Fresh air was a blessing for Tarthas after the rotten sewers. It took him a while to get used to daylight. But as the world came into view it was stunning. The grass was more vivid and the sun’s rays warmed him pleasantly. That was something the northern sun of Skyrim couldn’t do.
He needed a place to stay but in a different country, in a different time, he had no contact. The Dartwings danced over the water’s crystalline surface. Behind him loomed the grand white granite walls of the Imperial City.
From the little imperial geography he knew and from the setting of the sun he figured that he was south east of the wheel-like centre of the grand city. It had few entrances and most of them were hard to reach from outside, only two were open to the outside, one south west, the waterfront district, where the harbor was and west, a huge bridge and the main entrance.
He walked to the walls and followed the paved path that circled round the city. He went under a bridge that he assumed led to the famous arcane university, the head of the mage’s guild that had no presence in Skyrim.
It was about four in the afternoon when he arrived at the dock in the waterfront district. The dock was a semi circle surrounding the lighthouse with water in between. A circular wall of dock houses and warehouses and behind that on an island lay the shacks and ghetto of the City where the poorest of the poor stayed, even those houses cost a pretty penny.
He walked along the docks admiring the mighty ships that bobbed on the water, two or three masts with huge sails and glimmering flags. Men were hauling crates of various cargos.
Feeling adventurous Tarthas walked up the plank to one of the large ships and admired the huge sails and the even the black iron cannons on board were fascinating. He looked up the high mast to see a black flag with a skull and two crossed sabers. It was a pirate ship. Well that was his rotten luck, what had Nocturnal said again?
Sure enough the buccaneers who owned the ship surrounded him. There were five of them altogether, two women, three men. They all carried a long and sharp looking cutlass but no armour.
“Well, well. I think we have a trespasser.” The dunmer lady said sweetly.
Tarthas raised his hands and backed away slowly only to feel the point of a cutlass poking the small of his back. “Look, I meant no harm, I am new to this city. I was just looking around.”
A bare chested Redguard scoffed. “You can’t fool us, Assassin. Coming to review the state of the crime you committed? Or here to murder more of us? Well you haven’t caught us unaware like our captain! Ahoy, men! Kill that scurvy ridden murderer!”
“psst, don’t worry kid, I got your back” a voice whispered from next to him, there was no one there though.
He unsheathed his shortsword and sidestepped two cuts from a red and green-scaled Argonian and the dark elf while parrying the other from the Redguard.
He shot a firebolt at a woman, burning her arm, making her drop her cutlass. He closed in and stabbed her in the diaphragm, below her breasts.
The imperial that was behind him gurgled as a hovering dagger slit his throat. Out of thin air another dunmer appeared, his hair was a stark white mane and a sly grin and a sparkle in his gleaming red eyes stretched his face. His armour was close fitting and leather as black as night.
The dunmer danced like a shadow to the argonian and lunged a kick at his face while ducking from the redguard’s slash, with a flurry of two shortswords he slit a deep cut across the redguard’s chest and stomach while with his other stabbing the knelt over Argonian through his shoulder into his lungs.
Tarthas parried hack after slash from the furious dunmer lady, finally finding the opportunity to sidestep and seeing the dunmer trip to his side he grabbed her by her ponytail and pulled her close, shortsword to her neck.
“Yer strong fer a Breton, beddin’ ya would be a dream. But go on; kill me like ye slaught’rd the rest of me crew. Not like we’d sail nomore seas w’thout the cap’n. I have nothin’ left. Get it over with. Can’t do it? Fine I’ll help ye!”
She grabbed his wrist and pressed the sword to her throat and pulled it to the right slitting her own throat. Tarthas nearly screamed at the act of the dunmer. How could you be so eager to die?
“People with nothing to lose are a dangerous sight indeed” The dunmer muttered while picking up their gold pouches and adding the coins to his own. A guard ran up the plank onto the boat.
“Stop in the name of the emperor! You have violated the law! Murder of five sailors! Pay the court a fine or serve your sentence!”
The dunmer waved and a light green glow shimmered from his hand. The guard smiled meekly.
“It’s alright, it was self defense, pirates you see. Nothing wrong here. Carry on with your patrol.” The dark elf said smoothly. The guard carried on smiling and turned around whistling ‘Ho hey sweet lady of Wayrest’
Tarthas was about to utter his regards to the roguish dunmer but he had disappeared again. It clicked, the school of illusion. The green wave some kind of calming or mind altering spell, and the disappearing must be invisibility. The dunmer was an illusionist. What was he doing before he stepped on the boat? The jackal yawned and trundled off the boat towards the main mass of the city.
He followed the jackal over the bridge and past the white-granite lighthouse, the way he came. In front of him loomed a huge gate guarded by two Imperial Guards in their heavy and dark iron plate. Silver swords resting by their belt a quiver of silver arrows and a fine looking steel bow slung across their back.
