Civil War Aftermath Chapter 3: Season's End pt2

[BTC]

Rebec, Baldur

Kyne's Watch

Morning

 

"The Horny Horker. Yea, I like it. That'll be a great tavern name I think. Named after the horker we ate on our way here." Baldur laughed to himself and the low embers of last night's fires as he jotted down a note in his journal for things concerning the town. Mainly plans for the future and the like. Not all of it was pleasant business like ridiculous tavern names, or plans to get ingredients sent for his mead, as it was Sundas. The day that he'd finally begin the very first week of the very first 'Grim Trials'.

 

Baldur stood, journal in hand and tossed it at his pack. After combing his hair, washing it, then recombing it again, Baldur placed his finger in his blue jar of paint, tracing his favorite pattern on his face as he said to himself, "A single swirl upon the cheek, like a gentle breeze on the face. A kiss of Kyne to bless her child. From her daughter to me. A child of the Sky."

 

Baldur didn't have much time to stay, as his men were waiting for him by the sea. So there wasn't much time to wake Rebec or say anything. Instead, he wrote a quick note saying,

 

Rebby,

Had to leave early for the Trials. Won't be back till dark, but perhaps you'll see me as you pass by on your ship. Don't forget to find time to meditate.

-Baldur

 

Baldur placed the note on the spot where he rested beside her along with one of the sweetrolls a Stormcloak brought him when he came to remind him the trials were today. Then he brought his fingers to his lips. Kissing them, he placed his fingers on her cheek as she slumbered, then touched her lips before touching his own cheeks where his freshly placed swirl was.

 

With soft steps, he walked towards the door of their home, filling it with howls as it parted for his exit and swallowed him up in the cold wind of northern Skyrim.

 

Rebec would soon wake herself to begin inspecting ships for the naval exercises, but Mazoga had been awake for several hours. She had walked the deck of the Black Wisp, checking all the rigging and instruments that had been checked already. There was a good chance she wouldn't ever have her shot at being captain of this ship. From day one it had seemed more like hers than Rebec's. The admiral was different, distracted, but happy. She had a different life now. It was Mazoga's turn. Only the turn might pass her by before she ever had a chance to play the hand.

 

As Mazoga's pacing brought her near her pack, she reached in and grabbed a pot of war paint. Hers was black- like her ship. She smeared her entire face with it, then scraped off thin lines at angles, like spokes of a wheel. They were the thorns for which her clan was known. Maybe they weren't stronghold orcs or the favored of Malacath. Maybe he had judged them for taking up a cause that had nothing to do with them, or for hiding in a forest instead of facing their enemies directly. If so, Mazoga herself might still be under that judgment. That didn't bode well for her trial.

 

"You're thinking like a damned p ussy," the orc growled to herself. "Just get on with it."

 

As she reached the gangplank, Mazoga noticed the night sentry approaching. It was Wulf Iron-Bear, their weapons master. "You're off then."

 

"I'm off," she nodded. "Take care of the men."

 

"They'll take care of themselves. But if you need us, you blow a horn and we'll come running. Won't give a damn whether you're Grim One or not. Cap."

 

He emphasized the last word. Mazoga looked over, and her blackened face twitched with a smile. "You just see that the Wisp cleans house on these naval exercises. That's all I need from you."

 

Wulf nodded and took a step back. The orc turned and walked down the gangplank towards the muster on the beach, never taking a look back.

 

By the time Baldur arrived to the shore of the beach, he saw the formation of men lined up, as he expected. In front of them stood Thrice-Pierced and Hjornskar Head-Smasher, the two commanders that would be assisting him on running the trials, since he too was participating. The area Kyne's Watch resided in was strange, as even when it was night, the land never truly got dark, only bleak and grey. But everyone knew just how early it was all the same.

 

Baldur stood in front of them now, pacing back and forth from one end to the other as the crunch of snow beneath his boots combined with the sounds of yawns. These were elite soldiers, though. The sleep in their eyes passed, especially with the cold blowing in their eyes. But that would change in the coming days. "Good morning! Beautiful day isn't it?" asked Baldur. His men didn't seem to appreciate the joke.

 

"I'm glad you've all decided to come. You fourteen men and women will be my test subjects on what I call, the Grim Trials. I will be taking the trials along with the rest of you, and in case something happens to me, as in I drown, freeze to death, bleed out or faint, these two commanders here will run things while I am incapacitated or dead."

 

After Baldur said this, some of the men started murmuring amongst themselves, before Baldur said, "Shut up! Listen to every last word that I say and don't open your mouths until I'm finished. Now, this course serves the purpose of making up for the lack of soldiers who were legion veterans. Not only will future Grim Ones still retain the excellence of veteran soldiers, but they will be better. An elite fighting force the world has never seen. The initial ideal number for the Grim Ones was 500 men serving as an army for myself, as well as the Royal Guard for Ulfric Stormcloak. This will remain the same, and serve to re-bolster those numbers lost, with another 100 men on standby to replace those that inevitably die quickly and without much effort."

 

Baldur smirked and said, "That is, if I can come up with that many men and women that survive these trials. While the tests are to serve as recruitment for the Grim Ones, the original Grim Ones will be required to take this test as well. That's all of you, obviously, minus one. And all will be required to go through the test once every five years, with the exception of one special trial reserved for only the most elite of all of you. The test does give advantage to Nords mostly, meaning that obviously those who are not Nords will have a much more difficult time going through the cold water trials I have in store for all of you."

 

Baldur trained his eyes on a Dunmer male in the group, then to Mazoga. "That's tough. This isn't an effort to kick out non Nords, and any Dunmer taking the test will have an advantage later on. Any Orcs will have the advantage of natural toughness and fortitude. The cold water tests, as well as the later fire barrage resistant tests serve to build a fortitude not only to extreme temperatures, but also to powerful magics that we will all likely encounter in the Dominion. There'll be electrical pain resistant challenges later as well. So be sure to thank our mages later for the tickle in your balls."

 

Walking again, Baldur said, "The High Admiral feels that it is important that the Grim Ones be trained for land/sea insertions, and the High General, that's me obviously... agrees. So for that reason, the Grim Ones as said before will be required to go through her assigned naval curriculum after the Week of Oblivion. You'll find out what that is later. That is also the reason for the swimming and cold water resistance training. This will make sure that no matter where the Grim Ones are called on to serve, whether that fight takes us through the forests of Valenwood, or the coasts of Summerset Isle, we will be ready and have the skills required to do so. All will be permitted to try out, including non Nords and women. However, none will receive special treatment. If you refuse to run, you fail. If you refuse to swim, you fail. If you refuse to fight, if you pass out, if you die... you fail. Only time passing out is permitted will be during the slap and tickle sessions later. But don't worry, we'll wake you up with a jolt or two, so you don't waste our time. Questions?"

 

None of this was unexpected, so Mazoga only gave a nod, though she had noticed the men glancing in her direction when Baldur spoke of orcs. The expressions weren't friendly. Not only was she an orc, but she was navy, and in the regular forces there was an idea that sailors were weaker than other soldiers. Not here to prove anything to them, she reminded herself. She took a deep breath to steady the jitters in her stomach, and kept her head turned forward.

 

Baldur paid no mind to the looks, as soon they'd be too tired to give a damn about who was training with them. Baldur nodded to his two commanders, and one of them ran off. "Thrice-Pierced will be going to arrange the regulars off on the trail in the hills that we'll be taking. This first week will be known as "Marawihk", or Week of Mara. Because it is the easiest week to deal with, and is just orientation. Also, because wolves are swift of foot, and have high endurance, which you will need during this trial period. On this week, you will be put through simple cardio training to pass the tests at the end of the week, such as a four mile run within thirty five minutes and a 3280 paces swim in freezing water within 15 minutes. Those that do not pass this test fail."

 

Baldur was wearing a cloak to protect himself from the cold air, but this was now laying in the snow along with his uniform, which Head-Smasher took and placed in one of the ten chests located behind them. As naked as the day of his birth, Baldur said, "Right about now, you all probably realize that this place is cold even for a Nord. To help get used to the cold, we will be doing our training without any clothing this week. So if you didn't like the cold before, then you better learn to love it. Strip and place your clothing in those chests behind me. Then I will call out your names one by one. When I do, line up over here, and get ready to start running. If you want water, pick the snow up off the ground, then shove it down your throat."

 

Mazoga's brow knit, though with the natural wrinkles on her forehead it could hardly be noticed. The sailor was used to not having privacy, but naked running? She started reaching for her armor straps and glanced over at the other two women in the line, who were doing the same. They were both Nords, and so bulky they hardly looked like women at all. You don't belong here, came the thought. When she realized that it was the same thing her detractors were saying, Mazoga got mad. Too damn bad if I don't.

 

When she had stripped down, she stood with chin up and resisted the urge to shiver.

 

Baldur realized only after he planned this that Mazoga would be crashing the all man's club, so stripping naked would make things awkward for her. He was glad that he remembered to assign some of the few women they had in the ranks, though seeing them naked now amongst the rest of them made him wonder what exactly Rebec would have to say about all this if she saw them.

 

Though they weren't exactly the most appealing women in the world. The first named Aulor had half her head shaved, with the other half being long brown hair going to her shoulders. There was a scar on her right cheek with the shaven side, but it was self inflicted. It looked like a crudely cut dagger. The other, Burla, she had all her gold colored hair and wasn't as masculine looking as far as her face went, but her arms were almost as thick as Baldur's. 

 

There being women among them was also the real reason for putting Stormcloaks in certain checkpoints along their running trail. That, and if someone passed out or fell behind and started dying from the cold, there would need to be people nearby. He tossed aside the notion of there being rapists among his men once, but he wouldn't make that mistake again, even if these women could take care of themselves.

 

"Head-Smasher will start a nice fire here while we're gone. If you don't want to freeze to death, you'll run. And you'll keep running until we get back here where you'll receive robes and be permitted to rest by the fire for a time before we go back to running. Then we'll switch to swimming drills. You'll get to eat later tonight, but if you manage to catch a rabbit or something while we're out on the trail, then by all means."

 

Baldur cleared his throat, then yelled, "When I call your names, come and stand behind me! Aulor Spear-Snapper, Huomundr the Sullier, Falgrum Blood-Rim, Mazoga of the Black Wisp, Burla She-Wolf, Hafnur Shallow-Tip, Ynihinundr of the Clan That Wants to See the World Burn, Stump, Dagnjorn of Whiterun, Bully the Bully, Bardok the Impaler, Bjorn Shatter-Wall, Kjisvild Moon-Gazer, Siguroar Twice-Cursed, Torik, and finally Ignhilde the Innocent."

 

Most of the others looked like typical Nords, but a few managed to stick out. Bully the Bully managed to literally, as his gut made him hard to overlook. Even though he had a belly, there was no mistaking that it was protected with muscle. The one they called Stump stuck out because of what didn't stick out between his legs. 

 

Bully the Bully piped up and said, "Sir, we don't have to stay in this order right? With all do respect, I'd rather not have 'Bardok the Impaler' running behind me with no britches on."

 

After the sound of laughter died down, Baldur said, "Why do you think I put him behind you? To make sure that belly of yours doesn't slow you down, heh. No, the order won't matter in the end."

 

"Bummer," said Bardok sounding genuinely disappointed, which caused more laughs.

 

Burla, who stood behind Mazoga whispered in her ear and said, "You keep that green ass of yours moving, or I'll plant my foot in it, you hear, orc wench?"

 

Mazoga cast a glance over her shoulder. "You worry about yourself, Burly. I haven't ever seen an ox run very far."

 

Burla corrected her, evidently not getting that Mazoga mispronounced her name on purpose. "It's Burla, and you still won't. Because I'll have trampled your face into the frozen earth."

 

Mazoga just grunted and turned back to Baldur, dancing on her feet to keep them from icing to the ground. No boots, that was the worst. How many toes is this going to cost?

 

She wasn't the only one suffering though. The other Nords and the token Dunmer named Torik were cupping their groins to try and get some warmth. Baldur could feel the cold seeping into his skin, and after a while he could see the cold literally radiating from his skin. He noticed the same thing happening now to the others behind him. "That's our cue. Move out! And keep running unless you want to die..."

 

With that, the general took off with the wind at his back, as well as a gang of unfortunate soldiers. Aulor was right behind him and keeping up with him at the speed she was going. Looking down gave the bulky woman another reason to want to keep up her current pace, unbeknownst to Baldur... or really anyone that noticed the way she looked.

 

***

The light was just turning grey above Kyne’s Watch as ship crews began spilling out of the fort and their tents on the shore and climbing up on to the ships tied to the quay.  Rebec had woken shortly after Baldur left. She read his note and then sat with it on her lap, staring at the embers of their longhouse fire. However he might try to minimize it, she knew these Trials were dangerous. It was one thing to worry about Mazoga, but Baldur was taking them, too. Rebec’s hand ran over the rise of her stomach. It wasn’t noticeable unless she was naked, but her belly bump was a little rounder than usual.

There wasn’t any time to fret over it. She had her own trials to get through. Mostly, to convince a ragtag band of sailors that they were a Stormcloak navy.

She’d been preparing for days, setting out buoys to mark the race routes, inspecting ships and updating her roster book. Not all the crews had reported in yet, but there were enough to begin the exercises. Eilif Oarsinger’s eight dragon-headed longships had arrived the day before with much fanfare.

The first day would be spent in speed races, testing the rowers. Rebec met with the captains, then went to the Wisp. The ship didn’t feel right without Mazoga. Rebec’s crew felt it as much as she did. She gave them her best pep talk, reminding them that no ship was under greater scrutiny than theirs. Everyone wanted bragging rights for having beaten the flagship.

They won their first two heats easily, Bjol Waverunner acting as first mate and calling out the rowing chant.  Rebec watched all the races, noting how each ship fared and where they might improve. What no one knew is that this entire process would be repeated three times that day. It didn’t matter how fast a crew was when they were fresh. If they were chasing or being chased by an enemy, the chances they’d be doing so fresh were slim.

 

The first final came down to the Black Wisp up against Breathing Easy, Eilif Oarsinger's main ship. He'd taken a lot of ribbing for its name at the mess hall the night before, but laughed it all off, saying the ship was so fast that his rowers never broke a sweat. That boast had proven prophetic in their heats. For the first time that day, Rebec was nervous about her chances.

 

Her crew were worried, too, and it showed. As the horn call sounded, the Wisp leapt forward like a young filly. Eilif's ships were long, low, flat-bottomed boats, slow on the start. Rebec stood at the keel, looking back towards shore, where Breathing Easy was far behind. She smiled. When she turned back again, however, her smile vanished. The distance between the two ships was closing. Rebec looked out towards the end buoy, trying to judge how much time they had left.

 

"Pour heat on it, Waverunner!" she yelled down below.

 

Bjol called for the men to heave to and the Wisp picked up speed, but it seemed to Rebec that there was a drag on them, unrelated to the wind. Eilif Oarsinger was still closing the distance. Soon she heard him calling out the row song that had given him his moniker.  He was still singing it without pause when the dragon ship slid past the Black Wisp, reaching the end buoy half a ship's length ahead of her. Eilif's men stood up in their ship, cheering, shouting and slapping each other on the back, while Rebec looked on in disbelief.

 

***

One, two, one, two, three, four, three, four,

I love running in Skyrim, cold as draugr, twice as grim,

Feel Kyne's kiss upon my ass, the cold breeze just makes me run fast!

I'm not cold yet, so keep on teasing, Kyne's foreplay I find quite pleasing,

Give me, give me, some more, some more, oh yes, oh yes, by Shor! By Shor!

 

We've been running now for miles, that's just the start of the Grim Trials,

We're almost there now, do not fret, You ******* have seen nothing yet,

Pinch my berries, slap my cheeks, we get to do this for five more weeks!

Don't need no fire or maidens' racks, give me war and throw me my axe!

 

One, two, one, two, three, four, three, four,

**** Thalmor, they're all whores... all whores!

 

By now, not even Baldur's cheery singing could keep up the spirit of the soldiers. They did basic exercise routines and training while they were serving as honor guards at Ulfric's palace, but even so, it was evident that they'd gotten a bit soft during their stay. That would soon change, however. They took short breaks back by the shore, but only to warm themselves up and cover their bodies again so they wouldn't start losing parts. Baldur tested the temperature of their flesh and had Menel check his own, then continued on after shoveling fists full of snow down his gullet for water and continued on. This was the third and final series of runs they'd do for the day, totaling in twelve miles all together.

 

Baldur too was exhausted, but he did his best not to show it. More than anything else though, his feet ached, both from fatigue and from the cold. When they reached the beach again with the big bonfire that the healers started, Baldur felt as though he could stick his cold feet inside and no harm would come to him. The others didn't waste time hurrying to cover themselves, and the healers were checking them all to see if they sustained any damage in their fingers and toes from the cold. The big one named Bully the Bully was seen thrusting hand after hand of snow into his mouth while struggling to recover his breath, giving the other grim ones and regular soldiers alike a momentary bit of entertainment.

