A Tale of Two Stewards
Fetching Felix

Felix sucked on the butt of his quill. It was a wonderful writing tool made from glass. Instead of the typical metal point, it’s business end was a beautifully shaped glass twirl reminiscent of a rosebud.Black ink pooled in each of the creases in the twirl, allowing the quill head to hold a respectable amount of ink.
At first he had made horrible messes of his documents, not used to how the ink flowed from the odd quill. But he had hung in and persevered. Now it saved him both time and effort. He no longer had to dip the pen as often, which means a few seconds were saved for every few lines. It also meant he worried less about forgetting the perfect phrasing of a line as he inked it.
But the most important thing about the glass quill was that it was so unusual. None of his peers had ever seen such a writing tool! It made him stand out. It made him interesting.
Felix had always treasured the feeling of being unique, extraordinary, memorable!
It was not as if he felt the need to be the centre of attention. He would never make a spectacle out of himself. No, it was key to be subtle! He didn’t need a notebook that magically took notes for him, that was too flashy. His impressiveness should look effortless, unintentional.
“This? Oh, why it’s a simple glass quill! You’ve not seen one before?” he said into the room, feigning surprise.
“I suppose I do get exposed to many different cultures through my mother. She is a trader after all! Wares from across Tamriel, that’s her motto!” he patted the hand of his imaginary conversational partner.
As he sat there musing over how he managed to appear fabulous yet humble a loud thwack made him jump in his seat. He looked towards his window from where the sound had come.
“What’s this?!” he pondered aloud. Who would risk his beautifully stained window?
Felix stood and hurried to the window hoping to prevent it being hit with another stone.
With one elegant move he opened the window and leaned out of it to peer down at the street below. A small, pink-faced man with short cropped red hair and an unruly beard waved up at him. It would seem the lad did not take care to shield his skin from the sun.
“Yes?” Felix inquired.
“You got time for a chat? I’ve a proposal for you.” the man shaded his eyes from the sun with one hand. Felix peered down at the little man. Those freckles, the dark eyes, the pig-like snout…
“Piggy! What happened to your curls?! How foolish of you to cut them!” Felix berated the little man. “Wait.. What’s this? A proposal?”
Other things Felix loved was mystery, intrigue, scandals and curious proposal from dubious acquaintances. Actually, Felix had a genuine interest in the lives of his friends and family. He took great pride in being the person people talked to when they needed to be heard. Now, little Elkwell was in need of his ears. What would his neighbours think if they saw such a rugged person come to his home? They would whisper for weeks!
“Oh. But we can’t speak like this, dear friend. Come up! You know how I dislike shouting!”
The pig-faced man nodded and pointed questioningly towards the entrance of the building.
With a gracious nod, Felix closed his window. He made haste towards his mirror to make certain his moustache and eyebrows were perfect. With expert precision he pushed a single hair of his brow back into place. He then hurried to his desk so he might take up the most intellectual pose in his repertoire.
When Piggy finally knocked on his door he was stood by the window holding a leather bound book in one hand, and a goblet of wine in the other.
“Aah. It’s been so long!” Felix said and closed the book with a practiced movement of the hand. “Do come and sit, just close the door behind you, if you would.” as Elkwell closed the door, Felix crossed the room and seated himself on his favourite chair. He hoped the other man would not notice the sad state his furniture was in. As he put his book down on the table, he petted the chair next to him.
“Now. What’s this about a proposal?” he asked. “Would you like some wine?”
Elkwell took a minute to set his bow, quiver and satchel down before taking his seat.
“I’m good. Never did have a head for it. Turns me into a twat who won’t shut up about the true meaning of art.” the little man cleared his throat and let his eyes run across the room before meeting Felix’s gaze. Eye contact was an amazing thing, Felix thought.
“How does Felix Oltiander Dupont, Steward of Vintner’s Rest sound to you?”

