Stratos Caelus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
auspex_caelo) wrote2019-06-23 08:39 pm
auspex_caelo) wrote2019-06-23 08:39 pm
Incognito, Incorrigible (for smartass_captain)
Organizing a proper wedding is no small affair even on Earth. In Tamriel, without the benefit of instant communications, instant transport and year-round amenities, it requires a good deal more planning. Particularly when it comes to guests who live any distance away. Roads and seaways alike are dangerous. Bandits prowl the land routes. Inclement weather closes mountain passes and keeps ships in their berths. Everything, above all, takes time.
With spring in full flight, snows melting and roads well and truly open, the excuses for delays in invitation replies and guest arrivals are both running out. Mostly this hasn’t been an issue. The arcane side of their guest list have their own ways of sending word, and the military side have first call on the Imperial courier network. Everyone who matters is accounted for. Except, that is, for one…
In the library of the Bruma house, Stratos leans on a desk covered in papers and rubs his eyes. Another day, another absence of word. Marcella did warn him that her mother would be nigh-impossible to contact. She was almost too resigned to the fact to be grumpy about it. But Stratos had thought his connections would get him where his cousin had been unable to reach. The trouble, he sees now, is that he really can’t be sure where that is.
One guest. Perhaps it’s not a disaster if she can’t be there. But this is his mother’s sister, and they have so few near relatives left, since the War….
And he’s getting worried.
Stratos rises then, and tidies away his writing implements. He heads downstairs to his room and changes into better gear for travelling- not too warm, he doubts he’s going to end up in Skyrim – and then he goes to knock on Felix’s – well, his and Jim’s – door. Nereus is out visiting with Terentius, so there’s nothing else to distract the youngest two, nothing else that ought to be occupying them. And if they’re still resting on the Enterprise - well, he’ll just have to go there and fetch one of them.
With spring in full flight, snows melting and roads well and truly open, the excuses for delays in invitation replies and guest arrivals are both running out. Mostly this hasn’t been an issue. The arcane side of their guest list have their own ways of sending word, and the military side have first call on the Imperial courier network. Everyone who matters is accounted for. Except, that is, for one…
In the library of the Bruma house, Stratos leans on a desk covered in papers and rubs his eyes. Another day, another absence of word. Marcella did warn him that her mother would be nigh-impossible to contact. She was almost too resigned to the fact to be grumpy about it. But Stratos had thought his connections would get him where his cousin had been unable to reach. The trouble, he sees now, is that he really can’t be sure where that is.
One guest. Perhaps it’s not a disaster if she can’t be there. But this is his mother’s sister, and they have so few near relatives left, since the War….
And he’s getting worried.
Stratos rises then, and tidies away his writing implements. He heads downstairs to his room and changes into better gear for travelling- not too warm, he doubts he’s going to end up in Skyrim – and then he goes to knock on Felix’s – well, his and Jim’s – door. Nereus is out visiting with Terentius, so there’s nothing else to distract the youngest two, nothing else that ought to be occupying them. And if they’re still resting on the Enterprise - well, he’ll just have to go there and fetch one of them.
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"Just how big is Tamriel, anyway?" It's a question that's been needling at the captain for quite some time. Given the diversity of the landscapes they've been travelling between he'd assume the planet must be at least the size of Earth or possibly much larger. It's impossible to get the scale of on his short visits, especially since he's never had the opportunity to see it from orbit nor even from a high altitude well within the atmosphere.
"Hang on, I'll find us some scarves and we can go."
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"Fortunately we won't need to travel that far, but we may find ourselves hiking for the next few days." Stratos folds up his map and checks the state of their packs. Jim knows where to find the clean clothes in this household, and once they both have a couple of scarves around their necks and ready to pull over their lower faces, they'll be off once more.
