The Elderly Scrawls: Skewrim — The Unmodded Truth

Floridas, the 22nd of Lost Speed, 4E 201

“Two guests, feeling ill. Leave the poor wretches be,” said the Wood Elf to the Khapiit cook.

“Guests in the kitchens? You know this is against the rules…”

“Rules is it, Tha’tsfuni? I didn’t realize that licking the plates clean was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador…”

Tha’tsfuni waved her ladle. “Tsk! Get out of here. This one, she saw nothing.”

Malebun showed Kharla and Draloth into a small adjoining storeroom. Kharla saw a milk crate next to a door at the end of the room. “Your gear’s in the crate.”

Kharla grabbed the lockpicks and her Orcish axe.

“This door leads to the rest of the embassy and out into the inner courtyard. You’ll see the Sauna of Eleven once you’re outside,” the Wood Elf continued. “But I’ll have to lock it behind you. The patrols will check it. Now, good luck. I have to get back before I’m missed.”

Kharla and Draloth were left standing in a corridor. Voices drifted from the doorway up ahead to their left. Kharla gave the lockpicks to Draloth and they crept forward in their soft leather shoes.

“Did you see those robes march in this morning?” said a male High Elf.

“Yes, they’re high mages,” said a second High Elf. Also male. “Just in from the homeland. I guess Herself is finally getting worried about all the dragon attacks.”

“Ah, good. I’ve been wondering how we were supposed to defend this place from a dragon,” said the first.

“They’ve put in rail guns on the railings too. I saw them being delivered and installed. Great big spear-like bolts,” said the second.

“If a dragon does show up, maybe we’ll get lucky and it will eat the mages first. Might give us enough time to kill it,” said the first.

“Ha. I'd like to see those arrogant stringbeans taken down a notch. Always looking down their noses at us lowly footsloggers,” said the second.

“Well,” began the first, “we better get back to our rounds or Number Eleven Herself will have our hides.”

Kharla poked her head around the corner as the sound of the guards’ footsteps and laughter moved away. “Come on,” she whispered. “We can get through that door over there if we are quick and quiet about it.”

Kharla and the Dark Elf slipped through the door and found themselves in the inner courtyard. Across from them stood another building. Eleven’s Sauna, no doubt. Three Tallmor soldiers patrolled the courtyard, torches lighting up their golden armor in the growing darkness of the evening. Kharla and Draloth ducked behind a bush.

“How are we going to get past them?” the merchant asked.

Kharla fingered her axe. Several posts with lanterns hanging from them dotted the courtyard. There would be few places to hide. “We need a distraction.”

“Another one?” asked Draloth. “I don’t think the Conga will quite cut it this time.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Kharla put down her axe and balled up some snow in her hands. “We need to make our way around using the bushes for cover.” The bushes were some kind of perennial shrub, small-leaved but thick enough to provide cover.

Kharla threw her snowball at the guard furthest away and it hit him on the back.

“Hey!” The guard turned. “I’ve told you about doing that before, Volcano.”

The name is pronounced vol-carno, in case you were wondering. Sometimes I think these High Elves do this on purpose. All very well if you’re a storyteller in the oral tradition. A nightmare if using the written word.

“Doing what, Santelmo?” the other asked, turning.

“Right, move!” said Kharla. She and Draloth kept low as they raced to the next bush.

“Don’t play ignorant,” said Volcano.

“Whatever.” Santelmo went back to his patrol.

Kharla threw another snowball, this time at Volcano. It hit him on the back of his helmet.

The guard turned. “How petty! You’re like a little boy. You should act your height.”

Kharla and Draloth moved to the next bush.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do it again and you’ll lose a good bit of that height when I sever your head from your neck!”

“Pfft!”

As the two settled back into their patrol, Kharla threw another snowball, this time at the third guard who had just come from the direction of the embassy.

