Status Quo: Milo journeys to Elden Root

Milo rode out to Elden Root with multiple objectives. He needed to give a report on the Sugar Claws that was long overdue. He needed to convince the Rangers of the value of continuing to observe the Clan without interference, which would be the hardest part. He wanted to find out if the Rangers knew why his courier disappeared, too. And lastly, he would bring Ma’zura back a souvenir if he could.

The road to Elden Root from Reaper’s March was more well-travelled than most, especially now that Elden Root was the capital city for the Aldmeri Dominion. He rode by patrolling soldiers several times, and saw the occasional merchant travelling by foot and trying to wave him down for business. Most days he would have stopped to barter with them and learn about any news they had picked up from areas ahead of him, but this was different from his usual trips.
He arrived at Elden Root on his fourth day of travel and stabled his mount just outside the enormous tree. He didn’t stop to wash off the dust of the road and instead headed right inside towards King Camoran’s throne room. Milo pushed open the grand doors and looked at the crowd ahead of him between the entrance and where the King himself sat on his tall slender throne. It looked like he was in for a long wait.
“We thought you were dead; I hope this means you finished your job and are ready for another.”
Milo turned around to see another Bosmer leaning against the wall to the right of the door he had come through. It was Azareth, the lead Ranger. At least, Milo was pretty certain he was in charge; he didn’t seem to get orders from anyone but the King. Milo put on his best cheerful grin for him.
“I’m still alive, thank you for your concern, though. It’s touching, really. Do you have a place we can chat and maybe catch up a bit?”
Azareth nodded once and pushed away from the wall, gesturing for him to follow. They went down a seldom-used pathway from the throne room, the same one that led down to the Orrery. This time though, they only went far enough to get out of earshot and then stepped around a corner to stop and converse.
Azareth spoke first. “It’s been weeks since we’ve seen the courier who runs your reports. You should have come back to us sooner. Milo, I know you haven’t been with the Rangers long, but we thought you could handle a solo mission. Why in Oblivion are the Sugar Claws still operating?”
Milo let his mask of cheerfulness dissolve. “It’s not my mission to stop them,” he began by way of explaining. Azareth cut him off. “No, instead you’ve been supporting their activity, even assisting in their escape from Woodhearth. Don’t you think that might be counter-productive?”
“Counter-productive is sending the Thalmor to S’ren-ja,” Milo answered firmly. “Why aren’t the Vinedusk talking to them? Let them know the situation is under control!”
Azareth waved his hand dismissively. “The Thalmor don’t want our aid. It would be worse if they knew you were there already. They’d want full reports; probably start issuing commands, too. The real problem here is your priorities, because I think you sympathize with those khajiit. I never should have trusted you with this task…”
“Observe and report,” Milo thrust his index finger at the head Ranger. “That’s what you told me. I kept my distance when the Clan formed, and that proved fruitless. They are a close-knit group, Azareth. There’s no way to tell what’s going on from the outside. And now, finally, I’ve done it. I’m in the Sugar Claws. Now I can do my job if you’d get your head out of the mud and let me.”
The other Bosmer slowly shook his head. “No Milo, it’s being handled by someone else. I think we’re done with you.” He gave the slightest left tilt of his head; instantly, Milo realized that he was signaling someone. They were not alone in the passageway. Another ranger who had been crouched in the shadows next to a stone pillar behind him now leapt out, springing towards Milo with a short sword drawn. Time seemed to slow down as Milo began to react; the bow he always wore on his back would be too slow, too awkward to stop the attack from striking a lethal blow. Instead he reached for the long knives sheathed on his hips, the steel daggers Lucrezia had given him just days before.
He twisted his body to face his attacker, an older but still spry woman masked in the Vinedusk green uniform. He brought up his arm just in time to keep the short sword from plunging into his torso, and fell back with her in a tumble as her weight crashed into him. He managed to lock her sword arm to one side with one of his blades and stuck the flat of the other dagger against her stomach. He could tear out her guts in a moment if he chose, and could tell from her eyes that she was about to choose retreat over certain and painful death. His own arm bled from her initial attack but he ignored the pain.
Then another noise caught his attention and he looked up. The bowstring on Azareth’s bow was being drawn taught, an arrow aimed at Milo’s head. “Outta luck, friend,” is all the elf said before he loosed the arrow. But even as Azareth spoke, Milo was calling up the magic of his dragonknight training. Instead of the arrow burying itself in flesh and bone, it ricocheted off the molten rock form he became. The female ranger quickly scurried off of him now and dropped her sword while trying to avoid catching on fire from the heat washing off of him.
As Azareth stared in disbelief, the molten creature that was Milo stood up and drew his own bow. He leveled an arrow at Azareth for a few seconds, then let the bow go slack and put the arrow and weapons away. His magic spent, the molten armor vanished in the span of a breath, leaving him flesh once more. Milo glared at Azareth. “Luck’s what you make of it. Friend. Send a new courier for my reports.” Holding his bleeding arm, he turned his back on the two Rangers and headed towards the stairs.