...This time they're indoors. Around them is something like a dining hall in a long-neglected manor house that must have been quite handsome just a century ago. Elegant windows gape empty, and the roof is partly open. In the corners are small drifts of dark grey ash. Stratos takes a cautious look around, then passes a hand over his face and repeats it, this time with a thin pink glow overlaying his eyes. Satisfied that this time there are no lurking surprises, he steps over to a crumbling fireplace and checks behind some of the bricks, then nods.
"We prepared this place as a more secure waypoint," he explains to Jim. "Most of the others are just points on a map, so far. We can go out through the gardens and find the main road. And if anyone asks, remember, I'm an up-and-coming trader looking to make business connections around Mournhold, and you're along as my escort."
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"Your escort. Really." Terentius' warning clearly isn't rubbing off on Stratos any. Though with a cloth over half his face it's not as though anyone would be able to tell by looking at him very easily what kind of an escort he'd serve best. "That's simple enough to remember. What exactly are we supposed to be trading in?"
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"You have the bow," Stratos explains as they head out, clearly oblivious for a second to Jim's emphasis. He does shoot a Look back over his shoulder, when it sinks in. "I was thinking Colovian steel and Nibenese glassware, from the Imperial province. No selling, just yet, since I'm only scouting to see if there's a market."
The sun is high yet, here, but it's perceptibly further west than when they started: the shadows they cast stretch longer onto the garden walls, and the light seems dimmer, the sky a hazy, dusky blue above them. They have to clamber between some ornamental mushrooms taller than they are to find the gap in the walls that leads onto the top of a hill. They come out on the north side. From somewhere out of sight comes the dull roar of a waterfall; around them stretch pleasant fields and woodlands of trees mixed with mushrooms the size of trees, all dotted with farms and small buildings. But beyond...
There's a smudge of blue: the faintest suggestion of water. But it's almost lost in the dull grey haze that blurs the northern landscape, the muddy billowing that dominates the sky, pouring out from a low, vast pucker on the horizon, like the sides of a jagged cauldron. Even from here, it seethes.
"That must be Red Mountain," Stratos says softly, staring at it in horrified wonder. The wind is from the north, and the first delicate flakes of ash are brushing here and there against their faces.
I catch myself using Discord markups so often doing these
The captain very nearly makes a smart remark back about what kind of escorts Stratos has been interacting with but the Look the elder Caelus gives him shuts him up on the spot. It is important to pay attention, in any case. The details may not come up but if they do nothing will look worse than fumbling for a half remembered lie.
It takes Jim several moments to catch up to Stratos once they've made their ways outside. Dozens of planets he may have seen but redwood sized fungi are definitely a new one on him. He has so many questions but almost no language skills on where to start. Not to mention an awareness that they need to get a move on. Even still, when he turns to Stratos the man is stunned to silence himself.
Given the care about ash in the air Jim's not at all surprised to see a volcano off in the distance. Indeed he's almost more interested in the ocean and the strange lands that lie beyond that not a damn soul seems to know hardly anything about if the vague maps he's seen are any indication of the Tamriellic knowledge of their own globe.
Jim doesn't know the Cyrodillic term for a volcano though.
"Never seen one before?" Pointing upward. "A volcano. Spitting fire mountain. Whatever the word is."
It's usually the reverse for me, trying to use HTML tags in Discord
"A volcano, you mean." Stratos can't tear his eyes away just yet. "I've never seen one, no... but that's not just a volcano. That's... the volcano. The Red Mountain. That's nearly two hundred leagues from here, you realize. It used to be the tallest mountain in the world. And the heart of Morrowind. It's just, I... I've always seen the scale of it on maps, but I've never seen it before."
He shakes his head, and forces himself to turn away, cupping his hands for the clairvoyance spell. Thankfully it points east, away from the distant caldera. Not that he expected Aunt Lartia to be practicing amateur vulcanology, but he'd rather not have to spend the trek facing that smoking catastrophe every time he looks up. Down the hill he'll lead them, following a winding path of overgrown cobblestones, and tucking the scarf more securely over his mouth and nose.
