Chapter Twenty-One: Methods Testing
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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.