The Lionheart of Sunhold: Chapter 1-Settling In

[Chris Diokno]

Chapter 1: Settling In

Chapter Text

Auriel’s shimmering sun and the heavy blanging of the local temple’s morning bell roused the people of Sunhold from their slumber. Elandris woke with a yawn, just as a maid, a heavyset Altmeri woman by the name of Lysilia, slid the drapes of his window open, letting the light stream in, particles visible in the aether. “Good morning Lysilia.” Elandris said, careful to know the names and birthdays of all those who served under him.

“Good morning to you, Master Elandris.” She said, her flaxen hair braided neatly. “I must say, your new guard, Sairaorg was it? He is quite interesting.”

“How is he doing?” Elandris said, stretching as he got out of bed. Despite getting up there in years, Elandris still had a fairly decent build, one he kept in condition in case some threat required brawn over a mystical solution, or if wanderlust once again took him. He helped Lysilia fix his bed.

“He’s actually in the back right now, training away with Adamir.” Lysilia said with a soft chuckle. Elandris smiled, Of course they’d get along. Adamir Benoch, a Bosmer and relation to Lady Alenna Benoch, had been Elandris’s former adventuring partner, and second in command back when they had served their early years as grunts during the early days of the Great War. After that damnable Night of Green Fire however, the two had resigned from the army in disgust, with Adamir becoming his batman, an officer serving another as a servant of some sort.

“Thank you Lysillia. I’ll just brew myself a cup and then see how they’re doing.” Elandris fixed his charcoal gray hair, and headed downstairs, humming. By now the fog of sleep had begun to lift, and he could now distinctly hear the ring of steel on wood and grunts of exertion. Striding into his kitchen, he began to brew himself some nice hot chocolate. He was never one to be fond of coffee the way many of his fellow Sapiarchs were, making them too jittery, too hyperactive. Hot chocolate on the other hand was sweet, warm, and filled Elandris with a sense of euphoria that was greater than any narcotic. The familiar scent of saccharine liquid cacao filled his nostrils as he poured himself a warm cup of his favorite beverage. He let out a short pleased hummed as he took his first sip, then strode out his backdoor into his fairly sizable backyard. It was fenced off, with a decently sized garden of various herbs, crops, and spices. On the opposite side was a small training yard, with various mannequins set up within a circle of smooth stone.

Within the ring, Sairaorg and Adamir, both dressed in just pants, black with gold trim for Sairaorg and dark green for Adamir, armored boots, and bracers, were sparring with one another. Sairaorg was unarmed, as he had been when Elandris had recruited him. Adamir on the other hand, much like his maternal aunt Lady Benoch, favored a longsword, the weighty blade held in both his hands. The hilt was made of slick steel wrapped in well weathered shagreen. The polished blade shone in the early morning light, for Adamir was well known for cleaning and buffing his sword whenever and wherever, like clockwork. Both gentlemer were slick with sweat, their chests heaving as they broke from their latest lock.

Sairaorg was the first to notice Elandris, swiftly adopting an upright position, and inclining his head, “Good morning Elandris.” he said, smiling softly, chest still rising and falling as he caught his breath.

Adamir was the next to nod his head at his old friend-turned-employer. “Morning El.” he said, absentmindedly scratching his mustachioed upper lip, raising his free hand in greeting.

Elandris offered the duo cups of warm tea, which they both accepted gratefully, Adamir leaning against the fence, while Sairaorg took his standing as still as a statue, his gaze soft, yet still searching the premises casually for potential dangers. The fusion of matcha and juniper berries tickled and warmed Sairaorg’s parched throat. He swallowed, savoring the taste. “So, how are you finding things here, Sairaorg?”

The muscular Altmer set his empty cup back on the tray, “Well enough Elandris.” he said softly. “You have a beautiful home.and your staff has been kind to me.” he cracked his neck.

Elandris nodded, “Thank you for your kind works Sairaorg.” he flashed the taller Mer a small smile. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, would you care to introduce me to your friends, if they’re as interesting as you are, well mayhaps they find themselves under my employ as well.”

Sairaorg mulled this over, pulling a black tunic over his well sculpted chest with one hand, and absentmindedly fixing his ponytail with the other hand. His ebon hair shone in the sun, his beard freshly trimmed. “I’m sure they would like that. If I have your leave, I can go and fetch them.” he said.