 

While that went on, Thrice-Pierced approached Baldur and said, "The Admiral finished the first set of races while you all were gone."

 

Huddled close to the fire while sitting on the ground, Baldur said with closed eyes, "It's probably a little unfair they have to compete with the best ship in the navy, but I suppose there's no such thing as fair."

 

"Actually, the Black-Wisp lost the last race," said Thrice-Pierced. That caused Baldur to open an eye as he looked at the commander in disbelief.

 

Baldur said, "We've got some time before I throw the men into the sea. Have Mazoga meet me by the docks while the men rest up, will you?"

 

***

The Black Wisp, crew smarting from humiliation and put up against Eilif’s eldest son in the second round finals, won in a finish so close that a third ship had to call it. Rebec was exhausted both physically and mentally, soaked to the bone and hoarse from shouting, but as the third round started, she glanced over and saw Baldur and Mazoga standing on the shore. A weight came off her shoulders. She lifted a hand, but had no time to stop and chat.

Baldur watching just meant she was more determined than ever to take the day. As she and her crew hoped, they got their second chance against Oarsinger’s crew. The wind had picked up, with the smell on it of the killing ice to the north, and covered the rising moons over with cloud. Evening tide was also rolling in. The two ships found it difficult to even stay in their lanes, and the rowers had to continually find their rhythm again as the vessels rode the crest of the waves up and came crashing back down again.  Rebec could hear Eilif calling out his singsong chant, her only indication of where the longship was. They were close.

As the next wave hit, Rebec waited for the surge that meant the rowers had dug in again, but it was sluggish. Over the sound of the waves, she heard shouting in the hold. Calling for a crewman to take the keel from her, she ran down to see what was going on. There was a rower sprawled on the floor, incapacitated by cramps. Bjol had had to take his place on the bench and the exhausted rowers were arguing instead of pulling. Rebec let loose a blistering string of curses, then began calling out the rowing rhythm. The Wisp began to fly once more, but as Rebec ran back up to the deck, she feared it would be too late.

The clouds had begun to break, revealing a sight that made Rebec shake from more than just fatigue and cold. Breathing Easy had not only passed them by, Eilif had pulled it around and he and his entire crew stood jeering at her. Oarsinger gave a signal and the entire line of them turned around, dropped their drawers, and waved their white moons below the moons.

“Oh, you are going to regret that,†Rebec said under her breath, shaking her head. There wasn’t much time, but she knew just what she was going to do. Turning back towards the steering, she shouted “Stros M’kai! Stros M’kai!† The crew picked up the call and passed it along to the rowers, and Rebec took the keel back.

With her rowers heaving strong now, she turned the Wisp directly in Oarsinger’s path. The longship’s crew turned back around, but soon their jeering turned to a frantic scramble to get back to their oars.

 As satisfying as the sight was, Rebec’s rage turned to a sudden worry. She called for oars up and began her hard turn, but just then the swell of the tide lifted the Wisp and threw it towards Oarsinger’s. The dragon ship and the Black Wisp ran up against each other with the sound of snapping oars. One of Eilif’s rowers didn’t get his arm back quickly enough and Rebec saw it snap, too.

The Wisp crested along on its momentum. As Rebec looked back, she saw Eilif’s crew bailing water out of their low boat, and expected soon to see the dragon sink entirely from its hull damage. She called for her crew to halt, then saw the other ship’s crew begin rowing again. It seemed that Eilif’s boasting about his ships had some validity.

Rebec’s ship was the first to get back to the quay. The other captains were waiting to do their debriefing. Arguments broke out between the Wisp’s crew and others about their loss. Rebec was still trying to break these up when Eilif Oarsinger leapt over the side of his boat onto the quay. The tall Nord strode up to Rebec, shoving others aside, grabbed the front of her uniform and shook her, lifting her feet a few inches off the boards.

“Is that how you run this navy, admiral?!†he shouted, spittle flying into her face. Oarsinger was still shouting as his crew dragged him back. Rebec stumbled as he released her, then had to hold back her own crew as they surged forward to get their revenge.

“All of you shut up! SHUT THE **** UP!†It took the more level-headed of the sailors, and several whacks with the side of Rebec’s axe, to calm the fracas down.

When the boil reduced itself to a simmer, Rebec found herself face to face with Eilif Oarsinger. The two captains stared at each other with the other sailors looking on. It became a contest of wills who would speak first.  Finally Rebec said, “What you just did, that’s insubordination. I’m not just some ship captain. I’m your admiral.â€

Oarsinger’s red face grew a little redder. “Listen here. You... What you did...â€

“Was also wrong.†There was a hush, except for some grumbling among Rebec’s crew. She cast them a warning look, then turned back. “You’re right. That is not how I run this navy.â€

Eilif took a step back and crossed his arms. “That is surprising, Red... Admiral.†He said the word carefully.

“Maybe so. Even if I was wrong, you still owe me twenty lashes for insubordination. Do you want them tonight or tomorrow morning?â€

Now it was the other crew’s turn to grumble. Eilif’s scowl gradually eased into a smile. “Today’s mead for today, my admiral.†He began unbuckling his belts and threw off his tunic as he walked towards the shore.

As Rebec followed, she looked around for Baldur. If he had seen Oarsinger go after her...  She also wasn’t sure of what she was doing now. Lashings weren’t common in Tamriel and she hadn’t ever had to use them on her own crew, but this was the navy and lives depended on discipline.

All they had was a hog whip. As Rebec stepped up to do the deed, Bjol Waverunner’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Let me do it, Cap,†he said. “We lost because of me.â€

Rebec was too tired to argue. She stood back and watched, stone-faced. Eilif Oarsinger’s back was torn and bloodied by the time they were done, but he leapt up nonetheless.

With a big laugh, he said, “That will wake you up in the morning. I thank you for that, Admiral Rebec.â€

“Just see you never put your hands on me again.â€

“You have my word. Wulfharth’s Sons know how to take orders. It was for such that Rebec the Red’s get despised us.â€

Rebec smiled wryly. “But not for your sailing. You did well today. All of you.â€

Propped up on his sons’ shoulders, Eilif laughed again. “Hear that, boys?  Mark it down. This is history."

Shaking her head, Rebec looked around to the watching crowd. “Get to bunks, all of you. We start again at dawn. Boarding actions tomorrow.†She felt like she needed someone to prop her up, as well.

 

Baldur came up shortly after along with Mazoga. He postponed the swimming a short while to watch the scuffle, but decided to stay out of it as long as he didn't see Rebec get hurt. It was hard for them both as he watched the scene beneath the shroud of his fur lined cloak, but he knew he'd only make it worse by everyone seeing her husband come to her rescue. She was surrounded by loyal men who'd die for her if anyone hurt her, but that didn't stop his blood from boiling any less. It settled slightly, however after seeing Eilif get his lashes. Grabbing her shoulder from behind, Baldur said, "So that's Eilif, huh? You alright?"

 

"Baldur." Rebec practically fell into his chest, but forced herself to stay on her own feet so long as the others were watching. She hugged him fiercely a moment, then rested back. "I'm fine, and yeah, that's Oarsinger. I wish I could say I'm glad to have ships that fast in the navy, but gods damn." She looked searchingly at his face, and then to Mazoga. "I'm glad to see you two. How'd it go today?"

 

The orc lifted a shoulder to shrug. "We all made it. That's all there is to say, isn't there?"

 

"I should hope so, this is nothing compared to what's coming," Baldur said. Yet even so, it was hard to hide the exhaustion in his face and his voice. They hadn't eaten anything all day on top of all the running, and yet the day was still not over. He put a finger under her chin to see her face, then rested his other hand on her belly as he said softly, "Listen, are you sure you're okay? I stayed out of it because I knew you wouldn't need or want my help. But if he tries something like that again... I take it you don't want he and I exchanging words."

 

"I don't want that. It's handled." Her tone was firm. "You done, too? Let's go home."

 

Disappointed but not at all surprised, he said, "Heh, of course not. If he hurts you, then you better kill him. For his sake. Anyway, no we're not done yet. I won't be till close to midnight, so don't wait up. We've still got swimming to do."

 

"What?"  She looked over to Mazoga as if the orc might say something to bring him to his senses, but of course that wasn't happening. Stepping over to her first mate, Rebec took her hand. "Alright then. I'm sorry about today, Maz. The Wisp..."

 

"Admiral. Don't take this the wrong way, but right now I don't care."

 

Rebec blinked, but nodded. "Right. You got other things to think about. You'll do fine, Maz. You both will." Stepping back to Baldur, she hugged him again, then kissed him. "I might sleep some, but I'll be counting the minutes anyway. You hurry up and get home to me."

 

Baldur suspected that even if she wanted to wait for him, she'd be sound asleep by the time he got home. That was just how she was. He appreciated the thought though all the same. "Like I said, this week is nothing. I'll be home before you know it. Sleep, and I'll be home that much quicker." As Baldur hugged her back, he thought about the long night that still lay ahead of them all. The Sea of Ghosts was cold enough that the Nordic resistance to cold practically counted for nothing. It would be like pitting cloth against steel. Naked or clothed, a man would be slain all the same. But he was sure that they could get through the test, Mazoga included.

 

Breaking away from the warmth of his wife, he said, "Lets get this over with, Maz."

 

"After you, High General."

 

Rebec stood on the beach, watching after them. Back at the longhouse, she was too tired even to build a fire, taking her boots off and falling under the furs and immediately to sleep.

 

***

Later when Baldur returned to his home, he had a bottle of spiced wine with him to help with the chill. It was different from the running in the cold though. No matter how many furs covered him now, the chill just wouldn't leave his bones. It was hard enough having to swim long distances in the sea, but the water was so intense with ice, that he lost all feeling in his legs and for a second, he thought he'd surely drown.

 

The wind was fighting his efforts to open the door, as if it still wanted its chance to claim him. The only thing allowing him to fight his fatigue and open that door was the thought of a nice warm fire inside. But all that greeted him when he came in was the darkness of a home with no flame.

 

Cursing beneath his breath, Baldur frantically fought off his clothes and jumped into his night trousers and shirt before making for what he hoped would be very warm furs from his wife's body heat.

 

Rebec leapt awake as what felt like a frost troll joined her in bed. At least the smell was better. "Gods below, Baldur. You're freezing. Come here."  She sat up and piled the furs around him, then began to chafe his hands between her own. "Let me build a fire. What in Oblivion's name were you all doing, swimming at night in this weather."

 

"It's... necessary," was all that Baldur could think to say about it. "I'm sorry I woke you. But then again, I'm glad we could exchange words before I had to leave in the morning."

 

"I wanted you to wake me." Rebec got out of bed, cursing as her sock feet hit the cold floor of the longhouse, then cursing some more while she tried to get the fire lit. When she came back to the bed, she brought a basket of half-frozen cheese and bread with her. "Here. Eat something. I know you didn't get anything today, and neither did I for that matter. I'll ask your ma to keep our hearth fire going tomorrow."

 

"Thank you." He didn't hesitate in taking his share. Baldur had planned for there to be plenty of food for he and his men by the end of each day, but that didn't happen. The Trials were rushed and not as coordinated as he'd hoped. He'd have to make sure that was addressed by the time the next week started. There wasn't enough food for the extra soldiers that came with him for the trials, so he ended up having to go without until now.

 

"You waiting to eat till the end of the day worries me, you know. You should be getting plenty of food every day. I'll order the men to go and hunt as many horkers as they can for the settlement. We can store meat without salt in a place like this for a very long time. How did everyone take what happened with the ships earlier? I caught on that some were seriously wounded, but that's what they get for screwing around. To be honest, I don't think you should have admitted to any wrong doing. They got what they deserved."

 

"No, it was foolish and juvenile to run them. I can't be doing things like that now. Fine enough when I was twenty and full of piss and wind, but I've got to set an example now." She was quiet for a while, chewing. "I didn't think much about eating. Too much to do. You're right, though. I'll tuck some dried meat into my pocket tomorrow. How did Maz do? Do you think she's going to make it?"

 

Baldur answered the first part of the question, thinking that'd be enough. He wasn't even sure if he could make it. Or any of them. This being the first time, it was entirely possible that the trials could just be too much. "She did well. Even though she wasn't a Nord, she managed to make it in time so as not to freeze to death without clothing on the runs. One of the women there's giving her a hard time, though. Can't be helped."

 

"Without clothing?" Rebec looked over sharply.

 

"Yes, but don't worry. We're monitored closely during the tests. Nothing's going to happen to her," Baldur said. "And I made sure she wasn't the only woman there, so it wouldn't be as uncomfortable for her."

 

"Still..." Rebec frowned, then her eyes lifted again. "Wait, there are other women, too? Watching you run around with your bits flopping?"

 

Baldur scratched his head and thought about the 'women' that were participating in the trials. Baldur barely thought of them as women, really. They seemed so much like the rest of the men. "Well, yea, but I doubt they're at all concerned about my bits with how hard I was working everyone. After all, it's so cold out there... and anyway, these women are barely women. They're more likely to get excited about your bits than mine from the look of them. There's only three total counting Mazoga."

 

She pursed her lips, obviously still not pleased. Reaching around to grab the spiced wine, Rebec took a long swig, then gestured with the bottle. "Appearances can be deceiving. Don't have to be a little milk drinker to like the horker tusk. Anyway, naked running, night swimming in the damned freezing cold... I guess it's a good thing I don't have time to watch this. I don't like just hearing about it."

 

Baldur shuddered at the idea of one of his soldiers taking a liking to his horker tusk. There weren't even supposed to be any women for the first run until Mazoga came in on it. Baldur sighed wearily and grabbed Rebec's free hand. His still had a chill to them. "Don't worry about it. I've been through worse. It's much better than having to survive in some dank cave filled with monsters or Thalmor torture. Anyway, it's only for a few more weeks. And then all my attention will be on you and this child." He placed a kiss on her hand with her ring then and laid his head on her lap. "Lets not waste the brief time of respite that we have worrying. You have more ass to kick tomorrow, so try and relax."

 

"Alright. It's a tall order asking me not to worry, though." She smiled and stroked at his hair, still wet from swimming. "Pretty soon you might get a little foot stuck in your ear down there. Little Red Snow is growing fast."

 

Grinning from the feeling of his fatigue fading at that thought, Baldur turned his head towards her slightly bigger belly. He lifted her shirt a little to take a peek, then kissed her belly button before snuggling close to it and closing his eyes. "Hurry out, little one. Papa has much that he wants to say to you when you get out. Mama and I both."

 

"I'm not in any rush. Moments like this are going to be rare, for one. But if you need something to hold on to out there during these trials, you think about us. This baby's going to love you as much as I do. We both need you." Rebec's throat caught and she wasn't sure where the words came from.

 

"Pregnancy making you sentimental, Admiral? Heh," said Baldur, teasing. It wasn't often that Rebec said things like that. Then there was earlier at the docks. Maybe she was just worried, he thought. "Well don't you worry. You and that little imp are the only thing I think of out there. I'm not going to fail. Don't want Vigge to rip my limbs off in Sovngarde for leaving you two alone, hehe." He brushed his beard at her stomach to tickle her, then sat up in the bed behind her so she could lay back on him. There wasn't a lot for him to hold yet, but he rested his hands on her belly bump again anyway before closing his eyes while he brushed at it with his fingers and rubbed her to help her sleep.

 

Rebec slid her own feet up against Baldur's ice blocks to warm them. With the firelight dying down and Baldur at her side where he should be, she was soon lulled to sleep.

 

***

"General...are we almost finished? General?"

 

Baldur almost couldn't hear the call of Ynihinundr behind him due to the wind. But also, Baldur's mind was completely shut off. Consumed with intense concentration to block out the torture they were all being put through. It was one week from the first day of the trials, and the warriors were now in the period Baldur called Stuhnwik, or week of Stuhn, though it was really a period of two weeks. From early on, they did their running and swimming for four hours each respectively. Now they started a new test, which was to sit in the freezing cold water near the shore for close to thirty minutes. By now the men were more resistant to the cold, but some were unsure if it would matter or not, including Baldur. All he could do to calm his breathing was to close his eyes and focus on fire like he did during his thu'um practice.

 

"General!" A voice called from behind. This time it was the Dunmer. Baldur turned behind him to see the one called 'Spear-Snapper' laying on her back behind him. She was out.

 

"Thrice-Pierced!" Baldur yelled. When he did, he and a couple other Stormcloaks jumped into the water and dragged her away. "She failed. Anyone that passes out or worse does not have the strength of body and spirit to call themselves an elite among elite." The others looked on in wonder at Baldur's cruelty, but soon forgot about her and concentrated on their own survival.

