. So, can I call you 'sweetie pie' or 'pumpkin'? And I'll remind you, Colette, where I come from, calling someone a 'babe' has also come to include the meaning of something that's unconditionally close to your heart and a thing of great wonder and beauty that deserves protection. Like any alchemy ingredient — it's all in the mix. Believe me, honey, I think we got great chemistry and you're all the woman I can handle. Hard thorns and all."
She sighed, turned her head to give him a quick kiss on the shoulder, then rested her head against his shoulder all the way up the rest of the bridge.
GalacticHalfling: I'm being Pollyanna optimistic. Gelebor has said he saw signs. We'll see if he's as blind as the Betrayed then. And if what I've read that even before the Dwemer disappeared, the Falmer were already in active rebellion/warfare with the Dwemer. Fighting blind against a technologically superior enemy, how insane do you have to be? What kind of psycho trauma would you inflict on the kids ("children" or "little soldiers"?) to toughen them up to continue the fight? How long can that cycle go before there's a break?
blueEyre: Thanks.
Related stories:
Shopkeeper's Wife # 34 Bones to Grind, SW # 64 Rediscovering Family, SW #65 Making Excuses, SW # 27-29 Doomsday
I know, it's a pain when stories reference plots from other stories, and it's pretty presumptuous of an author to assume you've read her earlier stories (especially ones now undergoing updates) to recognize the plot points. But 2nd Life is a spin-off from Shopkeeper's Wife (SW #49: Show Me The Wayshrine) and their threads will tangle every once in a while. Do let me know if it gets too muddled.
Interesting YT videos comparing classical wood acoustic guitars to pressed laminates of glue and sawdust to carbon fiber ones. Even found one trying different rock (?) techniques on a plastic ukulele. Who knew one could actually do a decent shred on one?