Going Elsweyr: Chapter 1: The Meeting

  • Warning: Contains Adult themes and some coarse language. 

     

    18th of Evening Star, 4e 25, Cloudrest, Alinor

     

    Grand Emissary, it is my conclusion that the absorption of Valenwood into the proposed Third Aldmeri Dominion will succeed if the Thalmor exercise the points…

     

    Out of the corner of Elenwen’s light orange eye, she spied movement near her left hand. Two long, pale fingers making a stealthy walk on the lacquered surface of her desk towards her forearm clothed in black silk, embroidered with golden thread. She moved her arm slightly, away from the encroaching menace and resumed her writing, barely hiding the smirk when the fingers paused to resume their bored thumping. The foul deed now thwarted. She was not going to lose this piece of paper to the ongoing onslaught. The many scattered, crumpled papers on the floor already attested to the skill of her adversary, the writing ruined, his chuckles of victory still ringing in her ears. Elenwen cleared her throat. Where was she? Ah, yes, exercise the points

     

    I illustrated in my latest report on the subject. That you have taken a vested interested is a great honor to both my House and myself.  It is my belief that keen observance of the Green Pact by Thalmor reprentatives and respect towards the cannibalistic practices of our Bosmer cousins will only elevate our position, casting a shadow upon the Imperial tyranny already resented in the Province. I await…

     

    Another flash of pale and she quickly picked up her quill before the playful tug on her silken sleeve resulted in the paper moving, which would smudge the ink, ruining her letter. That had been close. The offending hand, with the dexterity of a spider, then quickly withdrew to its established invisible border near the edge of her desk next to a pair of black-plated gauntlets, using them as a makeshift lair.  A whistled tune sounded a short distance away and there were fresh creaks of protest from a delicately carved, high-backed, dark-stained chair that was now holding far too much bulk than what it was originally built for, while the mastermind of the assault on her paper and quill shifted his position. She’d play her final card so she could finish this letter in peace.

     

    “Äelberon of Dusk…” Elenwen warned, mustering as much authority as she could through her whisper. “Try that again, and you shall answer for your crimes against the Thalmor. The notorious Lenya shall be summoned from the depths of her grotto and she will make you suffer with the might of her hammer and her palm firm on your backside.”

     

    The cocky whistle was silenced, his lips still pursed, the only feature of his face  clearly visible under the black bands of his helmet. They locked eyes for a moment and Elenwen could tell that he was deliberately trying to make her laugh with the ridiculousness of his expression. The bastard.

     

    “Oh, Lenni, verily you torture me with such a notion. Anything but the Lenya! Gods! I quake in my boots!” He moaned, attempting to bring his hand to his forehead in feigned anguish, only to curse when it struck the metal of his helm instead. He then knocked on the helmet and grinned. “Well that dramatic gesture was stopped in its tracks. Blasted helmet!”

     

    The expression on his face was sheepish when he faced her again and Elenwen braced herself against the onset of Dusken charm. Oh, she knew his sly ways by now. No, she was not going to let him get away with it.  That hand had committed too many offenses while he passed the time waiting in her office, though she was sorely tempted to tell him to remove the helmet again.  He was clearly uncomfortable. She then sighed; he would only refuse again; not wanting to cause her any trouble should the Grand Emissary step into her office. The contraption was impossible, imposed by the Hag of House Larethian to cover up a scarred face that her powerful circle deemed unfit for public display. It bothered Elenwen that they treated the Slayer of Bet in such a manner, but Ronnie was respectful of his people’s cultural preferences and offered no protest, not wanting to cause any further tension in a land already struggling heavily after the Tower fell.

     

    She raised her quill and pointed towards Ronnie in threat. “You ruin another letter… that is verily what will happen.” She waved the quill in his face for good measure.

     

    He made to grab her quill and she dodged the writing instrument for a few moments. Ronnie was being lazy, normally he would have taken it by now. After a few mock attempts, he gave up and shifted his position on his chair again, grunting. He was going to break the thing, and it was brand new. Part of her newly remodeled space at the Thalmor Offices at Cloudrest, a series of buildings constructed from a string of abandoned former residences.

