The Elderly Scrawls: Skewrim — The Unmodded Truth

Verandas, the 20th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

Kharla surfaced. Eilgird was being led out of the water by three townsfolk, including the man who’d given them the crate of supplies. They’d put a big fur blanket around the Nord. Kharla was glad to see the others on the bank draped in similar blankets. Everyone had made it safe and sound. She made her way out of the lake, a fur blanket placed on her shoulders as she reached the shore.

“That was so much fun!” said Mell as she rung the water out of her robes.

“You didn’t get all the backspray like the rest of us,” said Draloth. “I couldn’t see a thing! All I could hear were your squeals.”

Mell leaned against a birch tree to take off her boots. “You had the chance to go first and you didn’t take it, so don’t blame me.”

“The ride wasn’t the problem,” began Ti’lief. He sat on the bank looking like a drowned rat, his eyes still wide in fright. “It was the plunge at the end. This one almost drowned in the deep water!”

“It would help if you could swim,” said Draloth, “then I wouldn’t have had to pull you out by the scruff of your neck!”

The Cat’s paw went to his neck. “Water should be for cleaning not swimming.”

“Ah, Timba,” said Eilgird as the lumber mill owner walked down to the bank of the lake.

“Hello, everyone,” said Timba Side-Arm. “I heard you’d come down the ol’ Chute, as we call it. It’s a long ol’ job polishing that thing every year, I can tell ya.”

“It was most pleasant,” said Mell.

Timba gave a deep nod. “You are very welcome.”

“I’ve got something for you.” Eilgird unattached the Dweeber blunderbuss from her belt and handed it to Timba.

“Oh, you found it! Thank you. I doubt those bears will come back in a hurry, but if they do then this’ll be waiting for them.” Timba placed the sidearm back in its leather holder on her hip. “I’ve got to get back to the lumber mill, but I came to tell you we’ve put on some soup at Wilma’s Inn and got the pit fire roaring so you can warm up and dry out. Blankets, soup, and a nice warm fire are a must after the Chute if you don’t want to catch a nasty cold.”

As Timba departed Draloth muttered “It would’ve been useful to have that weapon. Why’d you give it back?”

Eilgird turned her visored face toward the Dark Elf. “First and foremost, because it’s her property; secondly, it was bloomin’ heavy and I didn’t want to be lugging it all over Skewrim; thirdly, I think it’s useless as it needs some kind of fuel we neither have nor know about; and lastly, if we didn’t give it back she’d probably have to change her name.”

“All right, that’s fair enough,” said the merchant. “You made your point.”

Thral looked up at the end of the slide above the lake. He smiled and pointed then turned to Kharla. “Again? Can we do it again?”

“Maybe next time,” lied Kharla. She had no intention of ever coming down the ‘Chute’ ever again. Next time they’d walk down—and she didn’t care how dark it was, how slippy the steps were, or how many dragons were in pursuit.

Two hours later, soup in their bellies and dry clothes on their backs (well, apart from Thral who wore nothing on his back), Kharla and her companions were standing on the edge of the town all holding hands. Each of them had secured their weapons and pouches in preparation for the Sprint. Thral had been shown the sketch of the Mireside Inn from the book and assured that his ‘beloved’ Kharla would be coming with them; and now everyone chanted the three Words of Power—Fars Trha Vel—as Mell readied the bright orb before Thral’s face.

Thral sneezed and Kharla again felt the sensation of being pulled through the air at impossible speed, her vision fading to black. When her vision returned she found herself on the ground outside an inn that’s sign read ‘Mireside Inn’. They’d made it.

“Astounding,” said Draloth as he stood and looked around. “Thral has miraculously managed to drop us on one of the few pieces of dry land in this settlement.

Kharla stood. Marshes pervaded Mirefull. Wooden walkways covered the settlement providing a means to traverse the marshy patches. No one seemed to have noticed their arrival as everyone had gathered outside a hall-like building a short stone’s throw away.

“We need to work on the landing,” said Eilgird, again pulling herself from underneath Thral’s leg.

The Khapiit tilted his head. “Tsk. Ti’lief had no problem. He landed on his feet. This ‘Worldwide Sprint’, it was a most interesting experience.”

“You’re a Cat! You’re supposed to land on your feet!” said the Nord girl.

The crowd outside the nearby hall started to shout as a man appeared on the steps from the door.

“What’s the Jarl going to do about it?” cried a man in the crowd.

“How are we supposed to feel safe on our walkways?” asked another accusingly. “We’ve lost three people this week to the marsh. If we go on like this there’ll be no residents left!”

“That’s right!” said a large man with a long axe on his back. “We lost the blacksmith last week. How am I supposed to get my axe fixed now, eh?”

“Please, enough already!” said the man on the steps. “I have told the Jarl of your concerns. She’ll look after you all. We still have a lumberjack and a sawmill. Please, go about your business.”

