Elise
28th Last Seed 4E 201
On the morning of the next day, I went back up to Mistveil Keep.
I had changed to my green-and-black robes since my college robes were still drying out in the open. Breakfast had been bread and cheese with a cup of tea.
My thoughts about yesterday were quickly forgotten when I enjoyed a good sleep that night. All except for that jerk, Renartus Vulpin. Instinctively my hand tightened its grip around my staff.
Grr… what I would do if I had that Imperial in my hands. If this was High Rock I would’ve him imprisoned for disparaging a noble like me. Unfortunately, this is Skyrim, not High Rock, and I must abide to its laws.
“Alright, let’s just forget about him for a moment.” I said to myself as I slowly climbed up the steps leading to the keep’s tall wooden doors. Just meet the court mage, take the Dwemer artifact, and you’ll be back at the College with Riften out of your mind. I paused halfway through, the door just a few feet ahead, to take a deep breath to compose myself before I continued climbing. I had my staff with me in hopes it would assert my authority as a mage (in training).
When I reached the top, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a pair of guards who crossed their spears to block the door.
“Sorry, but the keep is closed to visitors for the time being.” said one of the guards with a flat voice, almost as if he rehearsed the whole line.
“Wait a minute…” I narrowed my eyes in a scrutinizing gaze at the guard who spoke. “Aren’t you the same guard who told me to come back tomorrow?”
“Yes—wait, I mean no.”
My deadpan face showed just how unamused I was at his blatant attempt at lying. “I need to see the court mage.”
“That can’t be done, lady.” The other guard replied. His face was hidden under a close-faced pointed helmet, but I could feel the stern look he was giving me. “The Jarl and her court are busy at the moment. Come back to—”
“Tomorrow, yes I know. That’s what he said to me yesterday.” I pointed at the first guard who only shamelessly shrugged his shoulders. I tried again, this time with my tone softened. “I need to see the court mage, please?”
“No,” The pointed helmet guard said stoically.
“Pretty please?” I fluttered my eyelids, acting all sweet and nice.
“I said no!” He boomed, causing me to jumped back slightly. “Look lady, The Jarl and her court are busy dealing with the threat of a dragon attack. So unless you have information that can help us, you need to leave, or else we’ll make you leave.”
Seriously, a dragon attack? If they’re going to make an excuse, at least make it a believable one. I frowned and said, “Very well. Good day to you sirs.” With an indignant bow, I turned around and walked down the steps. There is no way I’m going to leave here empty-handed.
As I sat on a bench by the bridge over the canal with my head rested on my hands and elbows on my thighs, I began pondering over my options. It was obvious that I couldn't get inside the keep unless I have any ‘information’ on dragons.
Maybe I could lie to them about having information on dragons.
The idea sounded plausible… if I had any knowledge about dragons. All I know was that they were giant flying lizards who could breathe fire, and that they were dead for thousands of years. But I'm pretty sure that’s common knowledge to anyone.
I could just blast my way into the keep and demand the dwemer artifact...
I shook my head dismissively. The idea sounded too drastic and I’m sure the guards won’t react kindly to someone throwing magic at them, even if the intention wasn’t hostile.
What if I cast a charm spell and convince them to let me enter?
Hah! If only I could. My skills in Illusion magic weren’t even that good. I barely even managed to get a mule to run away from me.
Or I could just return to Winterhold and tell Arniel Gane that I failed.
The thought saddened me. It wasn’t like me to do something like that so easily. But everyone admits defeat some time soon, right? Even if I do return, he’ll probably expect a reasonable excuse.
So what should I say to him anyway?
“I’m sorry Arniel, but I couldn’t retrieve the Dwemer artifact you wanted. Your friend is too busy dealing with some dragon nonsense, and the guards are too stubborn to let me in. I would’ve waited a little longer, but my coin purse was gone and I was covered in sticky fish guts.”
Yeah, I think that would do. I thought somberly.
