The Elderly Scrawls: Skewrim — The Unmodded Truth

Verandas, the 27th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

“There may be a way to discover Alun’s hiding place,” said Usborne as he looked up from the large movable-type printing press he was bent over. Several books, all identical in appearance, sat in a pile next to the machine.

Kharla and the team had stayed overnight at High Healthspa and Sprinted to Craftspire the following morning to fill in Darleen and Usborne on what had happened and the need to locate Alun. Kharla couldn’t keep the truth from them anymore and told them that the Greatbeard leader, Poorthorax, was in fact a dragon. Darleen wasn’t best pleased, to say the least, so much so that she’d gone up to the dry slope in a huff with her snow blades, leaving them with Usborne.

“You will need to capture one of Alun’s allies and interrogate him,” the old man continued.

“Capture a dragon?” said Kharla. “How do we do that?”

“There’s an old device, more a museum piece now, but still functional I believe, in the Big Porch of Dragonsearch,” said Usborne. “It’s a dragon trap. I have some instructions on its use somewhere.”

“So, the old stories are true. It is a dragon trap,” said Eilgird. “It’s in the training area. Some of the guards used to climb the chains—see who could get to the top first.”

“Oh, very true yes. I’ll give you the instruction manual before you go and you can help train the guards in its proper use. Now, where’s the letter ‘q’…” Usborne pulled a small flat piece of metal out of a box attached to the printing press and placed it on the large plate containing similar small pieces of metal. “Of course, you’ll also need a dragon to trap, and for that you’ll need a name. Leave that with me.”

They left Usborne to his publishing endeavors and walked with Bessie to Whiteruin, stopping off for a bite to eat and drink in the Frostfright Inn at Roderickshead where a young man started pestering them about how exciting it must be to be an adventurer, and how he wanted to be a great adventurer one day, until Kharla told him to stay home, get a good job, raise a family, and stop being so naive.

Baldgoof laughed when they told him what they wanted. “I’m sorry. I must’ve misheard you. I thought you said you wanted me to help you capture a dragon in my palace?”

“No, you heard right,” said Draloth.

“Oh, I did, did I? I suppose you want me to chain up a werewolf here in the throne room and perhaps cage a den of vampires in Falconscar’s chamber too?”

“No, just the dragon,” responded Draloth dryly.

The Jarl gave the Dark Elf a withering look and turned back to Kharla. “It’s insane. We’re in the middle of a war. If I place my city in such danger, Dullius and Oldthred will be quick to take advantage of it. I won’t place my city in such a situation.”

“Jarl, may I speak?” asked Eilgird.

The Jarl swung his leg over the arm of his throne. “Yes, soldier. You’ve traveled with these people. And I’ve heard you’ve been representing me and Whiteruin well. Tell me your thoughts.”

“Thank you, Jarl Baldgoof. You are very kind. I can vouch for them. Insane though it may sound, it’s the only hope we have of finding Alun and of stopping the world from ending. I have seen this dragon up close. Only the Dragonbore can defeat him. The Greatbeards know this.”

“The Greatbeards…” Baldgoof mused. “I trust them and I already owe the Dragonbore for saving my city at the western watchtower.”

Thral smiled.

The Jarl rested his chin on his fist. “I want to agree to this, but I can’t risk weakening the city.”

“What if there was no threat from the enemy? What if there was a truce to deal with the dragon threat?” asked Kharla.

“Getting both sides to agree would be difficult, to say the least,” the Jarl said. “The bitterness has gone too deep. I’ve already had reports of fisticuffs on the contact line. Hmmm…you mention the Greatbeards, Eilgird. I’m not sure they’d agree to it, but if they offered to broker a truce, well, both sides might respect them enough to agree to it.”

“Then we shall ask them,” said Kharla.

***

Tarantadas, the 28th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

They spent the night in the empty house next to the blacksmith’s again. Eilgird had informed them that she’d formally asked the Jarl to name the home in honor of the Dragonbore and so, with her counsel, the house had been named Sneezehome. Only Eilgird and Mell seemed to find it amusing. Soon after dawn the next day they had departed the newly named house and now stood on a hill outside the city looking up at the Thrill of the World.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” asked Kharla.

“It’s worth a try,” said Draloth. “We know it works one way, why not the other? We all heard the Greatbeards when they spoke, right down here…Besides, my feet are sore from all the walking.”

“And this Sprinting Shout thing has given this one whiplash,” added Ti’lief, massaging his neck.

“Right,” said Kharla. “Thral, I need you to shout loudly at the top of that mountain. Just repeat Draloth’s words. He’s going to keep it short.”

Thral nodded. He seemed a bit less enthusiastic of late, though still very friendly. Perhaps the love potion was finally wearing off.

“Good,” said Draloth.

“GOOD!” shouted Thral.

The Dark Elf raised his hand. “No, I’ve not started yet!”

“NO, I’VE NOT STARTED YET!” shouted Thral.

Draloth rolled his eyes skyward.