Council Meeting #2
-Open to all

Council Meeting
-Open to all
3rd of Second Seed 2E586 (2018-05-03)
Count Osmund Whitewolf
Court Mage Leontius Corvo
Chamberlain Aeron Woodborne
Sheriff Tylan Renthorn
Regent Gwynara Ridefort
Marshal Vivlynn
Sir Otto Depucci (Priest of Zenithar, spiritual counselor)

People of Everglade:
Perric Alasaer
Sir Leoric Hamelyn
Sir Redmond Falconshield
Roywred Finesilver
Esmond Ridefort
Jesaphora Woodborne
Emelie (The Titch)
Sir Khaiden Knighton

 There has been an attempt on Lord Geralt Falconshield’s life in the city of Cloudrest. The lord is recovering and his son (Redmond Falconshield) said that the murder was stopped with the aid of a mystical group donning a white hand symbol. Suspected murderer: Dark brotherhood.
 Sir Tylan Renthorn was landed a lord by the Count after unanimous support from the council. He is now the lord of Goodbridge.
 Sir Otto introduced himself and his role within Everglade, he is now the spiritual advisor of the count and an important member of the council. Seek him out at the temple for further information and preachings.
 There was a murder on Dame Carssa Westerly – there are several suspects. Among them, a group of peasants calling themselves ”Children of the grain”.
 A letter was found on Carandur’s body, it was adressed from no other than Rirvan Telvanni, the accused necromancer. The letter is considered strong evidence of their involvement with each other.
 Forces are being distributed as of this moment, dividing men and women into groups in order to treat the threat accordingly and resolve the current unrest in the county. One group will be sent to the border of Cyrodiil, where the High King has ordered the Count of Everglade to assist with troops against the dominion. The second group will deal with Rirvan Telvanni, a suspected necromancer is still on the loose. The third group will see to the peasant problems and find out more about the ”Children of the grain”.


Council Meeting
-Open to all

Council Meeting
16th of Rain’s Hand 2E586 (2018-04-16)

Regent Gwynara Ridefort
Sheriff Tylan Renthorn
Chamberlain Aeron Woodborne
Marshall Vivlynn Larinne
Ardeghon Dalgren Warden of the Woods

People of Everglade:
Sir Esmond Ridefort
Lady Jesaphora Woodborne
Sir Otto Depucci
Sin Drakonis
Lord Xerin Merathrion
Steward Carandur of Goodbridge
Court Mage Rirvan Telvanni
Emilie ”the Titch” – Squire
Lady Aniara Windfall
Sir Leoric Hamelyn
Roywred Finesilver – Squire
Lord Redmond Falconshield
Lord Daine Ironwave of the Seaborne Isles
Lady Catherine Whitewolf

 There is an ongoing investigation of the court mage at Goodbridge (Rirvan) by Lord Xerin Merathrion. The Steward of Goodbridge, Carandur, stepped forward to defend his mage when said Lord raised accusations against Rirvan Telvanni for using dark magic. Rirvan and Xerin were asked to present their own case as Xerin provided the council with a document to read; regarding Rirvans charges. The council is as of this moment looking over all the evidence in the document.

 The Lord of the Seaborne Isles offered the County of Everglade naval support with his fleet, coming from the secluded isles he wished to trade in certain types of pine whilst offering ships if need be. Sheriff Tylan kindly turned down the offer of naval support for Everglade at this point in time.

 Steward Carandur of Goodbridge asked for a few guards to help keep the path to Calais safe. Marshall Vivlynn Larinne granted said wish with the approval of the regent. Carandur confronted Tylan about his mother having claim on Goodbridge, Lady Karly had indeed asked for Goodbridge to be proclaimed her lands. Further discussion will be held on the subject, the Renthorn household promised.

 A reminder of the as yet unamed Horse Race preparations to begin. This is a tradition in the Everglade and the need for celebration was raised, perparations are being made as we speak.

Stories of the Bee Knight - II
Rebuilding Oldtower


  1. Leoric didn’t know exactly how long it had been since Oldtower had been through it’s grief. Since the undead had been called by a necromancer spurred on the knight who was principally there to defend them. In truth, he had been making an effort to try and move past this.

