Chapter 25: Great Mistaking.
---
Honningbrew Meadery
Brewer Sabjorn
Gods dammit, and may the Daedra damn it too! He had so much work to do, and he couldn't get any of it done!
"You come here right now!" Sabjorn, a bald, weasel-faced Nord shouted as he jumped in the air. The spoons and ladles used for the brewing of his mead hovered in the air and struck each other to mimic laughter.
He was in his boilery, where all the stills and boilers were set up. The boilers swayed on their legs, swishing their contents about – the stills had begun to suck the mead back up their brass tubes.
Since those cats had come by, everything had been chaos!
His equipment was alive, the skeevers in his basement walked on two feet and spoke! If the short one hadn't showed him trick with frost salts and mead, Sabjorn would have paid that mercenary at the Drunken Huntsman to go after them.
The bellows for his boilers floated up to his face and blew so strongly Sabjorn had to close his eyes, whereupon a chair skittered up behind him to carry him away. Since the chair didn't have arms, Sabjorn was sent flying when it made a sharp turn – right into a pile of firewood.
No work could get done like that, Sabjorn decided. He'd need to ask the Jarl's wizard to come take a look at things to undo the magic.
Or so he thought.
The door to the boilery was open, and there stood one half of the catty duo that had visited the damnable fate on him! The little lynx-like one! Yet he seemed to be short one eye.
Sabjorn was too enraged to ponder such minute details for long. With splinters in his face, he rushed up to the Khajiit and grabbed him by the collar. "You! You bewitched all my equipment!"
"Farri can see that," the damnable cyclops replied, nonplussed to be lifted off the ground. "Is a good thing he came back, yes no?"
"Well… yes!" Sabjorn set the cat down and scowled like his life depended on it. "I can't get any work done, so if you could kindly -- "
"On it." The cat trotted past him and took the blue rose from behind his ear. There were minute flecks of blood on the thorns.
And suddenly the room was filled with the smell of rain. Sabjorn crossed his arms and watched the cat work.
The cat, Farri, cleared his throat and spoke up to the rampaging furniture and equipment. "Oi!"
To Sabjorn's surprise, they stopped. From the massive boilers that had sloshed about, to the tubes that slithered about like snakes.
"Khajiit does not like to drag people across the coals. He likes to be a nice fella. So he would like to know why you lot insist on making Sabjorn unhappy – hmm?"
The equipment was unable to reply. Lacked voices, see? And as if to rebuke the cat for trying to hold them to account – the bellows flew down and unloaded a gust of air in Farri's face.
In response Farri flicked the rose in his hand like it was a wand of some kind. Sparkling blue dust went against the wind and struck the bellows.
They fell to the ground, no longer alive.
Immediately every animated object that could, tried to fly away. The massive boilers leaned as far away from the cat as they could – they tugged on their legs anchored to the stone floor.
One by one, they were struck with blue dust from Farri's rose. One by one, they lost all semblance of life and motive force.
At first Sabjorn was pleased – the cat could easily clean up his mess. But then he saw his airlock devices try to roll under a door, and how the boilers seemed to shake with fear, all moments before they returned to normal.
"The… um, the spell you cast on them." Sabjorn spoke and rubbed his chin. "It… gave them emotions?"
"It brought them to life, Khajiit thinks." Farri shrugged. "He was super turnt at the time, no idea for certain. Certainly act afraid, yes no?" The last items to go were the snake-ish tubes. Once all were gone, the cat waved the rose and the items floated back to where they ought to have been.
"They've made my morning rather unpleasant. But… it seemed wrong to just snuff them out."
Farri shrugged. "When one brings something to life, they have to model the behavior it should emulate. Khajiit was obviously too drunk to do so. At least they had fun." He turned to the Nord and put his rose back behind his ear. "Khajiit left something here – he would like to get it back, yes no?"
"Hmm?" Sabjorn, distracted for a moment by minute pangs of regret for beings that had only lived a few hours, stroked his chin while he tried to remember. "The… amulet? I thought you said you needed it passed to another Khajiit when they came to Skyrim?"
Farri's one good ear flicked back. "Hmm. Was before this one found out his tall friend put magic on it."
Sabjorn could respect that, and took the amulet of blessed Talos from his apron pocket. He was about to hand it over, when he snatched his hand back. "...Could you fix whatever you did to the skeevers, please?"
Farri's eyelid twitched, with his gaze locked on the holy amulet. "Sure."
"And I'd like some more information on your 'salted mead' idea, now that you're sober…."
The cat's tail began to twitch as the grip on his staff tightened.
--
Proudspire Manor
Chamberlain Mellem
There were so many preparations to make, it was good that she didn't need to sleep. All hours of the day, couriers and messengers arrived with updates about relocating the center of the Jarl's industry to Solstheim.
