Chapter 39
Chairtastic
Anything's a chair if you're brave enough
- Location
- Breakfast nook
- Pronouns
- He / Him / It
Getting an education in late-capitalistic periods be expensive, y'all.
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Chapter 39: The College Plan
It didn't take long to find Jouane Manette once Mohamara started to ask for him. The old Breton man didn't often stray from Rorik's Manor at the top of the hill. All the buildings in Rorikstead had the look of the oldest Nord buildings in Whiterun and Morthal--like they had been built from the hulls of ships. But if the namesake of the village still lived, it must have been a design throwback to his ancestors.
Rorik's Manor was easily the size of Jorrvaskr and appeared to be built in the style of an overlarge Atmoran ship, squat where Jorrvaskr was tall, and the decorations were of plant life not of Atmoran animal gods. When the tojay knocked at the door, a young Nord girl answered, initially looking up. She giggled a bit when she had to look down to see Mohamara.
"Hey, is Jouane at home?" The tojay didn't let the girl finding him amusing color his mood, he could see in her that she was grey and nearly dead inside like he had been--the laughter brightened her up just a little. "Could you tell him that one of Maria's friends is here?"
The blonde Nord girl ducked back into the manor, and soon the elderly Breton had taken her place at the half-open door. He reeled back in surprise at Mohamara's appearance, and the Pink Coats following behind him, but relaxed when he saw the Meridian amulet at the tojay's neck. Jouane stepped outside and closed the door behind him, not glancing about at all.
Mohamara guessed that he knew there were no Vigilants or was secure enough to deal with those who happened to know the coded phrase.
"You've returned… different than when I saw you last, dear friend," the Breton greeted the Khajiit warmly and bent down to shake his hand. "But have you done it? Is Maria home at last?"
The sabre-toothed Khajiit nodded, resolute. "Maria's home, but when we got to her house there was a horrible squatter inside. There was no swordsman around, so she burned her house down rather than let it be used by someone so wicked. I'm going to be building her a new house, and she asked me to tell all her friends she's safe again."
Jouane seemed pained when the tojay discussed the destruction of the temple but seemed to accept it. "At least Maria is home, and we can send our letters to her again." The Breton stood tall and clapped his hands together. "But today is Sundas, and Maria is home! It is time for a celebration!" Jouane opened the door to the manor and shouted orders to those inside. When he returned to look at the guests on his doorstep, he seemed younger. There were fewer lines on his face and his liver spots were fewer. "You and your followers spread the word too. We need to get this together before sundown!"
Mohamara and his Pink Coats went down the hill to Rorikstead, and as soon as Jouane was outside earshot, they began to pester the tojay with questions.
Annoyed, the pink Khajiit answered a few of them in broad terms to imply the answers to other questions as well. "Maria is my dear friend, who lives on Mount Kilkreath. The Vigilants don't like her, even though she wants them to be her friends too. I was raised in Maria's house, so yes I expect you to at least treat her with respect. No, Orthorn, Maria is neither a Khajiit or my mother. She's probably an aunt or something, but she's as good as family to her friends. For those of you who aren't native to Skyrim or High Rock, she would probably be better known as Madea. Now go, tell all the locals what Jouane told you to."
The 'Madea' aspect of Meridia was… intense. From what he'd heard about her in Temple, she embodied the unfathomable rage and use of violence that Meridia would visit on her enemies to the point of memetic status. People who thought Meridia proper had a hair-trigger temper had never seen the kind of stuff that Meridia would pull while Madea. The only Daedra with a temper in the same weight class was Malacath.
Mohamara did his part to tell people about the last-minute celebration. It probably wasn't going to be much--some casks of mead, perhaps breaking out a smoked elk or two that Jouane had been saving. The Legion soldiers alone would go through that. However, when the word was passed on, those of the village who weren't involved in putting away farming equipment or livestock went over to the Khajiit caravan.
They came back with as much food as the caravan was willing to part with--particularly new products made with 'beet sugar'. Sweet bread, cakes, compressed balls of the sugar, and more. Once he realized that Ri'saad's caravan finally had imitation moon sugar to work with, Mohamara knew what he had to do.
He had Hadvar buy all of the milk that the farmers could sell for the day and then bought salt, sugar, and fruit. Bananas, oranges and grapes--Mohamara felt a craving for something that came out of a strange purple bottle but couldn't remember what--, custard apples, regular apples, and more.
Ice cream was the invention of an Orc sometime in the Sixth Era, so he couldn't give the people of Rorikstead that treat. But he could give them a suitable stand-in: Smoothies.
--
Brenelin had the strangest of the 'smoothie' drinks that anyone from the Legion or Rorikstead had asked for once the fruit, milk, and sugar beverage became more accepted. Her smoothie was a finely cooked steak, mixed with chicken broth and gravy in place of milk. She also said she couldn't partake of 'beet sugar', so had to have Yehochanan spin up a great deal of sugar-silk for her drink.
The most common request for substitution was that the milk be replaced with mead or ale. While it irked Mohamara that even Traynda had the 'milk drinker' bias, he had no problem pouring the ingredients into an imaginary blender and blending them up for the thirsty patrons.
All through the main street were set up quick tables with what had been purchased from the caravan or brought out of storage for the celebration. The Legion didn't get the significance of 'Maria' being home, at last, many Mohamara had heard talking about it seemed amazed anyone would live on Mount Kilkreath with the Thalmor for neighbors.