First he had to clear the streets of the dead – institute burials and provide coffins. It was hard. Especially since only two families had returned to the town. He watched over many a burial in place of a family that was likely buried in the plot next over.

After that it was trying to bring things to order. The ’’steward’’ who had been sent with him to Oldtower by the grace of the Count – a very posh many by the name of Wulfram – had organized the food and lodgings for those as they came in. He had no interest in saying – and in fact reminded Leoric of this several times – but he was doing a well enough job.

The town was short of things one isn’t used to being short of. A smith, tavern owner, a healer and some form of a town guard were at the top of the list. The blacksmith was surprisingly easy; Leoric knew of an apprentice in a town outside of Skykiss who he had spent many a day speaking to on his trips to and from Skykiss prior to him being… ousted at his last visit. He accepted the terms happily, and didn’t even attempt to argue for a better deal.

Leoric could mark a blacksmith off the list. A healer and a tavern owner would take longer, though. So, he turned his attention to bringing together some guards. Which was also difficult, because there weren’t any men of age who were willing to join of the eight people who came back to Oldtower. They were all afraid and Leoric couldn’t blame them for that.

So, instead he put out an open letter promising guard positions to willing warriors. A few fellows came in, but Roywred sorted the wheat from the chaffe on that account. The man who was very pushy on getting a position was a man who insisted on being called ‘The Shrimp Knight’ and with just as much confidence insisted that he and Leoric were ‘kindred spirits’ who ‘saw knights in the same light.’

Leoric didn’t know if he agreed with that, but the man evidently had his own kit and so Leoric told him that he was to hire four others and they were to guard the entirety of the town and anyplace where people go. No one, No one, was to be harmed in Oldtower for at least the next few months.

The last person Leoric sent for to come to Oldtower was a man around his age who was a family friend. He too saw his life as being a bee-farmer / merchant as Leoric did – but Leoric needed someone who knew how to work with bees and turn them into many things if Oldtower was to prosper.

But now, he had to wait. The friend had to arrive and the town had to continue with its repairs. Leoric had to overlook deals of who was buying which house in the town while Roywred supervised the guards. It turned from a series of things happening to a waiting game. That really, really didn’t sit well with Leoric.

…Maybe he’d write Elena another letter?

A Cyrodiilic Adventure volume 2
Redmond's journal entry:

24th of Sun’s Dawn

We’ve recently arrived at the front against the Dominion. I’ve noticed the further we’ve traveled south and the closer we got to the front, the land got more and more barren. Entire forests were cut or burned down, leaving not but ash and smoke. The ground beneath was us muddy and difficult for our horses to manuver through. As an expected result, the local wildlife had all fled to what was left of the province’s nature or faced starvation.

Unfortunatly the lack of nature and wildlife wasn’t the thing that made the landscape so horrific. It was the smell. The silence. The truth laid bare with no filter, no soft touch and no excuses. Aside from that horses would sometimes step on a fallen soldier’s corpse who drowned in the mud, the only interesting sights beside the barren landscape would be the pits. Pits as large as market squares, filled with naked rotting corpses stacked on top of each other. I once gave these pits a close look and I noticed that I couldn’t make the difference anymore between a mer or man when it’s rotting with the rest.

Sometimes we would hear sounds of shouting in the distance. Sir Dunadian claimed those were the workings of the corpse collectors, who were stripping the fallen soldiers of all possesions to then sell it to merchants. Who then sell it on the market square in Wayrest or wherever.


25th of Sun’s Dawn

We’ve arrived at the front and already set up tent. I’ve spoken with the local commander and I’m to lead the first wave of shock chavelry after the arches have done their part. Appreantly the battle will be harsh and brutal like the ones before it. “We can’t afford to lose this front, we’re finally gaining the upper hand” said the commander. He followed with, “The Dominion is broken, we’ve defeated them countless times the last few days. Though do not underestimate them, they will probably make their land stand tomorrow.”

I’m tired and I can’t sleep. The gods have taught me to always be truthfull so I admit, I’m scared and nervous. Tomorrow at first light we are to gather our forces for the attack. I shall try once more to get some sleep.

