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Clever Craft (TES: V Skyrim SI)

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I'm regularly pleasantly surprised by how much I love every new chapter you release. I mean, I sort-of expect there will be some duds in any story I'm reading, but you just keep knocking it out of the park. This is easily one of my favorite active stories on any website I'm on.
 
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Farri's Journal #8
  • Threadmarks
    • Codex: Farri's Journal Entry 8

    ---

    What the actual fuck even is today.

    I get to Solitude, I spend most of the day getting laughed out of stores -- I got laughed at by the Bits and Pieces family. At least Endarie was basically in love with the silk our spiders produced -- she's willing to buy as much as we can send her, if we can do more of the 'whatever color and pattern you can imagine' trick.

    Alteration magic is fun.

    Saw Sheo. That was bittersweet. More sweet than that fiasco with Voryn. At least we parted on good terms. Got me a Wabbajack.

    I also name-dropped Sybille to get in the Blue Palace, and she came around later to be threatening and shit about using her name carelessly.

    In other news, I'm now one wheel of Eidar cheese richer.

    Hee.

    Then... Vasha. Dad. Papy. He knows too much for it to be anything else -- but I don't know. I was fucking seven years old -- I didn't know my parent's proper names. Before today, I couldn't tell you what my dad looked like.

    Astrid's pretty good at her job, and Vasha may very well deserve what he has coming to him -- I don't care. I have four parental figures in my life, one's dead, one legitimately couldn't recognize me because I'm so fucking ugly now, and one didn't trust me when I needed her to.

    Vasha is not a good person, but he might be a good dad. I heard laughing from downstairs while they ate their food. Not that fake 'laugh or dad will belt you in the eye' laugh, but actual laughter. There are so many invisible people here, it's legitimately terrifying. One swings by our window every so often -- Dulini knows they're there, but he can't pick them out.

    Or maybe he can, but he's trying to lure them into thinking he can't. Paranoia is weird.

    So this place is legitimately more secure than literally any single building in Skyrim at this point. The Falkreath sanctuary and Twilight Sepulcher are the only competitors this place has.

    Having Vasha as the Jarl is going to cause problems -- but you know what it does? It lets me be free to move around and make plans of my own. I'm not his official heir yet, and I didn't want to have the damn job yet anyway. I'm nineteen -- I haven't gotten drunk, laid, had moon sugar in anything except a potion.

    ...I got a ring of mending from Radient Raiment, though. It's weak, but it was putting in work. My scars look a lot better than what they were this morning, and my ear is on the mend. Eye is not even begun yet, though. That's fine, that's whatever.

    Apparently I have my mom's eyes. That's what tipped him off to who I was -- the similar face was something he noticed after he spent a few minutes looking at me, but her eyes were burned into his memory.

    He hasn't said anything about my heart sounding weird, or my blood smelling weird. I made sure to cut myself a bit just to get his reaction. He definitely smelled something, but he hasn't said anything yet. He hasn't asked about the scars, he hasn't asked about the eye or my ear.

    He did have questions -- specifically, what I did to get arrested, where I had served my time, and how long my sentence was. He didn't seem to have a reaction when I told him.

    Dulini leaves tomorrow on a boat for Solstheim -- I'll stay a little longer. Need to talk to Ulfric... and Vasha, I guess.

    If Tilisu kept to our schedule, she should be sorting our mutual grievance out. Still bummed I can't see those holier-than-thou muskarses fie in a dire.

    Once I have everything here sorted, I'll write Zahkriisos to set up a portal for me. Don't think I'll be sleeping well tonight, so I'll keep myself awake by doing some planning.

    The Hirstaang Forest is gone, and I don't know if it'll ever come back. But what we have there is ash -- I need to find what can grow in the ash-soil, and what can't. Clear out all that dead wood, we can turn it into farmland. Maybe grow some emperor parasol fungi forests.

    Definitely need to renovate the abandoned buildings in Raven Rock, get an actual palace set up. Solstheim needs to be a place where people can raise families again, not somewhere people commute to for work.

    I'm trying to distract myself from the Vasha situation. It's not working. Ugh. I'm... kinda mad he went on with his life. But also relieved. But also afraid. I need something to make me loosen up and process all this, but I can't afford to lose awareness or I'll leave myself open for those invisible guards to search my stuff.

    ---
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Mastersgtjames said:
    Is Farri ever going to learn enough Magic(Restoration) or some new Shouts to let him heal himself?
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    He is using magic, potions, and now enchanted items to heal himself. But he doesn't have an artifact, he isn't a Restoration specialist, and the best potion need rare/wxpensive ingredients and are hard to make. He is working on it, basically.
     
    Chairtastic said:
    I also name-dropped Sybille to get in the Blue Palace, and she came around later to be threatening and shit about using her name carelessly.

    In other news, I'm now one wheel of Eidar cheese richer.
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    Ooh, that's good. You'd think she'd have been a bit more cautious because, y'know, Wabbajack... But she's also old, arrogant and secure in her position.

    Like a tenured professor.

    It'd be exciting to know how some of the other court mages will take her sudden disappearance, given that she's been a fixture in Skyrim for a very long time.
     
    Mister Ficser said:
    You'd think she'd have been a bit more cautious because, y'know, Wabbajack...
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    Apparently people just take it up as a silly replica

    Which honestly fits Sheo's MO as far as I am aware? Cuz, why would a chaotic item look like it's real? It makes more sense for legendary things like that to not look like they are actually themselves. Wonder if the thing shifts and changes, so any depictions of it end up ever so slightly off?
     
    Saphire said:
    Apparently people just take it up as a silly replica

    Which honestly fits Sheo's MO as far as I am aware? Cuz, why would a chaotic item look like it's real? It makes more sense for legendary things like that to not look like they are actually themselves. Wonder if the thing shifts and changes, so any depictions of it end up ever so slightly off?
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    Quite likely, given that it is, like most (But not all) Daedric Artifacts, made of Chaotic Creatia. I can't imagine Sheo, new or old, imposing his will on an artifact that remains static.

    Unless people expect it to be chaotic and ever changing, in which case it would be the most stable thing in the plane. Which would make it the most chaotic thing because it's not following the same rules as...

    Y'know what, nevermind. I'm gonna go make some fishsticks.
     