     

    “Swear Lenni, this chair will be my death! If the Thalmor ever want to start torturing their enemies, just have them sit in this chair for a day.” He laughed. “How much longer is Landril going to be anyway, and Bloody Oblivion, where is Galmo with lunch? I am starved.”

     

    Elenwen bent her head to resume her writing, confident that he would cause no more mischief, his thoughts now on food.  

     

    …your reply with great eagerness, Grand Emissary.

     

    Your loyal servant,

     

    Justiciar Elenwen of Cloudrest, second daughter of House Elsinthar.

     

    “Defeated by a chair and now begging for food?” Elenwen mocked, setting down her quill to fold the letter. She would send it later. “House Larethian definitely has made you soft, Slayer of Bet.”

     

    “An Orc would grow soft with all the silks and pillows there.” He countered. “Why else do you think I go home whenever I can? I love Landril and little Mia like they were my own, but when that old She-Elf gets set in her ways… Scamp’s Blood! That creature drives me back to Dusk, just so I can be myself again.”

     

    “You always come back, though.”

     

    “’Twould go against my duty not to. Besides, those two? Under her ‘loving’ care? She would have broken their spirits long ago. The Illustrious Lady Lilisephona, with more rules and regulations than even I can keep straight, and I have read entire libraries. I am needed in that house.”

     

    Elenwen was not without sympathy for her Dusken friend. That Hag made everybody’s life miserable with her presence, her endless lists of proper customs and conduct. A pure Altmeri matron, stinking of Hookah smoke, her face covered in heavy makeup in an attempt to hide her great age. Her face was permanently pulled and stretched into an expression of perpetual disdain from too many trips to the face sculptor, adorned in robes of the finest silks and jewels, not even walking anymore unless she absolutely had to.

     

    The Grand Lady Lilisephona, however, met her match with Ronnie. The Dusken and her butted heads and it often turned ugly. She once put weights in his boots to force him to take smaller steps to model Phynaster’s teachings, and in retaliation, he filled her hookah with a leaf mix so potent that it sent her directly to the waste bucket, humiliating her in front of her guests for tea. They both thought they were right with regard to Lillandril and his sister, and twenty-six years did nothing to diminish their stubbornness. The matron was impossible and many were surprised that Ronnie lasted so long.

     

    Elenwen and Äelberon straightened immediately upon hearing the door creak open, thinking it was the Grand Emissary with Lord Lillandril, only to relax when the inviting scents of Mer’s cologne, rolls, cheeses, cold meats, and alkanet tea filtered into Elenwen’s cramped office, mixing with the smell of fresh plaster and newly lacquered wood, the smells of new construction. The graceful rustle of black linen Agent’s robes drew Elenwen’s attention away from lunch and onto the Mer holding the shallow box that held their packed meal, the heat instinctively creeping to her face.

     

    Only Knights of the Crystal Tower moved that beautifully. Ronnie moved that way too, but he was far less appealing than the golden Mer who now stood before her, his features impossibly dashing.

     

    “Where shall I set this, Justiciar?” Purred Vingalmo, not pretending to hide the faint lusty glimmer in his golden eyes.

     

    Äelberon’s naughty grin only exasperated Elenwen’s blush, and she cleared her throat, sliding the letter into the shallow drawer just under her desk. It was plain these two were not going to allow her to do her job. Better to finish once they left.

     

    “On the desk, Agent.” She countered, her plum-lined eyes narrowing. Without hesitation, Vingalmo set their lunch upon the desk, making a grand, gallant bow towards the new Justiciar before sitting upon a second chair facing Elenwen’s, bringing his right leg up casually to rest on his left thigh, his gloved hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair.

     

    “Anything else, your loveliness?’ He asked seductively.

     

    Äelberon rolled his eyes and groaned. “You sure you want to ask her that, Galmo? She has her silks and all.”

     

    Elenwen shot Äelberon a sarcastic glance, while she motioned for Vingalmo to hand her a roll that was longer than wide, made of a dense dough. The lewdness of the shape did not escape any of them. Breads from Alinor were typically round, but no, Duskens were always more crass with their humor. Elenwen took the roll and smiled slightly, enjoying how Vingalmo hung on her every word, every gesture. He would have done so regardless of her recent promotion, but that she had now earned her silks made it all the better.