I do that, too. Perpetually have the wrong change in every program
Red Mountain. Sounds vaguely ominous to Kirk's ears. Maybe it's just how the words sound in the mouth. It doesn't appear like they're venturing any closer to the phenomena, at least. That's probably for the best knowing his luck. Were-crocodiles are bad enough but natural disasters are on a whole other level.
"So. Morrowwind. Home of the Dunmer if I'm remembering right? Anything I should know?"
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The mushrooms are impressive. Stratos has never had the privilege of seeing them before, either, and he peers up at the smaller ones they pass on the way down the hill. There seems to be a kind of moss growing on the undersides. "They're called Emperor's Parasols, as I recall. They don't grow outside of Morrowind- something to do with the properties of the ash soil. Remind me to take some samples - they'd make a good peace offering for Felix if he sulks that we didn't bring him."
The road they come to isn't in the best of repair, to the Imperial's eye, but it's a damn sight better than the path to the house. Clearly it's in regular use. Stratos sights ahead through the ash haze before leading the way on. "The main thing is to be prepared for a lukewarm welcome, I think. Morrowind was under Imperial rule until fairly recently, and that may be something of a sore spot. And if there are any Argonians in the area, keep in mind that they have a tense relationship with the Dunmer, to say the least."
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Besides, Stratos is remarking on Felix not being brought along. It drags Jim out of his reveries and makes him wince. He's more aware than he probably should be of the tempestuous relationship between the two brothers. "Let's. Please. It feels wrong to be out here without him as is."
"Of course it was." This world feels like everyone is occupying everyone else at some point or another. His jaw ticks slightly but it's hardly Stratos' doing. He keeps his mouth shut on the matter. "Hope they want steel and glassware more than they want to mug us then."
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"He may sulk, but he'll get over it. Especially for you." He reaches back to clap Jim's shoulder. "You shouldn't worry. Besides, it's not long now before the two of you will be confined on a ship in the middle of oblivion together."
He brushes ash off the other man's shoulder and adjusts his own pack. "As for us, this is a civilized land. If we encounter that kind of trouble, I expect it to have more to do with my aunt's choice of drinking spots."
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"It's not so bad, that." Stratos has seen a glimpse of it for himself, even.
It's not going to be terribly long before both of their eyes are stinging with discomfort from the ash, even heading away from the towering blight on the horizon as they are. They're protected from the worst affects by the scarves round their mouth and noses but it's not going to be the easiest trek. Jim hasn't bothered to wipe at his face any either.
"Best not to rub at your eyes, even to dry them. They'll only water again and you'll be rubbing the irritant into them further."
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"This is maddening. How do the Dunmer tolerate it?" No wonder their eyes are red, he thinks. There must be something a mage can do- perhaps an oakflesh spell would ward it off, but then he'd need to conceal it to maintain the ordinary merchant act...
It's a problem he's pondering as they make their way down between woodland and mushrooms, tramping over the wooden bridges that cover over small waterways. They're alone for a little while, before low, croaking grunts herald the approach of a small merchant caravan. At the head pace a couple of Dunmeri soldiers, totally concealed beneath chitin armor - complete with goggles.
Behind them come an assortment of squat, brown, bipedal creatures with leathery scaled skin, something like little dinosaurs with oversized tadpole heads and tiny eyes. Each is loaded up with a harness bearing bundles and sacks, and they waddle along docilely under the watchful eye of an Argonian herdmaster... although one can only tell his race by the tail poking out from his clothes. A couple of the bigger specimens have Dunmer merchants astride them instead, and though he steps aside Stratos lifts a hand to greet them politely.
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Jim's honestly less bothered by it than Stratos is. It stings and its uncomfortable but it's temporary and he's been in much worse hospitable terrain than this over his years. For a little while at least he can tough it out. It stings like a motherfucker but he was ready for this the moment Stratos mentioned needing protection from ash.