He came to realize that the whole of Rorikstead was a Meridian community. Once Jouane had talked to them, virtually everyone had come to thank him for helping Maria get home safely. Even the children. More than one had glanced about before showing their own Meridian amulet to him since he wore his clearly on display.
Another guest arrived over the hill during the festivities, a wandering bard. Since General Tullius had not returned from his meeting with Ri'saad, Mohamara felt free enough to approach the bard before he came to the tojay for a smoothie.
"Well met," the wanderer, Talsgar said once Mohamara introduced himself as a bard's college graduate. "I don't imagine the Legion has been keeping you in good practice with your music much. You don't look like a drummer, and that's all they seem to care about these days."
"Nah, I was a singer. Haven't been in practice much, lately. There hasn't been… a good enough reason to sing, you see." The tojay shrugged. "Also, thanks for not thinking me a kid given how short I am."
"Well, even if you were a child--with those teeth you could do me in no problem. A solid chomp on my thigh and I'd bleed to death, no problem." The Nord bard mimed chomping down on an invisible target. "But I must respectfully disagree with you about good enough reasons to sing. You are alive! These people are alive! That is reason enough to lift your voice, is it not?" When Mohamara didn't look convinced, the bard looked around. "Well, what about this then? A celebration isn't complete without some singing, is it? Would you lend me your voice, fellow bard?"
"Alright," Mohamara shrugged. "But if I go off key from lack of practice, you only get to laugh one time so make it a good one."
"You jest, but I learned how to laugh on command from a peculiar jester I met once in Dawnstar." The two of them went among the people, with Talsgar clapping his hands for attention. "Well, this looks like a good party! Don't suppose I could get some food and drink in exchange for singing some songs for you folks?"
The people of Rorikstead squinted at the bard, then as one looked to Mohamara. When the cat gave a thumbs up to them, they looked back at Talsgar and nodded all at the same time. Meridians who lived together tended to do such things, it was called synchronizing. Mohamara had seen something like it among the Khajiit caravans, mostly in regards to Ri'saad. A way of communicating without needing verbal cues or excessive body language that usually happened unconsciously.
"Do you happen to know 'She'll be coming down the Mountain?'" The young red-headed Erik, the bartender's son, asked the Nord bard. "It's a bit of a local favorite."
"I've… heard pieces of it, but not the song to its completion, I'm afraid. What about you, friend?" Talsgar looked down at Mohamara and grinned when the cat gave an affirmative. "Alright, how about you lead us for the first time and I'll follow you for subsequent performances?"
"Alright," the tojay said. He wasn't going to miss a chance to sing a covert hymn to Meridia. "I'll need some men with decent singing voices for that song, it's explicitly meant for a group."
A few of the men from the village came to stand with him: Rorik, the landlord, Jouane, Erik and his father Mralki, and Ennis from the livestock farm. Yehochanan sat on Mohamara's head and mimicked his hand movements while he got them to harmonize with each other and the Khajiit himself. Those not in the singing group seemed produce instruments from nowhere, and the performance began.
"She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain;
Blowin' steam off like a fountain;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes!"
The pre-verse of the song had no musical accompaniment and was slow, specifically to give the musicians time to get in key. So when the music began to play in the interlude between verses, it was with a significantly faster tempo, which the singers then matched.
"She'll be wearin' seven colors when she comes;
She'll be wearin' seven colors when she comes;
She'll be wearin' seven colors;
That'd look gaudy on all others;
She'll be wearin' seven colors when she comes!"
The General's entourage had no idea why the locals were singing other than it provided entertainment for them while they enjoyed the free food. Unnoticed by any of the soldiers, Legate Rikke accompanied General Tullius back to town from the Khajiit caravan. Tullius held a woolen rag to his face to stymie the blood flow on four shallow scratch marks he'd earned from poor word choice with the caravan's leader.
"Oh we'll all go out to meet her when she comes;
Oh we'll all go out to meet her when she comes;
Oh we'll all go out to meet her;
And we'll all be glad to see her;
Oh we'll all go out to meet her when she comes!"
Jouane's entire purpose in the singers' sections was to follow up the second and 'when she comes' with a fainter refrain. No one but Mohamara seemed to notice how the men of Rorikstead, not just Jouane, seemed to grow visibly younger as they sang along.
"She'll take the head off Ragnar when she comes;
She'll take the head off Ragnar when she comes;
She'll take the head off Ragnar;
'Cause he's such a lying braggart;
She'll take the head off Ragnar when she comes!"
Ragnar the Red was a popular song in many of Skyrim's bars. And every singer had a different shield-maiden who took off the head of the bragging liar. The only unifying thing about her was that her name started with an M and she attacked Ragnar for lying and bragging.
"Oh we'll have a bount'ful harvest when she comes;
Oh we'll have a bount'ful harvest when she comes;
Oh we'll have a bount'ful harvest;
Cause it's all grown in her garden;
Oh we'll have a bount'ful harvest when she comes!"
Perhaps this verse would be most strange to those who had not grown up in the Meridian way. According to the old stories, Meridia kept gardens of magically enriched land to provide endless food for mortals. The ultimate goal was to prevent a special form of undead that Namira had begotten from ever emerging again. A teleporting undead spirit that was born from those starving so badly that they were forced into cannibalism. These gardens became useful when increasing amounts of land were developed for Tamriel's modern population in the Twenty-First Era.
