The Elderly Scrawls: Skewrim — The Unmodded Truth

Tortilladas, the 19th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

The late summer’s sun warmed Kharla’s face as she and her companions neared the Whiteruin carriage early the next morning. She gripped her spear. It would be a good day for a ride. They’d left a mooing Bessie behind at the house. Eilgird had asked one of the patrol guards to check on the cow now and again until they got back. With no Bessie, and a bit of money in their pouches, they were free to more speedily travel the roads.

“Hello! How can I help you this fine day?” said the carriage driver.

“We’d like to hire your carriage to take us to High Healthspa,” replied Kharla.

“Whoa!” the driver responded. “Too steep—and carriages don’t do so well with steps anyway, even if it weren’t. I can take you to Ivor’s Shed and you can take the steps from there.”

“How much?” asked Draloth, putting his hand to his money pouch.

“Ten gold.”

“Well that sounds very reasonable—”

“Each,” the driver added.

“Well, that’s a little more than—”

“One way. Non-refundable.”

“That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

“A carriage is the safest form of travel,” the driver said. “And the cost includes insurance and a guided tour.”

“Do we get a deal if we book a return trip?”

“Yes, of course. Ten percent off.”

“Right, so that’s one-hundred-and-eight gold.”

“Yes, plus the waiting fee at the other end.”

“And how much is that?”

“Five gold,”

“Right.”

“Each.”

“Right.”

“Per hour.”

Draloth turned to Eilgird. “As he says, the carriage is the safest form of transport. Keeping the Dragonbore safe is of course paramount. I think we could maybe dip into some of the sponsorship money for ‘travel expenses’, no?”

“I read the terms and conditions last night before I went to sleep. It clearly states in there that—and I quote—‘sponsorship money should not be used for travel expenses where a less expensive form of transport is available, even if that means walking’. So I cannot allow the use of these funds for this trip. Sorry.”

Draloth gave Eilgird a hard stare, though he had no idea if she was staring back at him through her visor. “Fine,” he said and turned back to the driver. “We’ll take six singles. We’ll walk back. I’m guessing there’s no discount for the back seats? You know, in case a person falls off?”

“You’re right,” said the driver. “There’s no discount. We’ve a good tailgate. Never lost anyone yet!”

The carriage driver took their payment and placed the coins into a compartment built into the seat. The simple farm clothes worn by the driver didn’t fool Kharla. This was clearly a profitable business, more profitable than guarding the takings at a circus (especially if the Mead Empire won the Uncivil War and purged Skewrim of the Big Top). Maybe she’d become a carriage guard (none of them seem to have any) when she was next in need of employment.

They all piled on and the carriage took to the road.

Draloth settled back on his seat. “A little different from our last experience in a carriage, eh?”

Not heading to the headsman’s block wasn’t the only difference. This carriage was much more comfortable and seemed to move over the cobbled road more smoothly. It was a bit higher too, affording them a better view than the rickety old ones that took them to Helga.

As they bent left the driver began to speak. “Welcome to the Whiteruin Hold tour. I’m Brendan, your driver and guide. If anyone needs me to make a pit stop, do give me a shout, though you’ll have to make it quick if it’s in bandit territory. We’ll not be stopping off anywhere along the way until we reach Ivor’s Shed. We do not provide refreshments on this carriage but feel free to eat onboard if you’ve bought a packed lunch, though do remember your rubbish is your own responsibility. Can I ask all travelers to please stay in their seats for the duration of the journey unless otherwise directed.”

The horse plodded on for a few more feet and then Brendan spoke again. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you look out to your right you’ll see Plagiary Farm. Owner’s always working late in his fields. He has a second income stream writing books, but there’s some scandal about that right now. Not sure of the details.”

The driver indicated toward the sprawling farmstead where Kharla had spoken with the Compellers. She wondered if the dead giant still lay there, decomposing in the cabbage patch.

“I used to patrol this road,” Eilgird said. She sat between Kharla and Mell. “Very uneven cobblestones. You have to pay attention. Still, not as boring as a guard post despite the bruises.”

“Did you just stick to the road or also check on the farmhouses and outbuildings?” asked Ti’lief. “What time did you start and finish? Do you have a copy of the scheduling? This one is very interested in such things.”

Eilgird turned her visored gaze toward the Khapiit. “I’m sure you are, Cat. But that’s for the guards to know.”

“And for Ti’lief to find out?”

“No, just for the guards to know,” said Eilgird, folding her arms.