Suddenly I heard someone screamed followed by a voice of a woman crying out, “Help! Help!” It sounded like it was coming from the Grand Plaza.
I turned my head around and saw some sort of commotion going on. I stood up and went closer to the scene to have a better look. I saw a hooded man in a leather jerkin shoving through a crowd whilst being chased by four guards. Clutched in his right hand, was a gold necklace.
I covered my mouth and gasped. A thief!
“Come back here, you thief!” The guards hollered.
The thief pulled his head back, revealing a few locks of his brown hair, and laughed. “Try and catch me, pinheads!”
Provoked by the thief’s insult, the guards continued chasing him, now with furious determination, as more guards joined in.
I have to do something, I thought, feeling the urge to help. I couldn’t stand by and watch that thief get away. If there was one thing I could agree on with my Father; that would be thieves are bad for business and for the city as a whole.
I hurried to the Grand Plaza and ran ahead of the chase in order to intercept the thief, my robes flapping and staff held firm in my hand. Cutting into a small street, I spotted the thief about fifty yards in front of me and approaching. Several yards behind him were about fifteen guards, shouting and swinging their weapons high in the air like an angry mob. Nearly everyone around me had ran inside of their homes or to the side to avoid the incoming human stampede. But not me.
I smirked. I had the thief directly in my sights. Now all I need to do is cast a spell at him. But what sort of spell?
A paralysis spell would be the obvious choice here, but I lacked the training and magicka required to cast one. “So no paralysis spell. Great.” I muttered to myself. Hmm… what if…
Aha! An idea just popped in my head. I remembered a spell Velem R’en once taught me. It was an old Alteration spell from the Third Era that essentially makes the target heavier and move slower. 'Burden' I think it was called. I don’t see any harm on trying it right now.
I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to remember the basic hand gestures and incantations for the spell. When I found it, I felt magicka course through my body and into my left hand, enveloping it in a familiar faint translucent blue glow.
I took a deep breath, focusing all my attention at my target (who was now about thirty yards) ...and released.
Yes! I saw my spell hit the thief, and the effects were near instantaneous. The thief started slowing down almost to a crawling pace.
“What the—why do I feel heavy all of a sudden?!” Soon the guards came closer and the thief panicked. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He tried pushing his legs forward to move faster, but to no avail. The effects of a Burden spell was similar to walking through a field of waist-deep mud. So no matter how hard you try, you’ll tire yourself out even more.
Ten guards tackled the thief to the ground, pinning him under their sheer combined weight. The scene was just so comical to watch that I had to laugh. This certainly made my day.
I thrusted my staff up into the air in self-celebration...
...only to have four guards surround me with their swords pointed dangerously close.
“Drop the staff, mage!” One of them ordered threateningly.
I frowned. Oh folly…
<<<<>>>>
I'm starting to wonder if everyone in this city hates me.
Seriously, I helped them stop that thief and this is how they repay me?
Speaking of the thief, the guards had ‘conveniently’ thrown him into the cell opposite to mine. So now I had to deal with him casting me a disdainful look every five minutes or so.
“Damn you, witch!” He said, his voice carrying throughout the corridor. With his hood pulled down, I could see he had Nordic features and long brown hair with a few braided locks. “I would’ve gotten away a hundred septims richer if you hadn’t casted your dirty magic.”
“In all honesty, I’d say you deserved this fate.” I said with a somber tone as I sat down on the dirt floor of my cell with my back against the wall. “I mean you did try to steal that woman’s necklace.”
The thief swatted a hand. “Oh please, it wasn’t like she’d care if it went missing. And what about you, huh? Guards decided to lock you up too.”
“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” I argued calmly.
“Sure, whatever you say,” The thief rolled his eyes as he moved away from the bars and sat in a dark corner, muttering something about a cat.
A few hours (or so I think it was a few hours) later, I heard footsteps coming from the far end of the corridor. A pair of guards appeared and approached my cell.