"She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain;
And the sight will be astoundin';
She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes!"
The last verse of the song started with the same tempo as those before, before slowing down to the pre-verse's. Without a proper studio to get the quality right, Mohamara didn't think it was particularly good singing, but it didn't need to be. It was a way of telling Meridia how much they loved her and how wonderful it would be for her to visit them. When the musicians stopped playing, a few of the Legion and Mohamara's Pink Coats offered token applause.
But Talsgar immediately went into how to make the song better, speaking about such things as getting the singers to harmonize more with each other by moving their positions around, and getting some instruments properly tuned. Talsgar's rendition of the song seemed to resonate better, a product of how much more experience with music the Nord bard had.
Afterward, Mohamara went back to making smoothies, with Talsgar taking a juniper berry flavored one, as he said it reminded him of his home in Markarth.
However, the smoothie distribution halted by Legate Rikke making an appearance. "Conscript, General wants a word."
"Yes, Legate." Mohamara was going to leave without incident, but he stopped and decided to test something. "Orthorn, take over making the drinks for people."
The High Elf finished his snowberry smoothie and hopped to his feet to comply, while Mohamara left with the Legate to the General's room in the Frostfruit Inn.
"...What the actual fuck did you say to Ri'saad to make him do that to your face? Sir." Mohamara hastily added the last bit to his stunned question. He'd found Tullius dabbing a woolen towel in healing potions and then rubbing it onto his face.
Tullius' expression was as far from amused as Cyrodiil was from Pyandonea. "The same thing I'm going to tell you. Because of what you… unintentionally did at Helgen, I'm not certain I can allow your conscription to end with the conclusion of the war."
If Mohamara had claws, he probably would have scratched the General in the face as well with that. Yehochanan hastily extracted the simmering fury from within him and bound it up in prismatic silk.
"You represent an incredible asset even without that… unique talent. But I'm sworn to act in the Empire's best interests. And having someone that can level an entire city, and take out an invading army while doing so free to go wherever they like is not in the Empire's interests." The General's eyes somehow found a new way to convey his iron resolve. "And neither is letting a Daedra who naturally exists on Nirn run around without a leash."
"Technically that makes him an Ehlnofey, sir," Rikke chimed in.
"He could be Akaotsh himself--wouldn't even be the first time that's happened--and I'd still say the same. Skyrim has this consistent problem with letting incredibly powerful individuals run rampant. By and large, it serves us well--they deal with minor problems before they become major ones. But then there are situations like yours, or your Orc friend's, where leaving them to their own devices ends in chaos. Relax," he said when Mohamara and the cat's animal limbs moved into threat-making stances. "I know she'd burn through the Legion, perhaps literally, if we tried to conscript her. It's why we don't do that sort of thing to Orcs anymore."
"So what? Am I to be a conscript until your Empire collapses? Would you like the date and time it happens so you can put an exact number on my sentence? ...I don't actually remember the date, but it doesn't happen for a couple hundred years at least." Mohamara began to pace in the General's room, with Yehochanan's abdomen quickly getting covered in bound up anxiety and rage. "Long story short, volcano, Atmora, water everywhere, a new age of piracy and naval supremacy, elves in charge, everything is awful until Pyandonea gets sick and tired of Alinor''s nonsense."
"... Do I want to know if that's a lie, son?" The scratches on the General's face had been treated by the healing potion, so they resembled rows of inflamed skin mixed with scabs. "But no. Being a permanent conscript, while incredibly amusing, wasn't what I had in mind. Regrettably, your grandfather and I didn't get to that point in the discussion for obvious reasons." The last of Tullius' scabs fell off and he set aside the potion and blood-soaked towel. "Would you believe I actually respect him for being brave enough to do that while the Legate was there glaring daggers at him."
"The old cat isn't one to be bullied," Rikke quipped. "And he can take a punch like a Nord."
"He's not actually my grandfather… I think." The tojay kept pacing while Yehochanan scrambled to keep him stable. "It's a thing he started doing when I first joined his caravan because he knew the average Nord would look at me and see a cathay kid, not a grown tojay."
"I put that together, son. It sort of came up with the 'Skooma Cat' thing we discussed." The General shifted in his seat to relax since his face was healed up. "For Sheogorath spawn you're relatively… normal, you know."
Within Mohamara's ears, Sheogorath laughed. "Oh good, I was afraid that me and my son-in-law's father's relationship would be boring. Excuse me for a bit? I need to go dust off my big book of hurtful things to call other people's children. It's a signed copy!" There was a sound of echoing steps in the tojay's head, and a distant door slam.
"Normal is relative," Mohamara ground out and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's normal for the spider is chaos for the fly."
Thankfully, Tullius was not stupid enough to ask which Mohamara imagined himself as. "Like I said, I'm not talking you being a conscript forever. And if I reassigned you to the commands of other military governors they'd probably use the… city-breaking potential you have on a more frequent, intentional basis. Having been on the receiving end, I can personally say I find the prospect unethical. Legate, the reports?"
