Fire On The Mountain (A Skyrim Quest)

An Auspicious Meeting

Do'azda wakes suddenly, as if someone had shaken her awake, but no one is there when her eyes snap open, only the faint light of pre-dawn through the shutters, barely reaching across the bed. She stretches and begins to get dressed, aware that she has places to be. She cannot spend much longer laying about in bed. She has been lazy this last day, and her work will only keep building up if she does not tackle it all at once.

But in all of this, as she gets dressed in her robes and arms herself--as a precaution--as she prepares for whatever may come, she knows she cannot manage breakfast. At the moment her stomach is a knot, and it is still barely dawn. She does not think she'll be able to eat more than perhaps a little bread, and she knows that Ka'hasa is not awake yet.

But she has a lot to think about, and so she opens the door quietly and sneaks in towards the kitchen. She's seen that there is a little bit of bread still left over from last night. It had been for dipping in the stew, but there is a half-loaf remaining. It smells as if the local baker knows their work, and Do'azda resolves that she'll have to find out where such shops and stores are sooner or later.

She's not been looking, or else she could simply follow her nose and find what she is looking for. She knows, sort of, where the priests reside, and so she thought that it is best to visit them first. Then she needs to find the mayor, or whoever passes for that.

Do'azda knows that perhaps she should have visited sooner, but at the same time, she's doing it now and they haven't gotten in contact with her either. Do'azda tears off some bread, using a knife to cut it cleanly, and heads for the front door. Hopefully, Ka'hasa will not mind the bit of missing bread, but if she does Do'azda can compensate her.

But Ka'hasa does not seem the sort at all.

By the time Do'azda leaves the house, sunrise is just about to begin and the streets are starting to be crowded. Some cats are leaving bars and dives, wanting to technically be home by sunrise so that they can hide beneath covers from the hateful sunrise. Others are going because their work requires them to begin at dawn, or even earlier. A few are even farmers or tenant-farm workers, of the sort that Do'azda does not know how to help and has not even begun to help--yet--who need to be up as early as possible. It is nearing winter, but winter has not arrived yet.

When it does, Do'azda wonders whether things will quiet down. Winter can be quieter, but it doesn't have to be. Indeed, she's had very busy winters indeed. Do'azda tries not to worry at her tail or look around to listen or smell for danger, but something about the air feels different this early in the morning.

The previous Shaman has to have had allies within Little Elsweyr, even if he alienated all of them on his path to destruction. Were the priests his allies?

Do'azda does not have a good relationship with priests. Besides her objections to the Riddle'thar, it is a well accepted belief among Shamans that the priests are the ones who collaborate with the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Union. It is not entirely true, but it is true that a priest is tied down more, has more to lose, and that collaborator-Shamans tend to either be exiled or killed.

Indeed, the previous Shaman seems to have been exiled to Whiterun because of his tendency to collaborate.

Once there he changed his target of collaboration to the Nords, but none of the behavior that got him exiled. He is killed and nobody knows who it is but everyone knows that it is justice that is being enacted.

Or… maybe not everyone.

But she has seen a little something that might be a common-temple, which is not all that rare in places where Khajiit cannot afford more. The poorest places, of course, have houses as temples, with the priests turning a room into a shrine and then living in the next room over.

A common-temple, on the other hand, was a temple with the necessities for many different kinds of worship, while being specialized for none of them. Common-temples can be large: there have been times of religious struggle when it is a sort of compromise to do so.

Do'azda doubts this is the case here. The common-temple here is not a religious compromise, but an economic one. She pads down the streets, until she sees the sign. The sign for a common-temple tends to be an unbroken circle, supposedly to show the unity of all the faiths.

The building the sign hangs from is timber, like the rest of Little Elsweyr, but well cared for, the wood sanded smooth and lacquered, the roof thatch freshly replenished, and the sign itself shines, the symbol painted on with absurd care.

The inside of a common-temple is often circular as well, pews and chairs all circling around a central area where a priest could preach, yes, or dancers could let the energy of the Gods flow through them, and where even more martial faiths might wrestle or intellectual faiths argue. Off in a corner is a huge cabinet, rickety and looking as if it might collapse at any moment. She suspects that it holds vestments, incense, and tools for sacrifices and more. The center ring, of course, has been a place of sacrifice before.

