The Elderly Scrawls: Skewrim — The Unmodded Truth

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

The five stepped warily through the fallen pillars and rubble of the large cavern. Mell sent her globe of light upward to light the area and a flurry of bats flew over their heads. Kharla tensed. She hated bats. Ugly mice with wings and always hanging around vampires.

The cavern opened up into a well-lit area bounded by a body of water fed by a waterfall. Across a short stone walkway over the water sat a large curved wall with Nordic carvings upon it and, before that, a stone dais with a sarcophagus, a huge teak chest, and a low shelf unit (also in teak) upon it.

They crossed the bridge, though Ti’lief, struggling with both the water below and the width of the walkway, had to be helped by Mell and Draloth.

As they made it to the other side the curved wall started to hum. They moved in a little closer and some of the words began to glow.

“A Weird Wall,” said Mell.

“Yes, it’s weird all right,” Kharla agreed.

“No, that’s what they are called. Weird Walls. I read a book about them. They are said to contain the language of the Dragons upon them.”

“Dragons can write?” Kharla asked, looking at the wall more closely. “Do you think they used their talons to etch these words into the wall?”

Mell and I later sat down and did a bit of research on these Weird Walls. We didn’t find out very much, so they may have indeed been built by the dragons of old, none of whom clearly had any idea of the purpose of a wall—that is, to keep things in or out. The walls are scattered about Skewrim, both above ground and underground, often set against rock rather than free-standing, and topped with lavish sculptures and carvings. One wonders how creatures with no hands and just three toes on each foot could accomplish such a thing.

“Maybe we should keep back?” Draloth warned as the humming sound increased and the glowing words started to swirl as if they were leaving the wall.

Then the humming turned into a chanting sound, like a full Nordic male choir. And light and color swirled about them as the words floated into the air.

“So pretty!” Kharla heard Mell say just before the words and light and chanting crashed into them and stopped.

Kharla blinked hard. The Weird Wall seemed to be just an ordinary wall again. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Draloth said.

“Fohs,” said Thral.

Kharla looked at Thral and then out around the chamber. Did he say ‘foes’? Kharla couldn’t see any foes.

“Come on, never mind him,” said the Dark Elf. “Let’s get this huge chest open! That dragon tablet is probably in there.”

The beautifully carved teak chest was unlocked. Inside there was no dragonstone, though there was a moderate amount of gold (about ten bandits’ worth).

“So where’s the stone?” Kharla asked just as the lid of the sarcophagus next to them blew off.

Out stepped not one but two Daughtr. Twins by the look of them. Pigtails and not-too-badly-preserved cornflower-blue gowns that complemented the deathly ice-blue eyes. Between them they held a large stone tablet with strange etchings upon it. Their heads swiveled and one of them opened their mouth and a stream of abusive and extremely inappropriate words that would’ve made a Skreever blush filled the chamber. Mell put her hands to her ears, a shocked look on her face. Even Thral was wide-eyed.

The foul voice ended and the other Daughtr opened its mouth and wailed out some old Nordic child’s nursery rhyme that was about as out of tune as one could get without coming back into tune again. Ti’lief screwed up his face and started hissing.

The Daughtr stopped and sviveled their decaying heads again before bursting out their dread voices together. Thral and Kharla pressed forward to try and put an end to the unholy racket, but each time they drew close a fell curse or an off-key lyric would push them back.

Kharla looked at Thral. “Can you throw that thing?” she shouted above the cacophony.

Thral grinned and nodded.

Kharla and Thral threw their weapons. Kharla’s axe hit one Daughtr in the back of the head while Thral’s warhammer took the other one in the chest sending the undead Nord girl flying back across the sarcophagus. The dragonstone fell to the ground and the din of the Daughtr cut off as they both went still.

“Thank goodness for that,” said Draloth as he unplugged his fingers from his ears. “I cannot help but wonder what these girls were like when they were alive.”

They exited the chamber up a flight of stone steps and through a tunnel that led to a dead end. Mell’s ever-handy ball of light revealed a handle in a stand, however, which on pulling opened up a slab of stone at the tunnel’s end. They followed a larger tunnel until they found themselves on a shelf of rock on the mountainside.

Kharla looked over the edge. They’d have to find a way down.

The Khapiit joined Kharla at the rock’s edge. “Ti’lief wonders what the problem is, Orc? A short jump, no?”

“We’re higher than a house, Cat, and there ain’t no thatched roof or wood for a soft landing this time. That’s rock and stones down there.”

Ti’lief stared down. “This one thinks it no higher than four Daughtrs standing on each others’ shoulders.”

“Ti’lief isn’t judging things too well, then,” Kharla said as she searched for a way down.

After some exploration Kharla eventually found a way down and the others followed, though she had to stop the Khapiit from jumping down too soon more than once.

At the bottom, Kharla stopped to get her bearings. She could hear the river up ahead. They were near Riverweed on the south of the mountain. She led them through some small woods to the river and they walked along to find the shallows. Over the other side she could see the Guardrail Stones.

“We cross here, then Riverweed’s just up the road. We can see about that reward for the claw.”