 

Burla however kept her eyes on Mazoga the entire time, just waiting for her to be the one to crack next. With a jaw clenched so tight, she almost wasn't able to form words, she said, "Cold getting to you yet, warthog face?"

 

Mazoga only half heard him, and her mind tried to make sense of the words. If she hadn't been paralyzed with cold, she'd have laughed. She certainly had been called worse. "N..n.. not a chance," she replied in a low growl.

 

But the truth was, every fiber in her wanted to quit. Many times she had asked herself, as others had, why she was even doing this. The more she asked the question, the more stubborn and contrary it made her. Nevertheless, she could feel death on her. Her body was dying. So this is what it feels like.

 

As her conscious mind slipped away, it called up an image, a memory. Thorns were pressing into her skin, piercing the flesh below, and then arrows. She hadn't seen her grandmother die.  Mazoga hadn't even been born yet. Somehow, the cold sticking her as if with blades called up the shared memory.

 

The matriarch of the Thorn-Orc clan had died a warrior, however. She had fallen to enemies, not to a bit of cold water during some meaningless test. I'm not going to die well, Mazoga thought distantly. The notion roused a despairing fear in her, and that brought her back to consciousness. She couldn't die, not like this.

 

Burla watched on in silence. Quiet rage. Their ancestors were ashamed that day, for sure. For in a test of resisting cold, it wasn't an elf that had fallen first, but a Nord. And a female at that. She wouldn't be the next to shame them. But she'd be the first to avenge them, if the General would only allow her to... somehow...

 

Baldur's mind ran on the ancestors as well as he closed his mind again, first focusing on the image of resting in the warm furs with his wife. The fire he could feel inside her as they were making love. But he soon found out it was rather difficult to think of such things in such intense temperatures. And so it was then that Baldur called on the help of those that came before him. This sea was called the Sea of Ghosts for a reason. Many had fallen in its great icy abyss, either from drowning or freezing. Surely some of his line was among them. Would they assist, or call for his own blood to be added among theirs in jealousy of the breath in his lungs?

 

Baldur could feel his mind slipping away. Yet they still had to remain in the water for another five minutes. It had already been a score and five. What made it even more difficult was that he was the one to set the limits. It made it seem even more like he was torturing himself then, as if he wanted to kill himself. The desire to play it safe for his child's sake and the desire to prepare himself and his men for something of the utmost importance in the future continuously fought within his mind, making it harder to focus on the thought of fire.

 

"Huuuh... huuh..." Baldur's breathing began to become more difficult and labored. He held his hands together and clenched them so tight that they were shaking from more than the cold. "Huuuh...huuhh... huhh, huhhh..." Baldur could feel himself fading again. Soon, he couldn't even feel the cold anymore. That couldn't be a good sign, he thought. Focus...focus! Focus on...

 

Fire. What is the difference between fire and the cold that assaulted him now? He couldn't really tell. His body felt as though it were burning as it was from the intense cold. It was both magic. Some said cold was the absence of heat, but that was hogwash. The scholars all agreed it was a tangible thing like any magic. Like fire. And magic was inside him. He was Nord. Resistant to cold from birth. From a form of magic. Why? Was it that there was a fire inside him? He knew there was. It fed his battle lust. His passion. Understanding fire didn't mean to become it, but to simply recognize the magic and see it already inside. If he could do that, then... maybe... maybe...

 

"Baldur!"

 

Baldur's eyes shot open finally to see worried Stormcloaks and Thrice-Pierced standing in front of him. "Did I pass out?"

 

"We're not sure. Time's up though. The others are already out." Thrice-Pierced pointed a finger over to the fire where the others were all huddled up by like horkers, waiting.

 

Baldur stood up then, puzzled as to what happened. The first thing he noticed was that the water he stood in wasn't quite as cold from before, and a lot more bearable. He remembered before when he lost feeling in his legs that this happened, but he could feel his legs just fine. When he walked over to the fire to warm himself, an idea came to him suddenly.

 

He put his hand to the fire and felt the warmth quickly. But as it inched closer and closer, the increase in heat was strangely absent. Somehow, he knew that would be the case.

 

Pulling his hand away, Baldur said to the others, "It's time for something new again. This time it will be pitting you against each other in sparring matches. Two will fight. One will exit upon first blood. Healers will stand on the side in case someone is seriously injured. But only in Stuhnwihk. There will be no magical healing next period. Any volunteer to go first?"

 

Mazoga knew she should volunteer. Even if she wasn't the one who had washed out first, the others were hoping she would be next. Her mind and body were still frozen, however. Fighting in such a state would be deadly. Response time would be slow, muscles would.... "I'll do it." Apparently, the orc's mouth felt free to operate on its own when the rest of her was a chunk of ice.

 

Baldur was the only one smiling, then. He knew Rebec worried about her friend and that Mazoga wasn't quite used to all of this, but it was exciting to see her boldness against the Nords. Burla naturally raised her hand to go next, but Baldur shook his head and said, "Sorry, it'll be Bardok the Impaler that goes next. I know you want your shot at her, but when you all are out there fighting, you're going to encounter males a lot more than you would females. Pitting the two women together would be doing you both an injustice. You'll get your chance though, I'm sure. You can fight the runner up. Then after that, I'll have one of the commanders call your name by random to fight the winner. You'll have your choice of weapons from nearby weapon racks. They're sharpened, so death is a possibility. If you bloody your opponent, then stop the fight."

 

The sparring area was a circle made with stones for a makeshift ring with weapon racks to one side as Baldur promised. Menel's round frame could be seen among the other Stormcloak healers waiting for blood to fly. Bardok the Impaler as expected chose a steel great sword as his weapon. It was slick and covered in a layer of frost, but his grip was strong and true. He was a man with wild long black hair like that of wolf fur and silvery eyes with a natural intensity that always made him seem serious. Despite who he was going up against, it was clear he wasn't one to underestimate an opponent.

 

Mazoga wasn't a stranger to fighting, but she was used to dropping scum with her crossbow. She didn't want the others to catch on to that though, so she quickly grabbed whatever instinctively seemed appropriate for her, which happened to be a sword and shield like the woman who she got her namesake from. She wasn't sure whether to thank or curse Baldur for not giving her an opponent she thought she could handle. This Nord wasn't like the pirates or Reavers out at sea. They were tough, but this Nord, all the Nords here really; they all looked like they didn't belong with normal people. Among the rest of them, Baldur seemed the most ordinary.

 

Mazoga shook her head to compose herself. Letting appearances get to her wasn't like her at all. They may have been called Necro Nords, but as long as they were made of flesh and bone, they could be beaten like anyone else.

 

Bardok's thoughts weren't on the fight at all, but on how many more days he could take of eating raw rabbit he found while running, or stale bread and cheese. Thank the gods they finally got some horker. I was gonna go insane.

 

"Begin!" yelled Head-Smasher from beyond the ring. When he did, it was Mazoga that charged him first with her shield raised and her sword out. Bardok held her at bay by simply smacking his sword against her shield, using his weight to put extra strength into the assault. He used the base of the blade so that he'd have less chance of damaging his weapon.

 

Mazoga was jarred by the strength the brute put behind the assault, but she ignored the pain in her arms and jabbed at Bardok with her blade, crying out at him and baring her tusks. Bardok moved his weapon to his left hand and parried the jab while simultaneously blocking the shield bash she gave him with his other arm to open her up for a swift kick to her gut which sent her tumbling backwards.

 

She recovered quickly though and got up before Bardok assaulted her, but he was only pacing back and forth, waiting for her to attack again. This time, she approached him more slowly, inching towards him to close the distance between the two in the ring so that he wouldn't have as much room to swing. Seeing this, Bardok intentionally walked closer with his sword lowered, as if he didn't know what to do with the shortened range. When Mazoga moved in to strike, Bardok jumped to the side and kicked simultaneously just in the right spot to hit her in the wrist and make her drop her sword.

 

Her shield caught him on the side of his head and knocked him down, however. The blow caught him off guard and to his surprise made him hit his head on the ground first before the rest of his body. But when his back met the ground, his sword flew up, striking her through her lower side straight through her leather top. His head was in pain, but the blood stained snow clearly marked him as the winner.

 

Baldur's eyes almost bulged out when he saw the blood stained metal poking through his wife's friend. "Healers, get in there!" he yelled. It was a bad wound, but he was certain that the mages could seal it. They'd better, or there'd be a lot of deaths by the time this trial was over. No one would be pulling any punches. The duel was quick, but Baldur was surprised Mazoga managed to knock Bardok on his head, even if she did still lose.

 

Menel had gotten a lot of practice in the delicate art of internal temperature management magic over the past weeks- something he had studied extensively since his finger-chopping ordeal back in the days of the war- but for once the duel between Mazoga and Bardok gave him something to take his mind off the cold.

 

Running surprisingly fast for a fat little Bosmer, he shouted at Bardok, "Kindly remove your sword from the patient! Thank you!" He hit Mazoga with a blast of healing magic, and turned her around to observe her expression. She still appeared in shock, her blue-black eyes wide, staring down at the blood that streaked her front then back up uncomprehendingly at Menel. "You've been run through, my good woman. How do you feel?"

 

"I..."

 

Before Mazoga could answer, Menel hit her with another wave. It was messy, this sort of wound dressing. It would take time before the organs got themselves sorted out again. Normally the elf would recommend days if not weeks of bed rest after such an ordeal.

 

Mazoga tottered, then crumpled forward into Menel. From underneath her weight the Bosmer shouted, "A bit of help here!"

 

Baldur grabbed the back of a nearby Stormcloak's neck and threw him in the ring towards the two. "Lets go, move your asses now or I'll make sure someone else needs healing!" He and two other Stormcloaks nearby rushed in quickly to assist Menel and remove her from the ring. Before they passed, Baldur said, "Listen, Menel. I need her ready to go today. In fact, I'll need her up again in a few hours. Her trial isn't over yet. Understand? That goes for anyone else that gets seriously injured. They can get their bed rest later."

 

"She's in shock," Menel complained, then shook his head, knowing it wouldn't do any good.  He had the others hold the orc upright while he hit her with a calm spell to knock back the effects of nearly dying.

 

The glaze in Mazoga's eyes receded a little and she mumbled, "I'm fine."

 

"Oh yes, you're peachy. I'm a big brave orc and all that. Now sit down and shut up. You'll need every one of those few hours of rest you've got."

 

Baldur watched as Menel tended her with enough anxiety to make a heart stop. Baldur loathed the thought of causing Mazoga's death. Not just for Rebec's sake either, as he'd grown fond of the Orsimer. "Listen, Menel. Do what you can, but believe me when I say this is necessary. For all of them. Soldiers won't always have time to sit and rest in war. And also, if I let her stay out too long, she'd have to quit the trials. Rebec doesn't want to lose her friend, and neither do I. But you need to understand that she's doing this for herself, her crew, and for her self respect. If I take pity on her and make her fail without letting her give her all, I wouldn't be acting as her friend. You get it? So don't let doubt get in the way of your orders."

 

"Yes sir. You're the boss."  He pointed at Mazoga. "Don't you move until the general here tells you otherwise."

 

Baldur released a long breath from his nose and returned his attention to the others. The general was obviously not in a good mood, so when he saw Burla snickering in the corner of his eye, he couldn't help putting her down a peg. He straightened out her face with a backhand from his left that was audible even in the harsh wind, then connected again with a front hand from his right that sent her to the ground. "She is your comrade, a fellow shield sister, and you think her almost dying is funny?"

 

Burla would have crushed the balls of any other man that hit her like that, but wasn't stupid enough to try it on their general and stayed silent. But Baldur wanted an answer. He grabbed her by the throat and yelled, "I asked you a ******* question, you ugly bitch."

 

"N-no..." she said, getting increasingly angrier.

 

"No? So I guess what you're saying is I'm blind, then. Okay, well we'll see how funny it is when it's your turn. You better hope you don't have to fight me." Baldur finally released his hand to let Burla fight for air, then said, "What the hell are you all looking at? Get to it! Falgrum, you're up!"

 

After a handful of fights, there were numerous members cut, but only one other soldier received a serious injury, which was Dagnjorn of Whiterun who suffered from a slash across his waist. The other soldiers didn't seem to be intimidated, however. In fact, most of them welcomed the challenge. Burla especially, who was hoping to get payback against the general now as well as Mazoga, who did absolutely nothing to her, of course.

 

She wouldn't get the chance though. Her first opponent was Stump, who she managed to get behind and choke out after dropping her weapons. However, she was taken out by the Dunmer Torik, who quickly disarmed her by slashing her wrist after blocking her blade strike. The others had to take her out of the ring quick before she bled out, and it was Baldur's turn to smile next.

 

"Keep it going, Head-Smasher," Baldur said without concern.

 

The commander nodded and said, "Alright, you're next, sir."

 

Baldur walked through the crowd and picked his trademark weapons; a shield and two axes. The Dunmer was a battle mage, and Baldur hadn't made magic forbidden during the trials. Though he did say that if he ended up roasting his opponent, that he'd lose since the condition of winning was 'first blood', not first burn.

 

Torik stuck with his great sword in one hand and a glowing ball of fire in the other, which made the others surrounding the ring step way back to avoid being burned themselves. By now, the skies were darkening, and the first day of Stunwhik was coming to an end. Everyone including Baldur was hungry, tired and by now increasingly tired of being cold all the time, and yet still they had to fight.

 

Baldur tucked one of his axes in the belt attached to his fur kilt before rubbing at the hairs on his chest as he stretched to crack his back. The others were pissed off that he allowed the Dunmer to use magic when no one else had it, but they secretly thanked that he had to go up against the Mer, hoping he'd see how unfair it was. Baldur was secretly glad of this too, so that no one else could bitch about it later. There was no fairness in war, and they'd all be fighting against mages soon.

 

"Begin!" Head-Smasher yelled. Before he finished, Torik already sent a fireball towards Baldur, which he sidestepped. The fireball soared past him towards soldiers in the back, causing them to all scatter. Baldur dashed towards the Mer and had to block the next fireball with his shield, which got him close enough to engage in close combat.

 

The Dunmer swung high so that Baldur's body would be exposed. When Baldur blocked it, the Dunmer pointed his hand right at him and released a wave of flame that forced him to fall back with his shield raised. The flame on his shield blocked his vision when he lowered it, so he didn't see Torik come straight for him with his great sword raised like a spear. Baldur managed to make him out in time to throw an axe in his direction. The Dunmer managed to evade the flying weapon, however by diving towards the icy ground. One of the Stormcloaks that didn't go back far enough almost caught the axe in his skull before he raised his shield at the last instant.

 

Torik watched as Baldur ran straight for him with his axe raised above his head. Before he got too close, the Dunmer shot a fireball at the ground that knocked Baldur back and made him drop his weapons, which now lay outside the ring. The Dunmer smiled as he stood with his blade, then he released a shield of fire that surrounded him completely just like Reval used to be fond of doing. Torik didn't bother hiding his smile, as he was sure he'd be the first to beat the general.

 

Baldur looked around to see if he could grab onto anything, but he was running out of options as Torik advanced on him surrounded by flames. He noticed something though when Torik's fireball knocked him back, and it gave him an idea.

 

"Hold still while I get the cut sir, or you'll make me cut too deep," said Torik. Baldur was backed into a corner by his raised blade and magic. Just as Torik jabbed his blade at Baldur, he ran forward and let the blade slide past him while Baldur's arm struck through the wall of flames surrounding the Mer and sent his fist flying into his throat. The surprised Mer's eyes bulged as he lost his breath and dropped his blade. Baldur quickly ran out of the way before the flaming Dunmer fell on him. The flames suddenly dissipated when he dropped, and the general ended the duel with a kick to his mouth, sending a bloody tooth flying out and on the snow.

 

Baldur looked at his arm, which probably should have been set ablaze, but besides all the arm hair being singed off, the burn he felt wasn't severe at all. It's like I'm wearing my cape... the flames don't have as strong of an effect anymore. Is it the meditations? Maybe Menel can confirm it.

 

"Next!" Baldur yelled.

 

This time, the Commander called up Ynihinundr. The duel was shorter this time, but it wasn't Baldur who walked out victorious. Ynihinundr, who Baldur got around to calling simply 'Nundr' picked a sword and shield, and made sure to press Baldur back until he stood in the melted snow from the elf's fireballs. When Baldur stood just in front of it, Nundr stayed back just enough to make Baldur charge him and press into him shield against shield. When he did, Nundr swung around and let Baldur fall forward, causing Baldur to slip on the wet snow and fall forward. Baldur tried to turn, and as he did, Nundr's blade went over his bare chest and stomach diagonally while Baldur's axe slashed across his sword arm.

 

Both drew blood, but Nundr struck first and delivered the more damaging blow and was declared victorious. Baldur pushed Nundr's hand away when he tried to assist him, dripping blood over the ground as he made his way out the ring. Holding his wound, he said, "Don't worry about me, continue with the matches! Get moving! Hnh, ack! Damnit..."