In fact, the biggest pity about not having anything over their eyes is that Jim has to remember to school his gaze. When the caravan approaches the man from the Void has to actively stop himself from gaping like a fish. Instead he shuffles to move off of the road for them to pass by. It's a chance to rest and catch his breath a little. To rearrange the scarf around his nose and mouth, and to carefully wipe the tears off of his exposed cheeks without rubbing anything more into his eyes.
"Well met." Jim murmurs politely. He has to squint through the wetness in his eyes a bit to see if any of them will give the pair of humans any attention whatsoever. If they will he's going to nudge Stratos slightly. Drop his voice to a whisper beneath the scarf. "Think they'd sell to us?"
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He return's Stratos's greeting with a polite enough, "Well met, serah," though the Dunmer's expression is all the harder to read behind his mask; admittedly, as they speak there's a tinge of impatience to his voice. It softens on the realization that Stratos is willing to give him some coin for the trouble, and in short enough order the Argonian is being ordered to get a couple of spare goggles out of a guar's burden. Stratos is damned sure that he's paying an excessive amount, but no amount of Imperial charm can hide how red the humans' eyes are. He wasn't thinking ahead, or he might have cast an illusion. Still, it matters little, and it's gratifying to find that Imperial septims are still good here.
He asks about the nearest settlement along this road before wishing the merchants a swift and safe journey. As they move off, he passes Jim a pair of the goggles: two circles of glass set in a leather band. The glass won't be as clear as the Terran man is used to, and the leather won't be comfortable, but they're clean and new and seal fairly well around the eyes. Getting them on is going to be one hell of a relief for both men.
"It's another four hours on foot to the town of Selfora," he says. "I think that places it close to my estimate of our destination, but if Lartia isn't there, we'll at least be able to find an inn for the night." Travelling east has cost them a significant portion of daylight: the sun's not low yet, but it's definitely descending.
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The sting won't leave their eyes for a while but it will gradually lessen the longer they're on the road properly equipped. They're both going to be nursing headaches by the time they stop to make camp but those at least can be more easily treated.
"Whew. That's a hell of a hike. I'm up for it though." Especially now that they're well and away from any giant beasts that would try to chomp either man in half. The last time Stratos had his brother-in-law to be along with him for a trek it wasn't for nearly so lighthearted a journey. This time Jim fills the air while they walk with stories about his ship, things he's seen across his version of Oblivion. Does his best to describe his seemingly impossible cosmos to the well educated Nirnish battlemage.
It helps to pass the time as they crest one hill that turns into a dozen, picking their way across an uneven path. Jim asks Stratos things too. About his time spent in High Rock (another place he's only vaguely heard of). Other people they pass by on the roads spread rumor about ghouls stacking chairs out in the ash wastes and other nonsensical stories that leave Jim wondering if he's missing some kind of explanation for a Nirnish idiom or another.
As the sun's setting, however, even the outdoorsy Kirk is breathing heavily. He's stifling with his mouth and nose covered. Head aching for the hindered vision and stiff leather of the goggles they wear. Body yearning for a meal, drink, and most importantly: rest. Conversation's dried up in favor of deep long breaths. Slower steps. They're nearly to the top of the most recent hill their winding road has lead them down.
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The fall has eased off slowly over the last hour, so when they crest the hill and see lights below them through the ash-specked glass, Stratos pushes his goggles up from his eyes. There's a downhill walk through some low woodland, by the look of it, but beyond the mushroom stands are the walls of a small township, street lanterns glowing through the evening mist.
Stratos takes a moment to appreciate the sigh, sighing in relief. "Not far, now. We should purchase a meal and shelter before we explore further."