“Oi! Which one you two miscreants threw that?” the third guard said. He picked up some snow and threw it at Santelmo, hitting him in the face. Santelmo threw one back and missed and the third guard took the opportunity to throw one at Volcano for good measure, hitting him in the chest. Soon, a fully-fledged snowball fight was in progress, allowing Kharla and Draloth to run for the bushes fronting Eleven’s Sauna.

“Yes, all very amusing!” said a tall figure who suddenly loomed up before them, glancing at the guards and then back at them. A Tallmor wizard! “But let’s see how you fare at having balls thrown at you — fireballs!”

Kharla and Draloth dived aside as a fireball sprung from the wizard’s hand and engulfed the bush behind them. The guards stopped fighting at the explosion and the wizard ordered them to pursue the intruders.

Kharla and Draloth had nowhere to run. The courtyard was surrounded by railings too high to climb over. The three guards and the wizard closed in on them, blocking any escape back to the embassy or the Sauna.

“A fox and a butterfly. How cute!” the wizard said. “I wonder what they’ll look after they’ve been roasted to death!”

The fireball gathering in his hand was interrupted, however, by his robes suddenly taking fire. The wizard cried as he tried to put them out. The blue nimbus of Nyranfar stood behind the wizard.

“What is this, Draloth?” said the Dark Elf’s ancestral spirit. “What are you wearing? Can you imagine the dishonor you’d bring to the family if you were to die here, like that”—he pointed to the fox mask and white robe while a guard tried to cut him down only to find his sword slice through thin air—“I mean, can you imagine the headlines back home?”

Draloth had drawn his dagger, but only to defend himself should a guard approach. His back was now against the railings. “It’s camouflage,” Draloth lied.

“Well, it didn’t work! Like everything else you try!” came Nyranfar’s withering reply.

Kharla took the opportunity to tackle one of the guards, but it wasn’t a fair fight. Volcano was fully armored, and with a shield. She had one axe and no armor. She’d have to rely on speed. She was fortunate enough to slip behind his guard in the chaos and backhand him with her axe hard enough to knock him unconscious.

Nyranfar drew flames from a fallen torch to set the third guard’s hair on fire as the Tallmor pulled a silver dagger from his belt. He screamed and rushed to remove his helmet, after which Kharla buried her axe in his head. The wizard was trying desperately to put out his burning robes in the snow. Santelmo backed up and sent a gush of fire out of his hands toward Kharla but it never reached her. Santelmo’s fire vanished as a spear took him through the chest, went out the other side, and buried itself in the wall of the Sauna.

Kharla turned to see Draloth manning a black metal device, like a large crossbow, fixed to the railings.

“Well, that was surprisingly satisfying,” the Dark Elf said.

“It was a lucky shot!” said Nyranfar.

“I’ve fired a crossbow before, you know. I used to sell them before you burned down the store!” said Draloth.

“Well, what am I supposed to do if you won’t listen to reason?” Nyranfar protested.

While the two argued, Kharla silenced the wizard with her axe and then grabbed an Elven axe from the belt of one of the dead guards. Not as good as an Orcish axe, of course, but she felt much more comfortable with an axe in both hands. “Right, let’s get inside before any more of these Tallmor turn up!”

The Sauna door had a number ‘11’ on the front. Tallmor humor perhaps. Kharla eased the door open and they sneaked through. Inside, Kharla spotted another guard on the far side, walking away from them. They hid behind a large potted plant by the door.

“Where’s Nyranfar?” Kharla whispered to Draloth.

He shrugged. The guard walked out of sight and Kharla and the Dark Elf made their way forward carefully toward the sound of two voices in the neighboring room.

“But, I need that money!!! I earned it. I have my own expenses you know, as well as several expensive hobbies...”

“Silence! Do not presume, Geyser. You are most useful but do not presume. We have other informants who are less...given to erupting under pressure like you do.”

“But no one else has brought you such valuable information, have they? Etonian, he’s talked, hasn’t he? He knows where that old man is you’re looking for, he told me himself. He’s very well-educated. He definitely knows.”

“You’ll get the rest of your money when we confirm his story. As agreed.”

“So he has talked! I knew it!” said Geyser.