A Cyrodiilic Adventure volume 1
Redmond's journal entry:

20th of Sun’s Dawn.

We’ve unpacked and set up tent within the warcamp at the border of Cyrodiil. The weather here is familier that of High-Rock, yet a bit warmer. Much like the weather at the Summer’s feast in the gardens of Cloudrest, that thought alone already made a bit homesick. Yet before I could fantasize about home that I left for this rumored brutal warfront, Sir Maenduel Dunadain entered my tent informing that I have been summond to the commanders meeting within the main tent with the legate and other commanders. “Probably just an introduction.” said the old, but still capable war veteran that was appointed by the count himself. Just like the other knights that beared with me on this journey, he wore shiny polished armour yet lacked the chainmail underneath. Perhaps his old body couldn’t support the weight of it anymore and had to make sacrifices? I did not ask him for I was afraid I could insulted him and that would leave me with a negative image. I gave a stern silent nod towards the red tabbared knight, drank a full jug of water to avoid the need for wine and headed off towards the big tent in the center of the warcamp.

Just like Sir Maenduel speculated, the legate introduced me to the other commanders who were at the warcamp for the moment. They all greeted me with great respect. Perhaps it’s because of my name? The reputation of my father or uncle? Or was it just the common courtosey when meeting other soldiers at the front? This remains to be a mystery for me, although not one I dislike. After introductions the first orders were given out. The legate gave the Altmer, who was a commander of an intelligence operation, the order to sneak behind the Dominion’s front to gather intelligence for any potential future sieges the yellow banner wishes to plan. Second he gave the Orc, who was the commander of a guerralla unit to raid small enemy warcamps near the front of the Covenant on the east side towards Morrowind. Finally the legate turned to me and ordered me to take my company of knights south towards the front against the Dominion. To assist the already army stationed there, most likely because for our prowess in shock chavalry. I took my orders and left the meeting shortly after.

21th of Sun’s Dawn.

We’ve made our first stop traveling south from the main warcamp at the borders near High-Rock and reach the front against the Dominion closer each day. Cyrodiil is much like I’ve read and heard about, yet appreantly they forgot to mention some significant details. We’ve been traveling for not only a day and already I’ve counted three trees hanging almost full of hanged Dominion warprisoners. Local folk, whom to my suprise still occupy this quiet warzone, say they dare not take them down. Sir Allard Correll, young and curious knight he is, who was knighted at the mere age of 14 and currently 16, asked the locals why. They answered that those ‘hanged-man-trees’ are cursed and whosever takes down a body will soon take his or her place. Sir Maenduel scoffed at the “peasant superstition” as he refered to it. “I’ve taken down plenty of corpes from those kind of trees in my lifetime, yet I’m still here.”, he had proclaimed.


As I am writing this, I am sitting by the fire we’ve made within a small cave nearby. Even though our destination is still a few days riding from here, we cannot be to careful within this warzone. I have to stop writing, it’s my turn to guard the cave’s entrance.

The Titch

It felt like they were still right behind her. She could hear feet still trying to catch up, and things being turned over here and there. There were fewer feet now though. There had been many when they had given chase, but now, now there were maybe four pairs. She was not certain. Though she could not turn around to look, she had to keep her eyes on what was in front of her. She had run this way many a time, but you could never fully anticipate if today was the day something new was going to happen. She just about managed to jump a cart that was coming out of an alley, and not far behind her she could hear one of her pursuers banging into the cart and overturning it. The shouting of the grocer grew fainter as she put distance between her and the accident site, but there were still feet near her, she could tell.

She just had to get down this alley and she would be safe, like normal. Her eyes widened as she turned the corner and found that her normal hiding hole had boxes in front of it. ‘This is bad’ she thought to herself as her pupils searched for other possible escapes. ‘Maybe if I cli…’ she thought before she was interrupted by a recognisable shouting at her. “There’s the bitch!”