Runners had been dispatched to every settlement between Solitude and Riften, looking for orphaned children or despondent youths. The offer of free education, room, and board would hopefully be enough to entice people to come to Solstheim.
Arrangements also had to be made for sending food, getting merchants established, and funding a truly tremendous amount of construction. Raven Rock was in severe disrepair by all accounts, and the Great Hospital wouldn't build itself.
She spent just as much time waiting for any news of fallout from the Jarl's recent daedric activities. Thus, when there was a faint bloody smell in the air, and the Jarl's triptych shrine began to glow in the middle, she knew what to expect.
"Lord Sangiin is visiting, code velvet," she passed to the maids and other staff members on her way upstairs.
Jarl Vasha was in the nursery, playing with little Pothil, when Mellem was able to find him. When she whispered the news to him, Vasha picked Pothil up and pressed his nose to the little elf's.
"Your uncle Sangi is coming to visit, isn't that nice?" Vasha cooed to the toddler and walked out of the nursery with Mellem at his heels. "Tell the rest of the children," was his direct order to her.
"Yes, my Jarl."
Shai, Larub, the triplets, and Pothil were all hastily made presentable as the staff lined up for a presentation.
In the main hall they assembled, as the faint smell of blood grew stronger. The center panel of the triptych, the Khajiiti man nude save for grapes, glowed faintly until a knock came at the door.
For such an auspicious guest, Vasha stepped forward to open the door.
The moment the door opened, a bundle of black robes and tawny fur burst in. "Kids!" Lord Sangiin shouted, in the form of a caracal Khajiit, with his hands in the air and a heavy satchel at his side.
"Uncle Sangi!"
As one, the triplets, Larub, and Shai broke free of their nannies and ran into the Daedra's arms for a massive hug. Little Pothil, held aloft, was unable to get away.
The seemingly mundane Cathay-raht scooped up all five children and spun them around. "Lookit you all! Khajiit hasn't ever seen nieces so big!" Once he set them down, the bespectacled Khajiit noticed Pothil. "Is that this one's littlest nephew?"
Lord Sangiin seemed to have un-stars in his eyes looking at the toddler. Jarl Vasha seemed pleased with that, he stood with his hands folded behind his back – smirking.
Pothil's nanny held the elf baby out to Lord Sangiin as the giant Khajiit approached. The Maormer toddler grabbed the Daedra by the whiskers, but Sangiin didn't seem to mind.
"Lookit you! You're just starting to get splotchy, and you're almost as big as your brother!" Lord Sangiin smothered the youngster with hugs and smooches before he handed Pothil back to the nanny. "And now for the main event, the reason Khajiit's niblings are so happy to be seeing him…."
The elder children looked on with barely-contained excitement as Lord Sangiin reached into his satchel.
"Presents!"
Gleeful screams and excited cries filled the room as each of the Jarl's children received a wrapped gift from the Daedra. Exotic toys, a signed first-edition of a calculus textbook, a child-sized training sword – and a cupcake shaped plush for little Pothil.
All well received.
"Mellem, attend us," Jarl Vasha instructed as the formal greeting was concluded. The staff returned to their duties and the children were whisked away to enjoy their gifts. The Jarl, Daedra, and Mellem all ascended to the higher floors.
Toward the Jarl's secret office.
Lord Sangiin smiled as they passed the portraits of past wives. "I'll tell Shinai that her boy's doing well." With fewer witnesses around, the Daedra felt less of a need to play the part of an actual Khajiit. His body language began to shift, less aping the possession of bones or internal organs to restrict movement.
"This one is grateful. He hopes they enjoy your Lordship's company?" Vasha opened the hidden door behind Mirudda's portrait while Mellem opened a dumbwaiter door to signal for a tea tray.
Sangiin dragged an overly long tongue across his lips as he ducked down to enter the office. "Oh I go to great lengths to make sure of that." Once inside, the Daedra became cheerful again. "Narafin! Good to see ya again, how's immortality treating you?"
When Mellem entered the office with the tea tray, she saw the daedric Khajiit and muted Altmer in a glaring contest. Lord Sangiin's eyes shone with blood-red light as he smiled wide into the Altmer's hateful expression.
Jarl Vasha closed the door to the office, and sat down on a chintz armchair, one of two with a table between them.
Mellem immediately began to serve a cup of tea with the exact number of moon sugar cubes the Jarl preferred.
"Come, tell me how you found my eldest."
With a malicious chortle, the Daedra moved to sit in the second chintz chair.
Mellem began to prepare tea for him as well – substantially more sugar than the Jarl's.
Sangiin was so large he seemed scrunched up in the chair, yet it bothered him none as he sipped his tea with pinky-finger extended. "Planted some trees on your island – give 'em a couple years and you'll have some good harvests." He sipped again. "And your eldest could tell what I was the moment he saw me. Didn't need to bother with a disguise, it turned out."