    Ch 20
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter Twenty: Brains Breaking

    ---

    Proudspire Manor

    Chamberlain Mellem

    She may have seemed like a Bosmer woman, but Mellem had no need for mortal things such as 'sleep'. So while the household slept she took care of the Jarl's affairs. Agents in the field needed their orders, and she needed to create a summary of their intelligence for the Jarl once he woke in the morning. She spent most of the night in her quarters, effectively an office with closet space attached, smoking a pipe full of sugar-coated Hist seeds.

    Mellem was hard at work re-arranging the Jarl's schedule to account for a private meeting with Jarl Ulfric and Farri at the young master's request. There were evidently things about Solstheim which were need-to-know, and Farri considered them the only ones who needed to know.

    Every hour, she expected the report from the night guards to come in -- with the contents of Farri and Dulini's packs, and a brief examination of their dreams. But it never came.

    Near sunrise, when the shift change in the guards was in progress, she was handed a report at long last. It was not what she wanted, but not worthless. Jarl Vasha would find it interesting, most likely.

    When sunrise came, Mellem went to the boiler room and filled it with water from the manor's private cistern. Once full, she arranged for breakfast to be prepared and went to the third floor to wake the Jarl.

    Vasha's personal chambers were lavish by the reckoning of mortals -- long drapes that blocked out light, chairs suspended by chains from the ceiling, plush carpeting, bewitched lights that did away with any risk of fire. Jarl Vasha lay as still as a corpse with little Pothil on his chest on a four-post bed large enough to fit nine mortals at once.

    Mellem carefully reached through the curtains around the bed and brushed the Jarl's shoulder. His eyes creaked open and locked onto her. She bowed, and backed away. Vasha did not care for spoken words in his bedchamber -- especially when one of his children was asleep.

    She laid out his clothes for him while the middle-aged Khajiit woke. She watched him move behind the sheer bed curtains to avoid waking Pothil -- the children stayed with Vasha until they were five years old, where they got their own rooms.

    Pothil's nanny would be in soon enough, so Mellem paid the sleeping elf little mind other than to examine him for any discoloration. Maormer his age would begin to develop their chameleon skin abilities and certain pigments would get stuck.

    Mortals were so queer that way.

    In an adjacent chamber to the Jarl's lavish bedchamber, Vasha and Mellem moved to make his morning bath ready. A large metal basin from Alinor with thick blue curtains filled with hot water from a tap. Mellem placed several shampoos and oils on a wooden disk which could float, and laid it in the water as the Jarl entered. Once the curtains were pulled, words could be spoken.

    "Anything noteworthy last night?" The Jarl's voice asked, groggy.

    Mellem opened a door in the wall, where a dumbwaiter rolled up a tray of light breakfast and a pot of coffee -- the tray could float, so she transferred it to the bath for the Jarl's convenience. "Neither your son or his chaperone slept last night. Dulini was aware he was being watched -- but your son was able to see through the Chameleon effect on the night guards. He could track their movements."

    Behind the curtains, she heard pouring, and the plop of moon sugar cubes in coffee. "Did we detect any magical aura on his false eye?"

    "No -- the night mage detected two Daedric auras, but they're from the artifacts he carries. It seems that Wabbajack is genuine." Which boded ill -- the staff was unpredictable, unfit for being close to children.

    "What is the other artifact?"

    "A sword of some type -- without a visual we cannot confirm which Daedra its attuned to." It could be Dawnbreaker, Goldbrand, or the Sword of Jyggalag for all they knew. Without the Mage's Guild, a lot of magical training in mortals had stopped -- knowledge had been lost. The ability to discern the minute differences in various Daedric auras were one such piece of lost knowledge.

    "Neither of those should have let him see through the Chameleon effect." The Jarl's voice was substantially stronger, due to the coffee and sugar. "Does he have the magicka pool to be a mage?"

    "The night mage believes so -- but all stealth-defeating spell effects should be covered by the night guards loadouts. He also suggests an immediate physical -- special notes were made about something wrong with your son's heart, blood, and remaining eye."

    There was a clink which signified the Jarl had put down his coffee cup. Then more to indicate he was eating. "I noticed that too. Have you made arrangements?"

    "All alchemy shops in our network have been requested to send regenerative ingredients, only one has been selected to send completed potions -- no one should be able to trace it back to you." She knew the Jarl would want as many regenerative effects present as soon as possible to repair the damage his son had taken. "Without a full physical, it's unlikely we'll be able to determine the cause of the injuries, however."

    "Khajiit will speak to him about it." There was a clink, the Jarl had finished his meal. "Was there anything else?"

    Mellem took a deep breath and made ready to deliver an unpleasant discovery. "The night guard noted, when they caught him changing clothes this morning, that… he has a Talos amulet."

    She could hear the splash and wet slap of the Jarl's hand meeting his face. "No wonder Ulfric likes him so much." The splashing became more regular as the Jarl began his cleaning. "Tell the Aldmeri Dominion we won't be able to do business with them going forward. Make sure our workers of a similar faith are informed they will be protected from now on."

    "Is that wise, my Jarl?"

    "No." The Jarl's eye lingered near a gap in the curtains. He appeared to have set his mind to something -- foolish though it may have been. "But I'm not going to be a hypocrite. And if I protected my son from them on the basis of faith, while leaving them to their own devices, a hypocrite I would be."

    A noble and decidedly not pragmatic decision, Mellem noted.

    "I know what you're going to say, but the difference is now this one has a piece on the board. Something to lose, something to gain."

    Mellem pursed her lips and laid towels near the curtains, for when Vasha finished. She heard movement in the bedchamber and checked in on it.

    Pothil's nanny has arrived and bundled the little elf in his favorite blanket as she carried him off, still asleep. The nanny passed a note to her while she went to the door.

    As Mellem read, she stepped back into the bath while the Jarl was draining his tub. "Your son's in the kitchens," she informed him, quite professional despite her half-lidded eyes. "Apparently the chefs don't know how to make 'one-eyed Susans', and some other dish he described as 'chicken n' waffles'."

    Vasha paused in the act of reaching for a towel to look at her with confusion. Confusion and a barely-there expression of disgust.

    "I think we might have underestimated the dire straits Solstheim has operated under."

    --

    Solitude Docks, Haraak

    Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak

    In the Jarl's cabin, with two Khajiit at his table and his friend outside where he could hear nothing, Ulfric had expected a perfectly normal assessment of Solstheim's major obstacles to settlement. He had expected a briefing on reaver camps, dangerous mountain passes, and the like.