“Welcome to the Imperial City… adventurer.” The guard looked distastefully at Tarthas “It looks like you would need new arms and armour I would advise you to head to the Fighting Chance in the market district. These are dangerous times and highwaymen would make quick meat from you. And…” He glanced fretfully to his side “that magic looks dangerous. Could you keep your… dog on a leash.” The ghostly jackal yowled but moved to the spellsword’s side.
“Which way to the market district, and is there a chapel in town?” He asked politely.
The other guard pointed behind him. “A pilgrim eh? Straight through this passage road is the Temple District, the Temple of the One will be in clear sight. The Capital is divided into 6 districts around the White-Gold Tower. If you carry on straight through the Green Emperor’s Way the Market is just straight on the other side of the City. Move along.” The guards opened the gates for him and he went through a long straight passage with barred stores on either side, darkly lit by torches, a few were completely closed and had a sign that offered it for rent to sell produce.
The brightness of daylight reflecting off the white walls was blinding but sure enough in front of him in the center of the district stood the domed structure known as the Temple of the One, there were no doors to it and as he entered there weren’t many people in it and they were dead quiet. It felt like he was intruding on this sacred place and that even the mere echoes of his leather boots would insult the great Talos.
He stepped forward to the great circular altar and knelt to pray. He whispered out his prayer. “I haven’t been the most faithful and it has been hard to worship You, mighty Talos, but Your kin Akatosh has sent me here to this land, this age, please can you shed light on what I must do. I feel weak; I can’t stand up against a Prince, let alone many. Send me Your strength and guidance, I pray. I can’t do this alone. I... I don’t even know if You are listening but please hear me now. Mighty Talos I beg Thee, I need support.” Tarthas expected some kind of enlightenment, some feeling. An epiphany or confidence to flood through him like people claim they experience, but he just felt empty. Disappointed he left the temple.
He headed round the temple, northeast, closer to the axle of the wheel-like city. The guards opened the gate to the Emperor's way without hesitation and with a small reminder to be silent in the White-Gold tower. It must be a tourist attraction of some kind if they expected him to go there. It didn't interest him though.
He walked around the tower admiring the unbelievable height of the structure. It seemed unbelievable it was built in the 1st era; it looked like it was only constructed the day before. Hugging the wall around it were graveyards, people of all races were walking among them mourning their deceased family member.
"Tisk, tisk." Tarthas tuned around to see the smirking dunmer loftily, tossing and catching a tiny silver object. He wasn't wearing the black close fitted leather. He wore a black tunic and leather trousers tied close at the ankles by doeskin shoes. "Watch your belongings kid, especially one as valuable as this artifact. A lycanthrope huh?"
"What do you mean a lycanthrope? And who are you?" Lycanthropy was a strain of supernatural diseases that would make your turn into formidable and uncontrollable beasts under the whims of the phases of the moons.
He bowed elegantly one arm swaying behind him "Zaknolu Do'Ana at your service." Tarthas looked at the dunmer with new eyes, remembering the wizened old dragonborn that missed an eye. He knew dunmer could live nearly two centuries but this elf seemed to be in his fifties. No way he could live till 219 and still slay dragons.
"You know my name? No surprise, the Black Arrow has many fans. But please call me Zach, I like you kid. But you don't know about your own lycanthropy? This ring, it is Hircine's Ring. Prince of the hunt and were-beasts. This ring keeps your beast form in check. It makes sense that you don't know about it truly; you've always had it under control.
“I have seen many lycanthropes in Morrowind and Solstheim. They are quite common and very often slaughtered like the dogs they turn into. But none have been as fortunate as you to have this ring. Keep it safe. A skilled pick pocket could easily take it from you.” He tossed it to Tarthas who caught it. “You don’t want to lose yourself, mentally or fatally.
Now, you need supplies, that’s where you are heading? Oh. And it would have been common courtesy to tell me your name in turn since you know mine.”
“Tarthas Gardner, son of… son of Karsa.” It was hard for him to switch his title, but it was a necessary switch.
Zach looked confused and waved his hand in dissmissal. “You’re a Breton. I thought naming your father was a Nordic custom. If, if you didn’t have a title of your own.”
Tarthas hesitated, “I was born in Skyrim and my father was Nord, my mother a Breton.”
“Interesting. I have more questions for later: you are very intriguing. But you are heading to the market district for supplies; you don’t have much coin on you though. Merely twenty septims. How did you get here from Skyrim in that attire and that meager coin?”
He could have told him the most ridiculous story he would have ever told: “I came from the fourth era through time on the back of an aspect of Akatosh to stop a looming crisis from the depths of Oblivion to repeat itself and succeed.”, Sure everyone would believe that story however true it may be. So he improvised.
“I was robbed on my way to the imperial city. Some band of highwaymen. I was able to kill one but after that they knocked me out. I was left with little more than what the dead bandit had on him. I guess the others didn’t care about him.”