“Alright, lady. Come with us.” One of them said as the other opened the door.
Well it’s about time, I thought with a half smile. I stood up and followed the guards. I turned my head to the opposite cell and smirked when I saw the thief’s gawking face.
“Oh, c’mon!” He cried out, throwing his hands up.
To my surprise, I was brought inside Mistveil Keep. Normally I should be happy about this. But I couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed. If getting wrongfully caught for casting a spell was the way to get inside, then I should’ve done it since yesterday.
The two guards escorted me into a spacious room. It was lit in orange light by a large fire pit in the middle of two rows of long tables. On the walls hung stuffed animal heads along with the purple banners of Riften. At the far end was a single intricately carved wooden throne that overlooked the room.
Standing beside the throne was a Bosmer woman in a quilted doublet. Her hair resembled something of a broom with its bristles tied into two. Personally it was awful to look at. She just stood there like a statue with her arms behind her back and her slanted eyes looking apathetic at me until she finally said, “Wait here until the Jarl arrives.”
My only response was a widened-eye look and a fluttery feeling in my stomach. The Jarl?! I was in no shape whatsoever to meet with the Jarl who was like Skyrim’s equivalent to a king in High Rock. Were my robes all straight? Is my hair okay? How do I even address the Jarl? Your Majesty? My lord? Your... Jarl-iness? Gah! I knew I should’ve brought along that book about Nordic court formalities. I’m so nervous right now.
Alright, calm down. Calm down. I said to myself, taking deep breaths. You’ve done this before. It’s no different than the courts back at High Rock. Think, what would Mother say?
I thought back to Mother's words, “Act humble and polite to everyone you meet. Greet them with a bow or a simple nod. Laugh if somebody tells a joke, even if you don’t understand it. Courtesy is a lady’s shield, so arm yourself in it well.”
Ah, Mother. Even a thousand leagues apart I could still hear her voice, warm and affectionate. She was always supportive of my dreams and was the one who sent me off to study under the tutorship of Velen R’en, who had been a close friend on her family’s side. I do pray that Mother is alright back in Daggerfall, and hopefully she’s keeping Father’s volatile anger in check. She was always good at calming him down.
My thoughts were interrupted when the door behind the throne groaned open. A Nord woman entered the room with a young Nord man in gilded armor walking just behind her. The Bosmer then cried out, “Laila Law-Giver, Jarl of Riften.”
The Jarl had light brown hair and wore a blue dress with a fur mantle clasped by two gold brooches with a chain dangling below her neck. As she sat on her throne, she lowered her eyes at me.
“Your Majesty,” I said, bowing my head.
The Jarl raised an eyebrow and chuckled lowly. “I’ve been called by many titles. But never once has someone called me ‘Your Majesty’.”
“You're... welcome?”
“What is your name, Breton?” She asked.
“Elise Desrosiers of Daggerfall,” I answered.
“Do you know why you’re here, Elise Desrosiers?” She asked, mispronouncing my surname as Day-rose-say. It took me a bit of self-restraint not to correct here on that matter.
“Is it because I was wrongfully imprisoned?”
“Wrongfully?” The young Nord man suddenly erupted. He stood beside the Jarl, opposite of the Bosmer. “You tried to cast your magic in our city with foul intentions.”
“I was trying to help catch the thief!” I angrily snapped, which was probably the worse thing I had done at that time. Mother always said that I inherited a bit of Father’s temper. It was something that I had to agree on, begrudgingly. I let myself calm down before continuing. “Which I did sir, and you should be grateful for that.”
“Why you arro—” The Nord fumed, clearly mistaking my kind tone for a subtle insult. But was it really?