This early, there aren't many cats around. An elderly woman is sitting in a pew, murmuring some sort of prayer - Do'azda catches enough to recognize it; the prayer of a mother whose child fights under another's banner. It is often prayed in Elsweyr, where the Thalmor conscript cats to serve in the fleet - no elf can clamber the rigging of a ship so well as a Khajiit - but she supposes the Imperials likely have need of Khajiit as much as the Aldmeri.

Do'azda nods politely as she passes, but the woman pays her no mind, continuing to mumble.

"Zunala cannot be roused before noon," A priest says, unfolding himself from a seat Do'azda had not seen, tucked in at the head of the church. "She prays to every God, one after the other. Every God but Riddle'thar, he who may actually intervene."

He's a tall Cathay-raht with orange markings. His priestly robes are beginning to strain around the gut, and his mouth is frosted with white, but his eyes are bright. "Elsweyr-born Khajiit tend to be nervous around our Lord of the Two Moon Dance, even though such prejudice has no basis here - mayhaps some priests back in the mother country are corrupt, but here? We do not serve the Nords here. No doubt the shaman, too, mistrusts priests of Riddle'thar. No doubt she believes we are corrupt, we are agents of the Aldmeri Union? Nevermind that in Elsweyr, shamans bring thalmor attention down on people merely trying to live their lives, no, that is noble, heroic…"

His tone grows more hostile with each passing word, and Do'azda frowns.

"This one has said nothing to the honourable priest…" She says, her hackles rising. "Though she notes he has done little to aid the people of his community…?"

The priest narrows his eyes. "This one has a higher calling. A cat's soul is of more import than their transient physical form, as surely the shaman appreciates. Or perhaps she does not?"

"Oh yes, this one has met priests such as him! Priests who speak in broad terms of souls and Riddle'thar's path, that they need not help those who pray for the guidance of the gods?"

He puffs himself up, and Do'azda steps forwards, refusing to be intimidated.

"Oh, in Khenarthi's name!" A pahmar rushes out, thrusting herself between them, tail lashing, the claws of all four paws clattering noisily on the floor. "If Zan'arr wants to fight with the shaman everyone delights with, he will do so outside the common-temple; this one does not wish to be associated with such."

She turns to Do'azda. "Elahin is the priestess of Khenarthi in this benighted land. It is a pleasure to meet the shaman - she wishes to make contact with the priests all, yes?"

Elahin looks like nothing so much as a panther from the jungles of Pelletine, and her eyes are hard, but if she bears Do'azda any ill will, she hides it well.

"Yes, if that would be possible?" Do'azda nods, "This one thought it might be helpful to speak with the priesthood?"

"Of course, of course!" Elahin turns, and Do'azda and Zan'arr trail in her wake.

There's a little backroom to the temple, where they keep the various religious symbols that aren't currently in use - a tarnished sun and stars for Azurah, a carved wooden dove for Khenarthi, a brass knot of rope for Riddle'thar.

There's a bench here, looking worn but comfortable enough, upon which is perched a delicate-looking Cathay man, his robes hanging off his body like a scarecrow.

"Who is this? Mezha-dro heard Zan'arr argue?" His eyes are sharp, and they look like molten gold. "Why has Elahin brought her here?"

"The shaman Do'azda! Doer of good deeds, friend of the hunters, ally to the mercenaries…" Elahin says grandly, "And she was the one to finally have the guts to say to the Nord heretic that she worships Khenarthi wrong!"

"Ah, this one did not-" Do'azda begins.

"Mezha-dro knows her, yes. He receives a letter from fellow priests in Elsweyr, yes? She is touched by Azurah, she is a shaman who knows the goddess, perhaps more than priests who embarrass their superiors, priests who must go to live in frigid Skyrim, where the food is terrible?" Mezha-dro interrupts her, his tone caustic.

"It is good the shaman has come to us," Elahin says, breaking the silence that was beginning to settle around them. "We have seen she is trying to help, but she does not know how best to do it, this is clear."

"Yes, she flails terribly," Mezha-dro adds waspishly, "Angering Nords, working with truly unseemly ruffians, and then she runs off to Riverwood with some caravaneers? She would be more effective as a shaman if she listened, if she came to us first, no? There are cats in need of ministry, those we cannot reach, and the lay-ministry of the shaman could aid in this!"