“Wait, Thral,” said Kharla. “You can stop now. We’ll tell you when to start again.”

Thral nodded and smiled.

“It’s not loud enough,” said Mell.

Draloth sighed. “What can we do?”

“What about this?” Eilgird picked up a small hollow log from the ground and looked through it. “We guards use them to communicate sometimes.” She put her mouth to one end and shouted “HAIL THRAL, THANE OF WHITERUIN!” Her voice echoed across the plain before them. Thral’s eyes lit up as she passed it to him.

“Right, Thral,” said Kharla. “Let’s try again. Now point the log at the mountaintop and shout the words Draloth gives you through it.”

Draloth nodded. “Master Arnie, it’s the Dragonbore.”

Thral shouted the words and they echoed up toward the mountain.

Kharla nodded. That was much better.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Master Arnie’s voice came back, echoing down from the mountain.

Mell and Eilgird both gave a little fist pump.

“NEED YOU TO HOST TRUCE. STOP. BETWEEN EMPIRE AND TORNCLOAKS. STOP.”

“NO CAN DO. STOP.”

“NEED TRUCE TO FIND AND STOP ALUN. STOP.”

“STOP ALUN? STOP.”

“YES, STOP. STOP.”

“VERY WELL. STOP. TELL DULLIUS AND OLDTHRED TO STOP BY. STOP.”

Draloth nodded at Kharla to indicate he was finished and Kharla told Thral he could stop shouting now.

“Well, that worked out quite well,” said the Dark Elf. “I wonder what the range is?”

“So, who do we see first?” asked Eilgird, ignoring Draloth and turning to Kharla. “Oldthred or Dullius?”

“Oldthred,” said Kharla. “We’re going to Windfarm.”

“HELLOOO!” Thral shouted through the log.

Draloth put his hands to his ears. “Will someone take that off him!”

***

The two Nords verbally abusing a Dark Elf woman outside Candleheat Hall didn’t seem to notice Bessie and her riders as they appeared out of nowhere just a few feet from them. After Thral had his mead, everyone except Draloth and Eilgird—the former of whom had picked up on the dislike the local Nords had for his kind, and the latter of whom represented Baldgoof who Oldthred wasn’t exactly on good terms with—made their way to the Place of the Kings where Oldthred had his throne. The sky was filled with the sails of windmills jutting out of the city as they turned, some of the windmills were tall and narrow with thin sails more like blades.

“And who are you?” asked a man dressed more like a bear than a Torncloak as they entered the throne room.

“Gilmore, it’s all right. Let them approach,” came a voice Kharla recognized from the throne at the other end of the room. Jarl Oldthred.

Kharla and the others approached the leader of the Torncloaks.

“You look familiar,” said the Jarl as they stopped before the throne.

“I was at Helga,” said Kharla.

“Ah, yes. Now I remember. You’re the Orc Rolof spoke so well about. Said you might want to join our cause. Is that why you’re here? If so, you’ll need to speak to Gilmore Stone-Kissed here.” Oldthred indicated toward the large Nord dressed in furs who looked like a bear.

“I’ve come with the Dragonbore, here,” she tipped her spear toward Thral. “to see you, Jarl. I’ve a message from the Greatbeards.”

The Jarl looked Thral up and down. “You were at Helga too. Of course, it’s only right that the Dragonbore should be a Nord.” He turned back to Kharla. “As for those Greatbeards, it’s about time they turned their gaze from the heavens, back to our bleeding homeland. What do they want?”

“The Dragonbore has called for the negotiation of a truce until the dragon menace is dealt with, hosted by the Greatbeards,” said Kharla.

“I have the greatest respect for the Greatbeards and, of course, the Dragonbore. I spent some time up there in my youth, did you know that? It is where I learned somewhat of the Voice. And the dragon attacks are a growing plague. But the political situation is delicate. Not all the Jarls are fully committed to supporting me as High King. I can’t afford to appear weak. I can’t agree to this unless Dullius himself will be there.”

“We’ll make sure General Dullius is there,” said Kharla. General Dullius would probably consider a well-organized dinner more important than a council meeting hosted by the Greatbeards, but she’d get him there even if it meant dragging him kicking and screaming… An idea formed in her head.

Oldthred nodded. “Good. We still hold half of Skewrim despite everything the Empire could throw at us. I doubt the Legion has the stomach for much more bloodletting.”

“So you’ll come to the peace council?” asked Mell. “I’m already looking forward to it!”

The Jarl frowned at the young Breton. “Yes. If Dullius agrees. I’ll give him one more chance to quit Skewrim with his tail between his legs.”

Ti’lief raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just a saying here in Skewrim, Khapiit,” said the Jarl.

