Stories and Art

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They entered the huge cathedral, Swag noticeably more out of place than Helix. The surroundings and atmosphere was almost indistinguishable from the big Catholic churches back home, though conspicuously lacking any effigies of poor, tortured, Near Eastern men.

Same vaulted ceilings, same uncomfortable pews, same oppressive, echoing silence. In the center of the sanctuary sat a structure that looked just like a baptismal font, where the faithful clustered, washing their hands. The ablutions seemed to work wonders for some of them, who left looking almost magically revitalized.

It was...suspicious, but religion had never really been his scene anyway. He was more of an apatheist than anything else; sure there were probably gods-he'd seen too much weird shit in his life to believe all those things existed, but not gods, somehow-but he didn't worship anything. No such beings deserved his time, and he didn't care about them.

Helix, of course, suggested their probable existence further, with the things she could do, the things she knew, and the entities she'd met. She regularly mentioned a dragon she claimed was a goddess, but never really elaborated. Furthermore, he would not be surprised to find that, on some world, someone worshiped her. Apotheosis was no uncommon theme throughout human history; in fact, the religion this building reminded him of was little more than an extremely successful example of it.

Helix wandered past the devotees at the font and he followed her, examining the stained glass windows circling the sanctuary. These must be the Aedra she'd told him about, rendered in illuminated display like the saints of home. Beneath each window, on a plinth, perched a little shrine, each unique in shape. A dragon, swallowing a sword. An intricately incised pyramid. A stylized lotus flower.

She stopped abruptly before one-a double bladed axe melded to a spearhead-staring up at the window in surprise.

“Talos?” she whispered, unwilling, even in her surprise, to break the sacred silence. “Has county Bruma rebelled? Did the Thalmor relax their prohibition?”

“I have no idea.” Swag whispered back. “Don't know what all those words mean.”

Her eyes flicked to him as if she'd forgotten he was there, then she held out a hesitant hand to lightly caress the shrine.

Swag was holding his breath for some reason, unsure what to expect, but nothing happened.

“I should have figured.” she said. “I'm not the kind of person he would lay his hand on. He prefers the front line. Those of great courage and ferocity. I'm confused as to why this is here. I thought the shrines and idols would have all been smashed.”

“Hmmm, maybe this is something to talk about when not inside the church?” Swag suggested. “What was it you wanted in here? A little inner peace?”

“In a way. But maybe not the way you're thinking. Though the goddess and I parted ways, I haven't found any others yet. Perhaps I will, and perhaps I won't. I haven't really connected to the divinity of this world though. No, I wanted to speak to the temple healer. I think that's him over there.”

She approached the man she'd pointed at and took a seat next to him. Soon, they were deep in conversation, as if they were old friends.

Swag had to admit, it was hard even for strangers not to like her. She was just so friendly and genuine. And it wasn't just personal bias; almost all of his 'kind' were in accord on the matter, or at least, didn't object. Some people were just naturally charming.

Take him, for example.

Well okay, he'd had to work at it a bit, but look what a good job he had done!

“I don't believe I have seen you here before, sirrah?” a soft, feminine voice sounded from his shoulder. He jerked away from the well dressed woman, clamping his teeth down on his startled cry.

“My apologies. I see your attention was elsewhere.” her eyes followed over to where his had just been. “Ah. Understandable. The two of you are new to town, yes?”

“Yeah, just rolled in a few days ago.”

“No time for chapel?”

“Uh, been occupied most that time. Gotta put food on the table, after all.” he said, mildly reproachful. He'd seen at least one beggar, huddled near the large braziers at the gate. This great, huge church, and yet no room for those who needed it. Why feed the spirit, but not the body that housed it?

It really was little different from back home. Only the names had changed.

“Well, the Nine welcome you anyway. I am Isa Reman, Priestess of Talos. I am glad you've stopped by to pay your respects. Talos is one of the ties between the Nords and the Nibenese, and yet, many of Brumas Nords shun this great cathedral we have built to honor him. I understand taking pride in ones own traditions, but this rejection of the Divines seems so strange to me. Especially since we've gone to such effort to compromise and accommodate their ways.”

