It's been three days since Michael had 'sealed' the Ebony Blade in the Book of Heroes, and things had returned to relative normality. He continued his membership with the Companions, the group interrogated him over what'd happened to the Matron and quickly came to an understanding about why he'd had to act so.
A few were a bit wary of him at the revelation of his talent with magic, but the most surprising reaction to it all was Aela... It was not of shock, suspicion, or even pity... It was of anger, anger at the fact that he'd been handicapping himself while fighting her.
As soon as he entered the training grounds behind Jorrvasker she challenged him to a fight and demanded he use his magic against her... Needless to say, even with the various resistances provided to her by her status as a Werewolf, she didn't stand a chance.
She might be stronger than him and almost as fast without his Gandalfr runes, but there wasn't much someone could do when your opponent teleported around you like a fly with epilepsy. His Shackles weren't able to hold her for long, and even when he refused to use any truly harmful spells, he won with a fair amount of ease.
It seemed that Aela had never truly been challenged this much before, as once he was done thrashing her, she delved into training like a madwoman... After her defeat at his hand, whenever he came back to Jorrvaskr, he'd always find her either shooting arrows at a far off target or slashing dummies and people unfortunate enough to get dragged into a spar.
Disregarding the training-maniac called Aela, the other Companions now held a greater amount of respect for him, his actions in putting down the Matron and saving civilians putting him in a better light.
Of course, many of the townsfolk didn't see it like that, particular the Battle-Born clan who felt he should be thrown in jail for killing the possessed Matron, regardless if she would have harmed more people... The law is the law, and the only reason they hadn't taken their thoughts further was because the Jarl had already made his decision.
Speaking of the Jarl... Farengar had become a common sight at the Bannered Mare, specifically, badgering Michael to let him have another look at the Book of Heroes. The Court Mage was usually never seen outside of his workshop, so to see him in the tavern was a big surprise to the citizens of Whiterun.
Michael also took advantage of this, allowing Farengar to take timed looks at the Book of Hero if he tutored Tiffania, Charlotte, and Illococoo. Of course, the man was still busy, so these lessons were usually only half an hour or so long... But still, they'd helped the girls progress further than they would have in their studies.
They were now able to cast some basic Tamrielic spells. Candlelight, Flames, Sparks, Frostbite, and finally, Lesser Ward. This of course left Michael falling behind them in his studies, but he felt he could catch up once they reached Winterhold College.
Lastly, Michael had made the acquaintance of Eorlund Grey-Mane, he'd found the man where he usually was, hammering away atop the Skyforge which sat next to Jorrvaskr. He'd been in the process of making a Skyforge Steel Sword for a new member of the Companions... Which turned out to be for Michael, a gift from Vilkas apparently.
He'd been forced to wait an hour for the man to finish, having already been snarled at for trying to interrupt him. Once it was done and the sword was being quenched, Michael was finally able to talk to the man, and instantly caught his attention when he spoke of the ebony he had.
Eorlund Grey-Mane, despite his prestigious talents, almost never had the opportunity to work with ebony. The reason for this was because ebony wasn't really native to Skyrim, even if you did stumble across a vein of it, the amount would be so little that it would barely be worth the effort to extract it. This is the main reason that most smiths able to work Ebony were over in Morrowind... Fortunately, Eorlund had managed to learn the art, so a trip over to Morrowind wasn't necessary.
The man had gaped when Michael had pulled the two sets of ebony armour out, along with the ebony weapons he didn't intend to use. In truth, the amount of ebony he had right now was probably more than double what anyone in Skyrim had in their possession.
"So, can you work it?" Michael asks, ignoring the fact that Eorlund was almost salivating at the sight of the ebony. He face remained neutral, but he could see the glint in his eye.
"I-er, yes. Yes, I think I could, lad. But first I need to know what you want made, with this amount of material I could probably armour a giant... Or make them a club or two..."
"Huh, to be honest, I hadn't really thought about it. I don't really care about the weight, but it needs to allow a wide range of movements." he says, knowing he could probably learn to silence the sounds his armour would make with magic.
...
Eorlund rakes his hand through his large white beard, "Maybe some... Mail then?" he asks questioningly, "Still leaves a lot left to be used..."
Michael crosses his arms and leans his head backwards in thought, "Is scale mail a thing here?"
Eorlund nods, "Aye, but the most I've seen is iron and steel. Never ebony..."
"Well, why not make the first set of ebony scale mail then? I'll pay you for it of course, but it seems like an interesting project even without the gold involved, right?"
Eorlund grins, "Now you're talking my language. Alright, let me take your measurements and I'll get to work on it. No idea how long it'll take, but making the individual scales'll take time. I'll let you know when you next get back."
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On the border between Skyrim and the Cyrodil, two figures creep through the shadows, one shorter than an average adult, and one appearing to be the same size as a child. They easily traverse difficult to climb terrain and make their way onto a tall rocky outcropping that overlooked the road.