     

    “And you seem utterly fascinated by them, Ronnie. As if you have never seen silk before.”

     

    “Well, my dear. Never has the black silk of Justiciar robes adorned a more beautiful She-Elf. It fits perfectly.” Flirted Vingalmo, handing her a knife to slice her roll in two as he began to unwrap cold boar meat to prepare their Dusken Dogs. A dish created to celebrate the Slayer of Bet and Alinor’s victory after the Great Anguish. The meat, typically that of a boar or pig, and other fillings represented the Daedra and the two slices of bread represented their squashing by the Slayer of Bet and the People of Alinor. A touching, and at the same time, lewd tribute to the South’s favorite son.

     

    Äelberon’s pale palm again found his helmeted face, releasing another groan. “As if there was not enough cheese in this room, Galmo.”

     

    “You are just jealous, Ronnie.” Replied Vingalmo, slapping a goat cheese wedge onto Ronnie’s other hand.

     

    “Ha! Jealous? Me? I am the one who put you two together, remember?” Äelberon countered, taking a large bite of cheese, smiling when the other two Altmer wrinkled their noses at his attempt at terrible table manners.

     

    “Blah, quite clear you’ve been to Dusk again.” Vingalmo retorted, placing several slices of boar meat onto a half of Elenwen’s roll, “Say ‘when’, my sweet. Gods, Ronnie, did you run around like a naked savage the entire time you were there?”

     

    “When.” Elenwen chimed in before the fourth slice of boar meat made it onto her roll. She closed her dog and took a delicate bite, feeling Vingalmo’s lascivious grin the entire time. They were taking a huge risk eating like this in her office, but Ronnie introduced them to the dish after the  Great Anguish when he took his position as Larethian’s Captain of the Guard, and Elenwen didn’t dispute that this was a very quick, efficient way to eat. If the Grand Emissary caught them like this, however, eating with no utensils, eating a meal that had such suggestive connotations, they would be in trouble. But she was confident that they would be finished before he arrived with Lillandril. The evidence of it neatly tucked away under Ronnie’s giant purple monstrosity of a cloak.

     

    “I was not entirely naked. I did have feathers in my hair…” Äelberon winked, relishing their reaction to his lack of modesty, his eyes twinkling when Lenni stopped her chewing while the mental image flashed before her eyes. Truth be told, he was not totally naked by Dusken standards, but damn it, he certainly was not in his armor during his time at home. A death trap in all but the coldest months of Summ—dammit—Alinor’s year, the blackness of the metal absorbing heat. The cloak only made matters worse, though it did have some uses, thought Äelberon as he motioned for Galmo to hand him an empty paper sack, which he then tucked under the expanse of folds his cloak generated when he sat. Galmo, his dog already prepared before him, was slathering a honey glaze over one half of Ronnie’s roll with his knife.

     

    “They had the nuts?” Äelberon asked expectantly, removing the tea satchels and a bottle of Alto wine from the light beech wood box.  Elenwen set her dog down and rose from her chair, taking the empty box and opening an ornately carved cabinet behind her desk to store it, retrieving two crystal goblets. So many lunches together after twenty-six years, their movements now had the precision of an advanced military operation.

     

    “Aye, nuts for my nutty Dusken. Did they make you pose for the statue again?” Smirked Vingalmo, opening a small bag that was semi-transparent in spots from the oil build-up, the small beige nuts tantalizingly visible. Roasted and salted Aican nuts. The third son of House Caemal then scattered the honey glaze with a coating of nuts and handed the rest of the bag to the eager Dusken, who proceeded to munch on them with zeal.

     

    “Aye.” He grumbled, his cheeks coloring.

     

    They snickered at his shyness. A grand statue was being carved at Dusk’s central plaza. Ronnie in his silver armor with a bow drawn, challenging Bet. A far better tribute to the great warrior before them than the lewd meals they were eating.

     

    “Pig, not even sharing.” Complained Elenwen between bites of her dog.

     

    “You said you did not like Aican nuts, Lenni.” Äelberon replied, attempting to keep his mouth closed. “Lies, she is all lies, Galmo, you watch yourself. Beginning to regret my decision to introduce you two.”

