The Elderly Scrawls: Skewrim — The Unmodded Truth

Marmaladas, the 18th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

“Dafyddkiin!” boomed a voice like thunder as Kharla and Thral entered Whiteruin. The city shook and Kharla heard the sound of stone collapsing in places along the walls. The guards and citizens looked up and Kharla followed their gaze to the great mountain to the east.

“What in all the planes of Oblivious was that?” said one of the guards—words that were echoed by several others on the street, though not all quite so politely phrased.

Even Thral looked up, but only briefly. The Nord had a determined look on his face as he strode forward down the street. Kharla followed, expecting Thral to head to Dragonsearch, but instead, he went into the Mannered Bear and by the time Kharla caught up he’d sat down at the counter and ordered a meat pie. Kharla sighed. Well, she thought, I guess killing dragons is hungry work. She joined him, though just with a mug of mead and a small bowl of pork scratchings.

As the owner hadn’t thrown them out or called for the guards, Kharla supposed Draloth must’ve settled the debt. While Thral finished his second pie, Kharla went out to the back of the inn to see if Bessie was still there. She was. The cow mooed when she saw Kharla and nuzzled her when she patted her on the back. “You all right, Bessie? Have they been treating you well?”

“Ah, Kharla!”

She turned to see Draloth.

“Did you hear that dreadful sound a little while ago? Like a great voice booming down from that big mountain.” The Dark Elf looked toward the peak.

“I think everyone heard it. Maybe it was just thunder, or perhaps one of those Nine Divas having a tantrum.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t happen too often around here because I all but jumped out of my skin,” Draloth said, looking back at Kharla. “So how did the audience with the Jarl go? Did we get a big reward?”

“We got a big distraction. A dragon attacked the western watchtower and the Jarl wanted us down there—what with me and Thral being the only ones with any experience with dragons.”

“You mean another dragon, not the same one? I thought I heard some commotion among the guards. What happened?”

“Yeah, not the same dragon. Smaller, but big enough for my liking. Thral managed to kill it.”

Draloth nodded. “Good for Thral! Maybe we’ll get an even bigger reward now?”

“Maybe. But when the dragon died something happened. Thral kind of…well, I don’t know how to explain it…but afterwards, all that was left of the dragon was its bones.”

The Dark Elf’s eyes widened. Those red eyes. “Wait, Thral ate it?”

Kharla carried on. “The guards said Thral had dragon blood in him.”

“Well, he would do if he ate it. He eats a lot, that guy. I would’ve cooked it first though. I wonder what dragon meat tastes like? Cooked I mean. Chicken, you think?”

“No, he didn’t eat it. He sort of absorbed the dragon’s essence. It was really weird. Swirling lights, a rush of wind…Guards said he was a ‘Dragonbore’.”

“Are you sure they didn’t say he was a bit of a drag and bore?”

“No, definitely Dragonbore. The guards seemed very much in awe. Two of them asked for his autograph, though of course Thral can’t write so he just signed with an ‘I’ with a sort of little squiggle at the bottom.”

Draloth frowned. “Don’t you mean an ‘X’”?

“Well, I don’t think Thral knew what that was either, and something like an ‘I’ was so much easier for him. Anyway, I best see if he’s finished stuffing his face. We have to go see Baldgoof. Maybe the Jarl or that wizard of his will have some answers—and that spear I’m owed.”

Draloth stroked his chin. “You know, maybe I’ll come with you to see the Jarl. I think Thral might need someone to direct his financial and contractual obligations and potential. A marketing director, if you will.”

Kharla shrugged. “Suit yourself, you can do what you want. As long as I get my spear. Then I’m going to have a good sleep in the best room at this inn.”

The Dark Elf clasped his hands together. “Ah, about that.”

“What? You paid off the debt, right?”

“Yes, and it was no small sum. However, the owner won’t let us stay here.”

To be honest, her words were ‘I won’t let you stay here again if you paid me a hundred gold’ but I took it in the more broad collective sense of the word ‘you’—just in case that was what she actually meant, you understand. No need to have created another scene. Besides, there was a Nord mercenary who frequented the inn every day, a giant of a woman, who kept on challenging everyone to a brawl. I’d sat in her seat on my first day there and she’d given me dirty looks every time she’d seen me.

“I see.” Well, Kharla could rough it. She’d need to buy a bedroll. She’d lost her last one, along with her spear and good axes, during the ambush at the circus.

“It’s why I came to collect the cow,” Draloth explained. “The owner of the Drunken Hitman said he’d let her stay out back. There’s a bit of grass there. I’ll be staying there tonight—at the Drunken Hitman that is, not on the patch of grass. Maybe I could ask the owner if you could keep Bessie company? There are unfortunately no more rooms at the Hitman.”