Just as they arrived, they are greeted by a peculiar sight... A large cart was being pulled by three horses, its cargo seeming to be some sort of large metal tube... Though, the figures could only see small parts of it from under the cloth concealing it.
No, the strangest part was the jester sitting atop it, his red and black costume making him stand out like a giant in a flat field.
"Is this the target?" Eleril asks, summoning a Daedric dagger from Oblivion into her hand.
The little girl, Babette shrugs her shoulders, "I'm not too sure, our instructions were not the most detailed..." she mutters before pulling a rolled-up sheet from her knapsack and proceeding to read it again. "Deal with the situation concerning the jester on the border road... Hmph, Astrid sure doesn't make things easy."
Eleril hums, "Well, we are assassins, speaking in plain terms isn't something we do... From what I've seen...?"
The little girl just nods and chuckles, "Its as you say, it wouldn't be a first to have accidentally killed the wrong person. Comes with the profession I suspect... Let's observe the jester for a time until we make a judgement." she says and Eleril nods.
And so the duo does just that, following the jester and his cart for a couple miles. And soon enough, their reason for being there becomes readily apparent. From further ahead, four soldiers in red and black imperial armour jump out, blades already drawn.
Eleril had no idea who they were, but Babette had run into them a number of times throughout her life. "Those Penitus Oculatus fools? What are they doing here?"
Eleril stands and stealthily runs to get behind the group, "Who knows, but this is probably what we've been called for!"
Babette nods, following just as the group of Imperial soldiers reach the cart. The jester was screaming at them, half being rather brutal obscenities, while the other only seemed to be jibberish. His madness seemed to have lulled the soldiers into a false sense of security, and two attempted to restrain and capture the jesture... Only for the clown to stab one in the throat with a hidden dagger, barely escaping the other soldier's blade afterwards.
"You madman! We would have taken you alive!" the soldier angrily shouts after seeing his colleague go down.
"You will ne-ever catch meee! HE will not allow it! SHE will send friends! Dearest friends!" he exclaims in a morosely cheerful town.
Unfortunately, while the guards were attempting to find reason in the jester's mad words, they were completely taken unaware as they were attacked from behind. A young woman in dull red and blade armour springs forwards from the shadows, her conjured Daedric dagger slashing the throat of the nearest imperial while another suddenly starts screaming in terror, patting his arms, shoulders, and chest off as if he were on fire.
The last guard alive, the nearest to the cart turns his attention towards the new attackers but has the jester jump on him, forcing him to the ground as the madman begins relentlessly stabbing him. Most of these strikes aren't even fatal, leading to what could only be called a prison shaking to occur.
Babette releases her illusion on the imperial as Eleril slits the man's throat, she was happy to see that covering the man in illusionary spiders was an effective tactic... However, it'd need further optimising before she'd call it 'perfect'.
"Frieeee-ends!" the jester cheerfully shouts, holding his blood-covered arms out with a wide smile on his face.
"Friends...?" Eleril confusedly parrots, unsure how to react to this man.
"YES! Friends! THANK YOU-so much for saving poor, weak, Cicero, from those stupid, stupid people!"
Eleril scratches the back of her head, "Erm, you're welcome Cicero... Are you the one we were supposed to help? Our leader wasn't clear on the details."
Cicero nods his head vigorously, a mad gleam in his eyes, "Yes, yes, yes!" he gestures frantically at the cart, "I am transporting Mother to the Sanctuary! The last safe place for her! You are family, yee-es!? Then help Cicero to your Sanctuary!"
"Wait a moment, Jester. Just who is this 'Mother' you speak of?" Babette asks after draining a corpse of its blood, filling a couple of vials that'd tied her over for a bit.
Cicero's eyes widen, almost bulging from their sockets, "You don't know!? She doesn't know, doesn't know!? The Nightmother! Surely you know her, the Mother of us all, HMM!?"
Babette pauses in shock, "You have the Nightmother? But I heard she'd been missing for years!"
Cicero nods, "She has! Those dirty, stupid Imperials found her! They found her sleeping beneath the statue... But Cicero, Cicero found a way to escape with her, to save her!"
Eleril glances between the two, "Sorry, but who's the Nightmother?" she asks, shocking Cicero by her lack of knowledge.
"W-w-whaaa-at!? How does a sister not know of her own Mother!?" he points an accusatory finger at her and looks to Babette, "Y-y-you've brought an outsider here!? Why does she wear our colours!?"
...
Babette lets out a sigh, "This is going to get very irritating, very quickly." she mentally sighs. "She is just a new member to the Brotherhood, Cicero, we will have her educated once we return... For now, shouldn't we leave this place before more rats arrive?"
Cicero glares at Eleril for a couple more seconds before jumping atop the cart and having the horses begin moving again, "Then, let me teach you, sister, of the glory of Sithis and the Nightmother!"
...
"A long journey indeed." Babette whispers under her breath, quickly tuning out the lecture Cicero had spontaneously prepared for Eleril...
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