Lay Ministry, how dare?

"Do'azda is not-" Do'azda tries again.

"The temple can always use more volunteers, also! We have sick cats come in sometimes, and of course those who are grieving often find the shaman more helpful even than the priest themself!" Zan'arr says, "And of course, she can still do her little projects elsewhere…"

Do'azda can recognise when she is not being listened to, and can recognise also when she is being treated as her teachers warned her - priests, they told her before she left, often believe that to be a shaman is to be almost a priest, and the shaman, therefore, is to fill in the gaps where the priest wishes.

"Do'azda must go to see the mayor now," She interrupts, when Zan'arr pauses for breath.

She did not know exactly what she sought from the priests - allies who wished to help the community flourish? Sympathetic souls who understood the difficulties of being a figure of authority in a community without authority? Simply the reassuring blessings of the Gods, perhaps? Whatever it was, she did not find it.

She has been told that the Mayor of this settlement - which actually does have a name that is not Little Elsweyr; it is "Kreenya Khajiiti" or "Smile of the Khajiit" if you learned Ta'agra from a book - glory of glories, tends to use her house as her base of operations. When Do'azda sees it, she understands why. By the standards of inside the walls, it is hardly a mansion, just a nice big, pleasant-looking house despite being deep into Little Elsweyr. But by the standards of the cramped town it is something to look at. It is two stories tall, with an angled roof and big, wide windows made of glass, which cannot be reckoned to be particularly cheap, at least in this quantity. The shutters are all closed, but the glass peeks out, and there is a small garden out front.

It is not like the survival gardens that many Khajiit keep, around the back of the tenements or their homes. It is full of blooming flowers that will soon die for the winter, but now still have an odd sort of defiant glory.

These are their last weeks, but exorbitant care has made it so that they have not truly even begun to fade. Of course, they are flowers of Skyrim, and she recognizes almost none of them. Perhaps they are used to the cold and the chill. The front door is open, and when she steps in she sees why. The entryway has been turned into a meeting place, complete with a few chairs and a standing desk, at which stands an older Khajiit woman with greying fur and a rather formal looking robe of the old Khajiit style. The turn and twist of the knots is a decade or two out of date, but the bright colors and dramatic flare of it is very keeping with Khajiit traditions, her grey fur standing out especially with the red and gold. These are not easy dyes to find, and at her back is a mercenary.

Do'azda does not recognize him, but she recognizes his spear and how he is standing. He's someone who has seen violence and is used to it, and he eyes her with a calm, cool look, the rings on his ears flicking as he takes her in.

"Ah, good morning… Do'azda the Shaman, she presumes," the mayor purrs. She is smiling, but it does not quite reach her eyes.

"You must be Marashi, Do'azda is glad to finally meet you. She has been very busy so far, but she thought that she should talk to the mayor."

"Yes, perhaps you should," Marashi says, her voice thin and a little dry. "She was almost sure you were deliberately slighting her."

Do'azda does not respond by denying it, or by confirming it. The truth is, she was rating talking to the mayor as less important than figuring out the woes of the common Khajiit or even the merchants. "Do'azda has been very busy. This community has many problems, and she has determined that the previous Shaman did not work to solve them."

"One can say that, yes," Marashi says, with a sigh. "It is very true that there is much that needs to be done. Marashi has been hearing all week about how you have chosen to go about it. She cannot help but wonder if the Shaman is thinking through her actions."

"Do'azda has thought much about her actions. She has made mistakes, and there is much left to do," Do'azda says.

"Do'azda… wishes to do more? There is an equilibrium, a speed at which any wise Shaman or leader of any kind must push change. If one goes too fast, it leads to mistakes and chaos, and it leads to a backlash. A leader must step carefully, in order to preserve Kreenya Khajiiti's independence and strength."

What independence? Do'azda does not ask. What Strength?

She does not say it, for two reasons. First, she knows the value of pride. Second, she does not want to make any enemies.

"Do'azda understands this, but she also understands that winter is approaching, and there is much to do. She would like to help the mayor however she can."

"Help me?" she asks, tail stiffening.

