Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale

Chapter 222: Chapter XXVI: Destination Markarth



The winding hills and rivers of Skyrim's southwestern hold were a pleasure to observe as the autumn had already set in and painted the scene with a mix of brown and light gold, the light creaking of wood as we traveled when combined with the sound of undisturbed nature created an atmosphere of peace and tranquility all around us, something which pleased my nature- blessed side immensely.

I took a calming breath and began sketching the whole thing, failing repeatedly and beginning anew over and over again, probably wasting multiple commoners' salaries in the process but still stubbornly moving on in hopes of preserving a beautiful memory.

When preparing for this journey across the province I had finally opted to buy a proper carriage. Riding on horseback was fun and all but even if I had the ability to constantly heal myself to near perfection with restoration magic suffering unnecessary cramps was just not something I was willing to do if I could just throw money at the problem.

Sat beside me was the ever curious Alor, doing much the same as I, just writing instead of drawing and indeed wasting much less parchment in the process while Serana, who was sat across the two of us, busied herself with studying an old alchemical account I got as a gift from Hakan when he realized just how potent the rings I gave him were.

The potions and elixirs he could make now were genuinely terrifying to behold.

Looking back down on the road I observed the sextet of guards I had chosen to bring with me, all of them were riding the hardy Skyrim breed of horse and proudly wore the uniform I granted to all of my soldiers. They quietly chatted with each other but still paid close enough attention to the road not to deserve a reprimand so I left them to it.

As for the rest of my little posse, Davos and Nightshade contented themselves with sitting atop the carriage's driver's seat, the duo spent most of their time delivering snarky comments at each other while directing the quartet of horses pulling the enchanted wooden box we were currently inside of.

Indeed, I wasted no time in making sure that the carriage could resist even ballista fire, though not permanently.

"I am confused!" Alor throws up his arms and lets out a yell of frustration, his bright blue eyes glaring holes into the highest quality political map of northern Tamriel available on the market that was spread on the desk at the carriage's center.

I neatly folded my latest attempt at a proper landscape sketch and gave the young Falmer a very harsh instance of side eye before deciding to humor him "Oh? Would you like to regale the audience with what frustrates you so, Alor?"

Noticing the amusement in my tone Serana also lets out a light chuckle but doesn't deign to comment just yet.

"A thousand pardons my lord." Alor bows his head, genuinely apologetic, before standing up and nearly smacking his head into the carriage roof "I just find that the cartographers of today lack both skill and creativity!"

"And I presume you are about to proceed to question their work in a disturbingly nitpicky manner?" I raise an eyebrow while my mouth quirks into a light grin.

He nods without hesitation or care for being judged "Indeed, for they have made the most basic of errors!" He points at the map, namely the western section of Skyrim and the east of High Rock "Tell me, my lord, do you not see this utterly disgusting sign of laziness and incompetence?"

I give the map more than a mere cursory glance and immediately notice the issue. Whichever cartographer deigned to create the thing had apparently thought it would be funny to mark the easternmost part of High Rock as: The Reach, the westernmost part of Haafingar as: The Reach, and of course, Skyrim's southwestern hold as: The Reach.

"Dear Divines and Daedra I do hope that the creator of this abomination is dead." I cannot help but declare in sheer astonishment at whatever the fuck my eyes were just forced to behold "How does someone like this get the title of a scholar?"

"My thoughts exactly, my lord." A hint of smugness worms its way into Alor's voice "I find that such sloth is insulting to those who put genuine effort into their work."

"There is another side to all of this." Surprisingly it is Serana who cuts into the conversation, her alchemy tome neatly closed to her side and her gaze fixed firmly onto the map in question.

Alor turns to her, his expression turning mildly bashful "And what is that... miss?" He tilts his head "My lady?" He turns to me and gives me a questioning look as if to ask 'How do I address her?'

I shrug "Considering her status a "My lady" Is appropriate but you are under no obligation to refer to her respectfully." While she might technically be royalty her title was a defunct one and only formality still preserved its validity.

Much like my own now that I think about it.

Serana, unsurprisingly, agrees without hesitation "I actually prefer a lack of titles... Where I am from they are usually meant for hiding one's intentions behind false politeness." "Then I will do so, miss Serana." Alor responds genuinely "In any case what were you about to add?"

She smirks lightly "Well I just thought that the Reach is so utterly irrelevant that people use it more like a derogatory term for a region instead of a real name. Even thousands of years ago the area was still referred to as such and that was when the Reachmen held actual power." "Now look here" Alor immediately points his quill at her challengingly "There is no reason to muddy the scholarly arts with such petty things as insults and smallminded comments. The author was obviously just lazy and not attempting to give out poorly hidden social commentary." The sudden heat in his voice manages to surprise both of us.

"Oh?" Serana tilts her head and looks at him as if she was talking down to a child "But what if The truly was just that petty?"

"That... That would be insulting the entire scholarly path!" Alor exclaims defensively and I am treated to an hour long debate about the honor of the scholar's profession in which Alor tried keeping to his idealism while Serana promptly bashed his head in with the harsh truths of the world.

It was fun.

"-And so I believe that disrespecting the art of the learned is already the first step into whatever warped version you already view it as." Alor declares resolutely.

"And I agree that that would be the ideal state of things." Serana answers patiently "But that doesn't change the re- "

I sense Davos knock on the carriage doors before he even does so "Boss, we have arrived."

"Well, I guess your little talk will have to wait until we are fully situated." I clap my hands cheerfully and the duo blink in surprise at how quickly time had passed and promptly start packing themselves.

The moment I step outside I am greeted with a sight both beautiful and fantastical, with the usual hints of grim reality sprinkled in between.