Kharla sighed. “What about Mell and the Cat?”

The Dark Elf shrugged. “The Khapiit will probably sleep in the home of the victim of his latest cleaning spree. Don’t know about the Breton girl. Don’t even know where she is, to be honest. After I gave her her share of the money from the loot I think she went to that potion and soup shop next door. Speaking of which, here you go.”

Draloth gave Kharla two coin bags. “One for you and one for the Nord. That just leaves the Khapiit, though I’d probably save some time by just sticking a few coins of it under every door in Whiteruin.”

***

Draloth had it lucky on the journey up through the Wind and Cloud District. The spindles on the device had accurately read ‘gentle breeze with light gusts—safe for children’ and ‘moderate visibility—normal walking speed recommended’. The priestess was halfway up the Geldedgreen as they passed, taking the opportunity in the light wind to remove a kite with a grinning pigeon painted on it that had become lodged in the decaying branches, all the while bemoaning what a shame it was that children showed such disrespect for the tree.

The doors to Dragonsearch opened very smoothly. Thral was either improving his door-opening skill or the hinge tighteners had tweaked the tension to allow for the Nord’s visits.

As they approached the throne, Kharla caught a snatch of Jarl Baldgoof’s words to the man dressed in scaled horn armor standing to his left. Though broader, he reminded her of the Jarl. Preventus stood on the other side of the throne listening to the other two.

“You heard the summons, brother. What else could it mean? The Greatbeards…” The Jarl’s words trailed off as he spotted Kharla, Thral, and Draloth.

The Jarl rested his sinewy arms heavily on the armrests. “So, Kylie Ironbog, what happened at the watchtower?”

“Kharla Ironback, my lord.”

“Yes, that is what the Jarl meant,” the man in the horn armor said.

“Well, maybe that’s what the Jarl should have said then?” Kharla wasn’t pleased. An Orc’s name was important. It was a dishonorable thing to be misnamed.

“Yes, yes indeed, that is what I meant. This,” the Jarl indicated toward the man who’d just spoken, “is my brother, Ronald.”

Ronald dipped his head slightly toward Kharla and the other two.

“So what of the tower and this dragon?” the Jarl pressed.

Aerolith had clearly not yet returned. Maybe she’d stopped off to get those uniforms repaired or cleaned. “The watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon.”

“Yes, I know that. I saw it from my observatory at the top of Dragonsearch. I want to know all the gory details I couldn’t see with the lens. Did Aerolith survive?”

“Erm, yes my lord,” Kharla responded.

“Pity. I’ve been meaning to replace her for some time. The last Jarl got through four housecarls, nine if you include those of the thanes. I’ve still yet to lose one. I don’t suppose she got hurt at all? Some kind of injury that would justify her stepping down from her duties, such as a back injury?”

“No, no, she was quite all right when I left her,” Kharla said.

The Jarl nodded. “Oh, well. What about the guards? Any die?”

“Several, Jarl Baldgoof.”

“Good, good. And were any eaten or burned alive?”

“Maybe,” Preventus interrupted, “we might follow a different line of inquiry?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Jarl, who looked a little put out judging by the expression on his face. “By all means. Go ahead, if you think you can ask better questions.”

Preventus sighed. “Well, it might be of more use to us to know if this was the dragon that attacked Helga. And, if not, how easy was it to kill and is there anything we should do if another attacks?”

Ronald nodded. “Give him his due, brother. Those were better questions than yours.”

The Jarl pouted but said nothing.

“It wasn’t the same dragon. And it wasn’t easily killed. You would’ve lost a lot more men if Thral hadn’t been with us.”

Preventus and Ronald both gave the Jarl a hard stare as if to stop him from saying anything stupid, but Kharla continued before he could respond. “Strange, but when the dragon died, Thral here absorbed some kind of power from it.”

The Jarl sat up. “So it’s true. The Greatbeards really were summoning the Dragonbore.”

Kharla frowned. “Who are the Greatbeards?”

“Masters of the Voice, and also barbers who specialize in the high-end grooming of facial hair. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Thrill of the World.”

“The Thrill of the World?” asked Kharla.

“Yes,” Ronald said. “The big mountain next to the city. Tallest mountain in all Tamarind.”

Kharla didn’t look impressed. “But what do they want with Thral?”

“The Dragonbore is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice—the ability to focus one’s vital essence into a Boo’m, or Shout. If your friend really is Dragonbore, they can teach him how to use his gift. They’ve also got a very nice health spa retreat up there—that on its own is well worth the journey.”

“And do they know about dragons?” asked Kharla. The more she knew about dragons, the more of a chance she had of finding and defeating the dragon that bested her at Helga.

