113Middas, Sun's Dawn, Year 159 4th Era; Imperial City
I yawned and lazily stretched my legs out when I reached the beginning of the fourth chapter of the book I was currently reading, The Book of Daedra if you were wondering, which unlike the in-game version whose total sum of text and therefore knowledge could've easily been contained on a small pamphlet this one was a huge-ass tome that easily matched if not surpassed one of the thicker volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica.
Understandable, as it technically was an encyclopedia about anything and everything Daedric, but it's writing style was dryer than the deserts of Hammerfell something I wouldn't have thought possible considering what the writer, whoever it was, had to work with. I mean, the cosmology of Elder Scrolls aka. Michael Kirkbride's psilocybin induced ramblings could most accurately be described as the lovechild of Greek Mythology and Lovecraftian Horror, how the hell could you make that boring you ask?
Apparently like this, "The scamp's foraging habits are most unlike that of any creature who through Kynareth's benevolence has propagated itself on Nirn, given their well-known stench…" I groaned outwardly, the thing read like a goddamn script for a bad nature documentary crossed with religious texts and thinly veiled opinions, which made me assume that the person who wrote it was, in fact, a Dunmer as he ascribes the more destructive proclivities of certain princes as being in their nature and therefore all the mayhem they cause as not truly being their fault.
"Still…" I thought as I gazed up at the dragon statue Martin Septim had left behind after his calamitous duel with the Daedric Prince of Destruction, Mehrunes Dagon. A statue which dwarfed the Cristo Redentor in Brazil by a wide margin and indicated that the fight was far, far more destructive than had been depicted in Oblivion, "it seems like the information might come in handy with what I'll have to deal with."
I started reading such boring tomes in favor of the more exciting fictional stories like Chance's Folly or A Game at Dinner with a vigor born not purely out of lust for knowledge like had been the case back on earth, but also from a very real spike of fear that came from a realization that I had while still in the crib and one that had quite prudently refused to go away after six years of life. I live in a world of gods and monsters, to the former I was an inconsequential ant and plaything (thank you Sheogorath!) and to the latter I was just meat, so if I had to read about Scamps' nutritional habits and the varying weeds that grow in Oblivion to give me the slightest edge in the chances of my survival I would.
And with that thought, I returned to my book with renewed energy, or I would've had a shadow not suddenly been cast from above making it difficult to make out the tightly packed letters. The shadow wasn't large enough to be an adult, so I doubted I was about to hear a "Halt citizen, you've violated the law!" for sitting on a statue of Stendarr where I technically shouldn't be sitting and the only children who would approach me while I was reading…
"Cut off one head…" I began leadingly
"And another two grow back." My compatriot answered with a small smirk, I turned to see who precisely it was, but her raspy voice had already given her species away, Argonian.
I briefly embraced El-Lurasha, an Argonian girl with purplish scales I had met during one of my many walks on the Imperial City docks. When she tried to steal my sweetroll.
"Hail Hydra," we both whispered in unison and she quickly handed me a sealed envelope once we broke off the embrace, an envelope whose contents I clearly recognized given its seal, the latest issue of the Black Horse Courier a "newspaper" that was surprisingly still up and running ever since the Oblivion Crisis, it was no New York Times or Wall Street Journal but it was enough to keep abreast of the politics and general goings-on in the Empire. Not to mention my early warning system about when the war would start.
I tossed her a Silver Septim, much more than what the paper was worth, for her trouble, and yes in this world there were Silver and Copper Septims as well, each worth half of each other i.e. two silvers were one gold and two coppers were one silver, so it wasn't that difficult to calculate with.
She smiled shyly and almost as soon as she caught the coin it disappeared down her sleeve, a useful skill considering her occupation if one could even call pickpocketing an occupation. I had taken it upon myself to get to know some of the street urchins living in the Imperial City and had already become quite popular with them since I offered free healing albeit only for small bruises and scrapes since I only managed to teach myself the basic spell and provided good coin for a few odd-jobs like bringing me the paper every morning and the latest gossip, truly everyone except the Thieves Guild underestimates how useful and more importantly how loyal they can be.
Speaking of which… "What's the news L-L?" I asked conversationally.
She snorted, "Isn't that what you have that for?" she retorted pointing at my paper.
"I prefer to hear it from your beautiful lips," I shot back with the most earnest look I could muster, a corny compliment sure, but I was dealing with a little kid here not a seasoned veteran of the dating scene and if her mild blush (was that even possible with her literally being coldblooded?) was any indication it worked.
She coughed as an excuse for her momentary silence, "Lord Tamrith just arrived from High Rock and he snubbed Legate Vici in favor of visiting Legate Tullius."
I furrowed my brows, "Tamrith, Tamrith… That's the one from Rivenspire, right?" And if the Legate is the one, I'm thinking of…
"Yup!" She nodded back enthusiastically the earlier embarrassment forgotten, "High Rock tourists are the best, they always have coin purses instead of pockets like the ones from Hammerfell."
I chuckled heartily, "And in the Arena?"
She thought for a moment, "Yoren from the Red Team is apparently back on Skooma," she said, the scales on her forehead crinkling as if she had been trying to get the name right, understandable, she probably had the money to get in, but not enough to risk losing it gambling so she probably didn't keep up much with the matches.
"I'll be sure not to bet on him during the next matches then."
"That would be smart," she replied smugly and somehow without a hint of smugness, I just sighed quietly.
"Anything else?"
She looked down at her feet, I just raised my eyebrow.
"I'm having trouble with these letters…"
I lowered my eyebrow and sighed, closing my book and using the newspaper, more like a small pamphlet, as a bookmark.