     

    “Too late, brother, have already been seduced by the power of a pretty pair of eyes.” Laughed Vingalmo, setting Ronnie’s prepared dog in front of him.

     

    Only pretty eyes?” questioned Äelberon, his eyebrows shooting up to study Elenwen's long, light sandy blonde. “My arse.”

     

    “Where are my nuts?  You share Dusken, or… your Lenya.” Elenwen warned, taking a sip of Alto wine.

     

    “Fine, fine. I yield you my salty nuts, Justiciar. Go easy on them.” Quipped the Dusken, handing Elenwen the half-devoured package. The spray of Alto wine that escaped her lips made both Mer laugh robustly.

     

    “Shh,” Elenwen whispered, wiping the excess wine from her face and then the table. “What if they hear?”

     

    Reeducation!” The two former Knights of the Crystal Tower sounded in boisterous unison.

     

    No! Don’t even say that in jest! Gods, I am surrounded by children.” Elenwen groaned, though she smirked when she took the bag of Aican nuts, tossing one in the air and catching it with her mouth. “Mmm, salty…”

     

    “She likes them that way.” Grinned Vingalmo slyly, unable to resist giving her a saucy wink.

     

    More laughter and this time Elenwen acknowledged that she was just as bad as they were, her eyes never leaving the Golden Mer opposite her, licking her lips, the wine beginning to make her head swim a little. Today was an exception to their typical formality and protocol. Later tonight, they would celebrate her promotion at Queen Calianwe's elegant residence, once she and Galmo finished their duties for the day and she was definitely in the mood. After fifty-one years of devoted service to the Thalmor, she had finally received her silks and the status that came with being a Justiciar. And her work with Valenwood and perhaps other projects, if Lillandril’s meeting with the Grand Emissary went well, would open far more doors.

     

    Galmo seemed less interested in advancing, still in the linen robes of a field agent, though he complained constantly of the lowly nature of his current tasks. She had been patient with him, understanding that perhaps making the transition from serving the Tower to serving the Thalmor was proving more difficult than anticipated. Ronnie was not a welcome influence in that regard, more than content in his position as Captain of House Larethian’s Guard. Little more than a soldier and a Steward by Altmeri standards, a servant. More interested in Lillandril and Lilimia’s happiness than in enjoying the guaranteed privilege that came with being a Knight-Paladin of Auri-El; that came with being the Slayer of Bet. His battles now contained to his disputes with the Hag on domestic matters, or spear-fishing sharks with his Ata at Dusk, though she knew that he still kept to his training, that he still hunted dark forces.  

     

    “Speaking of children,” began Vingalmo, attacking his own dog with enthusiasm, “Where is Landril? He was already with the Grand Emissary for over an hour when I left to fetch lunch.”

     

    “Still at the meeting.” Sighed Äelberon, the Aican nuts in his dog making crunching sounds while he chewed. He swallowed and then turned to Elenwen. “Lenni, you now enjoy the special status that comes from those pretty silks of yours, why was Landril called to a meeting? The summons never gave a reason, only to come and to be honest,” his tone became serious, “I was worried. Thalmor always give a reason for their summons unless...”

     

    Elenwen interrupted Äelberon with an uneasy chuckle, taking another sip of wine. Damn it, he never just let things die. Stubborn Elf, she thought to herself, though outwardly she smiled her best smile.

     

    “Oh, dear Ronnie, nothing so dark and sinister.  The Thalmor truly regret some of the decisions made in the early years after the Anguish, and now we are completely transparent. They have since done their utmost to make amends. The public works to repair Summ—Alinor alone.”

     

    The slip in nomenclature was done on purpose and she saw the Dusken relax in his seat. Rynandor the Bold’s death still weighed heavily on all three of them despite the passage of time, but especially on the former Knights. The heaviest casualty of the Great Anguish other than the fall of Crystal-Like-Law. The ugliness of his trial and subsequent exile. The look on Galmo and Ronnie’s faces when all of them learned of his death at sea.  They didn’t understand, the two Knights before her. Rynandor was a heretic. Lathenil of Sunhold as well. It needed to be stopped before the ugliness spread. It was necessary. She was excited for Alinor’s current path, for its future, and excited if the Grand Emissary was indeed discussing with Lillandril her very proposal. Soon Valenwood and then, if all went as planned, if her study was successful… She paused her thinking and allowed herself to smile again, taking a large bite of her dog.