Brendan’s lilting accent filled the carriage again. “And, on our immediate right, we are now passing the Honkingbrew Meadery, famed for producing perhaps some of the worst mead in Skewrim and maybe all of Tamarind. Found a Skreever tail and a stick of charcoal in my mug last time I had a drink there!”

Kharla was glad Thral was facing away from the meadery. Draloth had left his goadstick with Bessie. The carriage passed the ill-reputed establishment and trundled over a bridge. Ti’lief closed his eyes.

They bent northward and a couple of howls sounded and, moments later, two wolves appeared on the road. They eyed the carriage and then went for the horse. The scuffle didn’t last long before the wolves fled, yelping. Kharla leaned out to look at the horse. Its front hooves had been lined with small spikes, spikes that were now covered in the wolves’ blood and fur.

Not long after the driver droned on about a couple more farms across the river—Chillfellow and Bottlebank, if Kharla caught the names correctly—the carriage came to a stop.

“Oh dear,” said Brendan. “Looks like we’ve a problem here.”

Kharla and Eilgird stood. A large fallen tree blocked the road.

“And the tickets are non-refundable, I’m afraid,” said the driver.

Draloth groaned.

Kharla turned to Thral. “See what you can do about that tree up ahead, will you?”

Thral stood. “Yes, Thral help Orc lady!”

Kharla sighed.

The carriage lifted by about the span of a hand as the Nord strongman jumped off. He walked over to the tree, grabbed the end in both arms, and moved it aside as if he were opening a gate. He then got back into the carriage and smiled.

“Well, yes, that’ll do,” said Brendan. “Thank you.”

They proceeded down the road as it dipped toward the river and leveled out just before a tower that spanned the river with a walkway that led to another tower on the far bank.

“We are now approaching Vaulthigh Towers,” Brendan explained.

“Why’s it called—”

Draloth’s words were cut off as they saw a woman, a bandit by the look of her, descend from the walkway over the river on a long, flexible pole. She landed right in front of the carriage and Brendan brought it to a halt.

“Stop!” she said. “This here’s a toll road, see. You’ll have to pay erm…100 gold to pass!”

“Sure, here you go,” said Brendan as he threw a large bag of coins toward her.

She picked it up, felt it, and then let them pass.

“You didn’t even put up a fight!” said Draloth.

Brendan urged his horse on and they gathered a bit more speed. “I always carry a dummy bag of coins for such eventualities. They’re just iron, dipped in gold paint. Always fools them. We’ll be miles away before—”

“Erm, everyone!” said Ti’lief. “Everyone!”

Kharla followed the Khapiit’s gaze, as did everyone else. Behind them at least a dozen bandits were in pursuit, running and vaulting with their long poles, quickly closing in on the carriage. Brendan urged the horse to full speed.

“They’re gaining on us!” Mell shouted as the lead bandit landed not ten strides away from them.

“All right!” Brendan shouted. “I’ll need one of you to man the ballista!”

Before Kharla could ask what he was talking about a large metal crossbow on a steel column shot up from the floor at the very back of the carriage. A large box ran down either side of the column, each open at the end and bristling with steel bolts.

“I got this!” Eilgird seized the ballista, tilted it up and down and from side to side, and took aim. Several bolts flew out in quick succession, one of them hitting a bandit in mid-vault. “Rapid fire and self-loading!”

The Whiteruin guard fired again. “Die criminals!” A wide arc of deadly bolts sprayed across the road behind them and took out two more bandits. Then a bandit came flying down on a pole right toward Eilgird, but just as he was about to land on the guard he got a hard kick in the chest from Kharla, flew backwards, and hit the road with a crunch.

“Thanks!” Eilgird said. Kharla nodded.

After another couple of bandits had been riddled with holes by Eilgird’s enthusiastic use of the ballista, the rest fell back, waving their bendy poles angrily at the carriage.

“That’ll teach them!” Eilgird said. “I’m making a report about this. We’ll have a few detachments of the Whiteruin Guard clean them out!”

“Ti’lief can help too, with the cleaning part,” said the Khapiit as Eilgird sat back down and the ballista disappeared back into the deck of the carriage.

The carriage made its way up the road, with twists and turns as it hugged the rocks. Finally, they went downhill again and crossed another bridge. Ti’lief was more adventurous this time and kept one eye half open. They came to a fork in the road where a signpost pointed toward Ivor’s Shed and Windfarm. Kharla thought about Rolof and wondered if he had made his way back to Oldthred yet. The carriage took the fork to Ivor’s Shed.

“Are we there yet?” asked Thral as they trundled down a more gentle part of the road.

“Not yet, Thane,” replied Eilgird.

