The Elderly Scrawls: Skewrim — The Unmodded Truth

Floridas, the 29th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

Kharla, Draloth and Thral walked into the council chamber of the Academy of High Healthspa. Master Arnie had suggested Mell and Ti’lief not attend so as to keep the numbers as small as possible. Eilgird had reported back to Jarl Baldgoof and now stood with him on the other side of the stone table. The Impeccable delegation, the Torncloak delegation, and the Blades were all present. Kharla and the others had walked the distance from Solicitude to Ski Haven Temple, taking the road through Dragonbodge, arriving at the Blade Temple before sunset and spending the night there before they all Sprinted, Darleen and Usborne included, to High Healthspa the next morning.

Kharla’s eyes bore into General Dullius across the room. She still had every intention of dealing with him when the time came, but this Alun had to be eliminated first.

“Hmph. So this is the Dragonbore?”

Kharla turned to see Eleven, First Emissary of the Tallmor.

The High Elf looked from Thral to her and Draloth. “Do I know you two? You seem familiar. Your eyes…”

Draloth forced a smile. “No, I am certain we would remember such a person as you had we met before.”

Eleven nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that is true, but all the same—”

“Please, Dragonbore, take your seat so we can begin,” announced Master Arnie, interrupting the First Emissary and indicating toward the seat opposite the head of the table.

Kharla guided Thral to the seat and took the chair to his right as Draloth took his seat to Thral’s left. The table had no middle, instead in its place a raised fire sat on the floor giving both light and warmth to the otherwise cold and dark chamber.

“Now that everyone is here,” Master Arnie continued, “please take your seats so we can begin.”

“No.” Oldthred looked at Eleven as the others sat down. “You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Toeless hunter?”

Eleven snorted. “I have every right to be at this negotiation. I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the Weight-in-Gold Concordance.”

Dullius fixed his eyes on the Jarl of Windfarm. “She’s part of the Impeccable delegation. You can’t dictate who I bring to this council. Besides, you’re just afraid of someone taller than you, Oldthred! Admit it!”

“Please!” interjected Master Arnie, seated in front of a large pillar at the head of the table. “If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere. Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonbore’s input on the matter?”

“By Ishmael’s boat, the nerve of these Impeccable blighters, eh?” Oldthred said to Thral, Kharla and Draloth. “To think I would sit down at the same table with that…Tallmor witch. Either she walks or I do.”

Kharla paused, not knowing what to say. Oldthred needed to stay, but agreeing with him might cause Dullius to leave.

“If I may?” Draloth began.

Everyone looked at him.

“Draloth Incando, Marketing Director for the Dragonbore. I wanted to pass some information to the Jarl?”

Arnie nodded and Draloth scribbled down something on a piece of paper. He slid it along the table toward Kharla, indicating for her to pass it along to the Windfarm delegation. Kharla read it before she passed it on:

While she’s here she can’t be making any mischief back down there in Skewrim. Besides, the corridors here are pretty dark and some are quite low: the longer the Tallmor Ambassador stays, the more bruises she is likely to get—she might even knock herself out if we’re lucky. P.S. She won’t be so tall when seated.

Gilmore, dressed in his furs, chuckled as he read the note and passed it to Oldthred.

The Jarl of Windfarm read the note and his lip curled upward. “Good point. She can stay. But only to observe. No speaking.” The Jarl and the other Torncloak took their seats to the left of Kharla.

Eleven sat down too. “I want to know what’s written on that—”

“Shut up!” Oldthred interrupted Eleven, his words tinged with a hint of the raw power of the Voice.

The Tallmor fell silent.

“Now that’s settled, may we proceed?” asked Master Arnie.

“One moment,” said Dullius.

“Here we go!” muttered Gilmore.

General Tullius ignored the comment. “I just want to make clear that the only reason I agreed to attend this council was to ensure that the table is correctly laid, and the meal properly served, for the dinner that is to take place after this council meeting is over.”

Legate Riker leaned over and whispered something to the General.

“And, erm, of course, to deal with the dragon menace. I have no authority to negotiate a permanent settlement unless Oldthred is ready to sue for peace and turn himself over to Impeccable justice. We’re here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonbore to deal with the dragons. Nothing more—except for the dinner. We consider even sitting down to talk with these rebels more than generous, though eating with them should be fine if they observe the correct table manners and etiquette.”

“There’s a meal?” said Thral to Kharla.

“That’s right, after the talking,” Kharla whispered back.

“Oh good!” Thral took a swig from his tankard.

“Enough posturing, Dullius. If you came to talk, let’s get on with it,” said Oldthred.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with,” said Dullius.