It was clearly visible that Zaknolu was not impressed and did not believe it. He had seen Tarthas’ fighting prowess. “Some tough bandits.” Sarcasm seeped through. But it was dismissing. “I’ll lend you some coin. I have enough to spare. You need new armour, a new bow, and arrows. And some leather gloves for the bow. Do you have any silvery? And your technique is longsword right?”
“Talos, how do you know all of this? And silvery?”
“The armour is obvious, the longsword is easy to spot from your stance at the start of combat. No shield, but you’re ready to block with your… arm? or cast a spell with it. Typical of a spellsword. Medium armour such as leather and mail I am guessing. Silver weapons, slaying ghosts and the like.”
The boy nodded impressed.
“Well then, let’s move along. You can stay at my place for the night, it is off the main part of the market district.” He turned around with a swift and subtle spin of his heel. And waved for him to follow. “First let’s visit the Fighting Chance.
The owner is an old friend of mine and will know exactly what you need.”
The market district was a bustling metropolis the likes of which he hadn’t seen in the other two districts he had passed through. The grand aylied rows of buildings were customized with wooden-shop-signs and crates aligned abd piled up on the side of streets. Not to forget the masses of people passing through, richly dressed as well as poorly. People of all races, even a few of the cat-like khajiit and the lizard-like argonians that were banned from entering cities in modern day Skyrim, walked around. Women’s dresses were far less modest than Skyrim’s standards, as shoulders and below were bare, embracing the sun’s rays. Kyne’s peace, it was hot.
Zach took a right turn and beckoned him through a shop’s door. A little bell tinkled as the door swung past it. Racks of words aligned the walls with dummies as well as targets separating the racks. On the left side was a counter with more blades and axes of varying sizes resting on it. A old Redguard woman clad in iron stood behind smiling patiently. She stood behind that counter all day waiting for a customer to come through her shop’s door.
“Welcome to A Fighting Chance, I’m Rohssan, propr- oh hello Zach. I haven’t seen you in weeks. Is your raiment damaged again or do you need some more advice on repairs?” Zaknolu moved aside to show curious Tarthas, “Oh, hello sweetie. How may I help you? A new friend of yours Zach?”
“To be ironic he needs a fighting chance. I have a slight shopping list. One long-sword, preferably aldmeri silver to lighten his load other wise a silver dagger or short-sword as well. Do you have an ebony bow and silver arrows to go with it? Don’t worry, kid, it’s on my bill.” He thought for a while, looking around the room. “You don’t deal in armour anymore, do you?”
Rohssan shook her head, “No sweetie, but I might have something left from better days. You see, the Best Defence has bought all of my stocks. But I do have something special. Something very, very, special left over. A gift from a bosmeri tanner I used to know. Let me find it for you, darling. I think it is the right measurements.”
She rushed up the stairs behind the counter and for minutes that seemed like hours an eerie silence enveloped the ground floor, but muted thuds and clangs were heard from the floor above. Quickly she rushed back down with a green silken bundle.
Unwrapped it was a bundle of hardened leather, green cloth and mithril chain. With help from Zach he fitted on the silken mithril hauberk and greaves. Over that a tight fitted leather vest that seemed to be made of bands of overlapping leather much like the overlapping petals of a rose. Similarly designed bracers fitted his wrists, the right one being a glove to protect his fingers from the bow. His thighs padded with leather greaves. A moss green hood covered his head.
The leather seemed to have a green hue. While they were fitting the bosmeri armor Rohssan had come back with the weaponry the Zach had ordered.
Tarthas flexed his muscles hiding under the mail and leather, which whispered to his movement. It was lighter and more flexible than it let out to be. Rohssan handed over the silver sword. The scabbard was coated in black lacquer and the handle black leather the rest was silver. When unsheathing, it sang like a songbird. Hand and a half sword; perfectly balanced in one hand as well as two.
He walked over to one of the dummies in the corner of the room and whacked at it a couple times. At first with reluctance but as he gained confidence he gained footing and felt the rhythm of combat dancing in him. Instead of being surrounded by three dummies, they were three of the silver hand.
Zaknolu watched impressed as the boy danced with perfect balance. Not a step was out of place, not a blow could trip him up. It reminded him of someone he had slain in the Arena. A warrior from Skyrim, seeking fame outside the most revered hall of fighters the province had, the Companions. He had nearly had his guts spilled by that gladiator.
“That’s enough. It seems the sword is yours and that armour fits. I’ll bring you to my house. Rohssan, I haven’t collected my earnings from the last two week’s matches. It should be more than enough to pay for it. Take whatever you need.”
When they left the Fighting Chance it was nighttime. Tarthas hadn’t realized that he had been fighting the dummies for so long. Zaknolu’s house was not spectacular in any way or form. A dining area, lounge and kitchen cramped into a medium sized first floor. Everything was tip top tidy. As if no one had ever set foot in the place. On the right side was a stairs with a door undernteath leading to his basement. Up the stairs were three sepperate bedrooms. Tarthas got the one on the close right. He went to sleep quite quickly. And he prayed that he would wake up back next to Keri-Anne.
I hope you enjoyed, comments would be appreciated.
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