Ti'lief looked at the water. “This one does not want to get wet.”

“It won’t come any higher than your ankles. Think of it as a big puddle on a very rainy day,” Mell suggested, trying to placate the Cat’s aversion to water.

“Ti’lief stays in when it rains.”

Kharla sighed. “Thral, carry the Cat across will you?”

Thral nodded, shoved the warhammer into a strap on his back, and adjusted the dragonstone Kharla had asked him to carry. The tablet was as heavy as a small anvil but Thral carried it as if were not more than a large book.

The Khapiit looked at the Nord with shock in his eyes. “Ti’lief remembers there is a bridge up ahead past the waterfall, yes? He goes that way. Not cross this half-a-mile-wide river. He get to Riverweed before you!”

Exaggerating again, thought Kharla. The river was no more than the width of three small homes. She noticed he was limping slightly as he walked off to find the bridge. The Skreever must have bitten his toe hard. “Suit yourself!” There was only a bit of woodland up ahead. The Cat wouldn’t go near the water so there was little chance of him falling from some of the larger rocks that edged the river near the falls. She hoped he didn’t take too long getting over the bridge this time.

They crossed the shallows quickly, easily sidestepping the old carriage wheels and shafts that dotted the river, and walked under Riverweed’s southern gate not much later. Kharla’s belly grumbled. A trip to the Leaping Giant was in order. But first, they needed to collect any reward on the claw.

“So, what with this dragon attack, I said I was glad I was in Whiteruin because those poor wretches in Riverweed don’t even have walls, and next thing I know I’ve been assigned as part of the detachment to come here,” said one of the guards to his comrade as the group walked past them.

“I hear you,” said the other guard. “Though the walls in Whiteruin aren’t much to speak of.”

The first nodded. “That’s true.”

“What bothered me,” the second guard began, “was the run here. I’m still recovering. You’d think they could’ve given us some horses or at least paid for the carriage.”

“You know what I don’t understand?” Draloth mused as they left the guards behind and approached the goods store. He didn’t wait for anyone to answer. “Why these bandits stole a claw worth hundreds of gold coins to get past a stone puzzle door to a chamber that contained fewer coins than the value of the claw? I think all the money we collected from bandits and chests alike through the whole of the ruins amounts to less than the value of the solid gold claw. And then we need to consider the split they intended. Not that I was keeping count, but I think there were around a dozen of them in total. So maybe 30 gold coins each. 30 gold coins for something that could get you killed and, indeed, did get them all killed.”

Kharla shrugged. “I’ve heard it say that bandits are desperate men.” But she said no more as they’d reached the Riverweed Trader. Kharla pushed open the door.

“Well one of us has to do something!” said an attractive dark-haired young woman to the man behind the counter. He also had dark hair and Kharla thought the two had a similar look to them.

“I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no histrionics, no drama, no heroics, no action, no exploring, no derring-do, no swashbuckling, no thief-chasing!” demanded the man.

The woman put her hands on her hips. “Well, what are you going to do then, huh? Let’s hear it!”

The man shook his head. “We are done talking about this.” He then noticed they weren’t alone. Maybe they should’ve installed one of those bells above the door. “Oh, customers…Sorry you had to hear that.”

“Did something happen?” Kharla looked around at the messy state of the store. Draws pulled out, cabinets open with their contents on the floor, half the stock knocked off the shelves. Ti’lieth would have a field day.

“Yes, we did have a bit of a…break-in. But Luke and Caramella Vicarious still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing: An ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon’s claw.”

Kharla pulled the claw from the back of her belt. “You mean this claw?”

Luke’s eyes went wide. “You stole it? Guards!”

“No,” Kharla said. “We found it! Up at Teak Falls Barrow. A bunch of bandits had it. They’re dead now. One of them kept a journal that told us where they got the claw. We’re returning it!”

“Oh, I see. Sorry,” Luke said. “Well, ha ha ha. There it is! Strange…it seems smaller than I remember, maybe not as worthy of as large a reward as some might think. Funny thing, huh?”

Kharla wasn’t laughing. Draloth wasn’t laughing even harder.

“Brother, don’t be miserly, neither of us have been able to sleep since it was stolen. We’ve had the shop open twenty-four hours a day. We can put the ‘closed’ sign up and get some sleep at last,” Caramella said. “Give them a good reward. They’ve put themselves in danger and likely done all the things you just told me I couldn’t do—minus the swashbuckling bit I daresay.”

Luke smiled. “Of course,” he said as Kharla handed over the claw and he handed over a bag of coins. “There’s four hundred gold coins in there. Now, I’m going to put this claw back where it belongs. I’ll never forget how much this has cost me—I mean I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me and my sister.”

Luke placed the golden claw on the counter, arranging it next to a large wheel of cheese. “There, just as it was before.”

“Wait,” said Draloth, “the claw was sitting there on the counter when the thieves broke in?”

“Why, yes,” said Luke.

Draloth frowned. “So why did they ransack the whole store?”

Luke shrugged. “Beats me! It was dark, maybe they thought it was a strange-shaped cheese. Or maybe they made a mess for the fun of it. Now I must get back to tidying the store. Wretched thieves!”