"Show me," I said as she handed me a large piece of paper with different letters, some vocabulary and even drawings to go with them that I had scribbled on it when I was teaching her how to read. I offered it to all of the street urchins who were reasonably loyal, and she was one of the few who took me up on it. I needed spies who could send letters after all, and this just made them even more loyal.
She did as I asked and over the next fifteen minutes, we went over a few consonants that she was having trouble with due to her Argonian physiology and some fairly common spelling mistakes, but overall, she was a quick learner. Not a blooming novelist by any stretch of the words, but she should be at the Tamrielic equivalent of a middle school level if she kept it up.
"Hey, didn't you say you were going to be learning sword fighting?"
Her seemingly innocent question made me choke on air, "I'm gonna be so late he's going to kill me!"
She laughed harder than I'd ever seen her laugh before.
"I said that out loud didn't I?"
She kept laughing. I have to stop doing that. I gave her an annoyed grunt before I raced back to my family home as fast as my seven-year-old legs could carry me, which is to say, not very fast at all.
Teldryn Sero couldn't ordinarily be described as a patient man, but for the amount of gold they were paying him to basically do nothing at all, he'd be as patient as the most pious priest of Stendarr on Tamriel. He gazed out the window briefly and though one wouldn't have known it by looking at him due to the goggles and mask that covered the entirety of his face, his eyes narrowed in annoyance, "Doesn't mean I have to like it, though."
A few hurried footsteps echoed out from the hallway of the rather expansive imperial villa he was currently working in, he smirked slightly. "Speak or I suppose, think of the Daedra and he shall appear."
He rolled his shoulders, and both gave a satisfying pop, in one smooth motion he drew one of the practice swords that he had bought specifically for this particular long-term contract and pointed it straight at the entrance of the door.
Said door quickly opened to reveal a small half-Breton, half-Imperial boy wearing a grey cotton shirt and dark leather pants and boots, Teldryn was at the very least relieved that the kid hadn't shown up to the training wearing fancy clothes, but instead of voicing the thought he gave a nearly contemptuous grunt both at the fact that the kid was late and that he had almost run straight into a room and perhaps more importantly, the edge of a sword that would've killed him had it been real.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he drawled looking apologetic, but his voice indicated otherwise, "I got lost on the road of life."
The excuse and its delivery were so absurd that a snort involuntarily escaped his lips, he hoped he still looked intimidating enough and going by the somewhat worried glances that the kid was shooting him, he did, however, that might have had more to do with the fact that he was still holding the practice sword at his throat than his bearing.
"And…?" He prompted leadingly; the kid furrowed his brows in thought.
"I should've been quieter and taken a peek before entering the room." He said hesitantly.
Teldryn grunted in acknowledgement, "At least you're not completely braindead," he expected a reaction of indignation from the kid (to be fair his employers said he was only seven), but when he got nothing except a raised eyebrow he moved on, "listen, try to make sure you're punctual next time."
The kid nodded seriously and Teldryn sighed, I'm really not a good teacher, "Listen kid, I'm going to be honest with you, I'm not much of a teacher so I don't know why your parents would pick me of all people, I'll do my best, just don't expect me to turn you into the next Gaiden Shinji."
The kid laughed, it wasn't like the laughter of other children filled with innocent joy, but rather one of an adult filled with mirth, "Don't worry, anything you can teach me beyond 'stick'em with the pointy end' will still be an improvement."
Teldryn chuckled briefly as well, "Oh I can do that much at least." He then turned and walked towards the balcony, the kid confusedly following after him like a lost puppy. Abruptly he turned back around and tossed him one of the training swords and assumed a fighting position, to his credit the kid caught it but it thunked on the floor anyway as he was unprepared for the weight. Teldryn's respect rose slightly when the kid didn't complain and struggled to fully lift it with one hand mimicking his stance all the while.
He smiled slightly, a gesture of appreciation that was lost on the boy, "Now, do your best to hit me and remember this isn't the swordplay of the imperial legions, breton knights or orcish berserkers, you have to avoid overcommitting at all costs as Dunmer swordsmen don't use shields so there's no margin for error."
The imperial kid, Marcus, his brain supplied the name he had forgotten, charged at him with a battle cry, Teldryn didn't even have to block the poorly aimed strike instead just turning on his heel and allowing Marcus to run past him, he turned and glared this time approaching his teacher more carefully.
"He's learning something at least," he thought as he lazily deflected every blow sent after him, "just not fast enough," he finished the thought when the sword was knocked out of his charge's hand and he went to go get it.
"Let's try it again."
Marcus nodded seriously and tried to reassume the stance he had mimicked from Teldryn earlier, he clicked his tongue and shook his head in annoyance, "No, no, that stance is all wrong."
He approached him and pointed out the flaws, sometimes manually readjusting a few limbs, by the time everything was corrected Marcus looked like he was having difficulties simply staying still and keeping his balance, let alone trying to heft the especially heavy training sword Teldryn had provided.
"The perfectly executed Dunmer Spellsword stance is like a venerable old tree…" Teldryn began and his charge blinked owlishly at the odd analogy but was paying rapt attention either way, "and what would be the most important part of such a tree?"
Marcus furrowed his brows in thought, but before he could come to a conclusion Teldryn kicked his feet out from under him. His charge very understandably glared venom at him and Teldryn let said glare wash over him like water off the back of a duck, "We begin with roots." He was beginning to regret wearing a mask constantly, the smirk he was sending his student right now would've infuriated him even more, had he been able to see it.