“Everyone talks, in the end. In the Sauna. Now, I have work to do. Leave me to it, if you ever want to see the rest of your payment.”

“Can I... I could help you. He’d talk to me, Rolandil. He trusts me.”

“You’d like to come downstairs with me, to the Sauna? Is that it, Geyser? Shall we loose his bonds and put you in a cubicle together? You can ask him anything you like, and see how he answers…in the vapor.”

“No, no. I’ll... I’ll wait outside,” Geyser replied nervously.

“That would probably be best. Now get out!”

Kharla and Draloth froze as Geyser made his way out. He was a Nord, dressed in shabby farming clothes, a dagger hanging from his belt. He didn’t see them as he walked past and left the building, nodding to the patrolling guard who’d reappeared at the other end of the room. He might see the bodies outside though, and the rail gun spear-bolt in the wall. Probably bring the guards too. Well, too late to worry about that.

Kharla heard footsteps on wooden stairs and then a door open and close. She moved into the room. A desk stood at its center and, to the side, stairs led down.

“Let’s see if we can find any information before that guard decides to check on this room,” whispered Kharla. Kharla checked the desk but could find nothing.

“Look at this?” Draloth had a chest open in the corner of the room, a lockpick in its keyhole. He was more skilled at lockpicking than he had let on. “A key that, most helpfully, is labeled ‘interrogation chamber’, and some dossiers. One on Darleen, another on Oldthred Torncloak. Ah, what’s this?”

Draloth read a third file and frowned. “Hmm..a letter for Eleven written by this Rolandil. Says they are investigating who’s behind the ‘dragon resurrection phenomenon’ and that he hopes to get a lead from the prisoner they are interrogating.”

“So the Tallmor aren’t behind the dragons returning then,” Kharla said, more to herself than Draloth. “We’ll have to find out more and get to this prisoner. Let’s make use of that key before the guard comes back.”

Kharla and Draloth crept down the stairs, unlocked the door at the end, and eased through it quietly. They found themselves on a balcony overlooking the interrogation chamber below. The room was warm and damp. A Tallmor man, dressed similarly to Eleven, sat at a table. Near him, a Tallmor soldier stood looking into a cubicle in which a Breton sat chained to the wall. He wore a towel about his loins but was otherwise naked.

The soldier pulled a lever by the door and a burst of steam shot through the floor of the cubicle.

“I say, my good man, do stop! It rather hurts!” said the prisoner as the steam enveloped him. “Please! I’m terribly sorry, but I just don’t know any more. What else can I say?”

“Silence,” demanded the soldier. “You know the rules. Do not speak unless spoken to. Master Rolandil will ask the questions.”

“But that’s just it, old chap—I don’t know the rules. We had rules at my college, such as a dress code that included more than just a towel, but I’m not familiar with your rules. Do they include a strong focus on debating? I was always quite good at—”

“Let’s begin again,” interrupted the robed High Elf sitting at the table.

Kharla recognized the voice from the room above. Rolandil.

“No...have pity…I’m simply gasping for a cup of tea...might I have some?”

“You know the rules,” said Rolandil.

“Noooooo!!! I really don’t!” shouted the prisoner.

“Start at the beginning. If you persist in this stubbornness I’ll have...”

“All right, not so rash my old mucker,” the Breton yielded. “Right, from the beginning then. So, I was born in Sorrydill thirty-three years ago to a family of some considerable wealth. My first memories are of climbing this big elm tree we had in the garden and—”

“No! From the beginning regarding this old man you saw!”

“Ah, right. Yes, as I said before, there’s this old man. He lives in Driftin somewhere. He could be this Usborne you’re looking for, but I don’t know. I saw him buying and selling books in the Driftin market. That’s what drew my attention to him. You see, I’m a bit of a bibliophile myself. It’s why I went looking for him, hoping maybe to find out if he had a rare edition. That’s all I know.”

“And his name is...?”

“I don’t know his name, old fellow. Like I’ve already told you a hundred—Ahhhh!”

“You know the rules. Just answer the questions. And where can we find this nameless old man?”