 

Menel was off taking a leak, so one of his apprentice healers stepped up and said, "Should I heal you, High General?"

 

The Bosmer appeared just then and heard the question. Glancing at Baldur, he shouted, "That's blood, you moron!  Of course you should heal him!  Be quick about it."

 

"Alright. Stand still, High General."  The apprentice nervously prepared a healing spell and hit Baldur with it.

 

Mazoga was watching all this from her perch at the sidelines. The fact that Baldur had lost his match, too, made her feel a little better... No, actually, she still felt like she'd been shat through a skeever. Humiliation was a bitter brew, and so was near-death experience.

 

Menel's assertiveness made the general laugh despite the life giving liquid that dripped from his body. The breath from Baldur's mouth leaked out into the freezing air rapidly while Baldur stood bloodied, but it slowed considerably as the golden aura surrounded him, causing his wound to tingle as it slowly healed. He ran his finger over it, hoping that him receiving quick treatment meant it wouldn't scar. There'd be no need for bandages, but although the wound was sealed, he still felt the throbbing present as though he were still wounded. But he could still stand. That meant he wouldn't be able to take a rest.

 

He wondered how much more of this he could take before Rebec started to notice, but since these trials started, he'd hardly seen her. Some nights she wouldn't wake when he arrived, so he'd come and go without ever exchanging words. The days now were so long and filled with hardship, that memories of seeing his wife asleep next to him had started to feel like a dream.

 

Once the duels were over, there was hardly a single person there that didn't have some sort of wound or scrape, and everyone there ended up losing to someone. That wasn't going to be acceptable later on when being wounded would hinder their efforts for the rest of the trial period due to the healers not being allowed to use magic on them. Fighting with men considered the most elite meant that the first trials would likely be the hardest undertaken from then on compared to the rest. They all thought that they were tough already. Most were unsure what they'd be considered if they survived the rest. Legendary, or lucky.

 

The men were all gathered around one of the horkers brought in and left to roast over an open fire on a spit. The sounds of the flame crackling in harmony with the sound of hands and teeth tearing at meat as the warriors ripped into the animal's carcass to fill their aching bellies. Baldur walked over to where Mazoga was sitting with his handful of scorching meat. Though the exact intensity of the temperature was unknown to him, as his hands said nothing of it to him.

 

Plopping his big frame on the log next to her, he said, "You know, you and I haven't spoken directly to one another in some time. How you holding up?"

 

Mazoga glanced up. Her scowl was deeper than usual. "I find it's best to keep to myself here." She turned her eyes back to her horker. The beast had never tasted so good.

 

"Does that include from me?" he asked. "Do you feel animosity against me for these trials? I could have likely gotten you that captain spot without this if you left it to me and Rebec."

 

"You can't command people to respect someone." The orc looked at him again. "I'm sorry, general, but I figure you're still testing me. Afraid I'll say something, slip up. It's easier to keep your head down. Maybe I should've done that with the duel, too."

 

Baldur smiled and said, "I'm not testing you, no. As far as I'm concerned, you've already passed your test. But it's not me that needs convincing. And as you said, I can't command them to respect you. As for the duel, no, you handled that like a true N-, uh, like an Orsimer. And anyway, you were going to have to fight eventually."

 

Baldur looked behind her in the direction of where his home, was where he longed to be, then back to Mazoga and said, "Our days end a bit earlier than the last week thanks to the intensity of the training, so I can spare a few hours. If you want, we can go away from here to practice your fighting. I think you could benefit from it. My little Breton apprentice did. I'd be glad to assist you if you'll let me. The others already have an edge on you."

 

Mazoga snapped her tusks. "Not exactly what I wanted to hear. But it's the truth. I don't want any special treatment, though." She gestured with her head. "They'll say you're coddling me to please your wife. Not good for you or me."

 

Baldur sighed heavily as he propped his forehead up in his hand. "I don't care, Mazoga. Rebec doesn't have to know, the others don't have to know. It isn't special treatment, it's simply giving you training you'd receive anyway among us. Training the others already have and are using against you. I'm not doing the fighting for you. Any victory and any loss you take would still be yours and yours alone. The other Stormcloaks, they may think that I'm the best of the Grim Ones, but that isn't true. I'm just their figurehead. Training from me isn't unfair treatment. Remember, I'm taking these trials too, and friend or not, I won't go easy on you. Take the offer. By the time Tsunwhik begins, I won't be in any shape to assist you anymore."

 

She considered this a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. Suppose I shouldn't let pride stand in the way of not dying anyway."

 

Baldur was ready to storm off frustrated, until he realized Mazoga actually agreed. He allowed himself another smile then, and said, "Good. Hurry and eat your fill then. We'll start immediately off in the woods till midnight."

[BTC]

Jerian Aurilie

Wayrest

Late Morning

 

"Keep in line and try not to look like the poor ass farmers you are!" Lord Estermont cried from atop his horse, riding out in front of the troops. To the lord's right and left were the other members of the surprisingly small cavalry.

 

Jerian wondered if being mounted was a hazard or advantage. In one way, you were a larger target, but, you moved much more quickly and could avoid more blows. If he was not liable to die today, he would like to look into the pros and cons of mounted soldiers, but as of now his chances of living were slim to none. Front line arrow catching banner holder was not a vaunted position, not in his mind. Eager to disorient troops, archers would specifically aim for him, and their mortality rate was among the highest.

 

The worst part was, he was holding the emblem of an absent noble. The brown and black bull of King Adrard hung high overhead, while the fat man himself was nowhere to be found, whether it be here with the main group, or with the rest of the cavalry that had left a few days earlier. Some whispered they had retreated, knowing this battle was fruitless, while other suggested they went to gather Orcs to fight with them. Still some said they were deserters, since they had left in the middle of the night, with no explanation. It somewhat irked him he was carrying the king's banner, yet the king wasn't even here. Same with the majority of the king's men, as there were no more than a few dozen men from Camlorn present. The same could be said everyone from Daggerfall, Mon and Gondwyn's men being scarce, as Jerian turned both to his left and right and could count all the those soldiers in his head.

 

Spitting in contempt, even if the feeling was not outwardly portrayed, the standard bearer shuffled from one foot to the other, watching Estermont whisper first to the legate on his right, before turning to the duke on his left. Ottus, Jerian remembered his name was. Montrose was the Imperial's. Estermont again said something, motioning to his left towards the forest, then back behind him. Jerian rolled his eyes, thinking the man was probably just showing off rather than actually doing anything spectacular. His men liked to rave about his tactical know-how, but all the banner holder had seen out of the man was a long, tedious march, a brief skirmish about halfway through the march, then week-long stop before a messenger arrived in a boat, starting them back on the march. All in all, Estermont seemed to be pulling his plans out of his a** the entire time.

 

The time for cussing his leaders was over, however, as the gates of Wayrest opened wide, hundreds of troops spilling from their stone fortress and onto the grassy shores of the Iliac Bay. Most were of Wayrest, as the jewel pile flag of Imbel flew proudly at the head. Jerian didn't know who the other banners, a leaping dolphin and a purple frog on silver, belonged to, but they were probably nobles, dukes or barons or something. Out on the Iliac itself, two dozen ships floated in the harbor, resting likes geese in a murky pond. They were not likely to participate in the battle, unless a corsair fleet attack. Cynically, Jerian thought the corsairs could actually help them, until they raided the city and took everything of value.

 

Lord Estermont turned towards the men, spittle spraying from his mouth as he yelled over the soldiers. "Let's show the bastards what happens when a dog, a b*tch, forgets who it's master is!"

 

Unfortunately, the discharge landed on Jerian's shoulder, and he hastily wiped it off while the march began. Behind and to his left, he could hear Estermont's men singing a song, something about an Orc that gets castrated by an arrow. Jerian cracked a smile, and by the second time around most of the other soldiers had joined it, and by the third even he had joined in.

 

"There once was an orc with a weird ass name, "Hey what else is new?"

Something like Garsh Gro Bashum, and he really loved to screw,

I heard he's been around Tamriel, every here and which way,

"Tell us just where that Orc has been... and whose women he slayed!"

 

Oh, there's a place in Vvardenfell where the women really smell,

There's a place in Morthal, with a hole in the wall,

And all the women bathe there, and you can take a peek!

But don't let those Nord girls catch you, or you'll end up in shit creek,

There's also Valenwood, those mer really love "wood"!

And don't forget Hammerfell, let the hammer fall you should,

He's been almost everywhere, even in Alinor,

And he assures us that the Altmer always had the best of whores,

 

Now, Garsh what's his face was a soldier, and he really loved to boast,

And he eyed this woman's hind quarters and wanted her rump roast,

But during a war, arrows did fly, and all their shields went up,

And it looks like Garsh Gro something should have worn a metal cup,

The shields protected his body, but his snake was just too long!

And that big old green tusked monster took an arrow in the dong,

It poked through like a spear, but a spear it sure was not,

And Garsh was now a woman all because his shlong got shot.

 

Too bad for him but at least you lads can now all rest in peace,

Knowing that green bastard cannot plaster your wife or your niece!"

 

The troops wore grins as they marched, even at the sight of the Wayrestian troops that outnumbered them two to one. The raucous laughter after every verse was uplifting, and Jerian smiled along with the rest, heartily belting out the final line. Even Lord Estermont could be heard humming along, while the troops overtook him and he and the leaders moved to the rear. Their revelry was cut short, as Estermont from the back yelled "HALT!" Right as the Wayrest archers raised their longbows, arrows aimed at the advancing army.

 

Jerian gulped, sweat pouring from every orifice as he realized now was the time he died. His job was to carry the colors, and as such he had nothing but a measly shortsword strapped to his side. The soldiers around him knelt, their shields raised against the onslaught of arrows they all knew was imminent. Jerian knelt to, even if the gesture was feeble. The "thwang" of bowstrings releasing filled the air, and Jerian looked up to the objects making the bird-like whistling. Like a flock of death, the swarmed the soldiers, many falling harmlessly on shields, but the occasional cry of pain when one made contact chilled the bearer's bones.

 

His eyes were closed now, waiting for his turn at death. Time slowed, the arrows falling to the ground around him, one falling in between his legs just like in the song, although his manhood was tuck safely in his stomach, where a pit was forming. Another brushed his hair, causing him to whimper, while finally one struck home. His foot was pinned by wood and steel to the ground, the leather boot providing little resistance. His eyes scrunched more, and he grimaced in pain. Another hit his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. His eyes popped open momentarily, just in time to see another arrow heading straight for him. He shivered, his body growing cold, and closed his eyes, letting the dark, numbing embrace of unconsciousness wrap him up like a blanket, one soaked in fear and distress.

 

**

 

Geor Aric

Wayrest

Late Morning

 

Duke Aric smiled in Lord Imbel's direction, as the two watched the battle from atop the castle's tallest tower. The fight below was going swimmingly, and even the untrained eye of Geor could see that. The first arrow salvo had been fruitless, but he did see a banner bearer go down, which was the cause for the grin. He was about to ask Verick about it, when the lord turned and placed his hand on Geor Aric's shoulder, having just lowered his spyglass.

 

"The scouts were right! The fat man went off with the cavalry once a messenger arrived, probably telling him of the slaughter of his nephew and that pig wife of his. Ha, what a fool!"

 

This was news to Duke Aric, who raised his eyebrows at his liege lord. "Why did you not tell me sooner?"

 

Imbel set the spyglass down and put his other hand on his vassal's other shoulder. "I didn't want to worry you. Duke Steive and Baron Maston learned just this morning, as I wanted to confirm the scouts reports were valid. My-our men followed them north until they reached the southern pass of the Wrothgarians."

 

Aric was young, and still wasn't as sure as the older man. "But what of the merchant's tales of ships in the Iliac? And Breton ships in Sentinel?"

 

Lord Imbel scoffed, waving the story away like a gnat. "A blockade, to be sure. The fat black man, Jerane, Jerred or whatever his name is, is helping them, probably. He and Adrard were always buddying up whenever they got the chance. Because they are both so obese, the fat bastards."

 

Sighing, the duke said, "Still, how do we know Ki-Lord Adrard was with the group that went to Farrun? Look, his troops are even now on the battlefield." He motioned to the battle, where bull banners hung alongside the Estermont pierced heart, the Gaerhart grey, breeching whale, and the Imperial dragon.

 

Tapping the young, good looking noble's head with a lengthy finger, the lord said, "Did you even listen? He took the cavalry, not his troops. So they can get to his precious family faster. And the scouts and the spies we have in their army said that a bald, fat, mustachioed man led the cavalry. Before you ask, no, the recent corsair attack are nothing more than opportunistic scavenging. Like vultures, the disgusting cretins."

 

Imbel leaned in closer to the younger man, once Duke Aric had calmed down. Whispering, the lord said, "Now, let us enjoy the massacre, together. I do hope the sight of so much carnage gets your blood as heated as it does mine." He planted a soft kiss on the vassals cheek, leaving bite marks as he pulled off.

 

Geor Aric lustfully smirked, his reservations set aside, and his mind now preoccupied with more pressing matters. And by pressing, he meant the straining of his trousers at containing his excitement. Just as the men's hands worked to undo each other's buttons, a pair of boots could be heard stomping up the stairs. With expert quickness, the men assumed a natural pose of surveying the engagement below, after redoing their pants, of course. A guard arrived, not moments after Imbel brought the eyeglass to his face, noticing instantly the battle had moved further away from the city's gates.

 

"Sir, Duke Steive ordered me to deliver a message, which states 'We have the enemy outnumbered greatly, and were it not for the strength of their initial shield wall they would have been crushed in the opening charge. As of now, they have retreated slightly, and we have moved to re-engage. The land is right due to forest and sea, but the lack of sand makes it excellent terrain. They will be crushed before tomorrow's dawn. I do believe, however, it would be prudent for us to-"

 

"STOP!" Lord Imbel's yell caused Duke Aric to jump, and he dropped the bottle of wine he had been opening. Aric, oblivious to the guard's presence, moved to his lover's side, consoling him a hand on the chest.

 

"What? What is it?" Geor Aric asked, his eyes skanning the battle for some sign of trouble. He found none, so turned expectantly to Verick.

 

"What in the hell is that?" Imbel asked, the spyglass slipping from his hand in disbelief, tumbling, bouncing, clanging down the stone wall to the ground below, while all three men stood aghast at the sight before them.

 

**

 

Abaccus

Wayrest

Late Morning

 

His breathing intensified, as the nagging feeling he had in his mouth increased. Abaccus hated when it did that, but it wasn't near as pestering as the pain in his ribs. Shaking his head in disgust, he kept running, weaving in and out of the trees like an expert. He much preferred the forest to the mountains they had been in earlier in the week. More food here, a much larger variety. The weather was better too, not near as cold, and there was almost no wind. The pain in his ribs reared it's ugly head again, and Abaccus' nostrils flared in anger.

 

Trying to ignore the pain, his speed increased, leaping over fallen trees and dodging branches like an expert. Light filtered through the canopy above, beams of glorious sunlight guiding the way out for he woods. Glancing to his left and right, Abaccus saw that his friends were behind him, breathing heavily, sprinting, and avoiding obstacles just as he was. His shoes crunched fallen twigs, leaves, while a stray branch brushed alongside him. The exit could be seen through gaps in the trees, and his leader urged him along, words of encouragement yelled out right before they burst through the trees and onto the grassy beach.

 

The charge didn't stop, and the enemies were in awe, completely caught off guard to the attack emanating from the forest. Abaccus grunted, charging for the nearest soldier. The man turned, just in time to catch a sword to the face, the now dead body falling in a heap as the new attackers swept over it. They had to make the most of the initial surprise, before the leader regrouped them and used the superior numbers to drive them back. Slashes cut down enemies, and Abaccus even struck down an enemy with a kick to the head.

 

Abaccus' allies formed around him him, circling back to reform the line. Grunting again, he led the charge, but lacking the surprise of the first, the Wayrest soldiers had raised their shields and formed a wall. Abaccus ducked his head, running hard before leaping the kneeling enemy soldiers. Landing atop a burly man, he quickly stomped down, ending the poor saps life. The man behind him received a slash, but Abaccus didn't have much time left, lest the remaining soldiers turned around and finished him.

 

Spinning around to ensure every side was covered, he leapt back across the lines, joining the rest of the attackers, who were finding the shield wall hard pressed to break through. Abaccus, ignoring the pains in both mouth and ribs, lashed out again, trying to break his way through the wall. It was now to be, however, as a spear, or two, or three, slid into his belly, a cry shooting out from his lips. His big, black eyes rolled back, and his legs lashed out, the metal on the ends denting heads and helmets alike. He fell to his side, the pain in mouth and ribs subsiding to the one in his stomach. Nostrils inhaled one last time, blood, urine, and feces mixing in the world's most disgusting cocktail. Rust colored hair falling gently across his face, he gave one last, soft neigh, as the rider on his back fell dead alongside his former mount, both lying in each other's blood.