“Oh, yes, if anyone knows about dragons, it would be the Greatbeards,” the Jarl replied.

“Didn’t you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiteruin?” Ronald asked. Kharla nodded but he went on anyway. “That was the voice of the Greatbeards summoning Thral to High Healthspa! This hasn’t happened in ... centuries. Not since Toby Septic himself was summoned when he was still Toeless of Amore!”

Amore is a continent to the north of Tamarind from where, according to tradition, the first humans came. Its name means the ‘land of love’ and was popularized by the song ‘That’s Amore’ written several decades ago by a minstrel of the Mead Empire. The chorus of the song famously begins with the line ‘When the moon hits you eye like a big Skreever pie, that’s Amore!’ The song never made it into the Nordic charts, however, and so has remained relatively unknown in Skewrim.

“Ronald, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Bulging with muscles as he may be, I don’t see any signs of him being this, what, ‘Dragonbore’. Or, if I’m perfectly honest, much in the way of anything upstairs,”—here the Steward tapped his head—“if you take my meaning.”

Ronald’s face turned red. “Nord nonsense?! Why you puffed-up ignorant... these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!”

“Ronald,” the Jarl interceded. “Don't be so hard on Preventus.”

“I meant no disrespect, of course. It’s just that... what do these Greatbeards want with him and what if another dragon attacks and we need him here?”

“That’s the Greatbeards’ business, not ours.” Baldgoof turned to Thral. “Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greatbeards felt it. If they think you’re Dragonbore, who are we to argue? You’d better get up to High Healthspa immediately. There’s no refusing the summons of the Greatbeards. It’s a tremendous honor. I envy you, you know—to climb the seven-hundred-and-thirty-two steps again. I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Healthspa is a very peaceful place. Very disconnected from the troubles of this world. The hot baths did wonders for my back. I wonder that the Greatbeards even notice what’s going on down here or care about my lumbar pain. They haven’t seemed to care before. Go to High Healthspa. Learn what the Greatbeards can teach you.”

Thral frowned. “Eh?”

Draloth coughed. “If I may, Jarl Baldgoof?”

The Jarl gave the Dark Elf a narrow look. “You’re not related to Aerolith, are you? You have the same eyes.”

“May I introduce Draloth Incando, a merchant. He was also at Helga when the dragon attacked,” Kharla explained.

“I see, and what did you want to say, Draloth Incando?” The Jarl threw his legs over one of the armrests.

“It’s my understanding that this ‘Dragonbore’ is of great significance to your people?”

“To all the Nords, yes, Dark Elf,” the Jarl replied.

“Well, I’d like to talk about sponsorship.”

“Sponsorship?” said Preventus. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to the Dragonbore. His safety is paramount, I’m sure you’d agree. And not just because he’s an inspiring figurehead for your people, a mascot for your soldiers, and a role model for kids,”—Kharla rolled her eyes—“but also because he’s an experienced dragonslayer. In fact, the only dragonslayer. I mean, we don’t know how many of these dragons are out there. Thral will be needed.”

“Yes, yes. So what are you suggesting?” the Jarl asked.

“If you will sponsor him for…let’s say four hundred gold up front and an extra five hundred for every dragon slain, I will ensure this goes toward his safety and training. We will of course also place a small version of your banner on his gear so people know you’re sponsoring him. Everyone who meets the Dragonbore will see that the Jarl of Whiteruin supports him and what a jolly good fellow you must be.”

The Jarl nodded. “Well, it has some appeal. More the last bit than the first bit. Let’s say two hundred gold up front.”

Draloth put a finger to his chin. “Hmmm. Three hundred.”

The Jarl scrapped his head with his nails. “Agreed, but only an extra five hundred gold if the dragon’s killed in the Whiteruin Hold.”

“Done!” said the Dark Elf.

The Jarl told Preventus to draw up the contract and then turned back to Thral, who stood staring up at the candelabra suspended from the ceiling. “You’ve done a great service for me and my city, Dragonbore. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiteruin—”

“My name’s Thral,” the Nord strongman interrupted. “Not Thane.”

“No, it’s a title,” the Jarl explained.

“Title?” the strongman said. “Thral not a book. Thral not read.”

The Jarl frowned, looked at Kharla (who shrugged), and then looked back at Thral and carried on regardless. “It’s the greatest honor that’s within my power to grant. I assign you Loadia as a personal housecarl, and this weapon,”—and at this point Ronald handed Thral a large axe—“from my armory to serve as your badge of office. The Axe of Whiteruin. I’ll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn’t want them treating you like you’re part of the common rabble, now would we?” He smiled, then looked at Thral’s stature, frowned, and added, “Although, to be honest, there probably wasn’t much chance of that anyway, Thane or no Thane…Anyway, we are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonbore.”