“Like I said, I don’t know his name—or your rules! I’ve seen him going down into the Ratwee. Maybe he lives down there, but I can’t say for sure.”

“That will be all for now. I must say I continue to be disappointed at your lack of cooperation. I hope next time you will do better.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint. By the way, do I get to keep the towel when this is all over?—Gaaaaah!!!”

“Silence, prisoner!” ordered the soldier as he gave the lever another pull.

Kharla watched as Rolandil picked up a folder from the table and secured it in a chest on the floor. “We need to get into that chest,” she whispered to Draloth.

“I can look into it for you, without the need of opening it first.”

Kharla and Draloth turned to see Nyranfar crouched down between them.

“What are you doing here?” asked Draloth.

“I’ve told you before—I’m compelled to come when you feel your life is threatened,” the ghost explained.

“What about when I’ve been in bed at night?” the Dark Elf asked.

“Sadly,” began Nyranfar, “the ancestral summons appears to have a loophole: if you have a nightmare in which you feel your life is threatened, then that also counts. It’s very inconvenient. Believe me. Last time I was halfway through a really good scene in a simply splendid novel.”

“Can’t you do anything about it?” asked Kharla.

“Well, I’ve run out of bookmarks, but I do so hate to fold the corner of the page—”

“No, I mean about being summoned?” Kharla elaborated.

“Alas, no. I must attend when summoned. But I do try to make the most of it while I’m here.”

“I’ve noticed,” muttered Draloth.

“Hush,” said Kharla as Rolandil stood. “I need to work out how to get down there without being seen or that robed Tallmor down there is going to send a lot of spells our way.”

Kharla noticed the steam in the two empty cubicles had started to come through the floor.

“Shut those off!” demanded Rolandil.

The soldier pulled the levers for those cubicles but the steam continued to come through, rising now out of the top of the cubicles and creeping into the interrogation chamber.

“Here, let me try,” said Rolandil. He pulled and pushed on the levers but the steam kept coming.

Kharla saw that Nyranfar was moving his hands in the way of magic-users. “Are you doing this?”

“The fires below the floor control the steam. It should give you some cover,” the apparition explained.

“Right, come on. Draloth, get the files out of the chest. I’ll get to the prisoner. He may know more than he’s letting on.”

The steam now covered the room to head level. Kharla aimed for the occupied cubicle while Draloth went off in the direction of the chest.

“Who’s there?” came Rolandil’s voice. “Soldier, we’re not alone! Check the prisoner!”

Kharla froze. He must’ve seen Draloth.

Kharla heard a sword being drawn. “On it, Sir!”

She found the cubicle door but realized she didn’t know how to open it, even if it was unlocked. She heard the soldier approach and crouched down to the side of the door. As she’d hoped, the soldier opened the door. She stood and planted her axe in the Tallmor’s back, her good Orcish axe penetrating his golden armor. The soldier grunted and fell to the floor.

“What’s going on?” said Etonian as Kharla approached. “Why is there a giant butterfly in my cubicle?”

Kharla drew closer.

“White robes. Are you an Angel or something?”

“No, Orc. Here to rescue you.” Kharla undid his bindings with the same key the soldier had used to open the cubicle.

“Oh, jolly good show!” Etonian said. “I don’t suppose you would happen to know where my clothes are? The pinstriped trousers were rather pricey.”

The steam had begun to dissipate, the ground growing wet underfoot and soaking through her thin-soled leather shoes, as Kharla helped Etonian out of the cubicle. A flash of blue lightning cut through the steam.

“Show yourselves!” Rolandil shouted. “Come and face Elven supremacy!”

The lightning surged again and Kharla heard a cry followed by a groan and the sound of a body falling to the floor with a splash. She moved toward the sound, both axes drawn, to find Draloth standing over the body of the Tallmor lying in a puddle of water.

“What happened?” asked Kharla.

“You should never mix water and electricity.” Draloth shook his head. “Steel-toed boots too.”

Kharla kicked the Tallmor to make sure he was dead. “Did you find anything useful?”