 

**

 

Barthel

Wayrest

Late Morning

 

Barthel was still shocked with the younger noble consoling Lord Imbel in such a personal way, but the thoughts were soon pushed away. The cavalry charge had come out of the forest, sprinting at near full speed, and crashed into the troops on the far right like waves on a rocky shore.

 

Lord Imbel shook his head in disgust, his voice filled with spite and anger. "Damn Adrard. Damn him!"

 

"It is alright. Look, see how few of them there are? And our troops are already reforming. We still outnumber them," the young noble said, backing away slightly from Lord Imbel.

 

The lord of Wayrest nodded, his anger draining away. "Yes, you're right. The cavalry isn't enough to break the line, and look how they're engulfed in our forces already. They're trapped!"

 

The guard looked out, and sure enough his fellow soldiers were regrouping, fighting back the remaining cavalry on one side and attempting to penetrate the shield wall of the main force with those unaffected by the charge. His chest swelled with pride, knowing that his friends and comrades were fighting well, and that the cavalry charge had only inconvenienced them.

 

"M'lord, is there a message you want me to relay to Duke Steive?" Barthel asked, while Lord Imbel turned rather shocked to see the guard there.

 

"Yes; I want the Evermor men moved in to wipe out the cavalry, then assist in breaking the remaining forces. I want this battle over," Lord Imbel said sternly.

 

Barthel saluted and said "Aye sir," before scurrying off. He wanted away from those two as quickly as possible, even if that meant he had to lead the next charge. The way they looked at each other was...unnerving, to say the least. Barthel rushed down the stairs, through the main gate, and gave the orders to the baron in charge of the soldiers from Evermor. With a cry of orders, the troops were off, marching as quickly as possible toward the defeat of the enemy cavalry. Barthel joined their ranks, falling in line at the back, along with a few other men from inside the city.

 

**

 

Geor Aric

Wayrest

Late Morning

 

Duke Aric chanced a smile, but lowered his hands from Imbel's chest.

 

"What do you think he saw?" he asked hesitantly, watching the vanguard move across to the battlefield.

 

A hard slap greeted those words, Lord Imbel's hand connecting hard with the cheek of the young duke.

 

Growling, he furiously looked at his lover. "Do not ever touch me in the presence of another, do you understand? Seeds of doubt will be sown in those that follow me, especially since I don't have an heir."

 

Geor whimpered softly, turning away and holding his cheek. He hated when Verick was angry, as it usually led to him lashing out at the duke.

 

"I-I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, I wanted to let you know I was here for you."

 

Lord Imbel turned, taking his partners hands in his own and looking him in his eyes. "I know you're here; I don't need reminding. But my rule will be seen as illegitimate to my enemies, and we can't have that."

 

Just as he leaned in to kiss the soft lips of Duke Aric, a horn blew off in the distance. It snapped the pair apart, as even the novice duke recognized it as being that of the enemies. It was, in fact, Lord Estermont sounding the retreat, as his forces began to fall back to the rear position the reserves had taken up.

 

"Steive better move in to destroy them. And there he goes. Two short blows of his own horn followed by a long blow," Imbel pointed out, while Duke Aric moved his gaze to the cavalry battle.

 

"Look, the cavalry is fleeing back into the forest! Will our troops follow or join with the rest of the attack?" he asked quizzically.

 

"Join Steive's men," Imbel said, just as the troops from Evermor did just that. "The cavalry is too weak to reform and attack, while the position Estermont's men have withdrawn to makes them a much more formidable force. The road is narrow, and uphill, so they have both a funnel and the high ground. It will take both sets of men to unseat them from their perch."

 

Aric nodded, most of the words sailing far over his head, while getting the gist. Estermont retreated, the cavalry retreated, and the Wayrest and Evermor soldiers had to fight uphill.

 

"We're winning then?" Geor asked with childlike amusement.

 

"The defeat of our enemies is in the palm of our hand's. All we have to do is squeeze," Verick Imbel stated with a sneer.

 

"Why not just let them retreat? We've won the day already, and they have the advantage of the hill," Geor asked again.

 

Imbel turned his smirk to the brown headed, starry eyed youthful man next to him. "Too many times have commanders not pursued when they should have, allowing enemies to regroup and counter attack. If we let them escape, they could return and challenge us again. Now is the best possible time to crush them, once and for all."

 

**

 

Jerian Aurilie

Wayrest

Late Morning

 

Jerian woke with a jolt, but his eyes were hazed over so he panicked, feeling around for something, anything, trying to determine where he was. Dead, floating through Aetherius? Lying on the battlefield, bleeding out? Or still alive, just blinded? Eventually, his hands found his cloth undershirt, and he wiped away blood and dirt from his face. He was alone, save for the moans of the dying all around him. how am I not dead?he wondered, until his eyes located the source of his good fortune. Good and fortune were relative terms, of course, as he still had an arrow in his shoulder, as well as one in his foot, but the dead soldier atop him had saved his life. Two arrows stuck out of the poor sap's face like needles in a dogs snout, one that might have grown too curios while sniffing around a porcupine.

 

"He must have taken one to the head, then fallen over and taken mine as well," Jerian said aloud, his voice harsh, raspy, coarse like the stubble on the dead soldier's face. He pushed the man off, then grimaced disgustingly at the pool of blood on his shirt from the man's pincushion like face.

 

A battle cry taken, one up by hundreds of men, drew his attention away from his tunic. Turning his head painfully, neck stiff from laying on the dirt, he noticed for the first time the battle was not over, but had moved elsewhere. The soldiers from Wayrest, as well as some new ones he assumed were from Evermor, charged up a slight incline towards the shield wall of his comrades. The fighting was fierce, as blood ran like rivers down the hill.

 

Jerian tried to stand, he knew not why, considering the arrow in his foot prevented any hope of walking. It was just as well, because even moving at the snail's pace he was caused his head to spin from lightheadedness. He dropped to an elbow, then onto his back, staring up at the sky. No birds flew, nor arrows, and the only sounds were the screams and yells of men in the distance, and the moans of soon to be corpses nearby. He rolled his was to the left, his eyes focusing on the arrow protruding from his collarbone. The blood, he noticed, was still seeping out, but at a slow pace. If he didn't get some sort of wrap on it, he would be dead with in the hour.

 

Probably for the best, he thought. Its probably infected anyway, or my foot is. The gods have screwed me over once again.

 

A horn sounded somewhere, and Jerian thought the retreat had been sounded by the Wayrest soldiers and they would soon be trampling him, until he realized it came from in front of him. It was the city's horn, not the soldiers'. He lifted his head slightly, eyes scanning the forest, then the walls of Wayrest, but nothing seemed out of place. Taken over by some out of the blue sense of determination, he steadily pushed himself up, then used the broken banner pole like a crutch, rising to his feet. His right foot blazed with pain, as if he had just stuck it in a fire, then pierced it with hundreds of needles. With no adrenaline to stave off the agony, every step seemed to last a lifetime. He hobbled past horses, wondering if maybe this was the missing cavalry.

 

Men and beasts littered the ground, their blood forming in thick, crimson puddles. Jerian was mildly shocked at just how few horses and King's soldiers their were, as opposed to numerous Queen's soldiers, those allied with Lielle Rolston. He had never realized that the cavalry was so few, and yet their charge must have been an utter shock to take down to men to their every one. Still, men from both sides would never wake from their sword induced slumber. Many moaned, groaned, reached for the hobbling former flag bearer, who limped past the hands that grappled for his help. Jerian just walked on, knowing there was nothing he could do for these poor men.

 

One horse in particular caught his eye, a red stallion with four spears and a dirk sticking out of its belly, intestines and putrid bowels strewn across the ground, while the rider underneath him twitched at the sight of Jerian.

 

Gurgling, the man chuckled and spoke in a strained voice. "Heh, thought you were one of the traitors. Here to finish me off. But you're just another unlucky bloke like me. This isn't even my horse, you know? Duke Mon's, but he's off in Morrowind or something. I was his stable hand, and he sent me off on this red devil to die like a pig at slaughter. The damn thing just took off, like a bat out of Coldharbour. I think it killed more men then I did with it's kicking and stomping. I don't think it even noticed the sword; it wasn't until the spears that it went down. Funny thing about it was, I never got touched. But when he fell, my legs snapped and a bone broke the skin, so here I am bleeding without an enemy ever touching me. How's that for luck, hehehe."

 

The man's laugh devolved into a fierce cough, blood spraying out as his eyes rolled back and his head fell limp, eyes still staring at Jerian as if he was about to continue on with his story.

 

Jerian moved to walk away, when movement in the harbor caught his eye. Several merchant ships began to sail out of the docks, toward something the foot soldier couldn't see. The navy ships moved as well, but the enemy they sought to attack was blocked from view by from Jerian by their silhouettes. He craned his neck for a better angle, but couldn't make out any discerning details of the attackers. Whoever they were, they outnumbered Imbel's flotilla, and seemed to have take them by surprise.

 

The injured standard bearer sat down, leaning backwards against a pile of bodies so he could prop himself up and watch the battle. Be noticed several ships breaking away, or sneaking around the back, he wasn't quite sure. They were large, similar to the deep drafted merchants ships that had sailed out earlier. There were about twenty or so, and they barreled towards him like a stampeding herd of bulls. Oddly enough, Jerian realized, they even sported a bull banner. King Adrard's banner, the one I carried he thought, a sense of enlightenment bringing a slight lip curl of a smile to his face.

 

While the ram ships, or at least that's what Jerian called them, fought with the other ram ships, the big boats came to anchor offshore, while men poured like ants into smaller rowboats and began coming ashore. Another horn sounded, this one he recognized as Lord Estermont's, and he saw the soldiers advantageously placed atop the hill charge down to attack the Wayrest and Evermor men, ensuring they would be too preoccupied to double back and kill the soldiers landing behind them.

 

The first few boats stuck themselves in the sand, but Jerian only paid attention to the one headed straight for him. Jerian looked up on that dingy, a fat, bald, brown mustachioed man smiling down on him. Jerian's head slumped over, and his eyes glazed and blurred again, joining the stable hand in the bittersweet embrace of death, as the enlightened smile remained on his face.

 

**

 

Theodore Adrard

Wayrest

Late Morning

 

The gods must have had some grievance with the poor soul, to die mere moments before we arrived. Not all are as lucky as I, it seems,Theodore thought, walking out onto the luscious shore of Wayrest. The sea battle raged on behind him, but that wouldn't last long. Imbel's navy was horribly outmatched by that of Daggerfall's and Camlorn's, his city still reeling from the corsair raids, even though it had been a decade and a half.

 

A plush carpet of the purest green grass covered the entire beach, sand found only on a single, slim stretch about three feet wide along the length of the shore. The rest, verdant pasture, all the way up to the forest several dozen yards away. The dreary, dark green of the canopy stood out sharply with the wonderful light colored sod on the beach. It would have smelled just as beautiful too, had it not been for the ravaged bodies strewn about like pieces of garbage in a skooma junkies' den. The stench of ruptured bowels hung over like a fog. Theo, however, would not smell it, for the his nose was still stopped up from his cold, otherwise his face would have contorted with the rest of the men's.

 

Ravens, crows, and other scavenging birds were already circling overhead, their squawking almost silent compared to the roaring of the battle up ahead. Theo's men moved at a half run, trying to close the gap between them and the ambushed prey as quickly as possible. The leader of the Wayrest soldiers, already aware of his imminent demise, was off and running, he and the other nobles with him breaking for the forest. A hail of arrows assured they would not make it, although the leader rose again, trying to get away feebly before another grouping found his back. The army of Wayrest, along with a few unlucky Evermor soldiers, were now horribly trapped, pinned between the two armies with no hope of escape.

 

The clinking of Theodore's armor stopped as his soldiers came to a halt facing the trapped men, while Lord Estermont's soldiers pulled backed off their attack in light of the reinforcements. Theodore grinned, wondering just how it was he could be so utterly lucky. A million things could have skewed this attack, yet none of them had, so here he stood like a god among men, mastermind of the weak-willed and weaker minded. These men were his to crush and destroy, yet they would live if he had his say in the matter.

 

"Citizens of Wayrest, nay, of High Rock," Theodore's voice boomed, thanks to the assistance of a mage who amplified it for him.

 

"I come before you as your king, your merciful conqueror. You were led out here by cowards, deceivers, and liars. Fools who now sit safely in their walls why your utter annihilation is at hand. But, it need not be. Take up arms against those who sent you out here to die, like animals to be slaughtered. Join my cause, join my crusade to rid our land of these perjurers and traitors. If you do join us, your past transgressions will be forgiven, and there will be no ill effects. Swear your allegiance, and turn over to me any noble here that led you, and you will live to fight these monsters yourselves. What say you, soldiers of High Rock? What say you join your king in his noble quest unseat this usurper?"

 

There was no dramatic cheer, no thunderous applause, but a silent sense of acceptance of what Theodore said. These men were soldiers, but even the most loyal of dogs would eat their dead master if starved. And these dogs were hungry, not for food but for a chance to live. Life was the ultimate prize, and that's what the fat king was offering. Even the few who did care about the politics at stake here would gladly exchange their principles for their lives, especially when Lord Imbel sat in his walls and Duke Steive dead, fleeing like a coward. Joining Theodore meant rejoining families, walking away from here, and that was enough to convince any man that the king was the right choice. So, slowly at first, then in large groups, the men of Wayrest merged into their once enemies, dragging along with them the few nobles who had not fled, offering them up for peace and safety. Some refused, more than Theodore had expected. Older men, those that had served years with the lords and dukes and barons that commanded them. Most however, choose life over loyalty, as men were like to do.

 

Theodore rode out to meet his new soldiers, while those already under his command parted to allow the king to pass. A banner bearer, along with two mounted soldiers and four mages, more wizard-like than the battlemages used by the Empire, escorted him through the crowd. He reached the front of his army, dismounting and brushing aside the magical guardians.

 

"Are there any nobles left among you?" Theodore asked, glancing at the arrow filled corpses of the former leaders, almost exclusively nobles, but he knew that there were likely more.

 

Hesitantly, two men stepped from the soldiers that had not joined Theo. One was about Theodore's height, a blood matted shag of brown hair half covering his left eye. He was a handsome man, by every standard, and even the haggard, tiresome look on his face couldn't hide that. His lips, set in a natural sort of smile, pursed as he awaited what he assumed was his death.

 

The other man with him was a few inches shorter, completely bald with a thick black mustache and goatee. One hand was short a few fingers, and he walked with a limp. He grimaced at the king, revealing his incomplete set of blood covered teeth. He licked his lips anxiously, but otherwise was calm.

 

Theodore looked the two over, nodding in polite surprise. If these were the only ones that were left, that meant Duke Steive and his son were among those that died trying to flee, as well as Baron Ashcroft from Evermor.

 

"You're the younger twin of Duke Aric, aren't you?" the king asked the stunningly attractive man. Even someone as straight as the king had to admit, the man was a rare specimen of handsome beauty.

 

"I am Sir Gaven Aric, yes," he replied tersely, but it seemed the bitterness wasn't directed at Theo, but a different person entirely.

 

"Baron Ysciele. I believe we met at the last Winter Solstice Ball. A pleasure again," Theodore's voice lacked the kindness he had displayed to Sir Aric.

 

"Is it? Whatever you mean to do, do it quickly. We talked it over, and will have none of joining you," while Ysciele sounded determined, Gaven glanced at the blood stained ground, while his hands fidgeted nervously.

 

Theodore searched the recesses of his memory, trying to come up with anything he knew that might persuade them otherwise. Nothing came to mind, nothing that wasn't rumor or conjecture. As it turned out, he didn't have to say a word, as a man stepped from behind him, wearing the clothes of the Wayrest city guard.

 

Clearing his throat, the soldier said, "I have some information, for m'lords, if they will be so kind to hear it."

 

Theodore raised his eyebrow inquisitively, asking, "And you are?"

 

"Barthel, sir. Of Lord Imbel's guards," he nervously stated.

 

Theodore nodded, motioning with his hand for the man to continue. Barthel gulped, wiping away sweat with a cloth before speaking.

 

"I caught Lord Imbel, and Duke Aric, well, caught isn't the right word, but I saw them...embrace. Not a normal embrace either, but like lovers. Now, I'm not a judge, and I don't pretend to care about what he does in the bedroom, but he doesn't seem likely to produce an heir, even if he is married. And I'm sure I don't have to tell anyone the rumors about him and the wards he keeps around the castle," Barthel said, glancing at Sir Aric as he spoke.

 

Gaven stood their, smiling like an idiot. Theodore looked to him next, surprised to see a smile on the man's face.