“Are we ready to proceed?” said Master Arnie. “General Dullius. Jarl Oldthred. This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonbore’s request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Healthspa, and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skewrim. We’ll also throw in deeply discounted tickets for all our services here at High Healthspa to all delegation members to sweeten the deal. Now, who would like to open the negotiations?”

Dullius cleared his throat. “Our terms are simple.”

“Just like you!” said Gilmore.

“Say that again, Gilmore Stone-Kissed!” challenged Legate Riker, standing and putting her hand to her hilt.

“Number One,” Dullius said. “Remember, we are representing the Emperor here.”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry. It won’t happen again.” The Legate retook her seat.

Oldthred’s right-hand man smiled.

“Happy, Gilmore?” Riker said before turning back to the General as he continued.

“As I was saying… Our terms are simple: Driftin must be returned to Impeccable control. That’s our price for agreeing to a truce.”

Baldgoof swung a leg onto the table. “Elusif, are you—wait, where is she?”

Dullius and Riker looked around. “Where’d she go again?” said the General.

“It’s all right,” said a beautiful young woman in fine clothing, a circlet about her golden hair, as she stepped out of the shadows behind the Legate. “I’m here.” She took her seat between Riker and Dullius.

Baldgoof continued. “Yes, anyway…as I was about to say: Elusif, do you agree with this?”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t,” Elusif said.

“I see, Jarl Evasive…er, I mean Jarl Elusif,” replied the Jarl of Whiteruin.

“I am sure,” said Master Arnie, “that the General does not expect something for nothing.”

“Well, actually—”

The General’s response was cut off by Riker who reached over and whispered something in his ear again with some urgency.

“No,” said Oldthred, “if we give up Driftin then we’d expect Minekraft to be given to us.”

“You can have it!” said Dullius. “I have half the garrison down there suffering from lack of sleep because of those hard stone beds, and I’ve lost a dozen men in the last month alone to falls from those crazy high walkways and steps. Tiredness and precarious architecture don’t mix well.” Dullius shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “That reminds me, Riker did you bring the cushion?”

Riker grabbed something from the floor and handed a small, bright red cushion to the General. He stood, placed it on his stone chair, and sat down again.

Dullius sighed in relief. “Ah, that’s better. Tell me, Master Arnie”—the General looked around the chamber—have you thought about giving this place a splash of color? We have some paint in a very wide range of colors back at Castle Dire, if you need any. My favorite is Blazing Banana and Lurid Lime, though I think this place might suit Sassy Salmon.”

Oldthred exhaled. “I don’t have time for clowning around.”

Dullius’s face went white—perhaps Wispmother White with a hint of Ghoulish Gray, if it had been a paint color. “Why did you say that? Why that?”

Oldthred raised an eyebrow but gave no reply. “Come on, Gilmore, let’s go. Dullius is clearly not serious about this. This was a waste of time—”

“Stop! Are you so blind to our danger that you can’t see past your petty disagreements and shades of pigment?” Usborne interrupted, standing.

“Is he with you, Blade?” Oldthred asked Darleen. “If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue.”

“Why in Oblivious would I want to wash my tongue? Have I got ink on it again from the printing press?” Usborne stuck out his tongue and tried to look at it.

“He is with me. And I advise you both to listen to what he has to say before you do anything rash,” responded Darleen.

“Wait, there’s a rash too?” continued Usborne. “Does anyone have a mirror?”

“Usborne,” Master Arnie said. “There’s no ink or rash. Please carry on.”

Usborne turned to face the Greatbeard. “I’m sorry, I’m a little deaf in my right ear, could you shout?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, my friend,” replied the Greatbeard, slightly smiling. He raised his voice. “I said please carry on.”

“Oh yes…” Usborne turned from Master Arnie to look back at Dullius and Oldthred. “Don’t you understand the danger? Don’t you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alun has returned! The World-Sleeper! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades, bores them to a second death with the power of his Voice, as the conflict turns ever more violent. He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you—wait, where did Jarl Elusif go? This is important for her to hear.”

Everyone turned to her seat to find it empty again. “Oh, I’m over here,” Elusif said as everyone turned to see her slip into the empty seat between Kharla and Gilmore.

“Joining the rebels, Jarl?” asked Dullius.

“No, General, just a bad neck while you were talking. It’s much better from this angle, thank you,” replied Elusif.

Usborne shook his head. “Anyway, as I was saying…can you not put aside your hatred and slurs for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger? Alun will put the world to sleep. Alun will bore your fallen and your ancestors for eternity! Is that what you want?”

Thral yawned loudly. Then Elusif did the same. Then Kharla and so on around the rest of the table.

“You see,” said Usborne. “It has already begun!”

