Dragonborn from Lord of the Rings

Chapter 279 Maybe you can enchant my sword

4E173, night starry moon.

On the 22th.

The two guards pointed their long iron spears at the stranger who suddenly appeared. "Who?" one of the guards asked tremblingly.

"Just two poor pedestrians." The stranger's face was hidden under the thick mage's hood and he replied calmly. But secretly, he stared closely at the leather armor and spears of the guards, which were obviously different from the imperial standard. He raised his head again and glanced quietly at the large holes on the majestic city wall of Markas that had not yet been cleared. The piece was charred, black, and damaged, giving his companion a worried look.

"Are there any pedestrians at this time of year?" the second guard said loudly, "Ha, don't be joking! Be honest and tell me your purpose and identity, otherwise I will let you know how powerful I am. Or maybe you want to try it? Get a taste of prison!”

"I think the job of a miner is not suitable for me. And I don't want to provoke you." The stranger stopped the restless colleagues with a hidden gesture, lifted his hood, revealing a waxy cheek and pointed tip. "I am a scholar from Atayum Island, and this is my colleague. We heard that this place is rich in the purest silver ore on the mainland and is also accompanied by some kind of magical ore. We are here to study this discovery." Is it true?”

"Elves!"

The guard was taken aback and backed away hurriedly.

"To be precise, I am from Summerset Island and am an Altmer, and Nerion is a Dunmer, which is what you call the Dark Elf——"

But it was useless. Qualanir's academic explanation did not help them. On the contrary, when they heard that one of them was the notorious native of Morrowind Province next door, these guards seemed to have been bitten by a snake. Disgusted, more determined to point dangerous weapons at them.

"Is this your method?" Nairien couldn't help complaining.

Qualanir turned his head and glared at him unhappily: "If you have a better way, please! If not, then shut up."

The quarrel between the two left the nervous guard scratching his head. At first, the guard said nervously, "This is not the place for you to argue-"

The quarrel at the city gate finally alerted the sentry on the city wall. Qualanir heard a series of footsteps and hurriedly ran down the city. These chaotic footsteps were accompanied by several urgent calls and the sound of weapons being unsheathed.

After a while, the mage saw a large group of soldiers running out of the doorway. Each of them was covered in thick fur and leather armor, and they were armed with spears and swords. On top of the city wall, the archers also leaned out half of their bodies, pointing the bows in their hands at the two people below.

This emboldened the two guards at the beginning, and one of them said arrogantly: "Tell us your true purpose, otherwise——"

"Perhaps you can convey it to your superiors," the mage frowned and said in a tone that could not be ignored, with shocking momentum, "Atayum never cares about the disputes between nations, but it does not allow anyone to use their good intentions so in vain. Don’t be polite. By the way, are your lords still the Andor family?”

As a result, what worried the elves happened.

A guard captain with obviously higher responsibilities emerged from the crowd, "Let the empire go to hell!" he shouted fanatically.

Qualanir sighed.

*****

The guards finally welcomed the elf into the city gate. Except for seeing these rude barbarians who had just occupied Markas pointing their bows and arrows at them with malicious intent, both Qualanir and Nerion made some dangerous gestures and city gates. The quarrel alerted one of the large number of magistrates who resigned after the Tattered King broke the city. After confirming that neither party had a conflict of interest, the elves were allowed to enter Markarth.

The condition is that no actions are allowed to cause "misunderstanding" to both parties, otherwise "next time we will meet at the most notorious Sidana Mine in the Frontier Territory" - these were the original words of the sheriff.

Although Nerion was dissatisfied with this, in the end, under the persuasion of the more sensible Qualanir, the two of them accepted the 'conditions for entering the city' that contained threats.

After entering the city, Qualanir and Nerion were placed by the new city guards in the Grass Trough Tavern in the old stables in the west of the city.

It was a flat-roofed stone building located near the forge and slums (aka shacks). It is common to see many suspicious and disgusting people in this tavern. Here, you can see soldiers changing the guard, workers on shift, homeless vagrants with the last few coins in their pockets, and art workers dressed like butterflies with hypocritical smiles. Prostitutes walked among the crowd; you could see the cooks busy tending to the soup in iron bowls over the fire. Other maids ran around, pouring ale or mead from the barrels, or stolen blackthorn wine, and served them to the customers;

The patrons gathered around the fire and sat in silence on the flat stones arranged as chairs. Or after drinking too much, they loudly boasted that "the war is not bad" - in the past, although people were deeply worried about the war that took place in the southern provinces, they talked more openly about what would happen if they joined that war. How--the latter became much less common after this war.

Of course, occasionally you will see many high-ranking and wealthy people here. These people deliberately found this dank place, some to reach ambiguous deals, and some just to have fun and excitement. These people also decreased a lot after this war.