Once outside the great tree, Milo allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He replayed the events in his mind and decided that Azareth had meant to kill him and probably sent another Ranger to kill Ri’sari. Now that Milo proved himself capable, the Rangers would recall their assassin and wait and see. There was never needless risk, never rash action for the Vinedusk. Milo tore a strip of cloth from the sleeve of his shirt and bound the cut tightly, then proceeded to the marketplace for one more task before the long journey home.

((Omg for a moment there I thought you were killing off Milo. That scared me! lol))

Milo spent an extra day in Elden Root. Mostly he wanted to give the Rangers a chance to send someone to talk with him peacefully, but they never did. He supposed Azareth believed he would react with violence if confronted again. It wasn't an unreasonable belief, but was still wrong. Chalk up another misconception by the Rangers leader, he thought ruefully.

The marketplace at Elden Root was bustling with activity. The majority of people there were Bosmer, of course, but there were a great number of individuals from other races as well. As he shopped, Milo practiced his skills of observation. He walked back and forth across the hall perhaps a dozen times in an hour, acting the part of a wandering tourist. He noted where the guards stood to keep a good view of the mass of people, and identified three different guards in plain clothes watching for trouble within the crowd itself. By following the gaze of one of them, he saw a local pickpocket scanning for an easy target. Poor fellow, he thought. Caught before he even got started. Milo moved on to the woodcraft section.

Woodcraft in Elden Root was something of a controversial profession. Because the Green Pact forbid Bosmer of the Valenwood from harming any plant life, a bowyer or carpenter could only use fallen trees and branches or import wood from outside Valenwood. All worked wood had to have its origins accounted for in Elden Root. In fact, until Milo had switched to a khajiiti-style bow people would occasionally stop him to inquire about his weapon.

The woodworking section of the marketplace was understandably less bustling than the rest. Milo quickly struck up a conversation with a vendor and asked about buying a book. Almost all books were imported under the same carefully watched proceedures as woodcrafts. The vendor happily directed Milo to the Mage's Guild. There, he found just the kind of tome he was looking for as a gift for Ma'zura. It was a guidebook to Grahtwood, the kind normally given to new apprentice mages on their assignment to the Elden Root chapter. The guidebook gave lots of helpful advice on locations of interest, Bosmer customs, and dangers to watch out for, and was fully illustrated. Milo thought it would be perfect for the young khajiit who had never seen Elden Root for himself.

After the day at the market, Milo headed to the stables to claim his horse and begin the journey home to Reaper's March. It occurred to him that he already thought of the place as home, though he and the Clan had only been there for a few weeks. The thought brought a smile to his lips. He had grown up in Reaper's March. At S'ren-ja he had someone he cared greatly for waiting for him. In Willowgrove, he had family. And with the Clan, he had friends. That's what made all the difference.

The stablewoman greeted him as he walked up from the road just outside the great tree. "I've come to collect Skyrose, the tan horse," he told her. She looked briefly confused. "I'm sorry, that mount is no longer in our stable," she told him. Milo blinked in disbelief. "What? I dropped her off just yesterday! She has to be here." But the woman shook her head. "I think there has been some kind of mix-up. Azareth came by early this morning and said to send that mount along to Rawl-kha."

Son of a bitch.

Milo suddenly laughed aloud, and gave a shrug. "Bastard got me again. Thanks, ma'am." He gave a wave farewell to the very confused stablewoman and then turned to start walking the long road back to Reaper's March.

Poor Milo...Ranger stole his horse. XD