"Yes, sir." Rikke produced a journal stamped with the Legion's dragon-diamond and began to read from it. "The Sunderstone coven has agreed to be subcontracted to the Legion. The occupiers of Fort Amol, elemental mages, have also agreed to be subcontracted and to keep the fort out of Stormcloak hands. A spellsword coven led by Bashnag gro-Grodush has agreed to negotiate terms for being subcontracted. The Cragwallow coven, displaced by Ulfric's boys, have agreed to be subcontracted on the condition of a permanent residence after the war. Assuming Bashnag agrees, we'll have an estimated three hundred combat-ready mages with half as many apprentices."
"I don't know if you've been paying attention to the status of magical education in Cyrodiil, but let me provide you an abbreviated version." Tullius looked around for some wine and seemed defeated in that there was none. "The Synod and College of Whispers are a joke. No one on the Elder Council or in the Legion takes them seriously anymore. And since we have no choice but to pull from their ranks for the Shadow Legion, that's become a joke too. You'll notice I didn't bring any of them with me--because if I had what progress we've made would have taken twice as long."
"On a scale of one to having dinner with the Thalmor, how bad are we talking?" The tojay stopped pacing to listen to the news. Covens weren't just a word for a group of mages, it was an incredibly specific type of magical community that bordered on an extended family setup. By far the most prominent covens Mohamara had learned about in the past, the Glenmoril Wyrd and Halliwell Sisters, had operated thus.
"I would legitimately rather go to every party Elenwen throws for the next ten years than have the Shadow Legion involved in this war. How's that on your scale?"
"Oof, that's not good at all." Yehochanan's emergency stabilization stopped, and Mohamara was mostly himself again. "So what do you expect me to do about them? Invent a whip that can reach from here to Cyrodiil and smack them whenever they do something wrong?"
"As amusing as that would be, no. The Legate mentioned that these covens still have apprentices in need of training--I would like you and your Pink Coats to see to that training. Far from the front, so there's little chance of the enemy deciding to attack like they did at Helgen, and far from civilization so if it does happen again we don't lose any more cities." There was something almost sardonic in the General's voice, perhaps he was a fan of black humor. "So, I'm reversing my previous order of you being made part of my entourage. Instead--we're sending you and these apprentices to learn from what passes for a magical university in this backwater."
"Winterhold is in enemy territory, sir," the tojay pointed out with an arched brow.
"Indeed. But Korrir's Hold is pathetically weak at present. He sided with Ulfric in the hopes that Ulfric would help his people, and that hasn't happened. He'll make a fuss about a bunch of new mages coming to his… hamlet and Ulfric won't listen. The College, like the Companions, is a mercenary organization in practice--they listen to gold first, and their scruples second. I mean--there's been a damned Thalmor there for years at this point, and Ulfric hasn't done diddly-squat about that." Tullius threw up his hands in exasperation. "Once they're fully trained, we'll field test them by taking Winterhold back--by then we should have the Pale back under our control, and we'll have the rebels trapped."
Mohamara didn't know how to feel about the knowledge that he had witnessed the dour General Seneca Tullius unironically using the word diddly-squat. Rikke seemed to be in a similar position: They both wanted to tell someone about this but knew that no one would believe them.
"So once we're at Solitude and all the apprentices we can expect to participate are present, we'll put you on a boat and ship you off to Winterhold."
"Winterhold doesn't have a port, sir," Rikke cut in.
"They have to get people out to that island prison of theirs somehow, don't they? It'll take weeks for all these green-horn mages to get to Solitude anyway, have our scouts look for a safe point to land, then."
"So who's going to be paying the tuition for these students?" Mohamara's question got both humans to stop and look confused. "It's four-thousand septims to apply to Winterhold, let alone learn magic there. Per person. Per six months."
Rikke was absolutely flabbergasted by that figure. It was so much money she had to lean on the wall to remain standing. "...How?" She was completely unable to believe that such sums of money were necessary. "That's madness, who could possibly afford that? You have to be joking."
"I jumped through every hoop imaginable to get scholarships and grants to go to college because even community schools like Jorrvaskr charged obscene amounts. That's what happens when there's no government in place that tells these schools what they are and aren't allowed to charge for the privilege of learning from their 'storied' and 'time-honored' institution. As for the port thing…" Mohamara's brows arched as he got an interesting idea. "If you want to really drive home how unimportant this Korrir fellow is, and are willing to let me break that weird anti-flying law you have, I could just… float the ship over."
Tullius blinked once, twice, three times before speaking a word. "I forgot that you could do stuff like that."
"Would you like me to write up something? Maybe a helpful list detailing all the strategically important capabilities my students and I are capable of? I guess since I'm going to be working for you for for the rest of the Era, I should learn to play The Entertainer, serve cocktails, and answer all questions with 'yes, mastah' or 'no, mastah', shouldn't I? Do you want those on the list, too?"
Tullius groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're not a slave, son. We're paying you handsomely."
The tojay shook his head and held up his hands in an X. "Yeah, wrong. It isn't the wage or lack thereof that makes a slave. It's the self-determination or lack thereof. Hell, I once did a paper about how soldiering is a willing form of slavery for my ethics course--you want to fight me for the high ground on this, I'm so down for that."
"Is this a bad time to ask about my pay raise, General?" All eyes in the room turned to look at Hadvar, who had leaned slightly into the doorway. After a solid minute of being stared at, he slowly stepped away. "I'll ask some other time, sorry to interrupt."
---
If anyone's been paying attention, Kraldr was the Jarl to precede Korir. He was the last Jarl alive that had seen Winterhold before the Collapse.