Thral didn’t reply, perhaps because he didn’t realize she was addressing him. It was going to take some time before the concept of the title sunk in. If, indeed, it ever did. There was still the Dragonbore title to get into his skull too. Kharla didn’t hold out much hope. ‘Thral’ would have to do for now. It was probably all he could cope with.

A short time later the carriage passed an old fort. “Fort Awol,” Brendan said. “A popular refuge for deserters, it is said, but also—ah, yes, hear they come—fire mages!”

Two robed figures ran forward, fire spraying from their hands, the flames licking at the wheels causing those on the ‘girls’ side’ of the carriage to duck.

A column shot up from the central portion of the carriage deck. A large metal chamber with some kind of tubular device at the top.

“I’ve got this one!” Kharla swiveled the tube toward the mages and looked for a mechanism to shoot.

“It’s worked by foot!” shouted Brendan.

Kharla found the pedal and pressed on it with her foot. A gush of water shot out from the device knocking one of the mages to the ground and soaking both, dowsing their fire magic abruptly. The carriage carried on, Kharla watching the two dripping figures as they shook their fists at her.

“Ha! I bet that dampened their spirits!” Draloth laughed. No one else laughed, finding the Dark Elf’s humor lacking, judging by the looks on their faces. All except for Thral, who, by the look on his face, just didn’t get it.

They rolled over another bridge with a huge waterfall to their right. Kharla recognized the area. Over the river to their left had been the site of the circus. They were near Dankwater Crossing. They didn’t go that way, however, but went straight on over another bridge and then the carriage slowed as the ground grew steadily steeper. It seemed to take an age to get up the incline. Kharla thought about having Thral get out and push at one point, though it might’ve been enough for him just to get out. The Nord must’ve weighed as much as all of them combined, though there wasn’t much to the Cat, Mell, Draloth or even Eilgird (well, by Orc standards at least).

The road flattened and Kharla looked with some concern at how close the carriage now was to the edge of the road—an edge that ended in a drop down a vast rocky slope. Mell took a glance behind her, went pale, and fixed her eyes on the rocky wall on the other side of the road. Still, it was a strangely beautiful view of the sulfur pools and rocky crags below that made up much of this part of Eastmarsh Hold. Even up here, Kharla could smell the rotten-egg aroma of the sulfur. A smell she found a pleasant one, but that many didn’t. She couldn’t understand why.

The road forked again and they took a road to the right that was even steeper than the last, made worse by the poor road surface. Kharla insisted that Thral get out to ‘stretch his legs’ and the Nord strongman gladly did so. The horse seemed to whinny with delight as its burden considerably lightened and it quickened its gait.

As they neared the top of the hill another carriage came hurtling down from the other direction. The sound of a bell came from the approaching carriage and Brendan rang a similar-sounding bell in reply.

“Hi, Brendan!” shouted the carriage driver as they flew past.

“Hi, Sigar!” Brendan shouted as they both waved and then rang their bells again.

Kharl looked at the fear in the faces of the three passengers gripping the rails for dear life as the carriage shot by.

Brendan nodded. “That’s the Express. Always good to see a fellow carriage driver out and about in Skewrim, keeping his passengers safe from all the dangers of the road!”

Thral leaped back on as the road leveled out. They went past another bridge to their right and the land started to become populated with trees. They passed a farm that, according to their tour guide, cultivated Ninnyroot. A fact borne out by the annoying ting-a-ling tinkling clamor coming from the place.

They left the irritating sound behind and passed over yet another bridge—Ti’lief had a whole eye open this time—and came to another branch in the road, the signpost pointing left to Driftin and right to Ivor’s Shed. They took the latter road, past some poorly maintained roadside walls, and another signpost, and then a right turn toward Ivor’s Shed. A town came into sight and just a little while later the carriage rolled over the bridge that led to its center.

“You have arrived at your destination,” said Brendan. “Ivor’s Shed.”

Brendan did not see fit to conclude his guided tour with any words about our destination, so I did a little research myself. Ivor’s Shed was established, unsurprisingly, by Ivor, a carpenter and avid gardener, who built, also unsurprisingly, a shed not far from the lake and river adjoining the area at the base of the steps leading up to High Healthspa. The fast-flowing water provided an excellent resource for Ivor’s lumber mill, and he was soon making many more sheds as a craze in allotment gardening swept Skewrim. With more employment and increasing wealth, the lumber mill soon became a village and the village a small town. Ivor’s wife Wilma established a tavern for visitors called Wilma’s Inn. Interestingly, there is also an ancient barrow smack bang next to the inn. It’s not where I would have built such an establishment, but then again I would’ve also been far more creative with the name of the town and tavern.