    What he got was a series of revelations that felt like the script to a play. He glanced at Vasha, who was similarly dumbfounded by what Farri had told them. The cat still had the presence of mind to drink the mead offered him, but not comment.

    "So that's the long and short of it." Farri sipped his mead and made a face. "Bleh, needs salt." He took a vial of white dust from his satchel and began to sprinkle it into the mead. "Mmm, frost salts make Farri a happy cat. But yeah. Hircine's got a once-in-an-Era event in the works. Alduin World-Eater will return next year, and when he does Miraak Dovahkiin will also return. Vampires are becoming a problem, but they won't be able to do widespread harm for a while."

    Ulfric blindly grasped for his mead, and drank some. He needed some mental lubrication to make sense of all that he had heard. "...I should have known better than to think the Great War would be the only significant event to happen in my life."

    Vasha glanced at him with an arched brow. "You believe all he said?"

    "I do." Ulfric didn't mince words with the merchant cat. "Farri's earned trust." He glanced down at his mead, and slid his drink over to Farri. The implicit question was answered, and the diminutive Khajiit sprinkled some 'salts' into the mead.

    When he drank it again, it was like drinking liquid ice. Warm mead was what he'd drunk all his life -- but the new flavors of 'salted' mead made him reconsider that going forward. It was like the sweetness of the honey exploded to new volume, it left a mint-like effect in his mouth when he breathed.

    "Thank you," Ulfric raised his glass to Farri as a toast to a new experience. "How do you know this to be the future?"

    Vasha slid his drink to Farri, and had it salted as well. His ears shot up when he tasted it, interested.

    "You know of Jarl Idgrod? Sees the future?" Farri shrugged. "Khajiit knows what will transpire through much the same way." The cat hopped off the too-tall chair and went to his trunk. Ulfric was quite impressed the cat managed to carry it on his back like a common rucksack -- Ulfric himself could not do so. "Khajiit followed in the example of Odin All-Father, place oneself close to death ritualistically in search of knowledge. First time wasn't willingly done, but it gave this one great wisdom."

    Vasha glanced at Ulfric with a raised eyebrow. "Odin All-Father… is he one of yours?"

    "The name sounds Nord, but I don't know it well. The surname makes me think he might be Atmoran in origin." Ulfric responded casually and realized the absurdity of the situation. He shared mead with Khajiit, discussing events that would become legends generations later.

    "Odin All-Father was basically Tiber Septim in a different ocean -- the same fish, different place." Farri brought a lockbox from his trunk and laid it on the table. "Khajiit wishes to tell you two how he plans to make House Redoran appear foolish."

    Farri was all smiles, wide enough to bare fang. He hopped into his seat, and opened the lockbox where they could see. There were four ingots -- two of black ebony, two of ice. Farri seemed to be quite proud of them.

    Ulfric picked up one of the icy ingots, and turned it over in his hands. There was something different from ice -- the ingot didn't melt. He held it in both hands, and it remained frozen. He tried to crack it -- but not even cracks formed.

    "Stahlrim?" He realized and looked up. "You have a source of stalhrim to collect from?"

    "Better," the one-eyed Khajiit said with glee. "Khajiit has people who can make it. And smith it!"

    Slowly, Ulfric pieced together the pieces of information and looked at the stalhrim ingot with greater reverence. "The Ancient Nords… they did this for you."

    "I feel like I'm missing some context here," Vasha carefully interrupted.

    "Your son found several groups of Ancient Nords who were cursed, and had been cursed since the ancient days. He freed them, and they… did this for him." Ulfric spared no glances for the cats -- enchanted ice, in whatever shape they could want. The lost art, allegedly older than the thu'um, brought back.

    Vasha reached for one of the ebony ingots, and looked it over carefully. "This is fresh… made within the last month." He arched his brow at Farri. "Raven Rock's ebony mine's tapped, though."

    Slowly, like he enjoyed every second, Farri shook his head. "Nope. Mine was cursed with an illusion -- the ebony never ran out, they just couldn't tell it apart from surrounding rock." Farri steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. "Something any mage or priest could feel, but Redorans were too proud of warrior lifestyle to think of that -- yes no?"

    Ulfric wanted to bristle at the subtle jab, but he held proof in his hands. Stalhrim and ebony -- two legendary materials to the Nords, brought back by magic.

    "This one also found a second ebony vein on Solstheim, right next to malachite. There's still plenty of gold, and gems, to get at -- provided we can do so without harming the ecosystem." Farri reached into the lockbox and retrieved a folded piece of paper the ingots had rested on. "Khajiit had his men give you a redacted copy of the mineral map for Solstheim. Here is the true copy."

    Once laid out, Ulfric was almost certain he could hear Vasha salivating. He'd be a liar if he didn't admit the sheer amount of wealth locked up in Solstheim gave him pause. If all those resources could be tapped -- Solstheim would be rich. Quite possibly richer than the rest of Eastern Skyrim combined.

    "Ebony exports will not begin until after House Redoran officially leaves the island forever." Farri relished the look of stunned awe on the Jarl's faces. "House Redoran will seem like fools, which they are."

    For a moment, Vasha's mouth twitched. Like he had to physically hold back a smile. Ulfric couldn't help but noticed how perfect the whole situation was. Too perfect.

    Then, like the snowflake which caused an avalanche, he remembered something from Farri's letters. It all started to snap into place -- Ulfric couldn't believe he hadn't seen it earlier.

    Farri said he had gained wisdom as this 'Odin' had done, and that Odin was another name for Tiber Septim -- Talos' mortal name. In the letter Farri had written to him, Farri said he had spoken with Talos Himself. Talos was a Tongue, and Farri had mastered the Voice in a way never before seen.

    The reason for free worship being first among Farri's demands made sense in hindsight. He would be shocked if there wasn't an amulet of Talos around Farri's neck.

    While this happened, the conversation continued until Ulfric was prompted for input. When Ulfric was too stunned to respond, Vasha waved his hand in front of Ulfric's eyes.

    "Ja'khajiit, you broke him."

    "Hmm, maybe less frost salt next time."

    --

    Raven Rock Mine

    Nenya Gold-Tooth

    After a week of being in charge, she had nothing but relief in her heart when the lightning priest left to pick up Farri.

    Morvayn Manor had burned down, and someone had attacked Highpoint Tower Mine. Pirates were attacking the fishermen, and there were rumors an actual, living Dragon had taken up roost in Nchardak.