“We’ve no need for lizards in our mist!” shouted someone else as the man on the steps turned and disappeared back into the hall. “I see them all the time, with their little flicking tongues and the way they tilt their heads and eye you with those little slitted pupils! We need to drain the marsh and put up fences to keep the reptiles out. Do you hear me?”

“Bah, it’s no use,” said the first man who’d spoken. He sighed. “Come on, let’s back to work. Just remember to shout if you fall in the marsh. Don’t try to be a hero and get out all by yourself. It just makes it worse.”

“Well, that’s all very interesting,” the Dark Elf began. “Shall we get going? I can see a clear path both ways out of this inhabited bog without having to cross any walkways or marshy patches.”

Thral started heading toward the walkway that led over the marsh to the inn.

“No, Thral, come back!” said Draloth. “The walkway might not take your weight!”

The walkway did take the Thane of Whiteruin’s weight, as did the stairs leading up to the door.

“We’ll have to let him have a mug,” said Kharla. “Or else he might not want to go the next inn when we need to have him Sprint again.”

Draloth sighed. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Let’s try to make sure he has his mead after these Sprints though, not before or else we’ll probably end up at the bottom of a bog next time.”

They followed Thral into the establishment, Ti’lief eyeing the marshes beneath the walkway suspiciously.

“Finally,” shouted the woman behind the counter. “Someone comes in. Kick off your boots, take off your headwear, let down your hair, loosen your weapons, and put up your feet and stay awhile! Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with. I got nothing but time these days.”

They all ordered a drink and as the owner brought their tray over an Orc dressed in simple clothing appeared on a raised part of the flooring near the counter. Two red curtains flanked the little stage.

“Greetings!” said the Orc. “I’m Lurkbak the Great—minstrel, bard, and poet! The fair Donna does me a great courtesy by allowing me to entertain the guests of her noble establishment.” He looked at Kharla. “And I’m glad to see the face of a sister Orc in the crowd!”

Kharla smiled weakly. They were hardly a crowd. They were the only customers in the room.

The owner went white and quickly excused herself as she put the tray down on the table. She returned to the counter and then disappeared off to the side somewhere out of Kharla’s sight.

“For my first performance this afternoon I’d like to play a short tune on my lute.” The Orc began plucking his lute.

An image of Skreevers scratching their little claws down chalkboards came to Kharla’s mind. Ti’lief’s ears went flat against his head and then he put his hood up and held it close. A white stick with a hook on the end creeped out from behind the curtain nearest the counter. A shepherd’s crook! It made its way slowly toward the Orc and then hooked him around the neck and yanked him out of sight.

“Thank Neverfar!” said Draloth.

Moments later, however, Lurkbak had lurked back onto the platform looking a little flustered but still determined.

He hefted his lute again. “Next will be a little song I wrote.”

The Orc started to sing. It was gruff, disjointed, and about as out of tune as one could get without coming back into tune again.

“Shadows creep, and…and phantoms leap!

A man got…he got scared. And the demons dared!

To um…visit upon him all which they feared!”

“I’m going to arrest him for disturbing the peace,” Eilgird said, standing.

But she never had a chance as Lurkbak’s mouth opened in shock and he vanished down a trapdoor that had just opened beneath him. This was followed by the sound of a stringed instrument breaking and a groan.

Donna reappeared, innocently wiping down the counter.

No one said anything.

They didn’t stop for another mug. Even Thral seemed concerned the Orc bard might return, so he put up no protest and quit the inn along with the others. They headed off toward the place Master Arnie had marked on their map.

The track was dry for the most part, the trees sparse, and the ground covered in patches of frost and mist. They passed a rather ominous-looking cave entrance and then picked their way across a very marshy spot with pools of water.

“Ti’lief, he not like this. He cannot tell if it is ground or water.”

They were soon on dry ground again.

“Is that it?” asked Eilgird pointing to several standing stones dotted around a rotund barrow-like structure.

Kharla looked at the map. “I think so.”

“Wait,” Eilgird warned. “Bandits up ahead, by the stones…and they have a wizard with them.”

Kharla crouched and the others did the same. “Yeah, I see a fire. It’s a camp. They must be guarding the barrow. Their mates are probably in there ransacking the place.”

“What do we do?” asked Draloth.

“There’s four of them as far as I can see, not including the wizard. Two women, two men.” Kharla looked at her companions. “Thral, you take the men. Eilgird and me will take the women. The rest of you, see if you can get behind that wizard and take him out.”

They moved forward on Kharla’s instruction. Eilgird cut down the first woman swiftly and Kharla wasn’t a heartbeat behind her in dispatching the second. Thral sent the first man flying and the second swung his axe only to hit the shaft of Thral’s warhammer. Thral headbutted him and the bandit’s skull cracked.

But then the woman Kharla had just slain stood up again, moaned, and came at her in an awkward manner. Kharla shoved her spear through her for the second time and she turned to ash. Then the bandits Eilgird and Thrall had killed all rose to their feet again. What was going on?