With a downhill road and newfound motivation, it won't take them long to reach the open gates (there is a guard, though he merely nods at them and Stratos doesn't find the defenses very impressive). The buildings of Selfora are mostly small, single-storey houses with roofs curved like the upturned hull of a boat. Dunmer architecture, at least here, seems to favor sharp peaks that sweep down and outward into curving points. It looks almost like a cross between Gothic and classical Japanese architecture, quite unlike either the smooth outlines of Cyrodiil or the twining patterns of Skyrim. A few people are out sweeping the ash from their doorsteps: nearly all are Dunmer, aside from one Argonian and a couple of people who look human.
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What Jim means is that he needs the rest too. Admitting such things isn't very easy for him even on his own ship. Out here where Jim's all too aware of how little of a help he is the man's determined not to be a burden to anyone.
Thankfully it's a downhill walk from here. Not even the alien beauty of this place can slow Jim's steps for long when he's got to keep up with Stratos. (The promise of a warm meal and a place to sleep drives him forward too). Security seems a bit more lax than Jim's seen around other towns but perhaps with the volcano disrupting much of the land people are needed for more important work.
Not even Jim's aching feet nor grumbling stomach will keep him from admiring the architecture at least a little bit. With the sky stained with color these strange designs feel just familiar enough form Earth history books to draw his eye even if he knows this place is nothing at all like his home world. His fatigue works somewhat in the captain's favor as it keeps him from turning on the spot to gape at every new sight as they round a corner.
"Is Cyrodillic known here? If not I'm...not going to be much use seeing to supplies or our needs."
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There's so much Stratos doesn't understand about this place. The strange architecture, yes, he can guess it keeps the ash off. But why is the town built down so low and not on a good defensive hill? For that matter, the defenses aren't much to look at. Even if the Dunmer do have ancestral ghosts to fight at their side, the simple walls are half stone. How stable is this region, then? The capital is all the way over on the other side of the provi- of Morrowind.
"Most people should speak it," he answers Jim. "It's still the main language of trade among kingdoms. I do know some Dunmeris, but if we encounter difficulty I won't rely on it." Of all the places he's planned for visiting, Morrowind never really featured on the list.
This town seems... comfortably appointed, at least. And people don't stop to stare at them, so it's clear that foreign traders are an ordinary sight. Stratos looks around until he spots a larger-than-average building; one with two storeys and a wooden sign painted with a cup. A couple of Dunmeri women are sitting out with bottles of something, chatting in their native tongue, and they glance over the strangers with interest. Stratos gives them a slight bow before they head inside toward the buzz of chatter
Within the inn there is, of course, the smell of smoke. Jim's learned by now that even in the heat of summer, a lit hearth in the kitchens is not optional for anyone who wants a hot meal. The fireplace in the main room is cold though, and the window shutters are all flung open, encouraging the smell from the kitchens to waft out among the guests. There's a musky herbal scent in the air too, perhaps coming from the lamps around the room and on the tables. Stratos sweeps a glance around the room, but there's no sign nor sound of a middle-aged Imperial woman with a raucous laugh. Catching Jim's eye, he nods and heads over to greet the innkeeper.
"Greetings, outlander, and welcome to Selfora Inn. If you're looking for a good meal and a soft bed for the night, you've come to the right place." The man's giving them a shrewd once-over as he speaks, clearly appraising the importance (i.e., wealth) of these customers.
"That's just what my companion and I were hoping to hear..."
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Jim's bow is more of an afterthought than Stratos' purposeful one is. He clearly doesn't know his way around. Or maybe he's just that enthralled in the atmosphere and smell of the inn they're walking into. A huge sigh of relief escapes the man as he reaches up to pull his goggles off his head completely. It pulls his hair slightly to the side but it hardly matters when they remove their cloth masks. Underneath Stratos is every inch a fine Bruma man and very obviously Imperial. Jim's not nearly so strong jawed as his companion and though he carries the bow on his back there's not a fairer face for a hundred leagues in any direction.
They've clearly not been raised doing hard labor, even if neither man looks to be dressed like a nobleman. Neither carries any sort of accessory save for the goggles they walked in with and their packs are nowhere near full but they're of good quality like everything else about them.