“I suppose the world’s ending should require a little more consideration.” Oldthred sat down and Gilmore followed. “And for the record, I prefer walls and ceilings to have a natural look.”

“I don’t know much about the end of the world, but I certainly think this dragon situation is becoming a problem. It’s very hard to mend burned uniforms, and the winged beasts are playing havoc with our usually very-ordered supply lines not to mention all the canceled dinner appointments. So, yes, let us proceed.”

“Very well,” said Master Arnie, pulling on a curl of his beard. “These are the terms currently on the table.”

Thral looked at the table and saw only tankards. He turned to Kharla, confusion on his broad face, but she told him to be quiet.

“Driftin will be handed over to the Legion,” Master Arnie continued, “and the Empire will withdraw from Minekraft and allow Oldthred’s forces access. In addition, all delegation members will receive a generous forty percent discount on the services offered by High Healthspa. Do you all agree to this?”

“Can we make it fifty percent?” asked Eleven.

Master Arnie nodded. “Very well, fifty percent it is, but to be used within six months or before the end of the world, whichever is soonest.”

“The true sons of Skewrim will honor this agreement as long as the Empire does the same,” said Oldthred. “What about you, Elusif? Are these terms to your liking? I’m sure General Dullius is waiting to do your bidding—”

But Oldthred’s words cut off as he turned to see Jarl Elusif had disappeared again.

“The Empire,” began Dullius, “can live with these terms, yes. For a temporary truce, until the dragon menace is dealt with. After that, Oldthred…there will be a reckoning. Count on it.”

Oldthred stood. “Come on, Gilmore. We’re done here.”

“Wait,” said Dullius. “Are you not staying for the dinner? I’ve personally overseen its preparation. All the staff have been trained to ensure the finest standards of etiquette.”

“We’ll grab a doggy bag on the way out through the kitchens, General,” the Jarl of Windfarm said as he walked away.

“Right,” the General said, turning to Riker, “Number One, with me. I’m going to make a final check on the dining table and the kitchens, then you can do what you do best (and quite often) Legate: Find Elusif. Eleven, can you come with me too—we might need help getting stuff down from the high shelves.”

“High Elves?” said Usborne.

Everyone either ignored or didn’t hear him.

Baldgroof turned to Darleen after the Torncloak and Impeccable delegations had left the chamber. “Just say the word, and my men will help you spring this trap. Eilgird has given me the instruction manual and I’ll pass it on to the Commander of the Guard. I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing how it works. Have you a dragon in mind? I quite like the purple-reddish colored ones myself.”

Darleen frowned. “A dragon? No…”

“Well, you’ll need a dragon…”

“Yes,” said Usborne. “I believe I can help there. I’ve been looking into the names of the dragons slain of old by the Blades. Cross-referencing these with Darleen’s map of dragon burial mounds I believe I have a dragon name for you.”

“Yes? What is it?” asked Kharla.

“Imdunkariing,” said Usborne. “Thral will need to use his Voice to call the dragon. It is not compelled to come, but the dragon’s pride will almost certainly bring him to you. He will see it as a challenge, a challenge from the Dragonbore who challenged his Master on the peak of the Thrill of the World.”

***

Whatever bad could be said about General Dullius, Kharla had to admit the meal in the dining hall was splendid. Even Eleven could not find a bad word. Of course, Kharla and Thral got all the cutlery mixed up, both abandoning the utensils and using their fingers once Dullius wasn’t looking in their direction. Kharla had Mell dim her orb suspended over the table so the General couldn’t see her too well, which was just as well as she caught Ti’lief licking his soup bowl not long after. After the meal ended, and after everyone else had gone, Darleen and Usborne approached Kharla and the others.

“I knew we couldn’t trust a dragon,” said Darleen.

Kharla frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Tell her, Usborne,” said Darleen.

“Ah, yes,” began the old man. “I didn’t want to spoil the negotiations or meal, but I have been doing some research. This Poorthorax, the Greatbeard leader, he was Alun’s right-hand dragon back in the day. He committed many crimes, many atrocities. As Blades, we can have nothing to do with him or those who support or follow him.”

“You must slay him,” said Darleen. “We can no longer offer you support until the deed is done. Come find us at Ski Haven Temple once Poorthorax is dead. Bring his head with you so we know justice has been served. We’ll make our own way back.”

Kharla was lost for words. She didn’t know what to think about this revelation and this ultimatum. Poorthorax could help her against Alun, but then so could the Blades. Then again, maybe she didn’t need either of them. She’d just have to take things as they came, just like she’d always done. She had the Dragonbore and the others, after all, and, more importantly, she had a spear.