Chapter Twenty-Three: From the Shell Emerging
---
Proudspire Manor
Chamberlain Mellem
The news was good -- Farri had written a letter, an additional palace had been unearthed in what had been the Hirstaang Forest. Fahlbtharz was high in the mountains, safe, but it would take time to build civilization up to there. This new palace -- its name lost to history, was in much more accessible land from Mellem's understanding. It was near Fort Frostmouth, and surrounded by ash-soil, good for farming and for constructing the Great Hospital.
She placed the letter with a sheaf of other letters about the resettlement and Great Hospital efforts, then made her way up to the Jarl's private office. Officially, the private office didn't exist. It was at the end of a hallway that led to a dead end lined with portraits of Vasha's wives.
Behind the portrait of long-dead Mirudda was a button that, once pressed, dropped an illusion effect to reveal the door. Mellem slipped back inside, and the illusion took shape again once the door was closed.
Vasha's office was part business space, part armory, and part library. It contained shelves with books on geology, geography, history, philosophy, and culture. Legendary weapons lay on displays all across the room. An Altmer in tattered Thalmor robes with his mouth sewn shut hung in a gibbet in the corner.
In the library corner, in one of two chairs, Vasha sat deeply pondering a glowing orb on a stand. There was one of the Daedric artifacts in the Jarl's possession -- the Orb of Vaermina. He looked deeply into it, seeing some distant scene, while Mellem laid the sheaf of letters near him.
"My son is busy," Vasha said, soft, while he continued to look into the orb. It was pale green, and glowed with inner light that obscured what the user saw to anyone else. "He's constantly flitting between projects -- hardly taking time for himself."
"There is work in running a clan," Mellem replied with an arched brow and laid the sheaf of papers down beside the orb. "And much more in running a small nation."
Vasha only glanced at the letters, then focused back on the orb. "He doesn't… take time for the arts. Barely eats. I haven't seen him flirt with anyone -- not even that chaperone he had."
"Dulini of Orcrest is at best four years younger than you, my Jarl." Mellem tried not to roll her eyes. "Maybe he's not interested in older men?"
"Hmm." Vasha tapped his fingers on the table, while he watched. Presumably, he scried on Farri. "He's so dedicated to his work, I don't know how I should get to know him, Mellem."
"Perhaps throwing yourself into your work will do the trick?" Mellem knew it wouldn't work the moment she said it, but it would serve to help close off an avenue of thought for Vasha. Too much work would impede his interaction with his other children.
Jarl Vasha frowned and shook his head. Then, after a moment, his ears perked up and his whiskers fanned out. "Khajiit knows just what to do!" With speed and purpose, the Jarl went to a locked closet decorated with rose-and-thorn patterns.
Mellem felt her eyebrows go up dangerously. "You aren't seriously going to set a Dremora on him?"
"Of course not." Vasha placed one closed fist on his chest, and stood while he spasmed. He began to retch and heave, until a spiked silver key came up on with a choking grunt. As if that was perfectly normal, he fitted the slimy key to the lock and opened the closet.
Bloodstains long since dried littered the inside of the closet -- which had only one item stored within. A staff, taller than Vasha was tall, designed like the thorny stem of a black rose. Each petal had a person's likeness painted onto it in various colors. With the closet opened, the smell of blood filled the air of Vasha's office, like a thick and intoxicating perfume.
"But, perhaps Farri could use a visit from his Uncle Sangiin to help unwind, yes no?"
"Sending a Daedric Prince to his doorstep is a bit drastic, don't you think?" Mellem crossed her arms and approached the Jarl, her eyes barely glanced their prisoner's way. "A seducer might be more appropriate."
"This one disagrees." Vasha took the staff from its closet, and lovingly stroked the thorny staff. The faces on the petals all smiled, pleased to be held by Vasha again. "He thinks, since ja'khajiit has two Daedric artifacts already -- that the most surefire way to see this done properly is to call in the expert." Vasha smirked and looked at the faces on the petals. "Let's see… there he is." Vasha plucked a petal with a grinning caracal-like Khajiit's face. As soon as it was free -- the petal began to burn orange at the edges.
"Fine. But consider what the backup plan is going to be, if this goes badly." Mellem raised her eyebrows high. "Lord Sangiin is not all sweet wine and pleasurable company."
"Khajiit knows this, and he has a plan in mind." Vasha took the burning black rose petal to his lips and whispered. "Farri Gold-Tooth." With the target in mind -- he blew on the petal so it escaped his grasp. The burning petal flipped through the air, and vanished as if it had never been there.