Today, more people are sitting in the tavern sitting at their own tables, talking in low voices over large glasses of strong ale, half-roasted snow rat meat and a small amount of bear meat.

The war changed everything and nothing.

The people at the bottom who are struggling to survive for a piece of bread tomorrow will not live a better life just because of a change of ruler. On the contrary, for the sake of bread, they had to offer their respect and respect to the new rulers who killed their relatives, neighbors, friends, familiar and unfamiliar people, enemies, and residents of the former empire city of Markas that they had never met. Surrender - the dead are gone, but the survivors are still struggling to survive in this hellish arena.

Until they also embark on the final journey.

Perhaps in order to briefly escape from this severe pain and reality, the business of the taverns in Markarth City has become better. The entire city, whether it is the Imperial people or the Forsworn people, are all busy after a day's work. They began to gather in various taverns that were still open. They quarreled and fought until they became extremely drunk.

It seems that only turbid, clear, soft and strong wine can allow everyone to escape from the night of nightmare.

Due to certain political and ruling needs, Medernachi acquiesced in what these people did. He relaxed the ban on alcohol as long as people did not cause drunken riots, and sheriffs throughout the city turned a blind eye to all-night taverns.

Of course, if any blind bastard wants to challenge the authority of the Tattered King, the sheriffs with noses as sharp as hounds will not mind throwing all these drunken guys into jail. Anyway, now the Sidana Mine has to To resume production, you can never have too many miners.

It was at such a time when the old and the new were changing that Qualanir and Nairion came to this prestigious city in the Frontier Territory.

"Be careful," the guards warned the elves as they left, "we'll keep an eye on you!"

"Also, if you want to find some work, I think you might be able to enchant my swords so that they can't even cut butter..."

*****

4E173, night starry moon.

On the 23th.

Night.

The Grass Trough Tavern in the old stables. No matter what the purpose of people coming to this tavern, on this snowy night, just as the city clock is ringing the late night bell, for some reason, everyone without exception turns their heads to the creaking door.

The stranger who came in was a slender fellow. A few strands of slightly curly blond hair were exposed from under the hood of the cloak, proving that this man was probably a Nord, but of course he might not be; his jawline was thin, and his face was wrapped in a robe and cloak. Only when he occasionally raised his head did everyone see his face hidden in the cloak; his eyes were the most eye-catching part of his body, because one of them was covered by a black eyepatch, while the remaining one flashed Just the unsettling looks of certain people on the streets.

He walked towards a small open door, but his high leather boots made no sound as he walked on the aged wooden floor. As he walked, his cloak blew open in the wind. In the flickering light of the brass oil lamp on the wall, a small symbol on the trim of his coat shone coldly, disappeared, and then continued to shine. There is a dagger pinned to the leather belt, and the handle exposed outside is not very luxurious, it can even be said to be simple. But inexplicably, everyone present felt a shiver, as if reason was warning them that it would be foolish to provoke this person. In addition, at the other end of the belt, the stranger tied several small bags, and a larger bag containing some jingling round objects.

He gently sat down on the bench in the deserted room, as quietly and easily as he entered a tavern. The patrons in the trough tavern in the old stable stared at him for a short while, seeing that he was just sitting in the shadows without making any move. Most people continued their transactions and drinking. Some of the more unpleasant ones pretended to be trading or drinking, but their eyes often turned to the bag and the tinkling trinkets inside.

The waitress, who was tipped well tonight, sat behind a waist-high wooden counter where she poured ale from a vat. Originally, she was supposed to come to greet the hooded customers, but she refused to take a step from behind the counter. The shopkeeper was a middle-aged, stocky Nord who was already balding. He bit his thick lower lip hard, then wiped his hands and walked out from behind the counter.

Holding the faded apron with both hands, he walked to the small room and looked at his new patron with his eyes under his thick eyebrows. Except for the most distinguished guests who came from well-known families, he did not have that much respect for this guest. And those noble people basically don't come here anymore. There are many reasons, but the boss feels that he doesn't actually care that much.

"Hello, sir. My name is Ram, and I am the boss here. It is an extraordinary honor for me to have such a distinguished guest as you. There are very few guests like you anymore..."

The seated guest nodded. He said in a nonchalant voice: "Yeah, I don't think anyone like me has ever been here...here! Ha!"

I have to say that the guest's tone made Ram a little unhappy, but he decided not to care about it, "W-what do you want to order?"

"I seem to smell the aroma of venison stew. Come on, have some! Don't fool me. If I find you cheating on me with dead snow rats or some other meat, you will know what the consequences will be! And I also want to I’d like some water, but I think I might be able to drink the aged black thorn wine from Blackthorn Winery here, right?”