Not just a saying. In his book, ‘The Ugly Truth Behind the Old Sayings of Men’, by the renowned Khapiit historian An’Tikwitty, the disturbing origins of many of these sayings are explained. The ‘tail between his legs’ saying, for example, originates from the time when Men would cut off the tail of Khapiits unless they obeyed. So, if one went away with his tail between his legs, he was humiliated. ‘Cat got your tongue’ is a reference to the time when a criminal would have his tongue cut out and fed to a Khapiit. ‘Let the cat out of the bag’ is a term that comes from a time when Khapiit hunting was all the rage, where the hunter would bag the Cat and then let it out at the end of the hunt to show his catch. I will leave it to your imagination as to the origins of the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’, ‘cat on a hot tin roof’, and ‘the cat’s pajamas’. Let’s just say that none of them are pretty (especially that last one).

***

Kharla, Draloth, Eilgird and Thral approached the door to Castle Dire. Kharla thought it would be good to have Eilgird come, as a representative of Baldgoof, to give them more legitimacy. Mell and Ti’lief they’d left behind in the Stinkin’ Skreever to keep an eye on Bessie. They’d taken passage on a ship to Solicitude from the Windfarm Docks and Bessie hadn’t much liked it. Draloth, on the other hand, had liked it a great deal because Eilgird had finally agreed to use some of the Whiteruin sponsorship funds to pay the passage fee due to the urgency of the matter.

“We’d like to see General Dullius, please,” said Eilgird to the two Impeccable Legion guards who flanked the door.

The guards looked at each other and back at Eilgird. “Anyone can go in. We don’t lock it. We’re just stationed out here to ensure those visiting are clean and follow the rules: wipe your feet on the doormat as you enter, take your shoes off if they’re dirty, don’t touch anything that could leave a dirty mark, don’t move anything out of its specified place, and use one of the handkerchiefs provided on the table if you do need to touch anything.”

Inside they found themselves in an entrance hall with the unmistakable dinner-plate Impeccable Legion banners hanging on the lime and orange pebble dash walls between garish paintings of the capital back in Sorrydill and portraits of what Kharla assumed must’ve been old Emperors or generals, one of which was a rather bad likeness of Dullius. A large yellow plant pot with some sort of cactus in it took center stage in the vestibule.

“So this is why they call it Castle Dire,” said Eilgird. “If Baldgoof did this to Dragonsearch, Aerolith would walk out in disgust and then probably rain down meteorites on it.”

They found Dullius bent over a map on a table in the war room just beyond the entrance hall. The walls were purple and the ceiling bright blue. Kharla recognized Legate Riker across the table from the General, dressed in her shiny heavy Legion armor. Another officer, similarly attired, stood facing them on the far side of the table.

“I’m telling you, Oldthred’s planning an attack on Whiteruin,” Riker said to Dullius.

“He’d be insane not to try. It doesn’t have any walls to speak of,” replied Dullius.

The other officer coughed and indicated toward Kharla, or perhaps more accurately toward the Whiteruin Guard who’d just entered the war room.

“Well, I can attest to that!” said Eilgird.

General Dullius straightened. “Are my men now giving free reign to anyone who wanders into the castle?”

“Erm, actually sir,” said Legate Riker, “it’s always been that way.”

“It has?” asked the General.

Riker nodded. “Yes, it’s just that many stay away of their own accord.”

“And why’s that?” asked Dullius.

“It’s my understanding, sir, that it has something to do with the decor,” the Legate explained.

“And what’s wrong with the decor?” the General pressed.

“Nothing sir,” replied Riker, adding “unless you’re as blind as a Foulmouth” under her breath.

Dullius, who obviously didn’t hear the last part, turned back to the visitors. “Do you have some reason to be here?”

Eilgird stood to attention. “We have a message from the Greatbeards.”

“The Greatbeards? What do those hermits want with me?” asked Dullius.

“They’re convening a peace council at High Healthspa,” said Eilgird.

Dullius folded his arms. “Why? There’s nothing to discuss as long as that traitor Oldthred is in arms against his rightful Emperor.”

“We need a truce until the dragon threat is dealt with,” said Kharla.

“They are getting to be a problem, I admit. But I wasn’t sent to Skewrim to fight dragons, Orc. My job is to quell this rebellion, and I intend to do just that, dragons or no dragons.”

“The best time to negotiate is from a position of strength,” said Draloth.

“Fair enough. We’re driving the Torncloaks back well enough at the moment, but we’re already overstretched. That’s what comes of trying to win a war with a bare handful of legions. If the Emperor would just give me the reinforcements I’ve requested so I could assign more men to keep the uniforms clean. What with the time spent by the troops on all the laundering of the uniforms, and their polishing, it’s hard to find time to attend to all the training and patrols. Even so, to give legitimacy to Oldthred Torncloak by sitting down at the same table—”

“There’ll also be a meal,” interrupted Kharla. “Quite a grand one, I believe. Seems they’re also looking for someone to provide their caterers with ‘etiquette’ or something, for laying the table, serving the meal, that sort of thing.”

“I see,” said Dullius. “It seems then that I am needed.”

“So you’ll come to the peace council?” asked Eilgird.

“Yes. Yes. Fine. I’ll come to this Greatbeard council and make sure the meal is served correctly. For all the good it will do.”