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Chapter 39: The College Plan
It didn't take long to find Jouane Manette once Mohamara started to ask for him. The old Breton man didn't often stray from Rorik's Manor at the top of the hill. All the buildings in Rorikstead had the look of the oldest Nord buildings in Whiterun and Morthal--like they had been built from the hulls of ships. But if the namesake of the village still lived, it must have been a design throwback to his ancestors.
Rorik's Manor was easily the size of Jorrvaskr and appeared to be built in the style of an overlarge Atmoran ship, squat where Jorrvaskr was tall, and the decorations were of plant life not of Atmoran animal gods. When the tojay knocked at the door, a young Nord girl answered, initially looking up. She giggled a bit when she had to look down to see Mohamara.
"Hey, is Jouane at home?" The tojay didn't let the girl finding him amusing color his mood, he could see in her that she was grey and nearly dead inside like he had been--the laughter brightened her up just a little. "Could you tell him that one of Maria's friends is here?"
The blonde Nord girl ducked back into the manor, and soon the elderly Breton had taken her place at the half-open door. He reeled back in surprise at Mohamara's appearance, and the Pink Coats following behind him, but relaxed when he saw the Meridian amulet at the tojay's neck. Jouane stepped outside and closed the door behind him, not glancing about at all.
Mohamara guessed that he knew there were no Vigilants or was secure enough to deal with those who happened to know the coded phrase.
"You've returned… different than when I saw you last, dear friend," the Breton greeted the Khajiit warmly and bent down to shake his hand. "But have you done it? Is Maria home at last?"
The sabre-toothed Khajiit nodded, resolute. "Maria's home, but when we got to her house there was a horrible squatter inside. There was no swordsman around, so she burned her house down rather than let it be used by someone so wicked. I'm going to be building her a new house, and she asked me to tell all her friends she's safe again."
Jouane seemed pained when the tojay discussed the destruction of the temple but seemed to accept it. "At least Maria is home, and we can send our letters to her again." The Breton stood tall and clapped his hands together. "But today is Sundas, and Maria is home! It is time for a celebration!" Jouane opened the door to the manor and shouted orders to those inside. When he returned to look at the guests on his doorstep, he seemed younger. There were fewer lines on his face and his liver spots were fewer. "You and your followers spread the word too. We need to get this together before sundown!"
Mohamara and his Pink Coats went down the hill to Rorikstead, and as soon as Jouane was outside earshot, they began to pester the tojay with questions.
Annoyed, the pink Khajiit answered a few of them in broad terms to imply the answers to other questions as well. "Maria is my dear friend, who lives on Mount Kilkreath. The Vigilants don't like her, even though she wants them to be her friends too. I was raised in Maria's house, so yes I expect you to at least treat her with respect. No, Orthorn, Maria is neither a Khajiit or my mother. She's probably an aunt or something, but she's as good as family to her friends. For those of you who aren't native to Skyrim or High Rock, she would probably be better known as Madea. Now go, tell all the locals what Jouane told you to."
The 'Madea' aspect of Meridia was… intense. From what he'd heard about her in Temple, she embodied the unfathomable rage and use of violence that Meridia would visit on her enemies to the point of memetic status. People who thought Meridia proper had a hair-trigger temper had never seen the kind of stuff that Meridia would pull while Madea. The only Daedra with a temper in the same weight class was Malacath.
Mohamara did his part to tell people about the last-minute celebration. It probably wasn't going to be much--some casks of mead, perhaps breaking out a smoked elk or two that Jouane had been saving. The Legion soldiers alone would go through that. However, when the word was passed on, those of the village who weren't involved in putting away farming equipment or livestock went over to the Khajiit caravan.
They came back with as much food as the caravan was willing to part with--particularly new products made with 'beet sugar'. Sweet bread, cakes, compressed balls of the sugar, and more. Once he realized that Ri'saad's caravan finally had imitation moon sugar to work with, Mohamara knew what he had to do.
He had Hadvar buy all of the milk that the farmers could sell for the day and then bought salt, sugar, and fruit. Bananas, oranges and grapes--Mohamara felt a craving for something that came out of a strange purple bottle but couldn't remember what--, custard apples, regular apples, and more.
Ice cream was the invention of an Orc sometime in the Sixth Era, so he couldn't give the people of Rorikstead that treat. But he could give them a suitable stand-in: Smoothies.
--
Brenelin had the strangest of the 'smoothie' drinks that anyone from the Legion or Rorikstead had asked for once the fruit, milk, and sugar beverage became more accepted. Her smoothie was a finely cooked steak, mixed with chicken broth and gravy in place of milk. She also said she couldn't partake of 'beet sugar', so had to have Yehochanan spin up a great deal of sugar-silk for her drink.
The most common request for substitution was that the milk be replaced with mead or ale. While it irked Mohamara that even Traynda had the 'milk drinker' bias, he had no problem pouring the ingredients into an imaginary blender and blending them up for the thirsty patrons.
All through the main street were set up quick tables with what had been purchased from the caravan or brought out of storage for the celebration. The Legion didn't get the significance of 'Maria' being home, at last, many Mohamara had heard talking about it seemed amazed anyone would live on Mount Kilkreath with the Thalmor for neighbors.