"Like music to my ears." Stratos' companion agrees, his accent just a touch strange. "Any chance to wash up and I'll be beside myself."
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The room he has for them is toward the front of the upper floor, with a couple of small beds either side of the room. The innkeeper uses a taper to light the lamps in the room from his lantern, then pushes open the window shutters for them to let the air in.
"I'll send the girl up with a wash basin for you. Light the candles by the window if you've any trouble with marsh flies coming in. Supper tonight is your choice of cabbage soup, kwama scrib risotto or roast guar. Just head on down when you need anything."
Stratos thanks him as he leaves, already laying down his pack and pulling off his goggles and hood with a sigh. He may be a legionnaire, but even they get tired at the end of a day's march, and truth be told the tribune hasn't spent a lot of time marching on foot for a while.
"I suppose my aunt can't go that much farther while we take a rest..."
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"Okay what's kwahrmay scrib? I think...is risotto rice? Like a mixed vegetable and grain kind of dish?" Names are always tricky for Jim to remember, especially meals uncommon at either the Caelus table or a Legion's camp. "Gwarr has to be some kind of meat if it's being roasted, right? The only thing I understood was cabbage soup, to be honest."
Finding Stratos' aunt is still very important, of course, but dinner is an Immediate task.
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He looks up as footsteps outside and a polite knock on the door herald a Dunmer girl with a hefty amphora tucked under her arm. She nods to them and sets the amphora inside, then brings in a basin to the dresser and fills it for them before bustling about her tasks, leaving the amphora in case they need a refill. Stratos catches Jim's eye and gestures to it with a half smile. "After you."
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"Whatever you end up trying I'll take as well." Simpler than trying to remember and pronounce all of those names again. The captain pauses where he's knelt over his pack tucking away his goggles and mask when the door opens. Dunmer aren't a race he's had a chance to meet many of, though in features they're not so different from some of the other peoples he has had a chance to meet during his time knowing the Caeluses.
"Thank God." It's a good thing the Dunmer girl has left already because Jim doesn't catch his own relieved exclamation until she's gone. "Damn, I mean--whatever. I need to be more careful about that." A chance to clean up sounds divine in any language. "I'll be quick." Jim murmurs before he sets about stripping down so he can shake out his clothes and clean up.
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He's not going to begrudge his brother-in-law-to-be a chance to wash down. He's the one who'll want to make a good first impression on Aunt Lartia. Stratos allows him some privacy though, and turns away, leaning out the window to beat some of the ash off their outer clothes. Clean is a bit much to ask around here, where the earth falls from the sky. But the Dunmer must manage, somehow. He does pull out a cake of soap to set near Jim. One needs to be prepared on the road. Once Jim's done, it'll be his turn to strip off and scrub down. Strange local menu or not, he's already remembering the kitchen smells downstairs.
"This is a port town," he mentions absently. "If Lartia's nearby, I think my spell was pointing us toward the docks."
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He mutters the phrase under his breath a few times while seeing about washing up as swiftly as possible. Thank Mara, thank Mara. The water's far less cold than what Jim's used to using around Stratos' camp. A nice change of pace, really. His hurrying is more for Stratos' sense of decency than it is because he's freezing, for once.
"Ah, thanks." He hadn't thought to grab any soap for his pack. Stratos is well prepared. It won't be the kind of bath Felix always talks so fondly of (and yet Jim's never seen any real proof of them) but it's a damn sight cleaner than they walked in as.
"Your turn. I'm decent." Dragging a hand through his hair in an attempt to make sense of it as he moves to swap places with Stratos. His tunic's hanging open with the ties loose but at least he is dressed from head to toe. "Should we make our way down after eating then?"
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Guess who had icon space free
Mistakes are made
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Another infrequently used icon~
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Happy 100 comments~
I'll drink to that~
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