    Keeping things going day to day was annoying. She had to keep her new 'kinsmen' in line as they adapted out of the reaver lifestyle and back to civilian life. Nelos was working horrifying messes with the silk entrusted to him -- some beautiful patterns and some eye-stabbingly ugly. Fethis uncovered a Nordic ruin underneath the Bulwark which none of the Nords knew about.

    In short, she'd been busy.

    Even as she was on her way to the administration office in the mine, she was hounded by people. Anxious townies who wanted to be sure there would be food tomorrow. Captain Veleth threatened them with fire and fury if he found cause for them to be behind the Morvayn Manor fire. Other very important things she didn't want to deal with any longer.

    Zahkriisos was helpful -- he had experience in managing settlements, but he was often busy getting things underground up and running. The ancient Nords were so similar to the Dwemer in some respects with their city-tombs.

    Nenya sat down at the desk where she had put down her shield and sword -- tools of action exchanged for tools of administration, and compiled all the relevant reports for Farri when he got back.

    She was there for a scant few seconds when a portal opened up in the office. It was like a heat mirage had congealed until it looked like the air was boiling itself. A point of light at the middle filled the room up with white rays that dimmed only momentarily as Farri and Zahkriisos stepped through.

    The boss looked slightly different -- not just his different clothes. His scars weren't so prominent, and his ear looked significantly better than when last she'd seen him. He carried a staff taller than he was, with a tip modeled after three screaming faces.

    "What'd you do," she asked without really thinking. "Go to a spa, or something?"

    "Excuse, please? Khajiit is glad to see you too." He walked around to her side of the desk and made the 'get up' gesture. Once they'd traded positions, he began to look over the reports on the desk. "Khajiit heard there was a fire."

    "Yes," Nenya admitted and glanced at Zahkriisos. The masked Nord floated there, silent. "Morvayn Manor's alchemist kit started a fire. It didn't spread far, thankfully."

    "Hmm. Did the Councillor die in the fire?"

    "He didn't. He's badly wounded, however, and is expected to pass away in the next few days." Nenya crossed her arms and walked around the office. It was sparse -- the decorations mostly came in the patterns worked into the stone by magic. Stars was the prevailing theme. "You said you would create an opening for the Morag Tong to get at him -- was this it?"

    "Yes." Farri flipped through the reports as if he hadn't just admitted to conspiracy. "Khajiit was hoping they could do the job properly -- but whatever." He arched his eyebrow and started skimming Dukaan's report on the Dwemer ruin. "Dying in a fire hurts enough -- leaving him to languish like this is torture. Khajiit doesn't torture."

    "Would you like us to give him mercy, Star-Wife?" Zahkriisos spoke up, his inflection implied curiosity.

    "No." Farri shook his head and set the report aside while he stared off into the distance. "Morvayn's got more enemies than just us. They wanted torture -- fine. This one will bear that in mind before he works with them again."

    Nenya sighed, relieved. The last Redoran Guards were sleep deprived and antsy -- they would likely jump on any offer of 'mercy' as another assassination attempt. "So. How did the trip go?"

    "Well, Khajiit did not get the job of Jarl." Farri crossed his arms and feigned an upset pout. "Harumph. But," he went back to normal quickly, "this one has some merchant contacts set up -- and talked to Ulfric about the settlement process. He may also have found out he's related to the new Jarl coming to Solstheim."

    Nenya stopped and mentally replayed that sentence. "...Ulfric is?"

    "What? No. Khajiit is." Farri pointed at himself with his thumb. "Farri's papa -- Vasha -- has the job. Spread the word to all ladies in the settlement -- Vasha is strictly off-limits for casual flings, he has had entirely too many wives for this one's liking."

    Nenya considered this, along with a week of running things, and decided she wasn't even remotely drunk enough to hear such things. "Mhm. Alright, I'm going to go have a break -- Zahshur took over the Netch, the food's not as good as Geldis' but the sujamma is top tier. I'll tell everyone I can find not to bang your dad."

    She opened the door out of the office, and there was Nelos with an armful of new silk bolts. "Ah! Nenya -- what do you think of these?" The mage grinned wildly as he showed off his new patterns. "I heard about something called 'plaid' which was once and thought up these patterns, maybe for the clan?" He had a couple bolts of silk, one with a yellow base and two with black, and intersecting lines of black, gold, red, or green.

    To her it looked hideous, but she found most non-Summerset fashions at least ugly, but thankfully she didn't have to give the verdict.

    "Boss is back," she said and stepped aside. "Have him look at -- "

    "That one." Farri said and pointed to the yellow base pattern. "Khajiit wants that one as clan tartan."

    Nelos was beside himself with glee, even though neither he, Zahkriisos or Nenya knew what a 'tartan' was.

    Nenya left them to it -- she wanted no part in fashion talk. She was going to get drunk and process Farri having a dad, who was now Jarl.

    Gods, when had her life become so messy?

    ---

    For the curious -- google the MacLeod tartan pattern. It's going to be clan Gold-Tooth's pattern in this story, as decided by discord vote. It'll be on everything -- banners, tablecloths, smallclothes. Also shout out to that one Chair-life that finally got to live in Fantasy Scotland only to get drowned and eaten by a fucking kelpie.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chairtastic said:
    "Apparently the chefs don't know how to make 'one-eyed Susans', and some other dish he described as 'chicken n' waffles'."

    Vasha paused in the act of reaching for a towel to look at her with confusion. Confusion and a barely-there expression of disgust.

    "I think we might have underestimated the dire straits Solstheim has operated under."
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    What do they think Farri is making? Some horrid concoction basically made of inedible survival rations?

    Chairtastic said:
    Nenya Gold-Tooth

    After a week of being in charge, she had nothing but relief in her heart when the lightning priest left to pick up Farri.
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    Nenya is really good at taking business.

    Nenya business.
     
    That tartan... for gold and ebony? Makes sense and looks good. Farri's clan is gonna be fashionable as fuck!

    Also, it's odd as hell to see the bits with Vasha. I think it was said last chapter, he might not be a good person but he is a good father. I'm curious to see what will happen with him as Jarl.

    Lastly, I'm looking forward to how all these changes will affect Ulfric going into the Skyrim Civil War. Will the silk and mineral wealth from Solstheim be used to give Ulfric's troops armor that isn't absolute shit? Will his new outlook on the other races mean there will be more than Nords who fight for him?