 

"Anything in particular you have to share, Sir Aric?" the king asked, fully interested in the story the guard told.

 

"Aren't I the fool. Yes, I have everything to tell. My brother is a *****, as is the Lord of Wayrest. Their in love too, if you can believe Geor's ramblings. And I was threatened with death if I ever told, but it doesn't seem to matter now much. I can't affirm any rumors of child f*cking, but I know he and Lady Imbel never did it. That much I've heard from her," that part was added with a smirk, hinting at how he came by such personal information.

 

"And because of that, I say screw them. I have no loyalties, neither to my brother nor his butt-f*cking plaything. They cosy on up in the castle while we throw down our lives so they can continue to stick it in each other. Which wouldn't be a problem, except that neither can provide heirs. I'm with King Adrard. Those two f*ckers can rot in f*cking Coldharbour where Molag Bal can shove his mace up both their arses," Sir Aric was practically yelling at the end, all the pent up anger at both Lord Imbel and his brother finally expounding itself into spoken words. He walked across to Theodore's side, taking with him every single soldier, save those under the command of Baron Ysciele.

 

The baron glared at Theodore, but walked towards him, speaking in a hushed tone yet his anger not diminished in any way, "I believe the boy, but that doesn't make what you did to Rolston right. I don't see much worth in sticking with the f*ggots, so I'll join you. But don't think this makes you right, you fat f*ck."

 

Theodore smile pleasantly, his voice soothing and calm. "You are nothing to me. I wield power, influence, prestige and wealth, while you cry and complain about issues that matter not in the slightest to me. Maybe I should just slay you here, and save myself the hassle of dealing with your worthless a**. Whores are more useful; at least they know when to shut up and suck up, while you b*tch like a spoiled child. I can crush you, utterly eradicate the entire memory of your existence from Nirn. Don't you ever begin to believe I care at all what you think of me, because at the end of the day, I will win, your 'former' side will lose, and you will be forgotten like a little lamb, while we wolves ravage you and your herd until they cease to exist. Begone, and never speak to me again, ignoble cretin."

 

Baron Ysciele fumed with anger, hatred, malice and spite, but all his emotions were contained in his steaming red face, and didn't manifest into actions or retaliatory remarks. His soldiers joined the ranks, uniting the opposing armies into one. Lord Estermont's men, realizing what had happened, sent up a cheer and marched down to join the army, which was turning around, placing Theodore again at the back of the force. He fell back while the main forced marched towards the gates, Lord Estermont, Duke Thierry, Duke Wirich, and Duke Ottus joining him in the rear,

 

"And so, your gambit worked," Ottus said, his voice betraying just a hint of admiration. He was honest, if rather plain and a bit uninteresting. Still, he was a valiant fighter, as his sigil of a bloodied mace attested to.

 

Theodore returned the grin, nodding his large, shining bald head. "That it did. Although, even I didn't foresee the entirety of the Wayrest army joining us. I expected most, but the news of his sexuality seemed to convince all of them Imbel wasn't worth dying for."

 

Duke Wirich, dressed in a bright purple tunic depicting a black spider, shook his head in disbelief. "How he managed to keep his affair with another noble, a male noble at that, a secret, I will never understand. I had only heard of his adventures with the poor wards, not this Duke Aric."

 

Estermont scoffed, "The gods smiled upon us today. Never in the history of High Rock has a plan gone so swimmingly."

 

"How 'bout you keep your trap shut on how 'swimmingly' things go 'till I get back you bloated puss filled wart," a gruff voiced yelled from behind.

 

Theodore turned to see, much to his wry amusement, a near perfect copy of himself riding towards them. Bald, with brown mustache, and leaning towards the thicker side, the man was visibly disgruntled with the nobles.

 

"How nice of you to join us, Duke Gondwyn," King Adrard said with a smirk.

 

It wasn't until they were side by side that the differences could be noticed. Theodore was taller, and larger, while his mustache was a darker brown, and his nose less crooked. He also lacked the scar along his cheek, but that wasn't noticeable at a distance. To an untrained observer, such as one that had never seen the king before, however, the differences were indistinguishable.

 

Gondwyn began to stroke his beard, but realizing it was absent, save for the mustache, he growled out loud, "Next time, one of you has to disguise yourselves. If it wasn't bad enough dressing up, the cavalry charge was a almost a disaster. Some foolish rider on an red horse took off before I gave the order, the bastard."

 

"Well, if it's any consolation, I think you look very handsome," Theodore said with a chuckle, drawing laughter out of the other nobles, and a playful scowl from Paul Gondwyn.

 

"It worked though, I'll give you that. I thought we were done when we had to camp an extra day in the Wrothgarians, but we managed to make it in time," Duke Gondwyn said, his mood improving slightly with the king's joke.

 

Theodore hadn't expressed any doubt about the plan failing, even while knowing that complete success was unlikely. Given the recent news about Lord Imbel, however, it made sense he was too preoccupied and distracted to see things clearly. The cavalry charge almost failed, as Duke Gondwyn said, but otherwise everything was smooth sailing, including the favorable weather at sea. Out in the bay, the remains of the Wayrestian navy sank into the deep blue, while the rest of the ships sent ashore as many fighting men as possible. Dozens of tiny row boats bobbed up and down in the waves, until their hulls slid onto the sandy strip of beach.

 

They formed in lines, mostly organized, falling into step with the rest of the army when the two converged. It was a brisk march to just outside the main gates, which opened slightly while three men rode out, white flag in hand. Theodore proceeded to ride out and meet them, along with Lord Estermont and Duke Gondwyn, who also carried a banner of peace. Theodore stopped less than halfway, ensuring these men would have to come to him, and advance further away from the gates. If their was any betrayal to be had by the men from Wayrest, it just became increasingly difficult.

 

Arriving atop a black and dapple grey horse, a lithe, graying man with sharp blue eyes began the peace accords. "We represent the Decel, Rostorard, and Loseph families. This is Madam Loseph," he motioned to his right at the auburn headed, middle aged woman whose pursed lips seemed set in stone.

 

"This is Sir Rostorard," he motioned to his left, towards a pale, muscular man with a massive scar running across the top of his balding head. "I am Theranis Decel. We represent the three largest merchant, banking, and shipping families in Wayrest. Lord Imbel has locked himself inside his castle along with his remaining soldiers, who number around two hundred. Between the three of us, we employ seventy five fighting men, most of which have taken the main gate. We offer immediate

surrender to your forces, and in return request our assets be left unmolested."

 

Theodore, visage carved from stone, quietly listened to the man's terms. He nodded at the end, a single hand stroking his mustache as he thought it over. "We accept these terms, and will assist in the capture of the keep. But to I want your absolute loyalty. If I detect even the slightest hint of mutiny or betrayal, I will personally ensure your families are erased from memory."

 

Theranis nodded solemnly, while the knight, Sir Rostorard smiled, revealing an incomplete set of teeth. "There's a reason none of my sons nor I were on that battlefield. I believe the same could be said for the Decel and Loseph family. Had your armies not arrived, I doubt our heads be attached much longer. It is no secret Imbel disliked how critical we were of him, but even with his balls still tucked away in his stomach like a child, he wouldn't allow such insubordination for long."

 

Duke Gondwyn smiled stupidly at the comment about Lord Imbel's testicles, but Theodore and Estermont kept their composure much better. The men and one woman shook hands, and Theodore rode back to his army, total victory now but a formality.

 

**

 

Lord Imbel and Duke Aric were both executed, as was Lady Imbel. The evidence against her was circumstantial, but Theodore had many a friend in the lower rung of society, and expert forgers were among those. The devised a series of letters from Lady Imbel to Baron Ysciele's wife, in which the former threw support behind her husband and Lielle Rolston. It worked perfectly, and the council of Wayrest's most prominent, many of whom were now pro-Adrard. There were a few more troublemakers, but they either joined the Imbels in death or paid a substantial tax of four thousand septims. Most, if not all, of these disgruntled people were nobles whose interests were soon to be under attack by this Theo regime, or so they thought. All of them paid the money, and therefore only Duke Aric, Lord and Lady Imbel were executed.

 

Theodore had won the most important battle of his life, and was soon to win the war as well. It was only a matter of time, he knew. Only time stood in his way.

[BTC]

Valenwood,

Afternoon,

Lorgar Grim-Maw, Merazzt (TheGoodDoctor),

 

Lorgar jammed his greatsword into the Bosmer's stomach, causing a nice tearing sound to be heard. The Bosmer's leather armor did little to stop Azhidonik from finding its prey, as the moonlight white blade entered undaunted.  With a look of pain, the Bosmer dropped his curved sword. Impaled on the greatblade, he made a futile attempt to lift his arm in defiance, but failed, coughing out blood all over Lorgar's mask covered face,

 

 "Y'ffre...damn...you..."  He said sheepishly,

 

 Lorgar let out a sinister laugh, before putting his face inches away from the dying Bosmer's, All the dying elf could see was a bright white wolf skull. 

 

 "I already am damned." He whispered.  With a single stroke, Lorgar ripped out his greatsword, causing a torrent of crimson liquid to spray all over the nords black armor. Falling to his knee's the Bosmer said nothing, as the upper half of his body slid to the floor. Behind the masked soldier, was half a dozen more bodies

 

 No challenge...

 

Another Rebel fighter charged Lorgar from the front, intending on avenging his downed comrade. Slashing downward with his halberd, he let out a warcry. In a flash of lighting speed, and a blur of steel, the Bosmer looked blankly at the man infront of him, as he looked down to see his weapon falling, and stumps were his hands used to be. He didn't have a chance to scream out in pain, with Lorgar decapitating him with a single stroke of Azidonok. Taking a two handed fighting stance, Lorgar deflected several incoming arrows.  

 

This time three Bosmer swordsmen charged Lorgar, under a cover of arrow fire. Going back into a one handed stance, Lorgar grabbed one of the arrow mid-flight, which was inches from his faces. Crushing it underneath his gauntleted hands , he side stepped away from the approaching enemy, while dodging sword thrusts and strikes. They were attempting to surround him, putting the greatsword to his waist, Lorgar backed himself into a corner, his vision was turning red, consuming his mind with the blood lust of the wolf. As the trio of rebels attacked, his reflex’s kicked in, as he let loose his greatsword, in a burst of supernatural speed, Azhidok came to cut deeply into all three of them in one fell swoop of its mighty blade. Not resting, Lorgar turned around to see another rebel with a long, curved, two handed sword, which was coming down right on Lorgar. Dropping his greatsword, he grabbed the blade with the palm of both of his hands.  He slammed his knee into the mans unprotected groin area, causing him to scream out in pain, and fall to his knees, and drop his blade, leaving it in Lorgar’s palm. Throwing the blade away, Lorgar roughly grabbed the man’s head, and twisted it around, causing a sickening snap to be heard. A trio of arrows come whistling towards him, which were blocked by Lorgar using the corpse as a human shield. He briskly grabbed his fallen sword, and threw the body to the side,

 

 A pair of rebel archers stood at the floor of the forest. The one furthest to the right tapped the middle's one's shoulder, who responded with a nod. Looking back at Lorgar one last time the two ran the other way, going deeper into the forest. Relaxing his combat stance, Lorgar pointed his sword at the retreating Bosmer,

 

 "I am death. Bitter Death. Run while you can, you cannot evade me for long."

 

 Lorgar stopped for a second, becoming very sad for a reason unknown to him at the time. He glanced at his greatsword, and let out a sorrowful sigh,

 

I forgot who this sword belonged too....I was supposed to live for the both us...i'm sorry...I failed....

 

The sounds of footsteps and some kind of sizzling from behind caused the lycantrope to turn around, and bring up his greatsword in a one-handed fighting stance. That acute hearing saved his life, since he managed to see the large dark blade going towards him, the blade was going almost as fast as Lorgar's reflex time could process. If Lorgar was a normal human, he would be dead. But he wasn't , as he managed to block the sword with his moonlight rune blade. Locking there two swords, Lorgar could see a distinctive dark red face, which he slammed his free fist into.

 

However, his opponent brought up it's clawed hand, which was covered in a metalic black red armor, and grabbed Lorgar's balled fist before it impacted. It's grip was like iron, and Lorgar's gauntlet started to dent.  Examining his enemy fully, a small smile appeared on Lorgar's lips,

 

A Dremora from the deadlands. One of those Bosmer's must have been a conjurer.

 

 That smile soon faded, as the Dremora, gripping his hand, slowly began to crush Lorgar's firmly under his grip,

 

"You are the one who summoned me?" asked the raspy, almost layered voice of the Dremora as he squeezed harder against Lorgar's fist. A wicked, razor-sharp blade matching the armor slowly raised towards Lorgar's neck, and he noticed that the Daedra's piercing red eyes bore amusement rather than the typical solemness of a summoned being.

To a mortals ear, it would sound like black gibbersh, but in truth, it was the dark language of Oblivion Lorgar decided to speak in, "Does it look like i'm a mage?" Putting all the force he could muster, Lorgar slammed his plate covered feet into the Dremora's leggings, in an attempt to propel him backwards

 

The Dremora released his grip, and while most beings would've fallen, or at least staggered from the blow, he only put one foot back and remained in his position. Now, his expression was one of interest. "You speak like a Daedroth, yet you are not of Oblivion." he said back in his native tongue. "And the fool who summoned me unbound is gone." He tilted back his head, which bore two curved horns the length of daggers, and a long black mane, and inhaled deeply through his nose. "Yesssss... this place will do nicely..." His brow suddenly wrinkled, and he sniffed again, then turned his red eyes back to Lorgar. "Now I understand." The Daedra's lips curled into a malicious smile. "Your scent is that of Hircine's mutts."

 

Lorgar jumped a few paces backward, bringing up his greatsword and ebony shortblade into a fighting stance. He examined the imposing dark red demon. Replying in the same language, Lorgar's voice was deep and primordial, almost sounding like a wolf's snarl, "And you’re a servant of Dagon." Eyeing him, he continued "What caste are you of Dremora?" 

 

"I am Merazzt." The Dremora said, pounding the Daedric script engraved onto his armor that said as much. "Valkynaz of Lord Dagon's own guard." He brandished his sword, nearly twice as long as a typical human blade, and took a step forward. "Slayer of lords and sacker of the city of black wolves. And now I am here, seeing for the first time the potential my lord saw in your world through free eyes, and with a wolf standing before me. How fitting."

 

He's a Dremora Lord. Hircine ******* damn it.

 

"Lorgar Grim-Maw . Abyss-hound of Lord Hircine, Butcher of Bruma, and Dark Archer of Falkreath." The werewolf said, bowing his head, he sheaved his shortblade, using his now free hand to grip his runeblade in two hands, "Your kinds penance for destruction is well known to me. You didn't fight in the Oblivion Crisis?"

 

Through smiling black teeth, the Dremora chuckled. "You are not familiar with your own world's sigils, are you wolf?" He took one final step, closing enough distance that Lorgar was now within striking range.

 

"I'm well known for being a god awful politician, Merazzt. I can barely remember the dragon sigil of the empire." He said, in a half-joking tone, "Now if I recall, the wolf sigil is the banner of the city Kvatech, in Cyrodili?" Lorgar let loose a throwing dagger with lighting fast speed, as he charged at the Dremora in a blur, bringing down his moonlight runeblade on the Dremora.

 

A loud, metallic clang resounded through the forests as the runeblade was met by the Dremora's own Daedric one. Merrazt calmy brought a clawed black gauntlet up to his neck, the edge of which Lorgar's throwing dagger was now buried in. Orange healing magic swirled around it as he jerked the weapon out and tossed it aside, seemingly unbothered. The bright orange in his hand suddenly took on a deadlier hue as it turned into flames. As he disengaged Lorgar with his sword, he released the fire. There was a roaring sound as the flame cloak lashed out in in all directions, scorching grass, trees, and wildlife alike.

 

Lorgar's dark over coat caught fire, as the devouring flames rushed towards him, backing away he threw off the flaming clothing with his right hand. Quickly taking off his black helmet , Lorgar reached into the one of the many pouches in the Bandolier across his chest and grabbed a flame resistance potion. Removing  the cork, he chugged it all down, and threw the vial to the side. His scarred face revealed, he grabbed his black eye patch and let it fly in the wind. His wholly intact eye opened, showing his burning bright crimson eye. The nord let out a snarl,

 

"Isn't magic cheating?"

 

"A hunter who acts like prey deserves only to be effectively put down." responded the Dremora, before he walked towards Lorgar, the flames engulfing all around him, burning everything but Lorgar himself, who now had a faint orange glow protecting him from the inferno. Merazzt smiled as he began his assault, striking at Lorgar with speed to match his own, and strength that may have been even greater.