He came to realize that the whole of Rorikstead was a Meridian community. Once Jouane had talked to them, virtually everyone had come to thank him for helping Maria get home safely. Even the children. More than one had glanced about before showing their own Meridian amulet to him since he wore his clearly on display.
Another guest arrived over the hill during the festivities, a wandering bard. Since General Tullius had not returned from his meeting with Ri'saad, Mohamara felt free enough to approach the bard before he came to the tojay for a smoothie.
"Well met," the wanderer, Talsgar said once Mohamara introduced himself as a bard's college graduate. "I don't imagine the Legion has been keeping you in good practice with your music much. You don't look like a drummer, and that's all they seem to care about these days."
"Nah, I was a singer. Haven't been in practice much, lately. There hasn't been… a good enough reason to sing, you see." The tojay shrugged. "Also, thanks for not thinking me a kid given how short I am."
"Well, even if you were a child--with those teeth you could do me in no problem. A solid chomp on my thigh and I'd bleed to death, no problem." The Nord bard mimed chomping down on an invisible target. "But I must respectfully disagree with you about good enough reasons to sing. You are alive! These people are alive! That is reason enough to lift your voice, is it not?" When Mohamara didn't look convinced, the bard looked around. "Well, what about this then? A celebration isn't complete without some singing, is it? Would you lend me your voice, fellow bard?"
"Alright," Mohamara shrugged. "But if I go off key from lack of practice, you only get to laugh one time so make it a good one."
"You jest, but I learned how to laugh on command from a peculiar jester I met once in Dawnstar." The two of them went among the people, with Talsgar clapping his hands for attention. "Well, this looks like a good party! Don't suppose I could get some food and drink in exchange for singing some songs for you folks?"
The people of Rorikstead squinted at the bard, then as one looked to Mohamara. When the cat gave a thumbs up to them, they looked back at Talsgar and nodded all at the same time. Meridians who lived together tended to do such things, it was called synchronizing. Mohamara had seen something like it among the Khajiit caravans, mostly in regards to Ri'saad. A way of communicating without needing verbal cues or excessive body language that usually happened unconsciously.
"Do you happen to know 'She'll be coming down the Mountain?'" The young red-headed Erik, the bartender's son, asked the Nord bard. "It's a bit of a local favorite."
"I've… heard pieces of it, but not the song to its completion, I'm afraid. What about you, friend?" Talsgar looked down at Mohamara and grinned when the cat gave an affirmative. "Alright, how about you lead us for the first time and I'll follow you for subsequent performances?"
"Alright," the tojay said. He wasn't going to miss a chance to sing a covert hymn to Meridia. "I'll need some men with decent singing voices for that song, it's explicitly meant for a group."
A few of the men from the village came to stand with him: Rorik, the landlord, Jouane, Erik and his father Mralki, and Ennis from the livestock farm. Yehochanan sat on Mohamara's head and mimicked his hand movements while he got them to harmonize with each other and the Khajiit himself. Those not in the singing group seemed produce instruments from nowhere, and the performance began.
"She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain;
Blowin' steam off like a fountain;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes!"
The pre-verse of the song had no musical accompaniment and was slow, specifically to give the musicians time to get in key. So when the music began to play in the interlude between verses, it was with a significantly faster tempo, which the singers then matched.
"She'll be wearin' seven colors when she comes;
She'll be wearin' seven colors when she comes;
She'll be wearin' seven colors;
That'd look gaudy on all others;
She'll be wearin' seven colors when she comes!"
The General's entourage had no idea why the locals were singing other than it provided entertainment for them while they enjoyed the free food. Unnoticed by any of the soldiers, Legate Rikke accompanied General Tullius back to town from the Khajiit caravan. Tullius held a woolen rag to his face to stymie the blood flow on four shallow scratch marks he'd earned from poor word choice with the caravan's leader.
"Oh we'll all go out to meet her when she comes;
Oh we'll all go out to meet her when she comes;
Oh we'll all go out to meet her;
And we'll all be glad to see her;
Oh we'll all go out to meet her when she comes!"
Jouane's entire purpose in the singers' sections was to follow up the second and 'when she comes' with a fainter refrain. No one but Mohamara seemed to notice how the men of Rorikstead, not just Jouane, seemed to grow visibly younger as they sang along.
"She'll take the head off Ragnar when she comes;
She'll take the head off Ragnar when she comes;
She'll take the head off Ragnar;
'Cause he's such a lying braggart;
She'll take the head off Ragnar when she comes!"
Ragnar the Red was a popular song in many of Skyrim's bars. And every singer had a different shield-maiden who took off the head of the bragging liar. The only unifying thing about her was that her name started with an M and she attacked Ragnar for lying and bragging.
"Oh we'll have a bount'ful harvest when she comes;
Oh we'll have a bount'ful harvest when she comes;
Oh we'll have a bount'ful harvest;
Cause it's all grown in her garden;
Oh we'll have a bount'ful harvest when she comes!"
Perhaps this verse would be most strange to those who had not grown up in the Meridian way. According to the old stories, Meridia kept gardens of magically enriched land to provide endless food for mortals. The ultimate goal was to prevent a special form of undead that Namira had begotten from ever emerging again. A teleporting undead spirit that was born from those starving so badly that they were forced into cannibalism. These gardens became useful when increasing amounts of land were developed for Tamriel's modern population in the Twenty-First Era.