    So many things to daydream about.
     
    deadlyham said:
    What do they think Farri is making? Some horrid concoction basically made of inedible survival rations?
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    Yes, exactly.

    deadlyham said:
    Nenya is really good at taking business.

    Nenya business.
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    [Cue the that MGS:R clapping gif]

    You did Julianos proud there.
    xbox432 said:
    That tartan... for gold and ebony? Makes sense and looks good. Farri's clan is gonna be fashionable as fuck!
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    Plaid is fairly uncommon as far I can tell -- only a few such patterns in the Third Era, Cyrodiil. As far as I know it's pretty hard pre-industrialization to get those kind of complex patterns.

    Before, you could have the Mage's Guild do it, but not enough of the Guild's infrastructure survives to teach those aspects of Alteration.

    xbox432 said:
    Also, it's odd as hell to see the bits with Vasha. I think it was said last chapter, he might not be a good person but he is a good father. I'm curious to see what will happen with him as Jarl.
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    He strikes the middle ground of having a good relationship with his kids and being a good parent by being rich enough to afford tutors and minders to keep them safe/educated while he himself focuses on making sure they're happy and know they're loved.

    xbox432 said:
    Lastly, I'm looking forward to how all these changes will affect Ulfric going into the Skyrim Civil War. Will the silk and mineral wealth from Solstheim be used to give Ulfric's troops armor that isn't absolute shit? Will his new outlook on the other races mean there will be more than Nords who fight for him?
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    His Skyrim for the Nords tendencies might be dulled a bit, but he still appeals to them as a Tongue -- one of their ancient traditions. Some of Ulfric's boys might gripe about being given fancy weapons -- but once they can take off someone's arm through steel plate with minimal resistance, they'll change their tune.

    Steel vs Ebony/Glass/Stalhrim, Steel loses. Hell, steel loses to orichalcum too.

    geogio13 said:
    Did they say "worth!"? It doesn't count if they don't say worth.
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    Being in Fantasy Scotland for even a short time was worth, of course.
     
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    • Codex: Ahzidal's Report

    ---

    Translated from Dovahzul.

    --

    Log entry two thousand thirteen. My experiments with the heart stones have led me to interact with one of the modern magical community's greats -- 'Master Neloth' of 'Great House Telvanni'.

    Despite having been on the island for two hundred years, he has made less progress than I -- originally, I had thought this a failure on his part. But as we talked -- he was able to intuit my processes and even parsed unfamiliar complex terminology from the incomplete fragments I fed him.

    He seemed to focus on the life-extending abilities of the heart stones, specifically their ability to regenerate tissue and repair complex structures out of available materials. His advanced age might be the cause -- he is old, even by the reckoning of elves. Their lives are long, but not forever.

    He seeks to avoid death, like so many before him.

    I did not think much of the Telvanni mage -- he could not name their accomplishments in the past two centuries, he could not tell me the accomplishments of his peers and forebears. I directly asked his parent's names, so I could research them independently, and he could not remember.

    I asked what had initially caused him to come to Solstheim, before there was even heart stone to study, and he could not recall. The questions upset him greatly, and he stormed off in a huff. It could be wounded pride, but I suspect something else.

    Miraak experienced much the same symptoms as he delved deep in Apocrypha for knowledge. He would forget things, and his considerable ego would fill in the gaps so he did not reflect on that which he had lost. Even now, I doubt he notices or cares about that which Hermaeus Mora took in exchange for power.

    It was watching Miraak fail which motivated us adjunct priests to conduct our trades differently, and what I suspect Farri did as well. Duplicate a memory, and offer that in exchange for what you seek. Mora wants to know, he doesn't care how many copies there are.

    Despite the bruised ego, Neloth has helped me to understand the application of heart stones in enchantment -- I was unaware of their regenerative abilities. I have taken one of the two great cores I've prepared, and reconfigured it to express this healing aspect.

    I used Dukaan's old sarcophagus for the physical structure. Provided the subject is not claustrophobic, it will have powerful healing and regenerative abilities -- with time, I expect it to be able to restore the freshly dead.

    If Farri can be convinced to lay in my brother's casket for an hour or so, I could rid him of that ugliness which troubles him.

    Or cause him to explode into a fine red mist. Either or.

    ---
     
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    • NornBeChill said:
    isn't the water in the Elder Scrolls water and that is why mora's realm is filled with books and water.
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    ??? The Elder Scrolls aren't filled with water. They aren't filled with anything. They aren't even MADE of anything, nor is there a defined number of them. Sure, you can have a few, like three or four, but if you have a few dozen then you can count them once and get 13, then count them again and get 18, with no change to the number of scrolls. They don't have defined contents; you could read a dozen different scrolls and always get the same vision/memory/prophecy, or you could read the same scroll twelve times and get twelve different visions.
     
    Chairtastic said:
    See this is the problem when the title of the series is also an object.

    Norn means the water in the setting. Which is memory -- which is why Apocrypha is filled with books and water. Though it's bad water. Burning water. Ouch.
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    Ah. Yeah, the water of Nirn is composed of Memory. This is one of the biggest secrets of high-level magic kept by Hermaeus Mora, and why water magic is so rare; most storm magic is just wind and lightning, not water.
     
    Ch 21
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter Twenty-One: Methods Testing

    ---

    Raven Rock Mine

    Dukaan

    A meeting was called of the adjunct Dragon Priests, the star-wife, and other members of the Raven Rock settlement. Dukaan did not expect much to happen -- just catching the star-wife up on what had transpired while they were away and receiving new orders.

    They met in a chamber bored into the mountainside near the Earth Stone peninsula, with windows that would be one day fitted with glass panes. According to Zahkriisos, melting the ash down produced a prismatic glass, so he needed to find a way to render them clear. A great stone table in the shape of a hollow circle lay in the middle of the room, while they sat along its edge.

    In the meeting, there were new faces to Dukaan -- the blacksmith, Glover Mallory; a noblewoman, Tilisu Serevin; a merchant, Fethis Alor accompanied by Briras Gold-Tooth; and the warrior-elf, Nenya Gold-Tooth.