The Jarl raised a hand for silence. “That’s enough, Unmid.” Then to me she said, “I’m sorry for my housecarl’s behavior. If you haven’t realized by now, we Nords tend to look down upon magic. However we appreciate your assistance in capturing the thief. He was rather notorious and had caused a lot of trouble for the guards for the last few days. As a token of gratitude and apology, I will return all your confiscated items and you may ask of me anything as a reward.”
“Your Ma—”
“A ‘my lady’ would suffice,” Jarl Laila insisted.
“—My lady, while I respect your offer of generosity, I have no need for any reward. All I ask is to meet with the court mage.”
“And what business do you have with Wylandriah?” She asked skeptically.
“I am a student of the College of Winterhold. I came here under the request of Arniel Gane to retrieve a Dwemer artifact recovered by your court wizard. However I had some ‘difficulties’ trying to enter the keep. So if I may, could I please see her?”
Jarl Laila gave me a look of approval and stood up. “Follow me,”
She lead me through the throne room and into a corridor, her bodyguard was never far away from us. A closer look revealed that his gilded armor was of elven make. How strange considering that most Nords I saw wore steel or iron.
As we entered the court mage’s room, a fragrant smell arose. Hmm, lavender.
At a counter, a woman in blue robes was examining a vial of red liquid, oblivious to the three of us standing at the door.
“Wylandriah!” The Jarl called out.
The woman turned away from her work with a drowsy look in her slanted eyes. “What—who are you three?” Unmid groaned while Jarl Laila held a stern look. Then she realized who she was talking to. “Oh, Jarl Laila. Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t recognized you. I was busy you see, with the experiments and all.”
“You are forgiven, Wylandriah. There is someone who wishes to speak with you.”
I stepped forward and introduced myself. “Hello, I’m Elise Desrosiers.”
“I’ll leave you two to your business then.” With that, Jarl Laila and her bodyguard left.
“Huh, did we have an appointment?” Wylandriah asked me.
“Well, technically yes. I was sent here by Arniel Gane from the College of Winterhold.”
“Arniel Gane? Oh, him. What does he want?”
“He wants the Dwemer artifact that you recovered.” I said, my serene expression hiding away the exuberant joy I had at completing my task.
“Dwemer artifact?” Wylandriah tilted her head. “What Dwemer artifact?”
And that all ended with those three words. “The one you said you had recovered in a Dwemer ruin...” I explained slowly. “Arniel had wrote several letters to you requesting for it.”
“Letters? I couldn’t seem to recall Arniel writing any letters to me.”
“Please try to remember.” I insisted.
“Hmm, letters… dwemer artifact…” Wylandriah pondered in deep thought until finally, “Ah, yes! I remembered now. Something about a Dwemer artifact and a letter that I wrote to Arniel a week ago.”
I sighed in relief. Thank the Gods. “Can you give it to me?”
“Actually I don’t have it with me right about now.”
“W-What?”
“Well you see…” The court mage began, nervously fiddling her fingers around. “I only knew about the Dwemer artifact from a man named Lothor. He said he would retrieve for me if I fund his expedition. In my excitement, I may have wrote the letter a bit too early before I actually had the artifact in my hands.”
“Did Lothor ever came back?” I asked.
“Um, well… no.”
“So to summarise everything. A guy named Lothor told you about a Dwemer artifact and you funded his expedition. But Lothor never came back and the only reason why I am here is because you told Arniel that you have a Dwemer artifact, which at that time you don’t have because Lothor just started his expedition, is that correct?”
“Y-yes,” Wylandriah replied with a weary nod.
I sighed. “Alright then, I’ll just find Lothor and retrieve the artifact myself. So where’s this Dwemer ruin?”
“Well I actually don’t know where it is.”
“What do you mean you don’t know where it is?!” I shouted, half-angry and half-upset.
“I’m really sorry, but he never really did tell me the name. Now if you’ll excuse, I must return—” As Wylandriah tried to move away, I grabbed her arm, causing her to let out a sharp yelp.