"The mayor is a member of this community, and she wants to know what problems you see with Kreenya Khajiiti." Do'azda is trying to be as careful as she can. She leans in a little, knowing that whatever the mayor says she'll need to evaluate it in comparison to what everyone else says.

"Marashi sees many problems, but she does not know if they are the same problems that you see. She has heard rumors that you… acted against the Guard of Whiterun, or aided in this."

"Do'azda does not know what you speak of," Do'azda says smoothly.

"Marashi is sure." Her voice dries up even more. "But there is a liaison to the Whiterun Guard, Kasan, and he is the means by which these things need to be addressed."

"Do'azda did not know of him," she says. "But she will keep him in mind if she has problems with the Guard."

"If she has… so you deny your involvement in the conspiracy everyone talks about to discredit one of the two Captains of the Guard?"

"She is not a leader, she does not control the actions of other cats," Do'azda says. "She was away when the news got out, and it seems to have strengthened Whiterun, not weakened it. She does not know exactly how news of Sinmir's lies got out, but Whiterun is stronger for it."

"Are you implying that Marashi only cares about Whiterun's interests?"

"Do'azda is not implying that at all. She wants to know what else she needs to know."

"There is the tax collector, Runji, but he does not live here. He has dispensation to live within the walls of Whiterun because of how hated he is. Rightfully hated."

"Do'azda does not doubt it, but she would like to know his address," Do'azda says, frowning thoughtfully.

"Why?"

"Do'azda would like to meet with him."

"With him?! Why? It is one thing to meet with criminals, and with the homeless: the first, one can charitably interpret as ministry and the second as compassion. It is even… understandable to meet with the lazy Khajiit. But a tax collector? What game is the Shaman playing--"

"Do'azda is not seeking to become his friend and accomplice, but she wishes to talk to him to understand his perspective," Do'azda explains, patiently.

The mayor stares at her as if she has declared that she will seek to understand the perspective of a viper, or a skeever. "Yes… well. He lives near the gate, in a house the Jarl had built after the third tax collector died in his sleep in Kreenya Khajiiti, despite the guards posted. The shaman surely will not miss it; the house is… of Kreenya Khajiiti, within the walls or no."

Do'azda nods. She will, at some point, need to meet Runji, odious fellow though he no doubt is.

"Does the shaman wish to meet the rest of the council?" Marashi asks, "Perhaps they may help her learn how things are more properly done. This one's late husband's relations with the shaman's predecessor were rather fruitful, before he made those most unwise final choices."

The rest of the council of Little Elsweyr - Do'azda refuses to think of it as Kreenya Khajiiti - are a handful of the mayor's assistants, dressed up with officious titles like "representative of civic affairs" and "associate of the mayoral administration", a scrawny little tojay with a running nose, an ohmes-raht in severe nordic clothes, and-

"Lakaabi!" Do'azda can't contain the exclamation. "This one did not know that-"

"Ah, yes. The shaman has met some of the merchants, this one had forgotten. We have a merchant at every meeting, as an advisor. This one believes they draw lots?" Marashi says airily. By the look on Lakaabi's face, it is not the winner of the drawing of lots who attends these meetings.

"Runji would like yet again to raise the issue of taxation. The jarl has shaken up the tax collection again, and it will be difficult for Runji to live now." The ohmes-raht says, his voice almost dustily dry. "He understands this is unpopular, but if Runji cannot submit the taxes efficiently, the jarl will send a Nord, and they will not be as kind to Kreenya Khajiiti as Runji is,"

"Kasan has heard from the guard that the jarl has got them working on tax corruption," The tojay replies. "Making sure the tax collectors do not skim too much from the top, nothing more."

"And Runji is to trust the word of the guard? Every cat knows the guard are not to be trusted. The shaman was just recently forced to have a guard captain removed from his post for being-"

"The guards are doing their best! They bear no especial ill will towards us, they have assured me - and I believe them! If Khajiit would simply come to me with their concerns, I will pass them along."

Marashi seems unsurprised that the pair are already arguing, the other members of the council seem to have hardly noticed, and Lakaabi has apparently already given up on the meeting - she is slumped in her chair, and her head is beginning to dip as she falls into a nap.

For her part, Do'azda cannot bring herself to choose one side or the other. In a struggle between the tax collector and the guard, the ordinary citizen can only hope they occupy one another's attention.