"Let's hope he's not into burning people alive, like those freaks in Morvunskar."
--
Palace of Kings
Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak
Ulfric sat on the throne of Eastmarch, the throne of his father and Ysgramor. He sat and oversaw a hall filled with people. They were citizens from Eastmarch, the Rift, Winterhold, and the Pale -- all of whom had come to petition him for the right to settle on Solstheim.
It was not his right to grant -- but he had the means to ask the one who possessed the right. Wuunferth the Unliving, Eastmarch's court wizard -- an absolutely ancient Nord who specialized in battle magic -- plied his magic to summon an Eastmarch woodpecker to carry letters speedily to the Jarl of Solstheim.
Even though he wasn't the Jarl of Solstheim, and it wasn't his right to grant them settlement, Ulfric opted to answer any questions they would have. If winter was not so close, he would have had them fed properly. As it was, salted meat and freshly fermented mead was all he could pass around to them.
"...And as I have said -- there are gems aplenty to mine up." Ulfric rested his head on his knuckles, leaning to one side. "Rubies are the most common -- but there are sapphires and emeralds too. Silver is by far the most common precious metal, but many valuable ores exist there. There will be mining work on Solstheim for at least four hundred years, by my wizard's math."
"Hmm, what?" Wuunferth shook himself from whatever project occupied his time, and crossed his arms. "I mean -- yes! It is as Ulfric says. Four hundred years."
That got many of the families to talk amongst themselves. They were wall to wall in the Palace -- there were so many. Mining work was hard, but stable. And Vasha's declaration of free healing and education did much to entice people. His talk of a cure for miner's lung lured in many elderly miners with hope of a peaceful death.
If the cat managed it, Ulfric would put aside whatever distrust he had of the man personally -- Galmar and Rikke had both lost their parents to miner's lung, it was a quiet epidemic among mining communities.
"But… Jarl Ulfric," a woman with a Rift accent spoke up and stepped through the crowd. A beggar woman, an Imperial. She risked much to speak in Eastmarch, and Ulfric would hear her. "They say Jarl Vasha is… one of those cat people. How can you accept a Khajiit ruling a Hold in Skyrim?"
A fair question. One Ulfric would stand to answer. He hefted himself to his feet, and all the chatter from the crowd stopped at once. That was the strength of his rule, of a Jarl. "Because of what I have seen of him." Ulfric crossed his arms and met the Imperial beggar's eyes. "He looks after his people, he ardently loves his family. And he is willing to take on the task of rulership; not an easy task."
There was doubt in the crowd. There were mutterings, disbelief. Ulfric would not suffer such.
"Let me provide an example." Ulfric swept his left hand to indicate the eastern side of his palace. "The dark elves have raided our shores, taken our people as slaves, for thousands of years. Their wicked practice, slavery, ended only two hundred years ago. Not even a full generation for them." No one in the room was old enough to have living ancestors who suffered that fate. But many of them rankled at the announcement all the same. "Yet I accept them into my city. I have no way of knowing who among them owned Nord slaves, or if their parents did."
Ulfric paused, let the words sink in, then continued.
"And I let them into my city. I let them live here, do business here, raise families here. Their life is hard -- I will make no excuses for that. But from having them in my city -- do you know what I have learned?" Ulfric crossed his arms again, and let the crowd look at him with confusion. He spread his arms and gestured to the east -- where the Grey Quarter lay. "I have learned, they make delicious food. I have learned their sujamma can get you just as drunk as mead, with a new and interesting flavor. I have learned they mourn their dead as deeply as us. It is why I agreed to the Fourth Right -- which all of you will benefit from." He swept his hand, pointer finger extended across the crowd.
He remembered Farri's lonely eye -- filled with resolve to murder him if he proved difficult. He remembered the lamentations of the Dunmer as they healed from their loss. He remembered the sweet-sour flavors of ash hopper jelly dumplings.
"I have made the decision that the thousands of years of raiding, of slaving, are in the past. Even begrudgingly, even though I don't want to. Because it is the right thing to do -- as a Jarl should." Ulfric sat down on his throne. "I will answer for that decision, and my ability to live up to it, when I stand before Tsun. And Vasha will do the same. He is not afraid of the task, and that is why he is Jarl."
Ulfric carefully left out that Vasha wanted to exact some minor vengeance on House Redoran for the suffering of his son. Farri's ebony had been discovered afterward -- and that would be revenge enough, hopefully. Ulfric needed to sell the people who wanted to go to Solstheim on Vasha's rule. Unlike Torygg, Vasha hadn't upset Ulfric enough to neglect appearances.