Interesting – supernatural awareness seemed to just be one of young master Farri's abilities.
"He had no problem seeing through the stealth suite this one arranged for his guards, too." Vasha sipped his tea. "Did you do an examination?"
"Of course." Sangiin pulled a sheaf of papers out of his satchel and passed it to Vasha. "The results were… mixed."
With one hand Vasha opened the papers and began to read. "...The scars were caused by a werewolf, you're certain?"
"Oh yeah, I've tumbled with Hircine enough to know the distinction." Sangiin finished his tea and held his cup out for a refill. "Speaking of Hircine, turn to page four."
Vasha did.
For perhaps a single second, Jarl Vasha's pupils were thin as razors. His claws were bared, his tail puffed up to thrice its normal thickness from a surge of violent rage.
Then it passed. Vasha carefully set his teacup down and dedicated both hands to reading. "Mellem?" He asked, his voice low and edged in malice. "Could you send a message to our contacts with the Silver Hand? Arrange a meeting? Thank you so much."
Mellem didn't think she wanted to know what had enraged her Jarl so much. However, when he calmed down he would likely let her read what Hircine – or his followers -- had done.
Sangiin stirred his tea with a rose stem and began to chew on it as Mellem left. "Sorry, o brother mine, but he's closer to my side of the family now than yours."
Well, that was ominous.
--
Honingbrew Meadery
Bandit Clarise
Suddenly, she was alive again.
Before, she was numb, silent, thoughtless, perfectly still.
Then, like a flash of lightning, she was herself again.
Fear and confusion flooded her brain as she tried to parse the gap in her existence and her present circumstances. She could tell she was indoors, seated, there was a bottle of mead in front of her on a table.
And the Khajiiti mage who had turned her to coal was seated across from her.
As she tensed to run away from the mad mage, she felt a wave of feather-soft air roll over her that brushed her excessive emotions away.
"Kaan Drem Ov," the cat's words reached her a second later as a whisper. After a moment, he spoke again, louder. "Khajiit would like to ask a question of you, he offers your freedom and the mead in front of you as payment."
Calm as the doldrums, Clarise examined her whereabouts. A tavern of some kind, well lit and warm. The mead had a label 'Honningbrew', an upstart meadery. Well-liked, she recalled. The arrangement seemed adequate.
"Agreed," Clarise spoke in an appropriate monotone. She was thirsty, so she popped the cork on the mead and began to drink.
"Khajiit would like you to tell him what was on the letter you read, which you ought not to have done in the first place."
That was fair. In hindsight, she had been far too gleeful about it. It had almost gotten her killed. "The letter was addressed to another Khajiit, J'Zargo. You wanted him to go to Winterhold to learn magic – and the ring was meant to show the magical quality from the College."
A skeever that walked on its back legs with a serving tray balanced on one of its forelegs passed them. That was odd, but not worth getting emotional over.
"You're tilting the tray too much to one side," the Khajiit said with only a glance.
The skeever stopped, adjusted the tray, and continued to walk away.
"They'll get it eventually, Khajiit believes in them." The mage leaned back in his chair. The staff that had turned her to coal lay across his lap. "Khajiit heard you right? You said J'Zargo was the one he was 'sweet on'?"
"Correct." Appropriately monotone still, Clarise drank again. The flavors were extravagent, likely some attempt to outdo Black-Briar reserve. "You seemed to be excessively enamored with them."
The cat assumed a thinker pose, confused to the point of it looking unprofessional. "Why would… J'Zargo should come to Skyrim of his own accord – this one should know that…."
"You're attempting to make sense of your drunken decisions. It won't end well for you." She pointed at another skeever that had a tray of serving glasses upside down as it passed. "They shouldn't be doing that."
"They're practicing," the cat replied. "Working on serving, washing their paws regularly. With luck they'll grow comfortable wearing gloves and booties."
Clarise looked around, to see how many skeevers there were walking on their back legs. She noticed there was a trio of wind chimes placed so the breeze from an open window would ring them.
One was made to look like a weasel-faced Nord in an expression of fear, another an elderly Breton in an expression of fury, and the third was gaunt Imperial with an expression of surprise.
"Clarise, Farri believes in second chances. Conceptually." Farri shrugged, a totally unnecessary exaggeration of his sentiment. "Do you or any of your bandit crew know about making mead?"
"I know how to make mead, I used to help my ma make some in Bruma." She paused. "I never told you my name."
"Your gang thought this one had killed you, decided on vengeance. Is in the past, unimportant, yes no? Khajiit will make a deal with you, if you don't mind?" He leaned forward, his elbow placed on the table.
Like a barbarian.