Elandris waved a hand, “Of course, just don’t tarry too long. I would be remiss to lose your fine employment.” He smiled softly, as Sairaorg jogged down the path leading to the front gate, his arms and legs pumping vigorously.

A while later, Elandris was waiting in the main hall of his manor, some finger foods and drinks freshly brought out by one of his servants, Amelia, a Breton chef of some minor renown. Eventually, he heard the telltale sound of metal rapping against his sturdy wooden front doors. “Enter.” the aged wizard called out, his voice echoing around the nearly silent hall.

The jingling of a key was heard not long after, followed by the, in Elandris’s own opinion oddly satisfying, click of pins being pushed, and soon the gilded armored figure of Sairaorg strode into the hall, and he was not alone. Behind him strode in four others. Elandris eyed them all, a Breton woman, a bit shorter than most, with hair the color of honey and aquamarine eyes. Next to her stood an Orc wo-Elandris squinted, feeling the telltale magical signatures of flesh magic. Ah, Orc man, Elandris mentally corrected himself, dressed in a simple traveling robe over well worn padded armor, his hair kept fairly short, an elven longbow strapped to his back.. On Sairorg’s right stood a tall, buxom Redguard woman dressed in a simple, if effective, scale cuirass and some thigh protection over a rather elegant gown. Finally, next to her stood a crimson robed Dunmer woman, a rather large hat perched atop her head, leaning on a staff. “I’ve returned, and as requested, I’ve brought my friends.” Sairorg bowed his head a bit.

Elandris smiled, “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure Sairorg has told you why I’ve asked you here.” He gestured to the food and beverages around them. “Please, help yourselves, I’m sure you’re quite hungry. Tell me about yourselves.” the group sat down and began to partake in the hearty meal.

The first to speak up was the Breton woman. Elandris eyed her over once again. She wore a well worn set of traveler’s clothes, a dark grey robe, trimmed with gold, over a pair of pants. A bandolier carrying some potions was slung across her chest. Her hands were gloved, and her brown boots were weathered. A shield of Dwemeri make was strapped to her back, interlaced with a staff. “Greetings Magister Elandris.” She said, her back was semi-straightened. Elandris let out a mental sigh, for while he was grateful for how far he had risen, he often loathed when people tacked on this or that title to his name, for he had risen to where he was out of the dirt, and preferred not to be seen as above his fellows. “I’m Amelie d’Egun,” Elandris quirked an eyebrow, Egun eh? Not only was that the surname of I'ric Harad Egun, the most famous Archmagister of Crystal-Like-Law, to the point he was often simply referred to by his title alone, but one whom much of his history was shrouded in mystery. Alongside this, something about her name sounded familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it. “I hail from the town of Egun, located a few days journey from Northpoint in High Rock, and um, I’m also a distant descendant of the ArchMagister himself.” That took Elandris back a bit, though of course rumors of the famed magus siring many a child were common, and there were records of those sharing his blood, he never thought he would run into one. “But um, I’m not exactly the best at magic. You see sir, since I was born, I’ve been, well my magic has been….wild.” She raised her hand, and a tornado of fire shot up, causing sweat to break out on all assembled, though thanks to the enchantments Elandris had placed on his home, nothing caught ablaze.

Elandris chewed his steak, and swallowed. “I presume you’ve been born under the Apprentice, yes?” Amelie nodded, now it made sense. “I have read that there have been cases where the weakness to magic that those born under that constellation suffer from can result in their magic being less controlled. Akin to say, wading a gentle stream versus trying to cross a rapidly rushing river.” Amelie chewed this over, and smiled slightly. “But please, continue,” he said, waving a hand in her direction.

Amelie took a sip from her glass of sweet juniper berry wine, before clearing her throat. “Well, since I was old enough to read, I’ve begun searching for ways to control my magic better, perhaps even to help those like me, or people who can barely use magic at all like Sairaorg, oh, sorry.” She squeaked, to which Sairaorg, chuckling, playfully flicked her forehead, tussling her hair. Elandris felt a warmth in his breast, the scene reminding him of his own relationship with his half sisters growing up. “About the only thing I can competently control are runes.” She rubbed her fingers together shyly. “Anyway, for almost my entire life I’ve been researching. I’ve studied Dwemeri Animunculi, the brass constructs of the Clockwork City, and of course the teachings of famed wizards such as Shalidor and Zurin Arctus. It’s helped me come up with what I like to call “Magicology”, the study of magic and how to implement it further in daily life.”