     

    “Well?” Äelberon pressed. “You going to answer or are you going to keep teasing us, Justiciar?”

     

    Elenwen looked up at the ceiling of her office while she worked on her dog, tracing the carved geometric eagle pattern with her eyes and thought. Her eyes then narrowed as an idea formed.

     

    “I am sorry to disappoint, Ronnie, but even I do not know the reason why our eccentric Lord Larethian was summoned to audience with the Grand Emissary today. I am merely a lowly Justiciar, just getting my silks and all. But…” she bit her lip and Vingalmo’s eyes focused on her intently. “I am curious as to what you two think and perhaps?”

     

    “A wager!” Guessed Vingalmo, slapping Elenwen’s desk with his hand. “You are on.”

     

    No Altmeri could resist a bet. Gambling, wagering, mind games. Elenwen was going to enjoy spending their money.

     

    “How much are we wagering?” asked the more sensible Dusken.

     

    “One hundred septims not beyond your meager income, Ronnie?” Elenwen asked, batting her lashes.

     

    Äelberon laughed. “I am not that hard up, Lenni. One hundred septims…” he exchanged glances with his two friends, “to be paid by each to whomever correctly guesses the purpose of the Grand Emissary’s meeting with our dear Landril. Deal?”

     

    Three hands came together over the center of Justiciar Elenwen’s desk and shook in agreement before they each returned to their seats.

     

    “So…” began Vingalmo, wiping the crumbs from his dog off his robes, pausing to scratch an itch caused by the prickly fabric while Ronnie reached for a second sack to stuff into the recesses of his cloak. “Who goes first?”

     

    “Bah, youngest to oldest, otherwise, we will be here forever discussing the subject and Landril will be able to tell us himself.” Answered Äelberon. “So you first, Galmo.”

     

    Vingalmo’s golden eyes wandered around the room, stopping briefly at Ronnie’s cloak. What a color, and an idea sprung to his head.

     

    “Hmm, knowing what I know of our Illustrious Lord Lillandril. My guess is that the Grand Emissary, in a decision that shall rock the foundations of the Thalmor, has appointed the young Mer designer of Justiciar robes. Verily diamond and amethyst-encrusted purple velvet and apple-green banners shall now herald the coming of the…” He erupted in a peal of laughter, echoed heartily by Ronnie and Lenni, their eyes watering at the images dancing across their minds.

     

    “We shall make our foes laugh to death, Galmo darling, a sound strategy indeed.” Chuckled Elenwen.

     

    “At least that way the Thalmor will never lose their agents.” Smiled Äelberon, wiping the tears from his eyes.

     

    “Bet you can’t top that!” Challenged Galmo.

     

    “Galmo, you have verily thrown your bet. I can see that she is weaving her Illusion spells on you already, friend. I, fortunately, am immune to such magicks.”

     

    “So what is your reason, Ronnie?” Asked Elenwen.

     

    “Hmm, knowing what I know of the young Lord under my care. Ah, twenty-six fine years. He has grown well.” He smiled warmly, remembering the frightened child of seven that brought him his colors, his keen apple-green eyes so much like his father’s. His ready laugh and flamboyant manner, but also the nightmares that Äelberon remembered comforting. Those of his little sister too, no older than four when the skies burned, not understanding, not receiving what was needed from the old Hag. Äelberon knew better; his parents had seen to that and he did his best, very young by Altmeri standards to have such responsibility, but aye, he enjoyed it. The little taste of parenthood. Something that he may never have now.  He cleared his throat and nodded.

     

    “Lillandril has grown into a fine young Mer. My guess…” His smile turned into a broad grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “Marriage Pool!”

     

    Pretend groans of horror and shock emanated from his two friends, but they stopped when he raised his finger.

     

    “But there is more, there is more! I wager that the Grand Emissary, in a gesture of incredible generosity will verily offer the lad his…” He stifled a guffaw.

     

    No…” gasped Vingalmo, his hands covering his mouth.