She turned around to reveal the butcher’s boy Gedric, and one of his friends. Somehow she had lost the others somewhere, but those two had kept up, or just not crashed into things like the others. She may have been winded, but the two boys were panting heavily, though looking at Gedric it was easy to see why. The boy was more than a head taller than herself, and he was as meaty as you could expect from a butcher’s son. His face was cooked red, and the nostrils on his pugged nose were flaring. Perhaps it was a mix of anger and exhaustion. He did not look like he was used to run at all, yet here he was and he was here to beat her.

“We saw you do it.” Gedric said accusingly. “Do what?” Emilie said ever so innocently with a sly smirk on her lips. “You stole that apple!” Gedric shouted back, his nostrils flaring even more. “What do you care? It’s not like you eat fruit.” Emilie dryly quipped back. Gedric’s friend snorted from amusement, but Gedric turned ever redder starting to match his hair more and more. “Get her” Gedric bellowed as the friend lunged forward, shortly after being followed by Gedric himself. Emilie looked down at the apple she had taken, somewhat saying her goodbyes before hurling it straight at the friend’s head. It hit straight on his face, the apple exploding stopping the boy’s advance. Before he opened his eyes again Emilie would have placed a kick to his nethers, and the boy would be huddled on the ground, hands cradling the kicked area, not seemingly having any intention of getting back up.

Gedric wrapped his arms around Emilie, and lifted her off the ground. Somehow he had managed to sneak up on her, despite being large and clumsy. ‘Think fast’ Emilie commanded herself, and a second later she swung her head back to find Gedric’s pugged nose. She dropped to the floor as he covered his nose with a squeal, blood running down his face. She could see tears were welling up in his eyes, before her eyes started darting around looking for an escape route.

Suddenly she heard clapping, and she slowly turned to find herself staring at a man stood leaning up against a pillar. ‘Had he seen it all?’ she wondered before he spoke. “Impressive.” He said, before fiddling with a pouch, and conjuring a few coins before he tossed them to the two boys whimpering away on the ground. “That should cover the apple and then some, let’s all forget what happened here today.” He said, not leaving room for discussion with the two boys. They took the coin and scurried off, before the dark haired man turned to look at Emilie.

A confused look had darted over her face before she returned to her sullen look, almost trying to look unimpressed. “What do you want?” she asked lazily, trying to hide her own interest. “Your name for a start.” He asked, almost inspecting her. She were not going to give him her real name just yet, she knew that much. “Some call me the Titch.” She replied, crossing her arms. “I think you misheard them.” he offered back with a slight chuckle. “I need a squire.” The man glibly concluded before waving a hand at her beckoning her to follow. “Come on.” He said tossing her an apple that had a chunk bitten out of it and turning not giving her time to reply, as she caught the apple. She had to make a choice, follow him or fight off those same boys again tomorrow. “What’s your name?” she called out to him, slowly setting pace to follow up with him.

“Why, my dear Titch, I am your new knight. Esmond” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her with a smirk on his lips.

The report of the battle at the border.

The Battle of Goodbridge Plains

The report delivered for Osmund at Calais, by a few Evergladian footmen, escorting 3 prisoners.

Ardeghon Part 1 - Eager Beginnings
Here starts the story of Ardeghon Dalgren.

Ardeghon stared out the window longingly. Rain pattered against the glass: a sound he found comforting. A sound he could get lost in. Sometimes he’d try to count the drops that struck the window, but as soon as he resolved to do so he had already lost count.

How long had it been now? Two months? Three? Whatever it was, it was three days past the day Zahel said he’d return. The Redguard soldier-turned-trader was rarely on time though. Anyone reminding him of that fact was met with the same, monotonous reply: “It’s everyone else that keeps track of time too obsessively. Why should the position of the sun decide where I am to be or what I ought to be doing?” They always gave him the same confused look. They weren’t confused because his words were complicated. No, people simply had to come to terms with the fact that a man, a trader nonetheless, could think in such a way. Ardeghon liked him because of that. He seemed to never adjust to those around him. Instead, those around him made way for him. The 8-year old boy took Zahel’s lessons to heart, because Divines knew th…-
A knock on the door.

