Simon didn’t manage to get to sleep in the end. Hopefully he would get the hang of it soon. Waiting for his Stamina to bottom out before sleeping would work fine for the time being but it would be a problem eventually.
“Get any sleep?” Hadvar asked as he came over to swap with him.
“Not a wink,” Simon replied, untangling himself from the bedroll and standing up.
“Most people learn before they’re even old enough to know it could be a problem,” Hadvar said with a shrug. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”
“Newborns must be a nightmare.”
The imperial soldier chuckled. “You have no idea.”
Simon took a seat against a tree as Hadvar settled into the bedroll.
Now that he wasn’t trying to get to sleep it was much easier to pass the time. He continued his experiments with runes, with little success. As Simon understood it, he was currently a Journeyman Destruction Mage, which covered levels 15 to 39.
An interesting fact about magic was that there were no Novice spells. For most Skills a Novice was still somewhat competent. As Hadvar had said, the standard for Imperial soldiers was only level 10 One Handed. For a prospective Mage however, they would need at least a year or two of study before they could so much as cast a single spell. To be useful in combat would take a Mage approaching Adept at level 40.
Given all that, it made a lot of sense that Mages were rare. After all, even if you had the talent for magic, almost any other Skill would give far more immediate results.
On the other hand, if you did manage to reach level 75 and become a Master, you’d be able to kill a Warrior of the same level with a single spell. Assuming you were a Destruction Mage at least. If Mages had personalities anything like in the game, it wouldn’t surprise him. It took a huge ego to believe you’d reach Master.
Eventually, the moons began to drift below the mountains on the other side of the valley and Simon stopped his experiments to wake Larenia.
When he nudged her, she practically lunged out of her bedroll, throwing him to the ground and holding him down with both arms behind his back and her knee against his spine. It happened so quickly that he didn’t even have time to process what was happening until he was pressed against the dirt, the silence of the night only broken by Larenia’s heavy, panicked breathing.
“I don’t suppose you could get off me now, Larenia?” he said after a few moments had passed. Simon was fairly confident that, between his 180% Body bonus and Larenia’s slight stature, he could get up on his own but he wasn’t particularly eager to startle her again.
“I… Right. Sorry.” Larenia got off of him and they both climbed to their feet.
"This kind of ties into something we need to talk about." Simon said.
She gave him a confused look.
"You're the Chosen of the Aedra."
Larenia froze.
“When the gods first summoned me, Azura said that a blessing given by the Aedra to someone called the Chosen was damaged and I was their replacement. Now, I may know next to nothing about the Chosen but, if I had to guess, the most likely candidate is the last dragonborn. Based on my surprisingly reliable knowledge of this world, that’s you, so…” Simon trailed off and shrugged, intending to give Larenia time to respond. Tact wasn’t exactly his strong suit but he couldn’t always default to sarcasm and stupidity.
Instead of saying anything, his diminutive elven companion just stood and stared and began to hyperventilate.
“Uhh…” Simon, quite reasonably he felt, had not seen this coming. “...If it helps, I’m telling you this because I need your help.”
That shook her out of her panic and she laughed incredulously. “How exactly am I supposed to help you?”
He smirked. “Like I said, you’re the dragonborn. That means you can do stuff like this:”
He snagged a twig from the ground with his Pocket, moved it to his hand and held it in front of his mouth. “Yol Toor Shul.”
A truly pathetic tongue of flame licked out from his lips, barely singing the end of the twig. Larenia raised a singularly unimpressed eyebrow while Simon scowled at the tiny patch of carbon he’d created. By lore he shouldn’t be able to use shouts at all but, whatever the reason for it, this impotent version was somehow more annoying than nothing at all. He’d have to consult with the Greybeards when the time came.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Whatever,” he moved on, throwing the stick over his shoulder. “The point is, you possess certain abilities which will be very helpful in several specific circumstances. Grounding a demi-god dragon twice, summoning a different dragon to take us to Sovngarde and drawing the attention of an ancient servant of Hermaeus Mora by becoming renowned as the dragonborn. Although, that last one is optional, I suppose, since I already know where he is.”
“Good,” Larenia said. “Becoming ‘renowned’ sounds like an excellent way to get hunted down and captured by the Thalmor.”