     

    “He wouldn’t.” Echoed Elenwen, her face nearly serious with dread.

     

    “Aye, that he would. In a gesture of ultimate generosity, the Grand Emissary would offer his daughter in marriage to our Lord of House Larethian.”

     

    “Ronnie, she is uglier than you are. With a disposition to match.” Galmo chortled. Äelberon snatched the bag of nuts from Elenwen.

     

    “I know.” He replied, popping some nuts in his mouth.

     

    “The Grand Emissary could not be that cruel, though I will admit, Ronnie, you one-upped Galmo as your proposition could actually happen. We have all seen some strange matches lately, and watching your face while you perform their marriage rites has often brightened an otherwise dreary Sundas at Temple. Ah, marriage pools… be lucky you are not in them anymore.”

     

    “A wise decision, I think, on my part, or I would see myself married to that one. The joys of the Priesthood, my dear Lenni.” Äelberon joked. An awkward silence from the other two made Äelberon chuckle anew. They were dreading the prospect of being assigned, though he did admit, being assigned to each other may not be a bad thing. Hopefully the Elders would see it.

     

    “So, my sweet,” interjected Vingalmo, “that leaves you. Why is our esteemed Lord Lillandril meeting with the Grand Emissary?”

     

    Elenwen smiled, her eyes never leaving the dashing young Mer sitting opposite her. He was extremely attractive by Altmeri standards, with refined, angular features and a fine mouth. If Lillandril was sent, she would petition for Galmo to accompany them. Ronnie would go by default as Lillandril’s guard and to be honest, that relieved Elenwen. Where they were possibly going was potentially quite dangerous, a place of civil unrest in certain areas. A place governed as much by the moons as by that enigmatic cat at Torval, sitting atop his Temple in perpetual meditation. There was a profound connection between the race and the moons that was obvious to all who dealt with them, but how to exploit it for Thalmor interests was the question.

     

    “Lenni?” Äelberon’s voice, “We are losing you? Hmm?”

     

    She faced him with a start and shook her head, “my apologies, my thoughts were elsewhere. My guess? That our young Master Lillandril will be taking a trip.”

     

    The two former Knights exchanged puzzled glances.

     

    “That is it? That is all you have? My sweet, even Ronnie the Virgin had something more creative.” Pointed out Vingalmo with a bemused shrug.

     

    “I stand by my dullness.” Elenwen replied confidently, placing a one hundred septim piece on the ebony surface of her desk.

     

    “You heard the She-Elf, Galmo.” answered Äelberon with his own coins, “Money is on the table. No backing out now. I suspect I will be rather poor tonight. No matter, Anwe will provide a fine feast. I will not starve.”

     

    “Ronnie, you just ate.” Groaned Vigalmo, tossing his coin to the pile, just as the doors to Elenwen’s office started to swing open, causing the remaining paper bags to be roughly stuffed into Äelberon’s hands so he could hide the evidence of their meal under his cloak while Elenwen quickly drained her remaining wine to place the empty goblet under her desk. All three then stiffened up, their posture perfect, expecting the Grand Emissary, his ornate robes and cloak a symbol of his status.

     

    All three relaxed again when a young Mer in probably more extravagant purple satin robes than the Grand Emissary, heavily detailed with diamonds and golden embroidery, running his light golden hand over his shoulder-length black hair approached the trio with an exasperated sigh, shutting the door behind him. It was quite clear to Äelberon that he was inebriated. Perhaps he was not wrong, he thought with a wry grin. The prospect of marriage made most Altmer turn to drink.

     

    “Gods, the Mer talked for centuries! I die, wine, please, wine!” His eyes found the bottle of alto wine on Elenwen’s desk and his keen eyes flashed before narrowing. “You three have been sneaking food again. Damn it.” He took a whiff of the air. “Aican nuts! Not fair, Ronnie. He ate them all, didn’t he?”

     

    “Elenwen helped.” Accused Äelberon, leaning back against his chair, snapping to attention when he heard the wood crack under his bulk. He was going to break the bloody thing if he leaned against it one more time.

     

    “Aye, she has a fondness for nuts.” Chimed Vingalmo, rewarding Elenwen’s glare with a wink. She cleared her throat to speak, her smile broadening.