 

Lorgar's vision and reflexes could keep up with the Dremora Lord, as he brought up his Runeblade to defend against Merazzt's Jagged Daedric Sword. He locked there two swords, switching into a one-handed fighting stance , he drew his shortblade in his now free hand, and attempted to stab into the Dremora's side, he responded with a howl, "A hunter cares not for how it's prey views it. By all means, it will wear an illusion to seem like prey. It evaluates it's targets, and comes with the best solution to slay it. "

 

Merazzt caught the shortblade longways in his left hand, the Daedric metal gauntlet holding up against the silver edge, then slammed downward with his own sword with greater strength than any opponent Lorgar had ever faced. Lorgar's arm was slowly forced down, and the jagged dark sword inched to his shoulder.

 

Lorgar's face convulsed anger, as he let go of his shortblade, dropping it and leaving it in the Dremora's hand. Putting all of his weight into his greatsword did little then simply slow down the incoming blade. He used his free arm to slam his elbow into the Dremora's unguarded face with all the strength he could muster.

 

The Daedra recoiled, but only slightly. He tossed aside the shortblade and quickly flicked his own sword out of the lock. In a movement that looked almost comically smooth for such a large figure, Merazzt spun around Lorgar with speed unlike that of any human foe. Before he had so much as planted his feet, the jagged sword was soaring to Lorgar's neck.

 

Lorgar's speed and reaction time managed to propel his greatsword into a blocking position, and catch the daedric blade before it could cut open Lorgars neck, but just barely. Lorgar could almost feel the burning tempature on his neck skin.

 

As he pushed back, the Dremora spun off of his block and released a quick frostbolt spell, which Lorgar barely felt, due to his Nordic blood. Merazzt didn't slow down, though, and quickly attacked again, this time taking a purely offensive route. Lorgar blocked his first swing, and the next, but the Dremora relentlessly kept up his flurry, each blow seemingly stronger than the last.

 

Jumping backwards, Lorgar slammed his greatblade into the ground, causing the pale white sword to glow like the moon, and the scattered runes to light up  bright red. A howl could be heard, as two white spectral wolves emerged from the blade. Snarling they charged at the dremora.

 

There was a low chuckle from the Daedra as he released a jet of flame at one of the wolves. The creature, now aflame, let out a pained yelp, as any living beast would, and turned tail in the other direction, making for the woods. The second wolf, however, reached him before another spell could be cast. Teeth barred, the beast leapt at Merrazt, who raised a jagged gauntlet and swatted it out of the air. The wolf rolled past Lorgar in the mud and grass, and stood back up. By the time it had, the Dremora was already locking blades with Lorgar once again. "At least your pets know what they are." the Dremora taunted. "There will be little joy in defeating you, a lowly human."

 

Lorgar let out a psychotic laugh, "Human?" He smiled, showing his jagged fangs, "I left my humanity long ago. I'm something far more, a wolf among sheep. All that remains of the man I once was are ashes, and shattered fragments of my so called "humanity." He was struggling holding back the great dark blade, but held on nevertheless.

 

"Yes." the Dremora said, "Human." He shoved Lorgar back and kicked the wolf as it went at his leg, and then swiped at Lorgar's ribs. "A dramatic human, but still one nonetheless," As Lorgar dodged away from the swipe, he countered with a low thrust, which Merazzt deflected with the spikes of his gauntlet. "no matter how much you say otherwise." The Dremora stepped back as the spectral wolf approached once more, as the beast launched itself at him, he caught it by its transparent neck with his free hand, and began to choke it.

 

"And your nothing but a living weapon, simply a destructive force. Dagon's little toy soldier." He said solemnly, "I pity you. I really do." With lightning speed, Lorgar drew one of his throwing knives, put it between his fingers, and slammed it into the arm that Merazzt was using to strangle his wolf, while putting his greatsword into a defensive block.

 

The Dremora released his grip on the wolf, letting it collapse to his feet. He kicked the panting creature once again, sending it tumbling several yards away. The knife had barely punched through his armor, but it had gone just deep enough to pierce flesh. He pulled it out with his sword hand and dropped it. Seemingly fazed by neither the attack nor the words, Merrazt said "If you are attempting to shame me, it is not working. I know what I am." He shrugged and started forward again. "And it seems that you do not."

 

Ignoring him, he gently patted the head of his fallen wolf, who had limped to him. It was panting, and whining. It was obviously in great pain. Lorgar smiled, and said, "Sleep now. Brother." With one quick stroke of his sword, he slit the spectral animals throat. "I am an abysshound of Hircine, not some mongrel breed of Werewolf. Lord Hircine's blood runs through my veins, I am one of his chosen mortal acolytes, filth." He said, proud, but angered.

 

"You are mortal filth. A bastard of your lord who fears to use his full potential."

 

"I have slaughtered Thousands!!! For my Lord Hircine dog. What would prove my might weakling?" He practically seethed

 

The Dremora once again pressed the attack. As Lorgar dodged a strike, his black sword struck a thick tree, cutting halfway through from the single swing alone. He wretched it out just in time to block Lorgar's follow-up swing. "Fight me as your lord intends!" Merrazt growled. "There is no honor in crushing a human."

 

"Honour? Combat is about the kill. The satisfaction of taking life" He unleashed a flurry of two-handed strikes.

 

The Dremora managed to block all of the strikes, if not with his blade, then with the spikes on his gauntlet. All the while, he continued to taunt, his voice remaining steady as if he were standing still. "Does one take satisfaction from stomping on a bug?" He sidestepped one of Lorgar's swings and managed to get a heavy kick in at right leg.

 

Lorgar didn't cry out in pain, as his heavy armor managed to absorb the blow. It still hurt like hell, but didn't cause to much damage. He used the pommel of his sword to smack the face of the dremora in a follow up blow, "Says the one whose about to die"

 

Lorgar blocked them all in a display of speed, concentrating on the Dremora's right side; he unleashed a massive downward strike, screaming a warcry as he did,

Merrazt moved to block, but was just too slow, and Lorgar's strike wound up catching his shoulder. The Daedra growled and grabbed the runeblade with his left hand, pulled it out of his shoulder, and sent a jolt of electricity down it.

 

Lorgar dropped the blade, and jumped backwards a few paces. He drew one of his combat knives, put it in a reverse grip, and made a gesture with his other hand as if to say "Come at me."

 

His opponent was no fool. Merrazt didn't rush him as Lorgar had hoped. He pressed his attack, but now using the range of his sword to his advantage. He sent it in a sweeping arc a Lorgar's head, he dodged it easily enough, but the Dremora followed up with a mid-level sweep, pushing Lorgar back, toward the treeline.

 

Lorgar tossed a vial of blind dust aimed at the Dremora's eyes, ducked, and charged at his leg, while putting as much force as he possible could to his drawn dagger.

 

The vial crashed against his Merrazt's eyes, causing his blinded foe to swing much too high, and lodge his sword halfway into the trunk of a tree. Before the confused Daedra could react, Lorgar's blade was deep inside his thigh. Merrazt let go of his sword and let out a furious shriek, then threw a wild punch just short of Lorgar's jaw. His red eyes were half shut, and, now off-balance, he collapsed into the same tree he'd nearly cut down.

 

"You can’t win Dremora. In my short span of life, i've killed thousands. What have you done? Gone to Cold Harbor as a willing sex slave to Molag Bal?" The Lycanthrope said, in a mocking tone. Lorgar's vision had gone blood red, and all pretenses of an honorable duel were now gone. Lorgar slammed his knee into the confused and dazed Dremora's face.

Barely able to see, Merrazt made no effort to avoid the knee, which sent his horned head bashing against the tree. "I've honored my-" he coughed, and foul-smelling blood leapt from his mouth. "-lord." he continued, his voice weak, "You are just a confused dog who thinks he does."

 

"Honor is a fools pretext for justifying atrocities and death." He slammed his fist into the Dremora's head, "People who preach "honor" are nothing but cowardly filth who dont take responsibility for their own actions!!!" He said, enraged, throwing another blow,

 

Coughing up another spurt of blood, the Dremora's head rolled back to face him. He grinned with teeth covered in red. "Hircine will have no place for one who refuses to honor him... I wonder what happens to you, when the life leaves your body. Maybe my lord will take you in. That will be quite amusing."

 

"All Hircine cares about is the kill. Honor is for the weak and the diluted. Hircine expects his hunters to use anything that's in there range to use. "  He drew the longsword on his back, and pointed it at the Dremora's throat, "You will submit to me, Dagon's little pet."

 

"Then our lords differ greatly." Ignoring the blade, Merrazt grabbed a low branch and tried to pull himself up. It jut snapped and he fell back down. "I not so blind that I can see how this will end. But I will not suffer you the indignity of a surrender." He used his arms and good leg to slide himself upright, against the tree. With no sword, he raised his spiked gauntlets. "Can you not make me a good kill? If not for Hircine, then what about for your human... lords? I would fall to the beast, not the man."

 

A small wolf like grin appeared on Lorgars face as he said,"I suppose the wolf is a more honourable way to go. Fine. I'll consent to your request." He threw down his sword. And stepped into the shade under the tree. Contrary to popular belief, Lorgar didn't cry out in pain and have a spasm. His entire body became consumed in darkness, forming a void like hole. Out of that hole stepped forth a twelve foot tall wolfish monstrositiy, so Eldritch it would be painful to physically to describe. It let out a horrifyingly howl, as its single red eye glowed crimson.

 

The Dremora straightened back up, standing tall as he approached, though still childishly short in comparison. "Thank you." he said, all pain in his voice suddenly gone. Flame engulfed Merrazt's hands, and before the wolf could deliver what was meant to be his finishing blow, a blistering inferno erupted from the Daedra, destroying the trees around him and scorching the beast's fur. "HA!" the Dremora laughed triumphantly, seeing that the protective effects of Lorgar's potion had not carried over in the transformation.

 

Lorgar cried out in horrible pain as the fire scorched his entire body. The force if the fire sent him flying into a tree.

 

"You were right." The Dremora shouted, yanking the dagger from his leg and tossing it aside.

 

"Fighting with honor is for the weak." He sent two jets of flame into the trees where Lordar lay, bringing flaming limbs crashing down on top of him. As Lorgar burned, he could hear Merrazt's sword being dislodged from the tree, and with that, the Dremora was gone.

 

Lorgar let out a howl of pain as the flames scorched his entire body. He managed to throw himself into the shade. Slowly, but steadily darkness enveloped him, craddling his horrifying wolf form like a little infant. Soon Lorgar appeared human once again. However, a large portion of his body was now blackened from ghastly burns. Including the other half of his already heavily scarred face. He put his body upright and lay on the trunk of the tree. Minutes passed until lorgar realised,

 

My wounds...they aren't healing...

 

Lorgar swore under his tongue. He tried to stand up on, but a wave of pain overwhelmed him causing him to fall hard on the ground. The burns hurted like hell. Even worse, from presumably the wounds, Lorgar’s enhanced hearing and smell was completely in disarray, and he couldn’t detect anything around him. He was aimless. And helpless.

 

Suddenly, a slight voice entered his ear,

 

“Saladin-Si-I-tha-you?†Lorgar glanced around. His vision wasn’t stellar either, but he could still see a longcoat clad figure kneeling infront of him. Lorgar stuttered out,

 

“Help…me…up…trooper..."

 

The person nodded his head, and gently wrapped his arm around Lorgar’s neck, careful not to put too much pressure into it. Lorgar leaned on the unkown person. Since he hadn't cut his throat out, or pointed a weapon at him, he assumed it was one of his commando's. 

 

"Take me back...to base."

[BTC]

3rd week of naval training
Sea of Ghosts

When night fell, Skyrim’s flagship owned the seas. Few in Skyrim could night sail better than her captain, and with the Wisp’s black paint, on an overcast night it became a hole in the water, another of the sea’s ghosts.

Rebec used this advantage to stalk the last of their quarry. The navy had been divided up into two teams, and given two days to scatter between Kyne’s Watch, Solitude, and all points north. Each team had to display a flag, either gold or green. Their objective was to capture as many of the opposing team’s flags as possible, by any means necessary short of ramming. Once a ship was captured, it had to report in to base and was out of the exercise. Rebec had chosen the colors to represent the Dominion and Valenwood, as a reminder of what their exercises were all about.

The smaller ships had worked in teams, and more than once Rebec had had to extricate the Wisp from a gang-up. It had been close, though her crew had turned the tables on the most brazen. Eilif Oarsinger’s longboats were the hardest to catch. They were not as maneuverable, but were extremely fast. Some of them escaped. Now, with the week drawing to a close, they had chanced on an even bigger prize: Hakon’s Pride, with the vice admiral at its helm. Sigrid had run into a large fog bank trying to shake them, and as night drew on, Rebec let her think that they had. She was in the mood for something different, a challenge for both her and her crew.

As the fog dissipated, Rebec hung back, ordering all lamps to be extinguished and the crew to strict silence. Before they got too close, she had the dinghy lowered, and she and a small crew began to carefully row out. When they reached Hakon’s Pride, Rebec reached for her rope, but the Khajiit assassin Sidano stopped her. She watched amazed as the cat dug his claws into the icy hull and silently slipped up the side. There was a muffled struggle, then Sidano signaled for Rebec to throw him her rope. This she did, and she was up a few moments later, just in time for the two of them to drag the unconscious guard behind some sacks, retrieve her rope and get out of sight.

Sigrid’s first mate, Mikal Snowbeard, came striding along the deck. “Aenmund?†he called out, searching for his sentry. A moment later the call to alarm went out.  “They’re on board! Protect the flag!â€

Crew streamed out from the hold, clustering around the prow where the green flag flew. There were at least thirty men milling around near it, determined that no invader should get near the prize to take it.

“Do you see them anywhere?†Snowbeard called. “They’ve got to be here!â€

“Nowhere, sir! I’ve searched the hold and the deck, everywhere except the captain’s quarters.â€

“Search again! Get some lamps lit here!†They would be giving up their position, but the first mate suspected that jig was already up.

In the commotion, no one heard the soft splash. Rebec and her Khajiit crewman swam around to where the dinghy waited, hoisting up their prize and then climbing in themselves.

When they got back to the Wisp and everyone was back on the deck, Rebec called out across the water.  “Hakon’s Pride! This is Admiral Rebec of the Black Wisp. You are ordered to surrender your flag.â€

Mikal Snowbeard called out, “Nice try, Admiral, but we won’t give up just because you shout an order.â€

“No. You’ll give up because I’ve got your captain, and that’s the only barter I’ll accept to give her back.â€

There was a long silence. Rebec glanced over at a bound, gagged Sigrid and grinned. The crew was no doubt checking to see if what she claimed was true. She could have taken off Sigrid’s gag, but suspected the vice admiral would order her crew to flee and leave her behind. There was the chance they would do that anyway.  However, some minutes later, the lifeboat of Hakon’s Pride pulled up alongside the flagship and a very red-faced, angry Mikal Snowbeard climbed aboard with the green flag in hand.

“If you really were a Dominion ship, I’d sink you and our captain with you,†the sailor growled at Rebec.

“If I really were a Dominion ship, I’d expect you to do nothing else. And so would the vice admiral, eh Sigrid?†Rebec untied the woman’s gag.

Chafing her mouth, Sigrid said in annoyed tone, “Then what is it my crew is supposed to learn from this exercise, admiral?â€

“That the enemy rarely accommodates your carefully laid plans. If they can end run around them, they will.†Rebec turned to Mikal. “Don’t look so grumpy, lieutenant. I intended to sneak on board and get your flag. You forced me to compromise. That was a win for you, too. But I’ll still take this out of your hands.†She took the flag out of his hands, smirking.

She offered the officers some mead, but they weren’t in the mood to socialize. “I’ll take theirs,†Sidano offered generously.

 

The entire crew of the Wisp got an extra mead ration, but the only reward Rebec wanted was that they could now return home.

 

***

There was no celebrating from the soldiers in the Grim Trials. Those that passed Stuhnwihk were only rewarded with an hour of sleep taken from them, and the sentence of running in steel plated armor instead of with their bits exposed. It blocked the wind at least, but the armor felt like a layer of ice weighing down on them.

 

Tensions between the Dunmer Torik and the others were high, as Torik found a way to overcome his lack of frost resistance by magical means, using his flaming cloak to help combat the temperatures. When it was time to duel again, almost all of the Nords wanted to be the one to end the Mer for his cleverness. Bardok the Impaler was the first again to be picked to fight. None of the others won their matches more than Torik, Baldur and Bardok, so Torik was in high spirits, while the others looked as though a frost Troll ate their dog.

 

"Begin!" said Thrice-Pierced for the first time that day. As soon as he did, Torik's flaming shield surrounded him as expected. But Bardok was not as predictable. While Torik's eyes were obstructed with the rise of the circle of flames, Bardok swung around with his great sword before using the momentum to chuck it at his opponent. Torik was on the ground before he knew what happened, but the tip of the blade went through the other side of his shoulder. As he fell, the blade hit the ground, pushing back out the other direction, though still remaining buried within his flesh.