“Oh, well, you know us Nords, right?”

Say words that meant nothing, and let the listener apply their own meaning. This priestess seemed affectionately annoyed, but in a condescending way. A 'why don't these barbarians appreciate the gifts of civilization we have brought them' kind of way. There had been a war, Helix had said, and not very far from here. Who had won? Typically, one would think that the huge empire would steamroll any dissidents, but both he and Helix came from lands where that had not been the case. If these 'Nibenese' were building chapels to entice Nords in, was it part of a reconciliation, or part of a reformation?

“Stubborn, proud, and superstitious, yes. But not uncivilized, and certainly strong. Mostly.”

Wow, rude.

“Not feeling so welcomed right now...” he said, sardonic notes sliding down his tongue. He would not be coming back after they exited those big double doors.

“Oh, well not you, obviously!” she laughed his sarcasm off like a shower of droplets. “You clearly show the signs of gentility! Such things are hard to hide. Your manner of dress is most creative, though I don't recognize what house your colors or heraldry comes from.”

He caught her examining his necklace; one of the few conceits of his former lifestyle that he had hung onto. The questions had never left him, after all, their mark indelible on every persona he built. Wayward Son of the Noble House of Enigma. As full of secrets and madness as any aristocracy.

“You might not. I'm from Markarth.” he hoped Markarth wasn't known as some kind of dump or something.

“The Dwemer city? I've never been. That is very far afield! What has carried you this far? The little Breton lass?”

“I follow her lead. I couldn't tell you the things I've seen because of it.”

Caves of scintillating crystal. Enormous waterfalls and flocks of shimmering birds. The curvature of the Earth. Date night with Helix was never boring.

“Well, I'm glad you at least put a proper ring on yours.”

Swag felt that warmth in his face that was becoming more common as his relationship with Helix was scrutinized by strangers. He was an ex-supervillain, and the citizens of the town he'd terrorized for nearly a decade didn't pry this much!

“Alga and Honmund won't even do that much. It's scandalous, and they just flout it around town!” she continued, oblivious to his abashment. “They just claim it's a part of their Nord heritage. It is an affront to Mara!”

So he and Helix weren't the only heterodoxical people in the city, huh?

“Well, we can't have that, can we?” Helix said, having crept up as the priestess was staring at the high ceiling in exasperation. “What are we talking about?”

“Idle gossip.” he said. He had tired of this conversation almost before it had begun. “Got what you came for?”

“That and more. But we should talk outside and not break this sacred peace.”

Helix said it while fixing the priestess with a mildly reprimanding stare, and Swag escorted her to the exit as if he were doing Isa Reman a favor. He even waved as the doors closed behind him.

“Is the clergy all that annoying, or am I just lucky?”

“She did seem to be a snooty one, didn't she? A lot like the guildmaster. She's got a group of merry pranksters beneath her now, and they're going to drive her deservedly mad.”

He gave her a curious glance.

“What did you do?”

Helix didn't lack a streak of mischief, though in her case, it was almost entirely benign.

“She had me searching high and low trying to find a fellow who was under her nose the whole time. If she'd just gotten off her high horse and asked, she wouldn't have needed me. If she'd brushed up on her illusion magic, he wouldn't have been able to hide at all. She refused to do either, so I found him, got my reward from her, and then helped him hide her spellbook. She'll be searching for days. It's literally under her bed.”

Swag snorted.

“Really got on your nerves, didn't she?”

“Talked shit about my clothes. And my hair!”

Swag mock gasped.

“She did not!”

“Snooty, just like I said. Anyway, the others have her number. I was just an opportunistic passerby. But...I think I have a goal in mind now.”

They headed up wide stone steps, to the top tier of the business district, into the general store. Picked over the wares as they discussed.

“The White-Gold Tower and Arcane University in the Imperial City contain libraries and artifacts that predate human civilization here in Tamriel. Things left behind by Ayleid elves before recorded history, or scrounged from their ruins, after their fall. The most powerful and informed mages are there. The Archmage is there. And all I have to do to get in...”

Helix sighed.