“What about my spear?” asked Kharla as Thral stared at the new weapon in his hand, suspicion on his face.

A look of surprise briefly flicked across Jarl Baldgoof’s face. “Oh yes, I’ve not forgotten what you also have done for us.” The Jarl indicated for Ronald to come over. He whispered something in his ear and then Ronald disappeared up the stairs.

While they waited in an awkward silence the doors opened and Aerolith and Eilgird entered. The latter took up her post and Aerolith approached the throne. In her hands was a bundle of Whiteruin Guard uniforms.

“You know, I think I can outfit an entire detachment with these,” Aerolith said.

Draloth turned and the housecarl dipped her head as she saw him. “Brother.”

“Sister,” Draloth replied, dipping his head in return.

Great, thought Kharla, two pairs of red eyes.

Ronald reappeared. “I found it, brother. It was propping up the shelf in the kitchen just like you said.”

“Ah, yes,” the Jarl smiled sheepishly. “Here, Kha…”—the Jarl turned his head to Preventus who mouthed back Kharla’s name—“Here, Kharla Ironback is an ancient spear from my personal armory. Its tale now lies forgotten, alas. May it serve you well as you have served us well.”

Ronald presented the weapon to Kharla. Old and neglected might have been a better description. Its uneven wooden shaft was wrapped about with leather of some kind and its steel head was in sore need of sharpening. Still, it was sturdy.

The Jarl stood and nursed his lower back. “Now, away with you to High Healthspa! And, if you can, see what the latest advice is for lower back pain.”

The three of them left the Jarl, along with Preventus who insisted on ensuring Draloth understood the terms of the sponsorship in some detail before he departed. As they finally reached the door a dark-haired young lady in steel armor caught up to them and addressed Thral. “I am Loadia. The Jarl has appointed me to be your housecarl. It’s an honor to serve you.”

“It’s all right for you,” came a familiar voice. Kharla turned to see Eilgird resting against the door frame, her arms folded. “I have to stay here at this boring guard post while you housecarls go off on adventures.”

“Actually,” Loadia responded. “I prefer boring guard duty. At least you don’t have to haul everyone’s junk halfway across Skewrim. You should’ve seen the size of the backpack I had to use to carry my last lord’s loot. And the one before that loaded me up with so much booty that I couldn’t see where I was going. Ended up falling headfirst into a ditch. Mind you, it was better than how my lord ended up. When I climbed out the ditch I discovered he’d been ambushed. Had to carry his body back to Whiteruin too. It’s a thankless task.”

Thral touched the edge of the Axe of Whiteruin. “Ouch!” He stuck his finger in his mouth. “This dangerous. Thral cut himself!” He looked at the Axe and then at Loadia. “Here, you take. I keep big warhammer. Warhammer not sharp.”

Loadia took the Axe of Whiteruin. “I am sworn to carry your burdens.”

“You see,” Eilgird began. “That’s where you’re going wrong. These thanes and lords are just taking advantage of your words. It’s about setting realistic expectations. If I was you I’d stipulate a clear maximum load weight.”

“So how many lords have you served, Loadia?” asked Kharla.

“Seventeen in the last six years since I became a housecarl. All adventuring types. Jarl Baldgoof keeps on giving me those. It’s almost as if he’s trying to get me killed or something.”

“And what happened to them?” Kharla asked.

“All died, by some devious trap or some foul enemy.”

“You couldn’t protect them?”

“I was carrying all their stuff, wasn’t I?”

“Right,” said Kharla. “I was wondering…do you think we could take Eilgird with us instead?”

“Oh yes!” Eilgird sounded delighted. “Do say yes!”

“Hmm.” Loadia looked at Preventus and then at Eilgird. “It is in my authority to deputize a guard. You’ll need to keep Thane Thral safe though.”

“I can do that! That’s easy,” the Nord guard said.

The housecarl looked at the Steward. “What say you, Preventus?”

Preventus looked at Eilgird and then to the parchment and back at the guard again. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. You, Eilgird, can help ensure that the Dragonbore and his representatives uphold their part of this sponsorship contract.” He held up the parchment and then shoved it into her hand. “You can also represent the Jarl’s support by your presence. You will, of course, need to wear your uniform at all times so that everyone knows that Whiteruin is a backer of the Dragonbore.”

“Of course, Steward.”

Preventus handed the bag of gold over to Eilgird. “Remember, only give them this money for valid expenses promoting the well-being and training of the Dragonbore.”

“Yes, Steward.”

“Now, go grab your stuff as I believe our friends are leaving soon.”

“Yes, right away!” Eilgird made for the barracks but then turned back and looked at the door. “Goodbye boring guard post!” Then she disappeared into the side door to collect her belongings.