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Posted by
Paul M November 24, 2014 -
554 views
Mistveil Keep houses the Riften Jarl and her entourage, most notably for me the curious aide called Anuriel. She it turns out is a steward, and something of a spin doctor for the indecisive and overly cautious Jarl. It's about three in the afternoon, and the whole gang is settled down to lunch when I arrive. I wait, and watch how they spend their day, waiting for some indication of when Anuriel will show her other face.
After a spell on the throne the Jarl returns to dinner, where she is now joined by her elder, and more capable, son. 9pm seems to mark the end of dinner, and the Jarl and Anuriel return to their respective seats on the throne platform. The two brothers have a tense chat about their views on the civil war, though I get the impression there is something more going on here than they let slip.
Time crawls forward. The Jarl it seems suffers from some sort of short term memory loss which her assistants tolerate and deal with by repeating the same conversations about Schooma and touring the city at least for times. Midnight at last ticks over, prompting the Jarl and co to head off to bed. I follow Anurial, but only as far as the door to the private quarters, before a palace guard draws his sword and commands me to leave. I step away and then try to observe what I can through the doorway. There is only one guard on patrol, and picking my moment I manage to slip past him and round the corner that Anurial went round.
I quickly come to her quarters where she is already asleep. The incriminating note is easy enough to find, and confronting Anurial with it I find she is a refreshingly pliable sort, whose interest in getting paid outweighs any political ideologies. I tell her about my imperial connections, and she informs me of a caseload of coin headed north from the city to Windhelm.
The pace of my life now accelerates, taking my horse at top speed to the imperial camp to mobilise some troops. I ride along the north side of the lake, and only have one scare as a dragon's shadow sweeps overhead. Clearly we both have other business to see to this morning as we continue without a fight. At the camp the Legate says she had men on the road out of Riften who I can meet up with to attack the caravan. She points to a spot back east, but I reckon rather than head all the way back to Riften I can pass straight over the mountain north of the lake.
It's a bit of a trek, but I do at last come upon my old friend Hadvar who is getting ready to lead an assault on the wagon, which has broken down somewhere on the road ahead. Hadvar has the look of a haunted man about him, and he seems perturbed about the battle of Whiterun. I ignore him and talk about the task at hand instead, but part of me feels I should maybe make a little more time for my oldest ally after this is all over.
We try to stealthily pick off the patrolling guards one by one, but ultimately there's a lot to be said for the direct approach, particularly when it entails my hugely destructive fireballs. Hadvar and I are the last men standing, but events are moving fast and we don't have time to relish the victory. I grab the lighter parts of the loot and gallop back to the imperial camp. It's time to bring the war back on track, though the Legate surprises me by ordering our main attack against a Stormcloak fort rather than Riften itself.
The battle of the fort is a brutal but methodical affair. At one point I have the bright idea of running up to the top of a tower to hurl fiery death down upon the fort's defenders, but I soon find there is some sort of trap door behind me that brings a half dozen well armed soldiers my way. I prevail, just, and the fort is ours by nightfall.
I sleep in the Captain's bed and then early next morning return for one last stroll around Riften. I had expected to see the empire's victory manifesting itself in some way amongst the locals or the Jarl's court, but there is no sign my efforts have had much impact. I do manage to find the orphanage and its matriarch that the young devil summoner in Windhelm had a beef with. I watch as the lady threatens some beaten down orphans, and I observe an apologist but capable second in command who could run the place when the old hag meets her maker. From a dark recess I hasten that meeting, and then quickly take my leave of Riften on the back of a trusty hay cart. Farewell Riften; I expect you're as glad to see the back of me as I am of you.