    There was a brief show about how they spent a moment praying to their respective gods for Councilor Morvayn's suffering to end soon. Then came the updates from the various factions. Glover reported that Highpoint Tower Mine had been attacked, and the head of the mine dragged off into the night. Tilisu reported on the fire, and the causes of it -- an improperly cared for alchemy kit. Fethis informed everyone pirates calling themselves 'Blood Horkers' had begun to attack the fishermen, and Nenya reported on the state of mundane threats to the settlement.

    Then came the adjunct priests' turn to announce the happenings. Zahkriisos informed everyone that Fahlbtharz palace had been fully restored and brought into the city-tomb network. Dukaan informed them how White Ridge had been repaired and was ready to accept occupants or to allow mountain mining. Ahzidal informed them of a breakthrough in his research -- using Dukaan's own coffin.

    "Normally," Dukaan told his brother from behind his bone-white mask, "I would disapprove of you stealing from me. But I had no intention of using that casket for a while."

    "Glad we could come to my correct position on this," the musclebound Ahzidal responded from behind his blood-red mask. "My new device will need to be tested -- the enormous power of the heart stone can be a powerful healing tool." He slowly turned to look upon Farri. "Healing and regeneration."

    The star-wife steepled his fingers and narrowed his gaze. "Excuse, please. You haven't tested it, yet?"

    "We need people suitably injured. Or scarred."

    Farri nodded. "We'll test it on animals, first." He dipped one claw in ink and began to write on papers nearby, likely his official orders. "Then, if the tests look good, move on to spriggans. Then we can begin testing on people."

    Ahzidal nodded, his tone neutral. "As you wish."

    Farri shifted the paper aside, then began to read another one. "You have all informed this one of news, now he will inform you in turn." His mouth dipped, clearly displeased. "Khajiit wishes to inform you that the Jarl of Solstheim has been selected, as this one's papa -- Vasha."

    Dukaan pondered this -- he didn't know what to make of a star-wife having a father. But then, he was incarnated in a mortal housing -- that had to come from somewhere.

    Tilisu Serevin seemed to have heard of this 'Vasha', for she leaned forward and spoke with a nervous waver in her voice. "V-asha? Khajiit, Cathay, doesn't always speak in the third person?"

    "Yes, yes."

    "He's your father?"

    Farri nodded. "Vasha has a reputation as a womanizer. Please warn your female relations and daughters away from him." He glanced at Tilisu. "We can discuss how you know of him later on, over tea." Then back to the paper. "We need to get farmland set up -- if the ash falls weren't such an issue, the Hirstaang would be ideal for it."

    "There are ways to rectify that, but they will take time and investment." Ahzidal waved his hand, and an illusion of Solstheim appeared in the empty space in the empty space of the hoop table. "We can start planting saplings, and shielding them from the ash fall until they're big enough to bear its weight. Which takes a minimum of two years. What's preventing us from turning my lands into farmland right now is lack of water -- the Iggnir is choked with ash, and will need to be cleaned."

    Dukaan considered this, and sighed. "With the Mortrag Glacier gone, previously underground water sources have been exposed." Dukaan waved his hand, and the river that flowed between White Ridge and Fahlbtharz lit up with deep blue. "There are already pipes which connect this to Fahlbtharz palace -- we could divert it further, to create a new lake or serve as irrigation."

    Farri considered this, then pointed at the illusion of Solstheim. "South-east of Kolbjorn, there is a Dwemer structure under the ash. What do you know of it? Could we use its pipe network to better distribute water, yes no?"

    There was silence from Ahzidal, Dukaan, and Zahkriisos as they parsed what the star-wife had just told them. There was a Dwemer facility in Ahzidal's lands too? Kagrumez was known about -- on the border of Ahzidal and Miraak's lands, but it had been abandoned when they arrived on Solstheim. Like Fahlbtharz, there seemed to be a hidden facility nearby -- presumably to watch Ahzidal, as Fahlbtharz had watched Dukaan.

    Dukaan felt warmth in his cold heart -- his brother had been so smug about Fahlbtharz, and now it was Dukaan's turn. He felt like he could smile so wide he'd break his face.

    Slowly, the musclebound Dragon Priest stood from his seat and leaned forward with a single finger pointed at Dukaan. "Shut. Your. Mouth." Ahzidal hated to be on the back foot -- and it pleased Dukaan to see him in such a state.

    "I haven't said anything, dear sweet brother of mine," Dukaan answered with a sickly sweet tone.

    "You're thinking mocking words about me, then!"

    "All that I know, and some I've just made up -- yes."

    Farri sighed, and rested his head in his hands. "You didn't know about the Dwemer facility." He gesuted for Ahzidal to sit down. "Stay after the meeting, we'll talk about it, yes no?" Once that was done, the meeting continued. "On the subject of pirates -- Khajiit knows they're based on an island between here and Winterhold, Japhet's Folly. If a portal could be built, we could hop over and sort them out…."

    Dukaan didn't stop smiling the entire rest of the meeting, glad to have Ahzidal humbled just a little.

    --

    Proudspire Manor

    Chamberlain Mellem

    There was a banquet arranged to celebrate the Jarl's elevation to nobility. It was troublesome to arrange for agents in the field to relocate to Solstheim, make arrangements for moving the Jarl's household to the island, and arranging the banquet itself. Fortunately, Mellem was better than any mortal in her field.

    While the kitchen staff arranged for multiple courses for over a dozen guests and their families, Mellem helped the nanny staff with the children.

    Jarl Vasha had been tending to higher-level business decisions than Mellem was entitled to know, but came in as she and Shai's nanny worked on the girl's hair. He permitted his eldest daughter to sit in his lap while they worked.

    "What's the matter, Shai?" He asked while Mellem and the nanny shampooed his daughter's hair in preparation for ornamentation. "You love banquets."

    The ten-year-old Redguard girl kept her head low. "I… don't wanna move."

    "Oh? I thought you'd love a wild frontier where you can have adventures when you're older?"

    Mellem had thought so too, the girl loved adventure and romance novels -- to the point where the Jarl intended to arrange a combat instructor for her in two years.

    "Yeah, but." Shai crossed her arms and leaned back into the Jarl for support. "There's no one my age there. Larub and the triplets can play with each other. But I don't like playing with them -- and they don't wanna go adventuring." She pouted, as children were wont to do. "No point in going on adventures alone."

    While she didn't say it, or perhaps even think of it, Pothil would have much the same problem as he got older.

    Vasha hugged the girl while Mellem and the nanny fixed golden rings onto her braids. "There are people coming to the island, though. This one has talked with the people arranging the resettlement. There are some families with children going out there."