“Oh yes,” said Draloth. “Couldn’t read the dossier too well in the steam, but got the gist of it. Seems the Tallmor think the Blades might be behind the dragons returning. They’re looking for this Usborne, a former Blade scholar who knows about dragons.”

“Listen up, spies!” came a voice from the balcony above.

The steam was clearing now but Kharla could see well enough. Two Tallmor soldiers flanked Malebun, one holding a sword to the Wood Elf. Nyranfar was nowhere in sight.

“You’re trapped in here, and we have your accomplice. More soldiers are on the way as we speak. Surrender immediately or I cut off your friend’s hair bun.” The soldier raised his sword menacingly to the Wood Elf’s topknot.

“No! Not my top bun! Not that!” cried Malebun.

“Silence, traitor!” the soldier with the sword ordered the Wood Elf. But Malebun seemed incredibly distressed and pushed the soldier away.

Kharla could see where this was going and so ran up the stairs and attacked the nearest soldier. He blocked her Orcish axe but the Eleven axe got through and struck his left arm, though it didn’t pierce the armor. Kharla cursed. That was Elven metal for you! All the same, the soldier’s arm went limp and Kharla was able to push him back by her brute strength. Malebun cried a warning and Kharla turned to see the Wood Elf on the floor and the other soldier coming at her. She kicked out hard with her powerful Orcish limb and knocked the slim soldier back over the balcony railings to the floor below. She turned her attention back to the other soldier who swung at her with his sword, barely missing her ponytail. Were these soldiers failed hairdressers or something? Kharla brought up the Elven axe and took the soldier through the bottom of his exposed chin. Kharla never did like High Elven chins anyway. The soldier dropped to the floor and she brought her other axe down to put him out of his agony.

She raced to the balcony railings to see what had happened to the other soldier. Etonian stood over the dead soldier, an Elven sword in his hand, a pool of blood beginning to mix with the water on the floor beneath the body. Kharla could now hear footsteps racing toward them from above.

“Chaps, I know a way out!” said Etonian as Kharla and Malebun reached them. “I saw them put the dirty towels down a chute. I’ll show you where it is.”

He led them to a trapdoor in the far corner of the interrogation chamber. It was locked but the key that Kharla had got from the torturer unlocked it. Draloth passed Kharla a torch from the wall and they descended down the hole.

“A most unpleasant smell!” said Etonian as they dropped a short way to a rocky ledge covered in dirty white towels.

Beneath them sprawled a snowy cave, moonlight seeping in from a nearby exit. In places, it was a short drop. They could clamber down easily enough.

“Wait!” warned Draloth. “Look, something moving below. Something big.”

They all watched to where the Dark Elf pointed as a Froth Troll came salivating into the moon’s glow. It looked up at them and roared, saliva going everywhere.

“Great!” said Malebun. “How do we get past that? I know I should never have agreed to this foolish venture when Darleen asked me. I’m going to be on the run for the rest of my life now. That’s if the Tallmor above or the Froth Troll below don’t get me.”

Kharla surveyed the cave. “Look, that old tree trunk over there. If we could climb up it we can take a shortcut to the entrance without going past the Troll. The creature’s too big and clumsy to climb up it.”

“Bit of a drop that way, my good Orc,” said Etonian.

“We’ll have to hope the snow’s deep,” replied Kharla.

“Wait,” said Draloth. “I’ve an idea.”

Two minutes later all the towels, apart from the one Etonian was wearing, had been thrown into a pile down below.

“Right, so we need to do this fast before the Froth Troll has time to get to us. We jump one after another and scramble up the trunk. No looking back!” said Kharla.

Malebun went first, then Draloth, then Etonian, all landing badly but scrambling up the trunk in good time. By the time Kharla landed the Troll was nearly upon her. She leaped up the trunk as the Troll slammed against it, rocking her. She twisted and threw the Elven axe at the creature and it grunted and drew back as Kharla reached the end and joined the others outside the cave.

She never liked that Elven axe anyway. And her socks still itched.