Ram mumbled and replied: "Yes, yes, my guest, you have a really good nose. There is indeed fresh venison that was brought in today...ah, I don't dare to lie to you - as for the black thorn wine..."

"That's it...unless you still have the Corlevian wine."

The owner of the tavern swallowed nervously and asked: "The guests were joking, Cyrodiil's trade routes have been cut off, let alone wine, even..."

"Then shut up and just tell me what you said." Sensing Ram's hesitation, the visitor stretched a gloved hand into the bag that attracted some attention. When he brought the bag up, it made a beautiful jingle like coins colliding.

Most of the shopkeeper's nervousness disappeared. Regardless of what the other party had just said, Ram said loudly: "Sir, I will bring your food and drinks right away." For shopkeepers, people who have money and can pay generously are worthy of People who deserve a certain title, such as Laishe, are no exception.

Soon, food and drinks were served. The stew was a random mixture of green and brown, with bits of old vegetables and shredded meat in it. The smell and taste were passable. The black thorn wine looks fresh too. After the customer paid the owner with satisfaction, he picked up the iron spoon on the bowl and started eating.

He was unhurried and his posture was comfortable and carefree. He was obviously different from the other people in the tavern, as if he had everything under control.

Across the tavern, Nerion looked away from him. Although the stranger had an unsettling aura about him, the Dunmer sorcerer felt that if there was no conflict of interest between the two parties, he would not bother with such a dangerous person.

The magicians of Artayum have more important things to worry about.

They have been trapped in the frontier for two full months, and now they finally get close to the leader of the secret society, Archmage Silarus, for the first time... no matter what it is! One thing is clear, that 'thing' is most likely dangerous! Why this intuition? Nellion frowned.

Whether it was the chaos here or the sudden divine power that night, they needed to observe more carefully before deciding whether to act.

But Qualanir was so focused on this mission that he ignored the dangers involved. What is the other party? And what exactly did he expect from this mission? What does secret society mean?

These are all things Nerion needs to think about and weigh. The most critical thing here is intelligence and news. They knew nothing of the mission, and the Conclave's intelligence stronghold here seemed to have been destroyed in the damning war between the Reachers and the Empire. Therefore, Qualanir and Nairion decided to go separately to find out the news - although the war in the south had far-reaching consequences, at this stage, the high elves have not yet reached the point where everyone is shouting for a fight. Although the reputation of the dark elves in Skyrim is not very good, it is still not at the point where it is difficult to move forward.

It’s been a long time since Nerion went around looking for information like a street dealer. Moreover, the ubiquitous Sheriff always used danger when he wanted to go further and find out more information from the humans in the city. His eyes were fixed on him, which greatly affected his work. Moreover, the people here were extremely wary of strangers because of the war they had just experienced that made them extremely sad. After a whole day, Nellien actually didn't get much news. But even so, he still learned some surprising news from some people. Now, he eagerly wants to share and exchange the intelligence collected by each other with his companions.

Nairion sat expressionlessly on his table, declining the 'invitations' from one enthusiastic lady after another, and quietly waited for his companion's return. At the same time, he would occasionally use cautious eyes to carefully examine the human being who made him feel a little uneasy.

Finally, the door shaft creaked again.

The slender figure of Qualanir of Summerset Island appeared at the door. The magician just glanced at it and walked towards his companion in the corner. Others were still making noises or talking in low voices.

"What did you find out?"

"Be careful," Qualanir sat down opposite him and whispered, "This is not a good place to talk."

"That……"

"Wait a moment," the high elf said to his ancient compatriots: "We will have guests later. Maybe we will get more news by then."

Nairion was a little surprised. He stared into his companion's eyes for a while, and nodded slowly, "You wait here, I want to go up first. I've had enough, I've endured these idiots, trash, and vile people. It's been a whole night, and my ears are almost rotten from listening to it. Wait until your 'guests' arrive..."

"I will take him to your room." Qualanir said, holding back a smile.

After enduring it all night, the dark elf stood up with an unhappy face and prepared to go upstairs. Suddenly, he moved his fingers and quickly made several subtle gestures.

Qualanier's eyes flickered, but he didn't say anything.

So one of them went upstairs to rest, and the other continued to wait amidst the stench and noise.

On the other side of the tavern, the previous guest finally finished his dinner and burped rudely. Pushing away the dinner plate and wine glass, the thin lips hidden under the cloak pursed their lips, as if they were reminiscing. He seemed to be considering whether to ask the shopkeeper to order another one. After all, the long night had just begun. But in the end he just shook his head and said nothing. He just lowered his head and snored slightly like many well-fed guests.

But Ram suddenly shuddered, and a malicious coldness struck his body and mind. "The night is too long tonight," the short, fat bald man muttered, "and it's also too cold."

The waitress shrugged and walked into the kitchen.

(End of this chapter)