    Not many, Mellem remembered from the reports, but some.

    "But, if you like -- papa will see about getting some young people to Solstheim too." Vasha glanced Mellem's way with a knowing look. "He is sure there are young people in need of apprenticeships, which this one can offer."

    Mellem nodded, and began to calculate the expenses they'd need to undertake to convince Grelod the Kind to part with some or all of her emotional punching bags.

    Shai seemed to perk up at the idea of there being other children, but she was still in a generally low mood. Larub -- the seven-year-old Orc, obsessed with math -- and the triplets Trenilis, Parnilis, and Silinis -- a trio of Imperial five-year-old girls, proponents of mischief -- were their own hassles to prepare for the event. Pothil was easily convinced to cooperate with promises of dragon-beard candy, his favorite.

    All of Solitude's nobility were in attendance, even the esteemed Vittoria Vici made an appearance. It all went so well -- until one of the guests became troublesome.

    Mellem, in full event dress, caught First Emissary Elenwen on her way to Jarl Vasha -- and signaled the serving staff to slow her down. Offers of extravagant drinks, dainty cakes, and complementary caviar were placed in her way while Mellem made her way over to Vasha.

    He was in the midst of lamenting that Red Mountain's ash fall would make him abandon smoking to some noble guests, when Mellem leaned into his ear to whisper the warning.

    Vasha's ears perked up and his eyes went half-lidded. "I see. If she wants to fight, let's have at it then." The Jarl's confidence boded well as Elenwen navigated her way through the stalling staff toward them.

    She seemed almost pleasant, wine glass in hand and her face set in a smile. But she was too much like Vasha -- his telltale 'I'm going to murder someone' signs radiated off her as well. "Congratulations on being the first non-Nord to rule a Hold, Vasha dear." The Emissary extended a hand with the Thalmor signet ring on her finger -- a polite nicety, kissing a lady's hand, mixed with subtle messaging.

    Vasha took her hand, but kissed her knuckles instead of the ring. "Thank you, sweet Elenwen." The Jarl was all smiles as he passed his wine glass to Mellem to hold. "We'll see how long it lasts -- gods know, I might be married to a Nord woman this time next year."

    They shared a polite laugh, along with the guests Vasha had originally spoken to. The lesser guests left the scene, all too aware of what Elenwen likely wanted to discuss. Mellem slipped into the shadows, ready to return the Jarl's drink at a moment's notice.

    "They do move rather fast in Skyrim, don't they?" Elenwen crossed her free arm under her wineglass arm to support it as she sipped. "Last month, Solstheim was part of Morrowind, and now it's a Hold of Skyrim. A vassal of the Empire." She smiled in a way that didn't reach her eyes. "And subject to the Empire's promises."

    "But of course, sweet Elenwen." Vasha clasped his hands and shrugged. "If this is about the end of our business relationship -- it's simply a matter of propriety. " The Jarl smiled in a way that didn't reach his eyes either. "Before, I was simply a merchant. A man of wealth and taste. But now -- I'm a Jarl." He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward. "I'm part of the system -- and if you want help from the system, you have to go through the proper channels."

    "Oh, it's no trouble at all really." Elenwen lied as easily as breathing, her tone flippant. "My men will simply have to do their jobs more earnestly to make up the difference. I'm not one to complain about them earning their pay for once."

    They laughed at that, as people in their position were expected to be amused by their subordinate's struggles. The Nords seemed addicted to suffering -- even moreso than the Thalmor.

    Elenwen sipped her wine -- spiced, a local variety of red wine. "But I have to emphasize, this whole 'religious freedom' thing Solstheim's asked for…." She arched an eyebrow and tilted her head back. "It has some people at home concerned."

    "And they're right to be concerned," Vasha assured her with placating hand gestures. "Can't have the Empire not keeping its promises, right?"

    "Correct. Which is why I've been asked to consider a permanent detachment of Dominion forces to Solstheim -- for security's sake, you understand."

    Vasha looked away, tightened his lips, and shrugged as he looked back at her. "I'm afraid I don't. It's a terrible risk to your men and the delicate state of affairs in Alinor."

    Elenwen shifted at the implicit threat. She stood up slightly straighter to emphasize the height difference between them, and her smile deepened. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

    Vasha sighed, like he was explaining something childishly simple. "Well -- Solstheim is part of the Empire, but it's also right on the coast of Morrowind. A hop, skip, and a jump from the capital even." Vasha raised his eyebrows. "And while the bad blood between the Altmer and Dunmer might have been cooled off with distance… it could heat up again. Your cultures are direct refutations of each other. And they saw how you treated the capital of a society three-quarters identical to yours."

    Morrowind had stayed out of the Great War on paper. Morrowind held disdain for the Empire, and Alinor at the same time. But it had been desired that Morrowind's enemies continue the war -- to weaken them both and secure Morrowind's safety in from intrusion. Argonia was held at bay by House Redoran, but the Houses would not be able to stand against the Dominion or the Empire if they had expansionist aims.

    So, individual warriors were permitted to join the fighting on either side as irregulars. It was how the Jarl had earned Sangiin's favor, and the skills to further his career. Certain artifacts had also slipped from people's notice when the killing stopped, and Vasha had lived.

    It was an open secret that House Redoran's entire supply of Summerset Elven weapons were war trophies, taken from dead Dominion soldiers.

    "An interesting point to make," Elenwen responded with her smile diminished visibly. "I'll have to make it to my superiors at home."

    Mellem slipped from the shadows right as Vasha signaled for his drink to be returned.

    "Do that, please." The Jarl grinned and walked out into the celebrating guests with his drink in hand. "Enjoy the banquet."

    --

    Fahlbtharz Palace

    Zahkriisos

    With the towers of Fahlbtharz in the background, and the valley between Mount Mortrag and Hvitkald Mountain all around them, Zahkriisos stood among a Riekling village with his new liege, an honor guard of his followers, and several of the new members of clan Gold-Tooth.

    He watched as Farri's eyelid on the bad side twitched while he stood with arms outstretched, in his smallclothes. At some point while on the mainland, he acquired an odd amulet that resembled a double-bladed axe head. All around him, blue Goblins, Rieklings, painted his fur with sky-blue paints in their odd characters.

    "This feels so gross," Farri muttered. "Like mud in hair." His fingers curled as they painted the bridge of his nose and over his upper lip on one side, whiskers and all. "Eugh."

