An Enchanting Tale

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

S'maash slowly came to. He was lying on the cold floor of Anutwyll. Only able to open one eye, he searched his surroundings. The bandits were gone, so were his dagger and coin purse. He sighed then winced in pain as he stood. At least, I left some of my goods back at the inn. Injured and discouraged, he made his way back to town.

The painful walk of shame provided the wizard ample time to mull over his next course of action. A warm sun sat atop the sky. S'maash looked into the blue expanse. Some clouds were rolling in. He thought about the College of Winterhold. I hope it's not like the Mages' Coalition back home. I'd hate to travel all the way out there just to face the same problems. Suppose I won't know until I go....

He strolled through Bravil, avoiding the gaze of the townsfolk. After pushing aside the doors to the inn, he plopped down at the bar. The innkeeper's daughter stood behind the counter. She, like her father, had dark eyes and thick hair. Her apron was smeared with early morning's breakfast.

"Looks painful," she remarked. S'maash looked at her with his one good eye. She was a cute, young woman. "How about one on the house...if you tell me your story."

S'maash obliged her. He started with work in L'Thu Oad then told her about the trip through Damlzthur. She listened intently as he drank and spoke. By the end of the tale, he arrived at the point where the bandits gave him a sound thrashing, and put forth his dilemma.

"So, now you're going to move to Skyrim," she asked.

"I don't know; it's either that or go home, I guess. I wish my brother was by my side."

The lass shrugged before leaving him to tend to the next customer. S'maash left the bar for his room. After a quick nap, he checked the remainder of his gear. He figured selling off all things unnecessary was sufficient to afford a ride to Cheydinhal. From there, he needed to find someone to take him into Skyrim. Then, it was only a matter of finding the College of Winterhold, if Skyrim was his destination.

Rapping his fingers on the table, he recalled S'maath's words, and so he wrote a letter to his brother explaining the circumstances. After handing the letter to a courier, the elf went to the local supply store. He sold off his camping gear, some potions, and other, miscellaneous items. By the end of the transaction, he had only his traveling pack, the magick boots he had found, food, water, the stones he took from Anutwyll, the clothes on his back, and forty seven Septims.

It was an early Middas when he reached the stables outside Bravil. There, he spoke to a stableman, an orc named Grogot no Grob. Though brutish and pig-like in appearance, the orc wore fine clothes and spoke quite eloquently.

"Yes, dark elf. We do have a carriage we can arrange for you to take. It will cost you a paltry twenty Septims for a journey to Cheydinhal. I'm from there, you know?"

"Do you know the best way into Skyrim from Cheydinhal?"

Grogot stroked his thin beard. "I do not, though I have heard of nord clans living in the Jeralls. Perhaps, you may find someone in Cheydinhal who can tell you more. I haven't actually been to Cheydinhal for many years. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to gather my son, horses, and carriage for your departure," Grogot said, holding out a green, open palm.

S'maash nodded as he placed the twenty Septims in Grogot's hand. Shortly thereafter, he was on his way to Cheydinhal. Rorgot, the wagon driver, made four stops along the way to allow the horses some rest. Throughout the trip, the chatty orc asked many questions for which S'maash had only guesses. While Rorgot wasn't interested in magickal theory, he did listen to the elf's ramblings.