Tall marbe-like walls barring the only entrance to a city quite literally dug into the side of the mountain, the dozen mighty artillery bastion sized towers standing proudly with their polished Dwemer brass-like metal roofs gleaming in the slowly setting sun. The entire area in front of the city was completely clear of any obstacle larger than a simple wooden house or tent, creating a massive killzone that would cost anyone who dared attack the ancient city grievous casualties.

Yet the sight was marred with a single crumbled tower and occasional unrepaired damage to the walls, with some sections being completely overgrown by hardy roots at the southern edges of the city. Even if they were mostly cut off from the city itself it still did present a rather poor showing from the administration and genuinely ruined much of its prestigious

beauty.

That is without even mentioning the ever growing refugee camp on the northern clearing some ways away from the wall itself. The camp was kept in good order but the feeling I got from those gathered unfortunates who fled the more dangerous eastern holds was one of imminent unrest unless something was done swiftly.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

One sight however, I completely failed to expect.

A small military camp dotted with about ten different colorful banners of Bretonnic origin judging by the heraldry... 'Evermor' My mind swiftly supplied.

"Well then." I turn toward the camp "Might as well greet our allies. Davos with me, the rest of

you go and get us situated in the city."

Davos gives some quick orders to the guards, mostly on how to intimidate the shit out of the potentially corrupt guardsmen, and quickly jogs toward me "Off to greet our knightly friends,

boss?"

"It would only be polite." I shrug carelessly and start walking toward our destination "Any juicy information you have for me?" I ask as we leave the rest of the group behind us. "Eh, mostly the usual." He replies lazily "Silver bloods still failing their poor attempt at taking the city over, the Jarl completely failing to counter their constant bribes" He pulls out a small stack of notes "Something about the Hall of the Dead getting desecrated, a house making odd noises at night and some kind of tragedy happening at the excavation site."

"Well now" I smirk as a light wave of excitement runs down my spine "Things will at least be

interesting."

"You know what is going on?" He asks, already completely expecting a positive answer.

"But of course Davos, who do you take me for?" I quip.

"Someone who actually requires my work?" He jokes back but then turns serious "In all seriousness, what should we expect in there?"

"Oh you know, the usual." I wave my hand lazily.

He pales slightly "The usual as in a bunch of corrupt cunts or the usual as in literal gods and

demons trying to consume us and our immortal souls?"

"Yes." I deadpan.

"Of course." His expression turns equally stony, though for reasons differing to my own.

Our conversation ends as we reach our destination, a fenced off campsite consisting of about two dozen colorful tents, about two of them per banner, a duo of young chainmail clad Bretons armed with teardrop shields and war spears barring our path.

The slightly older one takes one look at me and immediately offers me a light bow "Greetings, honorable sir. Who comes before the camp of the Knights of Evermor?" The Bretons were suckers for ostentatiousness and pageantry so instead of answering I merely gave Davos a sidelong glance and he immediately straightened up and declared "Presenting Dagoth Reyvin, Great Lord of House Dagoth of Morrowind and Royal Court Mage of Skyrim." Seeing the young man still looking at him, Davos quickly added "And his Retainer

Davos of Windhelm."

The guard nods at Davos and then glances at me again and noticing the ceremonial sash that

had long since turned into my sign of office his bow swiftly turned into a much deeper one

"We are honored to welcome such a person to our humble camp. Please follow me, I am certain that the Knight Commander will be ecstatic to meet with you."

"Lead the way my good man." I give him a nod and we soon find ourselves traversing the

Breton camp.

The first thing I notice is the obvious strength of most of the inhabitants. Those who showed

none were most likely servants and followers here for maintenance and the like but most of those present were stronger than a veteran legionary with about ten being far above said

level, especially when it came to their magic as many of them radiated signs of apprentice level reserves.

As we passed further I concluded that the 'normal' warriors were probably squires or men at

arms of some kind, the man leading most likely counting himself among their number, while the truly powerful ones were the actual mage knights.

Said knights seemingly being skilled enough to feel my approach as many of their heads turned in my direction on sheer instinct even without being able to see me directly. That bode well for our alliance.

We were soon brought before the largest tent in the camp, one colored in dark blue and a

harsh bright gold, the banner of a crossed sword and scroll colored in gold on a blue

background hanging to the side and radiating the telltale signs of some kind of light restorative enchantment.

'A genuine battle banner? Got to get me one of those when I get back.'

The squire gave me another deep bow before telling us to wait and entering the tent while the

rest of the camp gave us curious but politely distant looks.

My sight quickly informed me as to why as the supposed Knight Commander was currently

busy lifting ridiculous weights while an old man was telling him some kind of story and healing him whenever he dropped said weights.

That is a bit hardcore...

It only took the man a bit over a minute to clean up and grab some fine clothes upon receiving

my summons, and soon a tall blonde Breton stood before me and immediately offered a legionary salute "Reynauld Belamane, Knight Commander of the Knights of Evermor, an honor to meet you Court Mage."

"As you have no doubt heard, I am Dagoth Reyvin." I smirk at the young man "The honor is mine, Knight Commander." I offered a light bow in turn but before I could continue with the pleasantries I noticed an odd expression on the man's face "Is there something wrong?" I skipped the entire song and dance and asked directly.

The man's polite expression soon turned into one I knew all too well "I challenge you to a spar!" He declared, and the old man that had stepped out from behind him held back a groan.

He was one of those, huh?

A man needs to feed his flock

so my good sir, may I have some rock?

If you want to support me directly and get access to 35ish chapters (Some 70k-ish words) in

advance visit my patreon page patreon.com/Rastislav156

If you want to discuss the story or just meme about join my discord server:

https://discord.gg/NSDHGQpvsF (refreshed)