    "It's an important part of the godspeak dance," Zahkriisos assured him as he floated in the air. It was he who looked at the Rieklings and saw a peaceful co-existence. "You bear the godsmarks, so that when the redgrass is burned you don't fully die." As it turned out -- the Riekling had found a way to commune with the gods on their own. Near-death experiences. "I argued as much as I could, star-wife, normally this is done in the nude."

    Farri scowled and his tail started to twitch. "Thank you, then. Khajiit is not in the mood to be nude in the snow. Again."

    One of the newer members, an Orc, cleared his throat. "Um. Why are we doing this again… kinsman?" He didn't know how to address Farri, easily younger than him but higher in rank. Like all the Gold-Tooth clansmen in attendance, they had sashes of Gold-Tooth tartan, while Farri represented his pattern on what little he wore.

    "This one has never been good at genocide, and Rieklings have lived here since before Nords, or Elves." Farri screwed up his face in disgust as one Riekling applied paint to his lower back. "Really wish Khajiit didn't have hydroreceptors in their skin. Eugh, so moist. Anyway." He sighed, seemingly relieved when the painting moved to his extremities "If we can bring them into this with their culture intact, and willing participation -- this we do, yes no?"

    "Well," the Orc -- Zahkriisos couldn't recall his name -- rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "No one's done much of that around here, before. It's… usually, you kill them all till you clear the land, then move in."

    "Excuse please, how's that going for the Reach?" Farri raised his eyebrows. "How'd it go for Orsinium, Ruglong?"

    Ruglong was the Orc's name, Zahkriisos guessed.

    "...Huh, didn't think of it like that." Ruglong shrugged. "I guess… shitily? Is that a word?" He asked one of the nearby clansmen.

    "It is now." Farri was about to shake his hands instinctively, once the painting was done -- but fought the urge when Zahkriisos held up his hands.

    "Alright," Zahkriisos said and floated his way to the godspeak bonfire -- not yet lit. A pile of deadly scathecraw leaves and the viscous juices within the aloe-like plant, in the middle of a packed ring of snow. "Now, when the others who wish to speak with the gods are ready, they will form a ring around this bonfire -- which is then lit and the godspeak dance begins."

    "And if Khajiit does this godspeak dance," Farri stiffly walked after Zahkriisos, "Rieklings will live in peace?" Several Rieklings nearby tried to talk to him in their language -- which Farri just looked at them in confusion.

    "They will see us as tribe-kin, a step on the road toward peace." One of many, Zahkriisos feared, with how agitated the Rieklings looked.

    One of the Rieklings nearby approached Zahkriisos. "Your chief doesn't speak our language?"

    Zahkriisos paused, then remembered -- he had an amulet of translation Ahzidal had made. It translated their modern Tamrielic and Riekling language into Dovahzul for him, and vice versa. A ring had been made for Farri to accomplish the same -- but Zahkriisos had forgotten to pass it on. "Just a moment, I will work magic upon him," he told the Riekling and floated to Farri.

    He pulled the Nordic ring from his pocket -- made of silver and stalhrim and offered it to Farri. The Khajiit placed it on his ringless hand -- the other bore a healing band -- and suddenly had a look of comprehension when the Rieklings spoke to him.

    The skies brightened -- twilight gave way to dawn. Magno -- or as the elves knew him, Magnus -- crested the horizon.

    Zahkriisos floated back to stand among the Gold-Tooth clansmen as a circle of Rieklings began to form.

    The Rieklings told Farri the words to invoke the gods, and the steps to the dance. When this was done -- the scathecraw was lit.

    Zahkriisos used his magic to create a barrier of wind -- that the deadly fumes from burning scathecraw would reach neither the Rieklings or his fellows. Within the barrier, red-black smoke sunk low over the ground and steadily filled the air. Scathecraw smoke was dense, and filled the area within the barrier like water.

    The Riekling tribesmen who didn't participate in the godspeak dance were on their high pathways, where the smoke would not reach them. Zahkriisos' barrier lifted the smoke out and over them, until it fell away far from their settlement.

    Inside the red-black smoke, Zahkriisos could faintly see figures dancing. The wind from his barrier made it so he couldn't hear their words. One by one, their dancing slowed until the Rieklings fell over.

    Farri danced still -- his figure was easily told apart by his tail. But while he was the last dancer, the poisonous gas did its work. He keeled over and landed in the snow on his side.

    The Rieklings brought a pot of water up to the top layer of their walkway -- to dump on the godspeak bonfire. Zahkriisos lowered the wind barrier just in time for the deluge to douse the flames. Water pushed the smoke away like light pushed darkness.

    Once it was clear, Zahkriisos approached Farri by floating. The star-wife's eyes were open, the organic one bloodshot and heavily dilated, blood leaking from his ears and nose, with scathecraw smoke on its way out through his mouth. The axe-shaped amulet around his neck shone snowberry red, like it had come fresh from a forge, and melted the snow into water quickly. Yet it did not burn Farri, or singe his fur.

    "Work it harder, make it better, do it faster, makes us stronger" Farri muttered with his breath mixed with scathecraw smoke. "More than ever, hour after, our work is never over."

    All of the Rieklings who had participated in the godspeak dance muttered similar nonsense -- though Farri's semed a tad bit more structured. Like words to a poem, or song. He bade the star-wife's clansmen to step forward, and floated Farri to them.

    "Alright. That's done. Now we have their support -- don't touch the amulet, it's clearly charged from the godspeak dance." He shifted to scold one of the clansmen who hastily tried to pull the burning red metal off their clan head. "We are their tribe-kin now. They won't attack us -- and we can trade with them." Which would be very helpful for distributing translation jewelry among the Riekling population.

    "If it hadn't been for Cotton-Eyed Joe, I'd been married a long time ago," Farri muttered where his clansmen could hear -- to their extreme confusion. "Where did ya come from, where did ya go? Where did ya come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?"

    "We should probably get him back to the mine," Zahkriisos said authoritatively, which calmed the antsy clansmen down. "He'll be fine after a bit of rest."

    Zahkriisos kept the 'I hope' to himself, spoken only in his mind, behind his mask.

    ---

    Farri, to me: Would you stop putting me in near-death experiences for vaguely-defined power?!

    Me, holding a pillow: Sure, sure, just lay down a sec.
     
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