"Shaman!" Kasan says, his voice shrill. "She is a neutral observer, no? She can decide - does the shaman think the guard overly target the khajiit, or does she think the tax collector is corrupt? It must be one or the other!"

Do'azda blinks, shaken from her thoughts. The two Khajiit are both staring at her, expecting a decision. If she were being honest, she believes both, neither one more than the other. But such an answer would be unpopular.

The silence as Do'azda fails to answer begins to stretch, but as it threatens to become awkward, it is shattered.

The roar that breaks the silence is one that Do'azda knows well, though she has heard it but once, one that pools dread in her stomach, turns her legs to water.

So high that it could almost be called a screech, and so loud it seems to shake the whole building.

"What in the Great Darkness was that?!" The mercenary that guards Marashi swears, rushing to a window..

Do'azda swallows. "Dragon. That was a dragon,"

Her voice is strangely calm, despite herself. "This one must be excused. She has seen what a dragon can do to a settlement, she will need to assist however she can."

The mercenary follows her, abandoning the mayor without a second glance.

The streets are surprisingly empty, and Do'azda can feel terrified eyes on her as she hurries along them, her eyes ever upwards, scanning the sky. The dragon's roars come every dozen or so heartbeats, and Do'azda continues to move towards where the sound comes from.

Do'azda has thought she remembered the size, the form of the dragon at Helgen, but as she rounds the final corner, bringing her to the outskirts where the roars have been coming from with increasing regularity, she sees she was wrong.

The beast fills the street, the size of a townhouse in Whiterun proper, its leathery wings hunched forwards, balancing it whilst it is on the ground, rearing its serpentine neck back. She can see great veins running through the wings, casting the ground before it faintly green as the light passes through them.

It strikes like a viper, the scales of its neck rippling with musculature, and Do'azda registers that it has opponents. A trio of whiterun guards, a smattering of khajiit mercenaries, and a dark elven woman in leather armour, her left fist wrapped in crackling lightning, a moonstone sword in her right hand. The dragon's strike catches one of the guards out with its speed, and Do'azda sees a flash of teeth, blindingly white and terrifyingly sharp, before it clamps down on the guard, driving its beak through his shield and into his chest.

Tossing him aside like a terrier would a rat, the dragon regards its opposition coolly, eyes like bottomless black pits.

As one of the mercenaries - Do'azda hears the bells in her hair, and recognises Razirr - moves to flank the dragon, it kicks off, the air displaced by its wings thrumming unpleasantly in Do'azda's ears.

"YOL TOOR SHUL" The words of the shout are the same as ever; weightier than they ought to be, like the proclamation of a God.

The fire is not, and then all of a sudden is, a great stream of it, hot enough that Do'azda can feel it from 50 paces. Razirr leaps aside, but another mercenary - one Do'azda does not know - is less fortunate, and he screams terribly, and terribly briefly.

The dragon circles overhead, watching them with what looks to Do'azda like amused contempt.

What does Do'azda do to fight the dragon?

What does Rahjin do to help?

[] Rahjin will go for the dragon's eyes, trying to blind it
[] Rahjin will bother at its flank, scratching its wings, trying to distract it.
[] Rahjin will feint and dive in front of it, trying to lure it into the fray.
[-] Rahjin will stay away and stay safe. He does not wish to stay away. He is incessant on that point.

Fight The Dragon (Weapons/Tactics)

[-] Use her bow to… oh.
[] Attempt to hide out of the way and charge in to stab and slash at it when it lands, striking the neck to hurt so much as she can… and then withdraw to hopefully try to do it again.
[] Make as much noise as possible, and retreat, trying to draw it past the other combatants, so it can be surrounded and attack from all sides.
[] Stay close, attacking its flank - the wings, the legs - when it lands.
[] Write-in, subject to veto.

Fight the Dragon (Magic?)

[] Nothing, she should save her magic for a dire or desperate moment, and as bad as the situation is… it can always get worse.
[] Blur can help camouflage her if she wants to be sneaky, though of course it is hard to tell how much this would actually hide her from a Dragon.
[] Her ability to inspire courage and feelings of strength might be valuable in helping the others in this fight stand together.


VM AN: It sure is lucky something interrupted that terrible council.
TL AN: So, how about that meeting with the priests! Very auspicious, no?