Elandris’s eyes lit up, “Ah, I knew your name rung a bell, On Magicology: The Ancient Art of Combining Mystics and Metal, yes?” Amelie nodded her head eagerly, a rather proud smile flickering across her face. “Excellent, while I would love to discuss this matter with you further, I believe your friends would also like to introduce themselves.” He said, as a flushed Amelie sat back down and resumed quietly eating her meal.

Next up was the Orc. He wore a simple mail shirt over a travel cloak, alongside dark grey pants, and well worn leather boots, and matching bracers. His eyes were in a semi-squint, akin to someone used to reading text by candlelight often. “Name’s Makor gro-Chandris,” Elandris raised an eyebrow, “Sairaorg’s ma and da took me in after I entered their service.” He explained, his arms crossed and held tightly against himself, a wary look in his eyes.

“I meant no offense good sir.” Elandris said softly. Makor let out a strangled squeak. “I could sense the traces of magic left on you, apologies. Be assured unlike some of my, shall we say, old fashioned kin, I hold no such prejudices. I actually knew a woman much like you, Alchemy’s her name, one of the top performers with the House of Reveries, and an excellent actress.”

Elandris smiled at this, running a hand across his short hair. “Thank you, Elandris. Truth be told, especially among my fellow Orsimer, even as a Wood Orc, it was hard to find people to accept me for me. My da wanted me to be just another Forge Wife to the boor who would be chief. I told him and my ma that if they wouldn’t accept me as their son, then I wouldn’t be their daughter. I left, wandered, and eventually found myself in the service of Sairaorg’s folks.” He cleared his throat, “I basically act as both a ranged support,” he gestured to his bow, “and our quartermaster. So many of my kin can’t respect mathematics….” he grumbled.

“I admire your candor, and your courage. Thank you.” Elandris said softly. He sipped his juniper berry tea, savoring the flavor and the potent aftertaste. Finally, the Redguard stepped up, carrying herself with a well honed air of regality and grace.
“Greetings, sir Elandris.” She said, dipping her head slightly, a hand placed on her chest, her voice melodic. “My name is Kuiesha Al-Rihad. My family specializes in reflection magic.” Elandris smiled, a vanishingly rare subject of magic to study in, but a useful one, a mixture of offense and defense. With that short but sweet explanation, she let her last comrade step forth.

With a wide flourish of her robes and cloak, and a twirl of her staff, the Dunmer smiled brightly, “I am Serefina Molagfragor, one of the pre-eminent scholars of Fragomancy!” Elandris parsed his lips. He had heard of this Fragomancy. It was a subschool of Destruction magic that focused on creating bursts of highly concentrated flame magic and coalescing them into explosive blasts. A dangerous, if effective, study. “One day I shall be the most powerful magus in modern Tamriellic history!” Fixing her hat she slid back into place, coughing into a hand.

Elandris stood, applauding. “Well, a pleasure to meet you all, I can see how well you can aid Sairaorg in his endeavors.” he was about to say more, before Sairaorg cleared his throat. “Yes, Sairaorg?”

The tall Altmer reached a hand into a satchel at his side. “With all you know about us, there’s something about my family you don’t know. I believe that, since you’ve been so welcoming of all of us you deserve to know.” He withdrew a vial with a thick, viscous, crimson liquid within. Blood. Elandris thought, curiosity piqued. “Several generations ago, the reasons were debated as to why one of my ancestors summoned a Daedra and ... .lay with it. As such, almost all of the preceding members of my family contain some small trace of Daedric blood which in my case, while I may have greater physical strength, akin to a vampire, I must drink blood. Though rest assured, I only slake my thirst on the damned and the guilty.” He took a deep breath, his reddish gold eyes meeting Elandri’s gilded ones.

Elandris downed his tea. “Well, you can be at ease Sairaorg. As someone who has had relations with the current Lady Ravenwatch, I am no stranger to blood drinkers of a more moral character, and with what I know of you, you hold more honor than most, even those of “purer” mortal blood.” He set his empty cup down. “So you have nothing to fear from me.” he stood up, “Well, I believe it’s getting late. Your friends are free to stay in the guest rooms, Divines knows I have too many and too few guests.” This brought soft chuckles from the assembled group.

With that, they retired, while Elandris took a seat at his desk, and began to pen a letter.