“...Is travel all over creation getting recommendations from every guildmaster in Cyrodiil. We're gonna be doing a lot of walking, I'm afraid. But once I get in there, I know the information will be within reach. Most people can't read the most ancient texts, but I can. That magic is passive, and it still works!”

“How is that anyway? I know you can do it, but not how.” Swag asked, as she gathered a pale, gray-green square of soap, a roll of linen bandages, a ball of cordage, and a small pair of shears.

“Some spells may become permanent, if the right sacrifice is made. In another world, a friend told me how. Because I can't divine worth anything, I couldn't learn the spells that would help me interpret languages. Obviously, that was becoming important in my life, so I had him cast a spell of knowing languages on me, and I sacrificed half my sight to make it permanent. That's why I have to wear these.”

She tapped her spectacles. Swag whistled.

“Goddamn...” he said in a low voice.

“Permanence in anything always requires giving something up. But I was traveling to more and more worlds, sometimes without even meaning to. I needed something to help me communicate. I think this world recognizes it as a literal part of my brain, and hasn't shut it down.”

“But then why doesn't it work on Earth languages?” Swag asked, picking out another spool of thread, a jar of leather conditioner, and a shaker of salt.

“My best guess is that since I already know an Earth language, the spell interprets that as being able to communicate, and offers no further help.”

A hatchet. A hygiene kit consisting of tiny nail cutters, tweezers and a pair of bristle tipped sticks that-yes-appeared to be meant for the teeth. Thank goodness for civilization. He also found a small jar of beard wax that smelled faintly of apples, and looked to have the same consistency of some of his regular hair products. It went on the pile too.

“Why can I understand?” he asked. She collected their findings and paid with some of their perfectly fairly acquired treasure.

“I've chosen not to question that too much.” she said. “I'm curious myself, but if it's a balance issue, some kind of 'world glitch', I don't want to bring too much attention to it.”

“I wonder if it's a law of equivalence?” he mused as they left the shop. “I can understand the Nords, because I can speak Norwegian. I can understand these Nibenese folks, because I speak Italian and Latin. They aren't at all a one-to-one comparison, but certain patterns are drawn, and can slot into place, one for the other. If this world is making us conform, don't you think that makes sense? I can't understand the elves because there's no similar people on Earth, and never were. There's no open slot to slip them into.”

“That's an interesting theory.” Helix said, arranging their new items into their backpacks and pouches, hanging the hatchet from her girdle. “I hadn't thought of it as being some kind of forced correspondence. That's...clever.”

He grinned at the praise. He might get a grasp on this prionic reality experience she spun her life through, eventually.

They descended the stairs, heading back to the inn.

“You said you got what you needed from the healer?” Swag asked. “Hope so. I don't really want to go back in there.”

“Oh, yes. Check it out.” she held out a handful of red vials for him to examine.

“More of those miracle potions? Damn, that's a good investment. Glad to see those!”

Anything that could heal a bullet wound in a matter of seconds was something they could never have enough of, in his book.

“The healer specializes in making them, of course. There's no alchemist here, and the mage's guild is under-supplied, so he's the only source for them in town. It's weird though.” she divvied them up with him, and slipped the remainder back into her girdle.

“I asked him about the Talosian Mandate, and he didn't seem to know what I was talking about. It was a major impetus for the war up north, the blanket ban on Talos worship. But he said there'd been no interruption since the chapel had been built. He didn't know about the war. But he's from Hammerfell, and part of me thinks the Thalmor probably took tight control over the flow of information so that other provinces didn't start getting ideas. There's only a few ways through the mountains into Skyrim. They might have been able to keep the whole thing mostly quiet. But that doesn't explain the chapel here.”

“Maybe-” Swag was cut off by the sound of an anguished scream. A man, an elf actually, exited a nearby house, and dashed down the street, crashing into Helix. She dropped to the cold cobbles as the elf bolted away, barely slowed, and an old woman leaned out the opened door, pointing.

“He's murdered Bradon! Oh, help, he's killed my husband!”

The clash of metal armor and heavy boots converged on them as Swag helped Helix up from the ground, and he found himself once again facing the head guard he'd led out to Tyrellius' corpse.

“You again?” the guard groaned, exasperated.