"She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes;
She'll be comin' down the Mountain;
And the sight will be astoundin';
She'll be comin' down the Mountain when she comes!"
The last verse of the song started with the same tempo as those before, before slowing down to the pre-verse's. Without a proper studio to get the quality right, Mohamara didn't think it was particularly good singing, but it didn't need to be. It was a way of telling Meridia how much they loved her and how wonderful it would be for her to visit them. When the musicians stopped playing, a few of the Legion and Mohamara's Pink Coats offered token applause.
But Talsgar immediately went into how to make the song better, speaking about such things as getting the singers to harmonize more with each other by moving their positions around, and getting some instruments properly tuned. Talsgar's rendition of the song seemed to resonate better, a product of how much more experience with music the Nord bard had.
Afterward, Mohamara went back to making smoothies, with Talsgar taking a juniper berry flavored one, as he said it reminded him of his home in Markarth.
However, the smoothie distribution halted by Legate Rikke making an appearance. "Conscript, General wants a word."
"Yes, Legate." Mohamara was going to leave without incident, but he stopped and decided to test something. "Orthorn, take over making the drinks for people."
The High Elf finished his snowberry smoothie and hopped to his feet to comply, while Mohamara left with the Legate to the General's room in the Frostfruit Inn.
"...What the actual fuck did you say to Ri'saad to make him do that to your face? Sir." Mohamara hastily added the last bit to his stunned question. He'd found Tullius dabbing a woolen towel in healing potions and then rubbing it onto his face.
Tullius' expression was as far from amused as Cyrodiil was from Pyandonea. "The same thing I'm going to tell you. Because of what you… unintentionally did at Helgen, I'm not certain I can allow your conscription to end with the conclusion of the war."
If Mohamara had claws, he probably would have scratched the General in the face as well with that. Yehochanan hastily extracted the simmering fury from within him and bound it up in prismatic silk.
"You represent an incredible asset even without that… unique talent. But I'm sworn to act in the Empire's best interests. And having someone that can level an entire city, and take out an invading army while doing so free to go wherever they like is not in the Empire's interests." The General's eyes somehow found a new way to convey his iron resolve. "And neither is letting a Daedra who naturally exists on Nirn run around without a leash."
"Technically that makes him an Ehlnofey, sir," Rikke chimed in.
"He could be Akaotsh himself--wouldn't even be the first time that's happened--and I'd still say the same. Skyrim has this consistent problem with letting incredibly powerful individuals run rampant. By and large, it serves us well--they deal with minor problems before they become major ones. But then there are situations like yours, or your Orc friend's, where leaving them to their own devices ends in chaos. Relax," he said when Mohamara and the cat's animal limbs moved into threat-making stances. "I know she'd burn through the Legion, perhaps literally, if we tried to conscript her. It's why we don't do that sort of thing to Orcs anymore."
"So what? Am I to be a conscript until your Empire collapses? Would you like the date and time it happens so you can put an exact number on my sentence? ...I don't actually remember the date, but it doesn't happen for a couple hundred years at least." Mohamara began to pace in the General's room, with Yehochanan's abdomen quickly getting covered in bound up anxiety and rage. "Long story short, volcano, Atmora, water everywhere, a new age of piracy and naval supremacy, elves in charge, everything is awful until Pyandonea gets sick and tired of Alinor''s nonsense."
"... Do I want to know if that's a lie, son?" The scratches on the General's face had been treated by the healing potion, so they resembled rows of inflamed skin mixed with scabs. "But no. Being a permanent conscript, while incredibly amusing, wasn't what I had in mind. Regrettably, your grandfather and I didn't get to that point in the discussion for obvious reasons." The last of Tullius' scabs fell off and he set aside the potion and blood-soaked towel. "Would you believe I actually respect him for being brave enough to do that while the Legate was there glaring daggers at him."
"The old cat isn't one to be bullied," Rikke quipped. "And he can take a punch like a Nord."
"He's not actually my grandfather… I think." The tojay kept pacing while Yehochanan scrambled to keep him stable. "It's a thing he started doing when I first joined his caravan because he knew the average Nord would look at me and see a cathay kid, not a grown tojay."
"I put that together, son. It sort of came up with the 'Skooma Cat' thing we discussed." The General shifted in his seat to relax since his face was healed up. "For Sheogorath spawn you're relatively… normal, you know."
Within Mohamara's ears, Sheogorath laughed. "Oh good, I was afraid that me and my son-in-law's father's relationship would be boring. Excuse me for a bit? I need to go dust off my big book of hurtful things to call other people's children. It's a signed copy!" There was a sound of echoing steps in the tojay's head, and a distant door slam.
"Normal is relative," Mohamara ground out and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's normal for the spider is chaos for the fly."
Thankfully, Tullius was not stupid enough to ask which Mohamara imagined himself as. "Like I said, I'm not talking you being a conscript forever. And if I reassigned you to the commands of other military governors they'd probably use the… city-breaking potential you have on a more frequent, intentional basis. Having been on the receiving end, I can personally say I find the prospect unethical. Legate, the reports?"