"Why did you become a bandit, if this one could know?"
"I came to Skyrim hoping the stories were true. But they weren't, and I don't have the gold to leave for Cyrodiil."
"Khajiit can make arrangements. He could pay off your bounty, you could work here in this meadery. You take a portion of the money, save for returning home, but until you do – you make mead to Khajiit's specifications -- "
"This seems to run contrary to your offer of freedom earlier," Clarise pointed out. Her air of professionalism began to fade. Fear and anger started to eat at her once again, but distantly. Nibble, perhaps, was the better term.
"If you would let Khajiit finish?" Farri raised both his eyebrows. "You make mead to his specifications, train others in making of mead – and can leave the moment you can afford it. Seem reasonable?"
Clarise narrowed her eyes at him. "...Does the owner of this place agree to this? It seems unreasonable that Nords would sell a well-liked business to a Khajiit."
A breeze brushed the wind chimes. They sounded like a distant scream.
"The operator of this fine establishment had a terrible accident." Farri shook his head, sad. "Shame, really. Can't make mead any longer. Needs to be replaced." He shrugged. "Khajiit wanted to help. Owner is somewhere else, dark elf woman named Karliah. She knows how it is."
The deal seemed fair. And if it got her out of Skyrim faster, that would bring unprofessional amounts of joy to her life.
"Deal accepted."
--
Raven Rock
Sinding
It turned out his return to society was forced on him. Men and women in draugr armor had come to the upturned Dwemer ship he'd hidden in with the intent to dig it up. A powerful mage among them had trapped Sinding in a cage of ice before he could turn, or run.
Then they found the letter that cat had sent to him.
The white-masked priest ordered their minions to drag Sinding back to Raven Rock, and thus he found himself in a most certainly not dying city. He was fitted with a collar and shackles of ice that seemed to sap his strength, so all he could do was look and marvel at it.
New ships had come. More were on the horizon. People had started to rebuild half-destroyed buildings.
There was no ash in the air, because Vvardenfell was gone from the horizon.
Raven Rock as he had last seen it was choking to death. Raven Rock as he saw it, frog-marched by weirdos in ancient armor, was on the mend.
He was brought up to the old Raven Rock Mine, that had its entrance drastically altered. A building had been erected around the door, on the slope heading up to the door there was a smoking building connected to half-buried tunnels.
"Welcome to Gullintani, werebeast," one of his escorts said as they passed through heavy double doors.
Inside, it no longer resembled a mine exclusively. It was palatial, a living space under the ground.
Sinding was so stunned by the sight he barely noticed when the guards brought him in front of a Dunmer woman. They were in an eating hall of some kind, a kitchen and eating area conjoined with a motley assemblage of people in the midst of meals.
"What the hells is this about – Zahkriisos is in command, not me." The Dunmer snapped, exasperated as she set aside a sujamma urn.
"This creature has a writ which orders it be presented to you." The other of Sindings guards presented the crumpled message Farri had sent to him. "We found it in the ship the star-wife asked us to unearth."
"If you could have these fools let me go, I'll trouble you no more," Sinding muttered.
"Quiet. This creature is a werebeast. A wolf, from the smell of him."
Unable to do much else, Sinding slowly tilted his head over to sniff himself. Was it that long since he bathed?
The Dunmer woman read the letter then arched her eyebrow at Sinding. "A werewolf, hmm?" She snapped her eyes to the weirdos that held Sinding. "Leave the collar and shackles, break the chains. Put him down in the spidercells, we'll have Zahkriisos sort him out later."
Spiders? Fear, the likes of which filled Sinding's entire head, flooded him and he tried vainly to get free. He hadn't the strength, he knew he looked pathetic for trying. "Couldn't… couldn't you just kill me, instead?"
"Nope. Boss says you're a guest. You get the guest treatment. Spidercells." The Dunmer woman made a 'shoo' gesture. "Go on. Get him out of here before that reek ruins people's appetites."
"Too late!" Someone from a balcony seat above them shouted.
Immediately, Sinding was lifted up and carried out. Then, once in the central chamber they started to go down. And down.
And down.
"So… the spidercells… there's not actually spiders down there? Right? It's just a name to scare people? Yeah? C'mon, who am I going to te-ll! Whatizdat! Whaddafuckizdat?!"
The spidercells weren't a euphamism. There were spiders. They were the size of ponies.
Sinding had been taken from one hell, to another.
---
Hello! We're updating here a couple more times! I lost my notebook that had the story bibble, so I'm reconstructing what I had in my head for where this was going. Take a lesson from Chair, folks!
If using physical media to store your notes -- don't let them get water damage.
Though, how do you like Sanguine's Blue Rose? A bit different than the Red Rose, eh? Less summoning dremora, more Fairy Godmother vibes.