That’s it! I couldn’t take it anymore. My patience had dried up like well. I was tired. Tired and very frustrated. “Listen, Wood Elf,” I said with a menacing glare that pierced through her very soul. “Do you have any idea what I had to put up through just to get here, only to find myself with a dead end?! I was intimidated by a brute, I had my coin purse stolen, I was thrown into jail and worse of all, I had salmon dumped over my head. So unless you have another answer besides ‘I don’t know’, then you better tell me or else I will not hesitate to turn you into a rat. Do. You. Understand?”
The last part was a lie (did you honestly think I could turn someone into a rat?), but the overall effect was working. Wylandriah shriveled up in fear as she stammered to get her words out. Mind you this was no fear spell I casted on her. This was a day and a half of pent-up frustration erupting like the Red Mountain.
“T-there m-may be someone who might help you.” She said, stammering.
“I’m listening,” I said, loosening my grip on her arm. My anger slowly dwindling down.
“Lothor had used the gold I gave him to buy some equipment for the expedition from a local general store.”
“You mean the Pawned Prawn?”
“No, not the Pawned Prawn. There's another general store, down in the canals. It's called Little Colovia. Maybe the owner could tell you where Lothor went.”
“Alright, that sounds like a good place to start,” I agreed and immediately let go of Wylandriah’s arm. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
I bowed my head and left, leaving a very confused Wylandriah.
<<<<>>>>
So this is it? Little Colovia? I thought as I stared up at the sign hanging above the doorway. It bore the aforementioned store’s name with the image of western Cyrodiil behind it. If that didn't say 'yes, this is Little Colovia’, then I don't know what will.
Without wasting time, I entered the store. A small bell rang, announcing my presence.
“Welcome to Little Colovia, ma’am,” greeted a Nord man standing behind the counter. “Name’s Varik. If you need anything just come up to the counter.”
My reply came out more like a whisper as I stared agape at how vastly different the interior of the store was compared to the Pawned Prawn. It felt like an emporium with swords varying of different lengths hanging on weapon racks on one side of a wall and bows and axes on the opposite. There were shelves filled with kitchenwares, clothes, lanterns, and even a large animal skull. At the centre of the room were six display cases with items ranging from soul gems to rings to lockets held within them. And finally, above the ceilings hung strings of small flags, baubles and paper lanterns.
I have to admit, whoever the owner of this store is, he has quite an eye for interior decorating.
“Ma’am? Do you need anything?”
I snapped out from my reverie at the sound of the Nord calling out to me. I think he said his name was Varik or something. “Y-yes, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
As I approached the counter, I noticed that at the corner was a girl with brown hair sitting at a small table, eating grilled salmon. When she saw me, she waved her hand with a bright smile on her face. I awkwardly waved back. I guess she must be a worker on break.
Varik was a big Nord. He was higher than me by five inches with coarse brown hair and thick arms. I would’ve mistaken him for a lumber mill worker if he wasn’t standing behind the counter. His clothes were a simple tunic and jacket. “So what I can help you with?” He asked.
“I have a few questions to ask. You are the owner of this fine establishment, correct?”
“No ma’am. I just work here.” Varik revealed. “But if you have some questions for the Boss, I’ll go get him.” He turned around and shouted at the doorway that was behind him. “Hey Boss, come over here!”
A voice suddenly spoke from inside, “What is it, Varik?”
Wait... why does that voice sound so familiar?
“Some woman here wants to ask you a few questions.”
“I thought I told you to handle the questions-and-answering.” There was a moment pause. “You know what? Fine, I needed to get out of my room anyways.” I heard a chair groaned followed by the shuffling of footsteps. A man came out from the doorway. And much to my utter displeasure, it was a man that I swore I would never meet ever again, yet the Gods decided otherwise.
“So who’s this woman with the ques—” He stopped mid-sentence as his silver eyes widened briefly when he saw me. Then he cracked that stupid grin of his. “Why hello, Roses.”
Gods… why? Just why must it be him again?!
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