"Yes, sir." Rikke produced a journal stamped with the Legion's dragon-diamond and began to read from it. "The Sunderstone coven has agreed to be subcontracted to the Legion. The occupiers of Fort Amol, elemental mages, have also agreed to be subcontracted and to keep the fort out of Stormcloak hands. A spellsword coven led by Bashnag gro-Grodush has agreed to negotiate terms for being subcontracted. The Cragwallow coven, displaced by Ulfric's boys, have agreed to be subcontracted on the condition of a permanent residence after the war. Assuming Bashnag agrees, we'll have an estimated three hundred combat-ready mages with half as many apprentices."
"I don't know if you've been paying attention to the status of magical education in Cyrodiil, but let me provide you an abbreviated version." Tullius looked around for some wine and seemed defeated in that there was none. "The Synod and College of Whispers are a joke. No one on the Elder Council or in the Legion takes them seriously anymore. And since we have no choice but to pull from their ranks for the Shadow Legion, that's become a joke too. You'll notice I didn't bring any of them with me--because if I had what progress we've made would have taken twice as long."
"On a scale of one to having dinner with the Thalmor, how bad are we talking?" The tojay stopped pacing to listen to the news. Covens weren't just a word for a group of mages, it was an incredibly specific type of magical community that bordered on an extended family setup. By far the most prominent covens Mohamara had learned about in the past, the Glenmoril Wyrd and Halliwell Sisters, had operated thus.
"I would legitimately rather go to every party Elenwen throws for the next ten years than have the Shadow Legion involved in this war. How's that on your scale?"
"Oof, that's not good at all." Yehochanan's emergency stabilization stopped, and Mohamara was mostly himself again. "So what do you expect me to do about them? Invent a whip that can reach from here to Cyrodiil and smack them whenever they do something wrong?"
"As amusing as that would be, no. The Legate mentioned that these covens still have apprentices in need of training--I would like you and your Pink Coats to see to that training. Far from the front, so there's little chance of the enemy deciding to attack like they did at Helgen, and far from civilization so if it does happen again we don't lose any more cities." There was something almost sardonic in the General's voice, perhaps he was a fan of black humor. "So, I'm reversing my previous order of you being made part of my entourage. Instead--we're sending you and these apprentices to learn from what passes for a magical university in this backwater."
"Winterhold is in enemy territory, sir," the tojay pointed out with an arched brow.
"Indeed. But Korrir's Hold is pathetically weak at present. He sided with Ulfric in the hopes that Ulfric would help his people, and that hasn't happened. He'll make a fuss about a bunch of new mages coming to his… hamlet and Ulfric won't listen. The College, like the Companions, is a mercenary organization in practice--they listen to gold first, and their scruples second. I mean--there's been a damned Thalmor there for years at this point, and Ulfric hasn't done diddly-squat about that." Tullius threw up his hands in exasperation. "Once they're fully trained, we'll field test them by taking Winterhold back--by then we should have the Pale back under our control, and we'll have the rebels trapped."
Mohamara didn't know how to feel about the knowledge that he had witnessed the dour General Seneca Tullius unironically using the word diddly-squat. Rikke seemed to be in a similar position: They both wanted to tell someone about this but knew that no one would believe them.
"So once we're at Solitude and all the apprentices we can expect to participate are present, we'll put you on a boat and ship you off to Winterhold."
"Winterhold doesn't have a port, sir," Rikke cut in.
"They have to get people out to that island prison of theirs somehow, don't they? It'll take weeks for all these green-horn mages to get to Solitude anyway, have our scouts look for a safe point to land, then."
"So who's going to be paying the tuition for these students?" Mohamara's question got both humans to stop and look confused. "It's four-thousand septims to apply to Winterhold, let alone learn magic there. Per person. Per six months."
Rikke was absolutely flabbergasted by that figure. It was so much money she had to lean on the wall to remain standing. "...How?" She was completely unable to believe that such sums of money were necessary. "That's madness, who could possibly afford that? You have to be joking."
"I jumped through every hoop imaginable to get scholarships and grants to go to college because even community schools like Jorrvaskr charged obscene amounts. That's what happens when there's no government in place that tells these schools what they are and aren't allowed to charge for the privilege of learning from their 'storied' and 'time-honored' institution. As for the port thing…" Mohamara's brows arched as he got an interesting idea. "If you want to really drive home how unimportant this Korrir fellow is, and are willing to let me break that weird anti-flying law you have, I could just… float the ship over."
Tullius blinked once, twice, three times before speaking a word. "I forgot that you could do stuff like that."
"Would you like me to write up something? Maybe a helpful list detailing all the strategically important capabilities my students and I are capable of? I guess since I'm going to be working for you for for the rest of the Era, I should learn to play The Entertainer, serve cocktails, and answer all questions with 'yes, mastah' or 'no, mastah', shouldn't I? Do you want those on the list, too?"
Tullius groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're not a slave, son. We're paying you handsomely."
The tojay shook his head and held up his hands in an X. "Yeah, wrong. It isn't the wage or lack thereof that makes a slave. It's the self-determination or lack thereof. Hell, I once did a paper about how soldiering is a willing form of slavery for my ethics course--you want to fight me for the high ground on this, I'm so down for that."
"Is this a bad time to ask about my pay raise, General?" All eyes in the room turned to look at Hadvar, who had leaned slightly into the doorway. After a solid minute of being stared at, he slowly stepped away. "I'll ask some other time, sorry to interrupt."
---
If anyone's been paying attention, Kraldr was the Jarl to precede Korir. He was the last Jarl alive that had seen Winterhold before the Collapse.