Yet.
An odd blue spectral bird flew in from the window -- open in the relatively warm Eastmarch summer -- built like a heron with peacock-like tail feathers. In its beak was a letter -- which it passed to Ulfric.
Once Ulfric accepted it, the bird vanished into the thin air.
The Jarl opened it, and read the letter quickly. Once done, he folded it and passed it to his scribe, Jorleif.
The red-headed Nord scribe read it and stepped forward to announce it. "By decree of Jarl Vasha -- there will be no immigration review process needed to settle on Solstheim." Jorleif held the letter up, like it granted divine authority in itself. "All those who come to the island and leave their names with Clan Gold-Tooth shall immediately be granted citizenship. There are plenty of homes, and plenty of work, for everyone."
That was the end of that -- Ulfric sent a runner to let the captains he had chartered to ferry people to Solstheim that it was time to earn their pay. And soon enough, Ulfric's hall was empty.
The first wave of settlers was on their way.
--
Solstheim Ashlands
Briras Gold-Tooth
Briras had spent so long getting used to the merchant's trade again, he felt his archery and tracking skills begin to grow rusty. He was torn on how to feel about that -- he had wanted to put his bow down and be a merchant again. But he'd picked the bow when Fadar taught them to use weapons because he liked it. It was fun, but when he had to use it every day it had begun to wear on him.
With the area to the east and south of Raven Rock deemed safe by Meerana's party, Briras opted to do some solo exploring on his day off from helping Fethis at the market. He put on his old reaver armor, strung his bow, and went off into the ash wastes.
He found old tracks of ash hoppers, and followed them even though they were way too old to lead to a possible kill. Briras wanted to track and follow things again. Every so often, he'd glance south and wince.
Red Mountain was gone. A moonlet had struck her north side, and she'd buckled like a house of cards. Aside from an earthquake from the impact itself, she hadn't done anything to mark the event. No more ash, no eruption -- she collapsed inward so there was no tidal wave either. For the first time since he'd set foot on Solstheim -- slivers of blue sky were visible in the south.
The ash falls they'd get in the next couple weeks would be the last ash falls. Possibly forever.
It was eerie, to look to the south and see nothing fragments of Vvardenfell left behind.
Briras tracked other animals to distract himself. There were netch droppings near the shore, so he looked around for the floating gasbags and stumbled on something interesting.
Footprints, and a sapling. The tree was purple, it cast light, and its leaves were candescent white. He'd never seen a tree like that before. Not twenty feet away, he saw two more -- planted in a pattern.
He followed the saplings, and found they followed the shore up toward Raven Rock. At the hills which began to approach the Bulwark, he spotted a tall Khajiit. A Cathay-raht, much younger than J'Saddha -- with a more slender build, russet fur, and shorter tail.
As Briras approached, he noticed was dressed in simple black robes with odd ears -- like a caracal senche, they had long tufts that curled in the likeness of horns. There was a blue rose on a long stem sticking out of his backpack. The Cathay-raht had a spade they used to dig into the ash to plant another sapling, the last one seemingly as there were no others around.
"Ho there," Briras called and approached with his bow over one shoulder. "What're you up to, friend?"
The Cathay-raht turned look at him -- in a major oddity, the cat had glasses resting on his broad Khajiit nose. Briras hadn't seen people with glasses in years, they tended not to last long out and away from the city. "Oh, hello," the stranger waved. "Khajiit was just planting some sleeping trees." He gestured down to the purple and white sapling. "They grow best when near water, yes no? One of few species that can drink salt water. Is not ideal, but…." The Khajiit shrugged, and put their spade away.
Sleeping trees -- where had he heard that, before? The idea nagged at him until he remembered with a flash. The boss had mentioned them, when they lived in the Squall's wreck! "Oh, they're the trees… that produce sugar, right? Or sweet sap?" He couldn't remember the details, but the boss had mentioned it in the same breath as moon sugar.
The caracal Cathay-raht clapped his hands and raised his ears, all smiles and bright eyes. "Ah! You know about them?" He had the look of a kid asked about their favorite thing.
"Just a bit -- my clan leader knows enough to think they'd be a good feel for the island." Briras was full of questions that he wanted to steer the question toward -- who the hell was the Khajiit, how did he have so many sleeping tree saplings, why were the things purple, and more.