Draloth took the opportunity to sell a few of the trinkets they’d found in the ruins while they were in the store. Kharla suspected he didn’t want to go back to the trader in Whiteruin. He seemed to have been quite disturbed at the proposal from the owner about the selling of his relatives.

“It means so much to us to have the claw back again where it belongs. Thank you!” Caramella said as they left. Thral grinned back at her and she returned a smile before the door closed.

“Where’s that Cat got to?” asked Kharla as they headed toward the inn.

A little girl ran up to them as they neared the Leaping Giant. She had ruby-red slippers on her feet. “Hello! I’m Dorothy. My father’s the blacksmith. He says I’m too friendly with strangers, but you lot seem all right.”

Mell smiled and went to return Dorothy’s greeting, but the little girl never stopped to draw breath. “Freddy told me about you. I’d recognise his description of you anywhere. A big Nord with a woman’s hair, A Dark Elf with a scowl, a Breton girl who looks like she wants to do herself in, a green woman with big teeth, and a picky short Khapiit.” She looked around. “Where’s the Khapiit? Did he die?”

“We hope not.” Kharla smiled. It wasn’t a sincere smile. And she didn’t have big teeth. They were quite small as Orc teeth go. And her tusks hardly protruded at all. She briefly wondered what Dorothy would look like if she had no teeth…

“Freddy’s not very happy,” the girl continued. “Someone bashed in his dog Stomp’s skull. Probably bandits, Rolof said. Freddy’s been crying. Hasn’t left his house since.”

Kharla looked around trying to look inconspicuous.

“I’m sorry,” said Mell. “It must be very hard for him to have lost his childhood pet in such a brutal manner.”

“Oh no,” Dorothy said. “It’s not that. He didn’t much care for the manky thing. Always pranking the poor animal. No, he’s upset because his parents won’t get him a new one.” And, so saying, she skipped off in her ruby-red slippers toward the guards, who turned and went the other way when they saw her coming.

***

A dishevelled Ti’lief came through the door of the Leaping Giant just as Kharla was finishing her meal of beef stew and grilled leaks. He came over, stared at the bench, and then carefully sat down.

“Where have you been?” asked Kharla. “Did you spend the last hour getting over the bridge?”

“Ah, Ti’lief has a tale to tell. And it isn’t about any bridge. This one got over that faster than last time. He has improved. No, Ti’lief’s tale is about Anise.”

“Anise?” Draloth asked, looking up from his baked potatoes with salmon steak.

“Ti’lief will start at the beginning. He’s walking through the woods and sees this cabin. Very poorly maintained. Messy. He thinks maybe he can tidy it up.”

Kharla sighed inwardly but kept listening.

“So this one approaches the cabin and a little old lady is sitting there. She tells Ti’lief it’s nice to have a visitor. That she gets lonely out there. This one feels sorry for her. Anyway, he finds out that this old woman is called Anise Aniseed, a name that appeals greatly to this one for some reason, and she’s a herbalist; so Ti’lief wonders if she has anything for his poor foot. She asks how this one hurt his foot and he tells her a pesky Skreever bit it. Then she puts her hand on this one’s brow and asks him questions. Questions about this one’s judgment of space and distance. Well, Ti’lief, admits that he might be a little confused by such things lately. You see, a Khapiit’s whiskers never lie so he knew something must be up.”

“Did she help you?” Mell asked, dipping a small roll of bread into a bowl of tomato soup.

“After a manner,” the Cat replied. “So she says this one looked rather pale. Ti’lief is not sure how a Khapiit can look pale, but she goes on to say that it could be Dyspraxia. Evidently, it is a disease carried by Skreevers that causes a loss of spatial awareness, problems with judging distance and so forth.”

“Ah, so that explains it—your behavior that is,” said Kharla as she stuck her knife in the last grilled leak on her plate.

“So she says she can make a potion that this one can take. Even puts ointment on Ti’lief’s toe. So this one waits while she makes potion and then Ti’lief downs it and begins to feel his sense of spatial awareness return.”

“Good, good!” Draloth commented, slicing his last potato in half.

“Then this one blacks out,” the Cat said.

“Ah, not so good,” said Draloth, wiping his mouth with a white cloth he’d produced from his sleeve.

Thral took a large bite out of his leg of honeyed ham and chewed it noisily.

“Ti’lief wakes up in a dark place but he sees with his eyes. His wrists and legs are bound, but he knows how to escape such crude bindings. So this one gets free and sees he is in the basement of the cabin. It is also a mess, but also very sinister. Nasty dark magic stuff all about him. He finds a letter and discovers that Anise is a witch!”

Mell gasped.

“She has locked Ti’lief in the basement for some sinister purpose, but she does not know he can easily pick her lock. So this one escapes!”

“What happened next?” asked Kharla, licking her plate clean.

“Ti’lief is confronted by the witch, she calls him a fool and says no one can know her secret, then she attacks poor Ti’lief with magic fire!”

“And?” Mell asked, shoving her plate aside.

“And then Ti’lief ripped her throat out with his claws,” he said. “Do you think someone can order this one some food now? He’s really very hungry.”