Rough stubble, tan skin, dark scraggly hair. A scruffy, unkempt appearance. That smell…
Yep, that’s him. Zahel was back. He stood in the doorway a brief moment before Gavilar embraced the soaked beggar-lookalike. Zahel had learned to just go along with these displays of affection by now. Once Gavilar had you, it wasn’t easy to escape. Ardeghon’s father was strong. A little over a decade in the army and twice that amount of time as a bowyer had left him with broad shoulders and a strong upper body.

“Zahel!” Ardeghon yelped, dashing past his father to hug the man aswell. “Little man!” Zahel exclaimed with a broad smile, squatting down so they were eye to eye.
“Why aren’t you practising your stances?”
“It’s raining.”
“And the rain will kill you if you step outside?”
Adolin’s head peeked around the corner, shooting a dark glare towards Zahel that only mothers could manage. “Stop it, Zahel. You know he’ll go and do it. Supper’s ready. Come on.” Ardeghon had already grabbed his practice sword. Or, well, it was just a long, sturdy stick. Not to Ardeghon, though. To him, it was so much more.
Zahel and Gavilar were already sat at the table with Adolin by the time Arde put the stick down and went to join them. They’d clearly been taught the same lesson as him: never defy a mother. A wise lesson. One that his mother had taught him herself.

Later that night Ardeghon was in bed. He should’ve been, anyway. Instead he was on his knees, his ear pressed against the woodwork of the wall, listening in on the conversation between Zahel and Gavilar.
“Why do you teach him, Zahel?” Gavilar asked with his deep voice.
“Why not?” came the reply immediately afterward. Despite the wall, he could tell Zahel carried that sly smirk of his as he said it. It infuriated people when he carried it, as if everything was simply a game to him.
“Because you’ve never trained anyone personally. Why him? Does he have a talent I’ve yet to see?”
Zahel snorted, “Divines no, Gavilar.”
Ardeghon’s heart sank a little at hearing that. He knew he wasn’t great, but he assumed he had some measure of talent to earn Zahel’s tutelage. Now he was ready to go to bed. He began to turn from the wall when the Redguard’s voice piped up again, Ardeghon’s ear was back against the wall in a heartbeat.
“Ardeghon…” Zahel continued, “… clings onto every word I say and humbly accepts any sort of training I set out for him. He wants to learn. The will is there. I’d pick him over ten brats with talent every time.”

With lifted spirits, Ardeghon crawled into bed, dreaming of what the future may hold for him.

Across the Border

Wide eyes, pleading for life saw nothing but the sun eclipsed by the silhouette of a man, the light never returned and as he tried to scream into the silhouette’s hand muffling his mouth, no sound managed to escape him, and with a spasm he died in darkness.

Tylan slid the dagger from the lookouts chest, slotting it back into the sheathe strapped to his boot. Staying low he turned to give a hand signal, two Evergladian scouts appeared from the trees and neared the knight.

“Over this hill?” Tylan asked quietly. They nodded in return, and when The knight and the two scouts crawled to see across the plain where ancient ruins had hidden in the brush since a time unknown, was a noisy encampment.

Staying as low as they could, they scanned the scene, only a handful of horses, a few dogs, at least to dozen men. All three mens gaze was stolen as a lady ran out of a tent screaming, Tylan grumbled a little. “Are you going to slay them Sir Tylan?” said the younger of the two scouts, eyes bright interest. The bearded knight scoffed. “You have been listening to too many stories…. go back to the horses and wait for us.”

The older of the two scouts gave Tylan a piece of parchment and a stick of charcoal, and together they began to map out the encampment, and counted the men… “25?” Tylan suggested. “Twenty-Three, sir, possibly five more in that shack over there.” offered the scout. “And… I see a few noble colours, is this a raiding force?” The Knight shook his head…. “Worse, deserters, we’ll rally some men, and cut them down before they cause any havoc.” The Scout probed another question… “The count? He should know…Sir.”

Tylan nodded reluctantly, “Let us hope he does not want them all captured and rehabilitated.” Both men crawled back out of the brush and rode for Calais with due haste….


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