     

    “Before these two Knights distract you further with their childish antics, my Lord, what did the Grand Emissary want?”

     

    Lillandril eyed the money on the table. They couldn’t resist. Ah, if he was in their position, he would have wagered too. Aye, this was going to be a grand adventure. That Ronnie would go was a give in and Lillandril did not consent to the trip unless the Dusken was by his side, surprised that the Grand Emissary let him display such defiance. No one could plan this trip better than Ronnie, Lillandril had argued. And no one would protect him better. He had no desire to die. Justiciar Elenwen was the Grand Emissary’s recommendation for her skill in magic and her research into their culture, her efforts on the Valenwood Project receiving high praise from the Grand Pompous Windbag. Lillandril was then allowed to select a fourth member of the party and again, there was no question. Not one, but two Knights of the Crystal Tower would accompany him. Between those three, he hopefully would not need to cast a single spell and this would be a restful time away from the Hag.  His father had told incredible stories about the cities of Corinthe and Senchal with their shops, food, brothels, and, he smiled, their skooma. There was something else about Dune, but he had already tuned out the Grand Dolt by then. Blah, blah, blah was all the Old Mer was saying anyway. He’d let Ronnie sort out the details. He’d tell him about Dune later.

     

    My friendzzz?!” Lillandril exclaimed and then hiccupped, doing his best imitation of his father’s “speech voice”. He loved that voice and it was said he did a fair job with it, “we four, ah… four, that’s right four, four for the glory of Alinor.” He quickly lost his patience, “and all that, are going Elsweyr.”

     

    Puzzled glances and Lillandril’s face turned deep gold.  Going Elsweyr? Ah, shit! The third Colovian brandy at the Grand Snot’s office did not especially help speech-making.

     

    “I mean, we’re going to Elsweyr.” He corrected before another hiccup escaped his lips. Now where was that wine?

     

    He flashed a grin and winked when Elenwen took the money from the two annoyed Knights. She had mentioned a fifty/fifty split…

     

    Author's Note:

    Aican is Altmeris for a type of conifer tree. I envision that Aican nuts are similar to pine nuts. 

    Huge thanks to Karver over at the Classics section for taking the time to play through a mod featuring Elsweyr and take screenies. And yes, there are Orcs in this story. For realz. 

    Chapter 2

     

Comments

62 Comments   |   Meli likes this.
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  February 9, 2016
    Thanks Edana. They are a zany quartet and this story was a hoot to write. 
  • Edana
    Edana   ·  February 9, 2016
    Man, this is so well-done, Lissette. I'm especially fond of the opening paras with the invading hand. You did such a good job of capturing human nature and depicting that playfulness. That and all the nut jokes. xD A really great read. But you already knew that. :)
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  January 18, 2016
    Updated the art a bit and lol, fixed a big date error. Story starts in 25 4e in Alinor. I silly sometimes. 
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  January 13, 2016
    Haha, this may or may not last. 
  • Idesto
    Idesto   ·  January 13, 2016
  • Idesto
    Idesto   ·  January 13, 2016
    Ooh-er, missus! fnarr, fnarr, etc.!
    Maybe you should call this Carry On Ronnie
    Nice to see Albee in a more relaxed frame of mind :)
  • Justiciar Thorien
    Justiciar Thorien   ·  January 13, 2016
    Ha, I just want to hug Sotek for turning the conversation this way))) More, more complicated things to talk about!!)))) Lol)
    If you want my humble opinion, Sotek, (you probably don't, but I'm going to say it anyway, haha) there's not much of a chang...  more
  • Exuro
    Exuro   ·  January 13, 2016
    Summon the spirit of Hemingway for guidance and less than 25,000 words will be no problem.... or #Twitter 
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  January 13, 2016
    It's weird, Sotek. Both Exuro and Thorien picked on the some of the weirdness, cause he's all happy and then like we know what happens to him, so it puts a weirdness to it and I found that I had to go into it erasing all that baggage from Straag Rod. Like...  more
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  January 13, 2016
    Totally derailing the conversation, how do you feel about the change of pace in Going Elsweyr compared to the much darker Straag Rod. I know the characters are there still but the whole set up is far lighter. Do you find you have to change your styles wit...  more