"Oh -- that's great. Khajiit hasn't had anyone who knew what the trees are good for." The Khajiit reached into his backpack, displaying great flexibility in the act, and produced a stoppered bottle of purple liquid bigger than Briras' head. "The sap has such interesting properties, and is very sweet. Oh yes yes yes."
"Great -- we could use some sweetness around here. Ain't got the spare ash yams to make yam sugar, you know?" Briras smiled, good-natured, and extended his hand. "Briras Gold-Tooth. Welcome to Solstheim."
The Khajiit locked arms with him in the Nordic fashion. "Sangi, glad to be here." The bespectacled Khajiit smiled, warm and happy. "Khajiit heard you say your clan leader knows sleeping tree lore? Could he perhaps ask to speak with good Dunmer clan leader?"
"Well sure -- I can arrange a meeting." Briras glanced to the bottle -- the boss had said it was sweet like moon sugar, and Briras admitted, he was curious. "But… do you think I could get a taste? I've only heard of it, and…."
Sangi smiled, gleefull, and pulled the cork on the sleeping tree sap. It had a queer smell -- like grapes and oranges with just a bit of cherry. He extended his pinky finger tellingly and tipped the bottle.
Briras extended his pinky finger and caught a dollop of thick glistening sap about the size of his pinky nail. A small sample, but still enough Briras suspected. As soon as he put the sap in his mouth -- everything started to change.
He felt better than he ever had in his life, but everything was off-color. Like he wore purple-tinted glasses over his eyes. His limbs felt slow to move, but that didn't worry him at all. Sangi's ear tufts resembled horns even more clearly, and his glasses caught light so Briras couldn't see the Khajiit's eyes anymore.
But that was okay -- gods did he feel great.
Before he knew it, he was back in town -- Sangi was generous enough to offer a bit to everyone who was curious. Always a small drop, a pinky-nail sized sample. But it made everyone happy. No more sadness about dead loved ones; no more tension from Red Mountain; no more worry about much of anything.
Though it was hard to see, Briras was certain people started to dance at some point. Sangi had been generous enough to give him a second drop, and then it got hard to follow what was happening. He remembered people dancing in the Netch -- but why they were in the Netch, he didn't recall.
He recalled a bonfire where Dunmer and Rieklings danced, but the elves had hated the goblins that morning.
He recalled Meerana pulling Elam into a corner of the market, when before they were so careful about no one seeing them be affectionate.
It was great!
The stars in the mine sparkled so nicely with his new purple vision. And while people were worried, they cheered up when Sangi gave them some sap. The sap made everything happy and… and… gods he felt sleepy.
Sangi let him lean on his shoulder while they found their way to the boss. When Briras used the spare key to open the boss' private chambers he heard indistinct sounds from inside. Like -- someone was talking underwater, and Briras couldn't make out what was said. Sangi let Briras lean on the doorway and stepped into the room with a smirk.
The indistinct sounds continued and grew harder to understand. Briras' limbs felt so heavy, and he was so tired. It proved impossible to stay awake for long -- he fell forward into the boss' chamber. His eyes slowly fell closed at the sight of Sangi bowing before the boss, who sat on his bed, with the blue rose from his backpack offered.
When he opened them back up, the two Khajiit were both on the boss' bed -- but they moved too quickly for him to see what they were doing. Everything was still sort of purpley, and Briras was still so tired. He rolled over and found a comfy spot on the ground to slip back to sleep.
When he woke back up -- his vision was no longer purply. He was hungry, and the sound of groans typically associated with hangovers filled the air inside the mine. He sat up, and tried to wipe dried drool off his face as he glanced around. Graffiti covered the walls in the mine -- which would annoy Zahkriisos no doubt.
It sank in at that point that he was somehow in the boss' open doorway -- when they had been told to never leave the boss' door open for any reason. He glanced around, made sure no one was around to see it was his fault, and got up to close the door in a hurry. Before he did, he saw that the boss' room was empty, though the bed was a mess. There was a note stuck to the door, in near where Briras had been asleep.
'Brb, going to get turnt -- Farri', the note said.
Memories from before everything was purple began to drift back, and some of the ones during the purpleization as well. With this obviously complete set of data, Briras came to a realization: "Nenya is going to murder me in broad daylight over this."
---
No hedonist wants to raise a prude. Look at what happened when Tytos allowed Tywin to grow up like that. Ugh, unsightly. And Farri still hasn't managed to delegate enough to where he can go on a weekend bender -- damnit, boy.
Someone start playing Tik Tok by Kesha on the loudspeaker!