“I’m guessing that it was the elf Nazis who ‘damaged’ your blessing.”
“Nazis?”
“Oh, right. They were an objectively evil regime where I’m from who believed they were superior to everyone else, tried to conquer the world and committed probably the worst genocide in history.”
Larenia snorted. “Yeah, it was the elf Nazis. I only escaped because they got sloppy after ripping the Primal and Arcane blessings out of my soul. Everyone looks down on Thief Skills but they’re pretty good for escaping.”
“Why would people look down on Thief Skills?” Simon frowned. “At my level of Pocketry, if someone attacked me I could just steal their weapon. If someone fires an arrow at me I can store it, preserve the momentum and literally send it back. Not to mention the fact that I have perfect spacial awareness within 60 centimetres of my body. And all that’s just Pocketry. Thief Skills are awesome.”
“I suppose most people don’t train them that high,” she said with a contemplative expression.
Simon grinned. “Well, between your talent and my training, you will be an absolute nightmare to fight.”
The corner of her mouth twitched briefly up at that.
“Anyway,” Simon stretched his back a little. Between Health and Stamina it wasn’t sore at all but that didn’t stop a part of him from thinking it should be, “that's all I wanted to say. You’ll have a day or two before you need to make a decision, and even then it’ll be a few weeks until it’s too late to back out. Take some time to think about it. I’m going to get back to figuring out how to sleep.”
That said, he wrapped himself in the empty bedroll and started rooting around inside his mind. Maybe Hermaeus had installed a sleep ‘button’ along with the system.
***
Beneath an inverted sky, on a vast plane of white, stood a circle of thirteen gods and one hole in reality. All but Sithis bore the appearance of the mortal ailment known as tiredness. They were not happy about it.
Azura rubbed the bridge of her nose with a massive hand and took a deep breath. “So, Hermaeus, have you figured out how much of a mess Sheogorath has caused?”
The Prince of Knowledge took an unusually long time to respond, even for him. His many eyes were drooped and clouded by fatigue “Barring the Epiphany of Self…
“...
“...
“...
“...and the Domain…
“...
“...
“...
“...the champion has…
“...
“...
“...a straight path…
“...
“...
“...to peak divinity.”
There was a moment of stunned silence before Barbus spoke from his position slumped on the ground. “So, we kill him right?”
Eight of the Aedra grimaced and looked a little sheepish but said nothing. Talos frowned at them before turning to look up at the Daedra. “I fail to see the problem,” he said. “New gods have risen before.”
Azura rolled her eyes. “The likes of you and Magnus barely attained low divinity. The strongest Daedric Princes at the peak empowerment from the activity of their Domains only just crossed the threshold of high divinity. Not even Sithis is a peak god. If this Simon can truly reach the peak of divinity on his own, we will all be at his mercy. He would rule creation for all eternity. The balance of power would not just be disturbed; it would be reforged and fixed in place for the rest of time.”
“I see.” Talos’ eyes turned to ice. “Then you are right. He must die. But not yet.”
It was the Daedric princes’ turn to frown. “And why should we wait?” asked Nocturnal. “The more time he is given to grow, the harder the task of stopping him becomes.”
“None of us wishes to see Mundus destroyed,” replied Talos. “And the champion is the only person who stands a chance of defeating Alduin. However, the task of barring Simon Cartright’s path to godhood will always be as simple as killing a single mortal merchant. So long as one of you has your servants sacrifice Bartrand Verlune’s soul to you and imprisons it deep within your plane of Oblivion, it will be quite impossible for the champion to complete Sheogorath’s task. His death will be assured, but he will not know until long after he defeats Alduin.”
The Aedra looked at Talos with shock; and the Daedra with begrudging respect.
“I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you,” said Barbus eventually.
“One does not build an empire with kindness,” the former emperor answered, stone faced.
“I will see the task done. The cycle of change must be preserved.” Spoke Sithis. “No soul escapes the void.”
“Is there finally a new listener?” asked Azura.
“There is not. A compromise will be made. Temporarily.”
“Very well,” said the Prince of the Sun and Moon, “are we all in agreement?”
The assembled gods each gave their assent.
“Then, with luck, we shall not need to meet again.”