 

The matches were no longer first blood. The loser was the fighter that either gave up, died, was rendered unconscious, or was physically unable to keep performing. That meant dismemberment typically. None of that was required for Torik however, as the wobbling of the weapon made him cry out like a new born babe. Bardok walked over and placed his hand on the hilt, then asked, "Do you admit defeat?"

 

"Yes!" Torik answered quickly. Bardok didn't gloat or smile as he removed his blade from the Dunmer's shoulder before the healers moved to drag him away. A fighter could of course give up without receiving bodily harm, but if they did, they were removed from the Trials.

 

"No healing magic!" Baldur yelled. "First day of Tsunwhik, so only wraps and stitching." Torik groaned again at hearing that, but it couldn't be helped. There'd be a lot more sharing in his discomfort soon, he imagined. Seeing the blood pouring out of him at an alarming rate, the stubborn Dunmer refused to let himself die. He couldn't use magic to heal himself, but he could seal his wound at least. The Mer let out a blood curdling scream as flame licked the insides of his shoulder from his hand. He almost blacked out as he fought to do so to the other side as well. He managed, but the second time made him pass out for sure.

 

"Let that be a lesson to all of you. Overconfidence will be your doom. You can never call yourself a true warrior until you have been humbled. If you haven't yet, I promise you will be. I'll fight next," said Baldur.

 

Baldur grabbed two steel axes as usual before he walked in the ring to greet Bardok. They didn't need to be told to begin, as the two collided with each other almost immediately. Baldur blocked Bardok the Impaler's initial strike with the axes, then rolled backwards before landing on his feet again.

 

"You shouldn't let someone parry your attacks so much. You can damage your edge," said Baldur.

 

"I don't need the edge for impaling. Just the point," said Bardok. To prove his point, he repeatedly jabbed towards Baldur's midsection, causing Baldur to have to move back and jump to the side, which made it easy for Bardok to corner him.

 

When Baldur had nowhere to go, Bardok swung towards his ribs. Baldur was forced to parry again, but Bardok's strength loosened his grip on his weapon and made it easy for him to pull the weapon away by hooking his blade under Baldur's axehead. After he threw it out the ring, Baldur retaliated with a quick strike to Bardok's face, which he was forced to block in turn with his weapon. Baldur kicked him in his groin before kneeing him in the nose and sending him to the ground.

 

Before Baldur could capitalize, Bardok rolled back and swung towards Baldur's head. The general ducked under and tackled the wild haired Nord, sending them rolling in the snow and causing Bardok to drop his blade.

 

"You keep losing your weapon. Not good, Bardok," said Baldur as he fought him to push his axe into his opponent.

 

Bardok said through clenched teeth, "Can't be helped with you, Unkindled..." While he held on to Baldur's hands to keep his weapon from his neck while pinned, Bardok roared with anger and pushed back fiercely, hitting Baldur in the forehead with his own weapon, allowing him to push Baldur over while he was stunned. The general was seeing stars as he slowly got up to his feet, but before he could turn, Bardok grabbed him from behind.

 

Caught in his bearlike embrace, Baldur was forced to drop his axe from Bardok's squeezing of his arms. When Baldur yelled, Bardok smiled for the first time, and said, "Look who's dropping their we-,"

 

Baldur saw Daric running from the docks to see the fight. When he did, Baldur cut Bardok off by hitting him in his lip with the back of his skull repeatedly. Baldur thought he had a tooth in the back of his head from the pain he was feeling, but he kept ramming until Bardok dropped him. When he finally released him, Baldur slipped behind him and grabbed him in the same manner that Bardok did. Only when he lifted him, it was to throw him over his back and slam his head into the ground while Baldur still held him.

 

Bardok slumped over after his body flopped to the ground once he was released, and there was an eerie silence from everyone watching as they all wondered if Bardok was still alive. The healers ran forward to check his breathing.

 

"He's alive," they declared before dragging him away to be recuperated. Breathing heavily, Baldur got up from the ground with snow covering his back with Daric smiling and sticking his thumb up at him. Baldur allowed himself a brief smile in return through labored breaths, but turned his attention on Ynihinundr as he approached with a sword and shield. Daric recovered Baldur's weapons for him just before Nundr ran towards them both. Daric had to dive out of the way to avoid the sword strike that Baldur blocked with his shield.

 

"Not today, Nundr," said Baldur between strikes. They continued to strike at each other, blow after blow, block for block, trying to tire the other out. Baldur was already exhausted from his previous fight, but this was something warriors had to face continuously in war. It didn't matter how good you were if you had no endurance.

 

Baldur's blade clashed with Nundr's, and as they pushed against one another, both warrior's blades slipped past and bit into each others flesh, leaving both the general and Nundr wounded across their chest. Breathing heavily, Baldur turned hunched over in pain, but was forced to stand upright to block Nundr's next assault. This time, Nundr faked the swing and sliced under Baldur's shield, cutting the general across his shield arm.

 

Baldur made the mistake of trying to block Nundr's next attack, and the strength of the blow made him take a knee to compensate. When he did, Nundr jumped over him and kicked Baldur in the back of the head with his heel. After he fell to his back, Baldur found his vision blurred as he fought to remain conscious. He recovered his vision just in time to stop Nundr's strike towards his face with his axe, but Nundr was determined. He put all his body weight on Baldur, too caught up in his adrenaline to remember this was an exercise. No one fought as if it was. As that would mean defeat. And all that Ynihinundr of the Clan That Wants to See the World Burn could see was his victory over the Unkindled.

 

Blood dripped into Baldur's eyes from his arm, causing his anger to increase. If he was thinking about trying not to kill Nundr before, he wasn't now. He had two choices. Let Nundr's blade get close enough to cut him so Baldur could give up, or do the only thing Baldur could do to win at this moment, even though it meant Nundr's death.

 

They didn't call the trials Grim for nothing, and if Baldur could see a way to win, he'd take it. And take it he did. Baldur for only the slightest moment let Nundr's sword inch towards his face, so that Baldur could move the handle of his axe under the hilt of Nundr's blade. That allowed him to shove Nundr's own blade through his head as Baldur pushed up with all of his might.

 

Nundr was the first person to die in the trials, meeting his end with his own sword buried in his skull with his own hand at the hilt and facing the sky. Daric ran over to help hold Baldur up as we walked out the ring with blood draining onto the snow once more. The healers being unable to use magic were forced to sow Baldur's cuts closed with a heated needle and thread before wrapping his upper chest with cloth under his arms from armpit to armpit. They did the same to his wounded left arm as well. He didn't bother trying to remain stoic when the heated needle passed between his flesh repeatedly. As the tears came, it mixed with the blood that fell into his eyes, making it look as though Baldur were shedding crimson tears.

 

After the others stopped murmuring about Ynihinundr's demise, Baldur told them to keep going. This time Mazoga was called to go after him, along with Bully the Bully.

 

Mazoga circled around Bully, sword and shield in hand. The big Nord was aptly named. He had stripped down to breeches, baring an X-shaped scar on his belly. His hair was cropped short and when he gave Mazoga a menacing smile, metal shown from his mouth. He was holding a big battle-axe like a lover’s thigh.

“X marks the spot,†Mazoga taunted.

“You get close enough to hit it, pigface, and you’ll be sorry.â€

The orc charged him before the words were out, relying on her quickness to jab at his naked side and dance away before the axe came around. Bully didn’t even glance at the bright red line of blood on his belly. Death by a thousand cuts wouldn’t be easy on this one.

Mazoga had been close to death more than once in these two weeks, but nothing stung like the memory of a sword going through her gut. Even with Menel’s healing magic applied quickly afterward, the pain had been fierce. The fear was worse. No matter how close she had come to death before, to have it embrace her was something she would never forget.

Near death wasn’t the only thing that had almost brought her trial to an end. She’d gotten into two unauthorized brawls as the taunts about her race, about her being a weakling, to go back to her sailboat, had worn thin. Men like Nundr were dying while a female orc was still on her feet. The prospect that she might actually make it through was something no one expected.

As she wove and danced under and just past Bully’s attacks, scoring a few more nicks and jabs at him, the orc smelled his foul breath and his hatred. She wasn’t a fellow Stormcloak, she was the enemy. The Nord came at her again, this time bringing his axe down with incredible speed. Mazoga had no time to dodge and was forced to barrel straight into Bully’s stomach in order to get under the swing. X marks the... this is not what I meant.

It was like hitting a stone wall. The Nord barely stumbled. Instead, he brayed in rage, grabbed for whatever he could, and the next moment Mazoga was sent flying into the onlookers. These scrambled out of her way, especially since Bully was rushing after her.

This would be the moment, in the adventure books, where the clever orc would raise her sword just in time and let the hulking enemy impale himself using his own momentum. Bully had read those books, too. Just before he reached Mazoga, he feinted left, spun, and brought the axe in a fearsome chop. Splinters flew as the orc parried it with her shield. They grappled free of each other, and Mazoga lifted herself for a quick stab at the man’s gut. This time, her blade pierced the Nord’s thick hide several inches. He bellowed in rage and pulled himself free, spouting blood. The wound wasn’t high enough to draw heart’s blood, however.

Mazoga was on her feet when he came at her again. She parried, dodged him, and bashed him in the face with her shield, and still the Nord came on. When she dodged him again, Bully made a quick move and grabbed for her leg, tripping her flat to her back. Mazoga heard more than felt the bones crack as her hand and pelvis hit the icy ground. Her sword clattered away and the orc had to spin to her stomach, scrambling forward to get it while casting an eye frantically back, expecting Bully’s axe to pierce her back at any moment. Instead the man himself fell on her, pinning her to the ground. Mazoga felt his hands around her neck. He slammed her face into the ice, breaking her nose and causing her own tusks to pierce her cheeks.

The pain would have robbed her breath, if indeed she had any. As through a fog, Mazoga heard Bully taunting her, felt spittle dripping down her ear- unless it was blood. For a moment, she saw her parents, her father cutting sod in a field near Riften while her mother came striding along a ridge, a brace of rabbits and her bow slung over her shoulder. Then she saw a solitary figure in a grey mist. It was her grandmother, bound to a pole, surrounded by jeering elves. Then it was Rebec in her seacloak, staring mournfully at her and saying something that Mazoga couldn’t hear. Then it was her mother again, scowling and gesturing angrily for her to get up.

Get up. Get up.  It hurts, Mother. You’re dead, pigface. I’m going to **** your corpse.  That hadn’t been her mother, but the Nord who was squeezing the life out of her. They would all stand there and watch, laughing. She’s good for something.

As Mazoga stared at her mother, the fog around her went from grey to a blood red haze.

A moment later, Bully rose up as if to stand, only it wasn’t by his own power. He was still clinging to Mazoga’s neck as she lifted him from the ground, half turned, and slammed him back. The two grappled, the Nord’s much superior strength not having the effect anyone expected. Mazoga broke partially free and there was a crunch as she stomped down on Bully’s knee. Then, her mother’s sword was in her hand, its tip pointed at Bully’s throat. He still had one hand around her neck, squeezing desperately as the sword point pierced his skin. The orc’s eyes bulged, but why wasn’t she dying? Another minute and...

“Yield!†Bully gasped, releasing Mazoga’s neck. The sword pierced him further. “Yield! Yi...â€

Shaking and gasping for breath, the orc stood slowly to her feet, and stared at her sword. It wasn’t bloody enough. She longed to see it dripping. Mazoga looked back at Bully, remembering his words. There was beautiful red blood coursing in his veins, and it belonged to her. Slowly she reached forward again, savoring the anticipation of seeing it pour out onto the ice the way her own had done.

 

Before that happened, the injured general came bolting out of the crowd to stop the fight before someone else was killed again. He had to tackle her to make sure she couldn't strike out. The healers came out immediately to drag Bully away, though it took more of them than normal to do so. It was unlikely that he would be able to continue. Not today or tomorrow. The healers saw his broken leg and knew his time here was up, so they didn't wait for approval to use healing magic. For now, Bully's trial was over.

 

When Bully was safe, Baldur rolled off Mazoga before she tried striking at him, then said, "You did very well. The others know it too."

 

Mazoga heard Baldur's words as if from a distance. She turned towards him, eyes still wild with the thirst for murder. Then the haze of rage in her eyes receded like a mist rolling back, and she stumbled, going to one knee. Bruises were purpling on her throat, blood streamed down from her nose and cheeks, and pain shot down her legs from her cracked tailbone. After a pause, she forced herself back to her feet, lifted her chin, and regarded Baldur, giving him a silent nod. Glancing around, she saw the others staring at her, some in anger. In one or two faces, however, Mazoga saw something she hadn't seen before: Respect.

 

Baldur looked around at the warriors still remaining, wondering if and how these people could last three more weeks of this. The final week would be even more brutal. If they were going to continue being cut and injured without healing, Baldur needed to make the final week hand to hand instead. Especially if they were going to survive the torture sessions. Even then, Baldur suspected that there would be more deaths. But that was just as well. To run these trials, Baldur only needed about seven of them to survive.

 

Looking back at Mazoga, Baldur said, "You good to continue or do you want to get sewed up first?"

 

"I'm good," Mazoga lied, gritted teeth red with her own congealing blood. If she had looked at herself in a mirror, she wouldn't have recognized the orc looking back. It was just as well. After dying so many times, she didn't feel like the same person, either.

 

Baldur shook his head at the stubborn orc even though he already knew what the answer was going to be. "Right, if you say so. Lets gets this over with then, so we can all go to sleep."

 

***

The next couple of days were mostly uneventful, though it was hard to describe the trials in such a way. They were all too exhausted to really put any hate into the duels, especially after being bombarded with flames in a shield wall for hours, so no more life threatening injuries came as of yet. Though there were plenty of cuts and bruises.

 

Baldur sat at the docks under the full moons, hoping that Rebec would return soon. His normally smooth hair was ragged and worn. Even singed at the ends on his left side from a close call with a fireball from the battlemages. His chest was still covered in bandages, though they were covered by his robe that protected him from the wind and the snow it was collecting. After a few hours passed, the robe was practically caked in snow while the wounded and lonely general drifted to sleep.

 

Daric eventually came by to check on him, worried that he'd try to stay out there all night. The sight of him covered in snow asleep on the docks like a mangy dog pretty much confirmed this. Brushing the snow from his hair, Daric said, "Sir, you need to go home. You're exhausted and you need your rest. General!"

 

"I'm up, damnit. I was just resting my eyes. Move it, Daric!" Daric ignored him though and helped him get to his feet before walking him back to his home. Daric resisted the urge to laugh as the mound of snow fell off him like a waking bear. Baldur was considerably more irritable as of late, but he knew he was just suffering from the trials. And of course, because he missed Rebec.

 

A horn call sounded across the water, a long, melancholy sound. The wharf crew stirred from their posts and walked out to meet the ship coming in. "It's the Black Wisp," one of them said, gesturing. "She never wants a tow, always rows in on her own."

 

"That's 'cuz if the flagship tears the pier down, nobody can say boo about it."

 

"I ain't seen it crash yet."

 

"They say the admiral wrecked a ship back long ago because she was drunk. Ran 'er into an iceberg,  almost the whole crew died. And then in the war..."

 

"Ships sink, boy. It's the life. You'll learn that quick if you want to go to sea."

 

The flagship eased into port with its oars pulling at the water. The oars disappeared when the ship and ground crews exchanged tie ropes and pulled the Wisp into its harborage. Rebec's voice could be heard shouting for the anchor to be lowered.

 

After a few minutes, crewmen streamed down the gangplank, shouting and laughing. They were in good spirits after capturing Hakon's Pride. Nobody paid Baldur and Daric any mind, believing them to be a couple of drunk Stormcloaks trying to get sober before a shift.

 

When the Wisp had emptied of its crew, Rebec came along. Wind flapped in her seacloak and her hair was streaked white with salt. She stopped short on the pier. "Baldur?"

 

Daric stood beside him when the horn went off in the distance, knowing he'd wait to see if it was the Wisp. He managed to overhear the others and heard that it was indeed Rebec's ship, so the Breton left early, knowing his mentor would want to be left alone.

 

When Rebec called Baldur's name as though she didn't recognize him, he figured he must've looked quite the sight. There wasn't any time for him to tend to his hair, and he didn't know when she'd be coming back, so there wasn't much he could've done about any of it.

 

Almost nervously, he approached her and said, "Aye, that's me..." He couldn't hide a smile though after finally seeing Rebec home again and not asleep, despite feeling self conscious of his looks.

 

She leaned up to embrace him but stopped in mid-hug. "Kyne's cooter, Baldur, what happened to you? I don't want to know, do I?"

 

Baldur ignored the question and finished the hug, lifting her as he held her tightly in his arms. "I survived. We can talk later, love. Lets just go home for now."

 

Kissing his cheek on the way down to her feet, Rebec grinned and nodded. "I bet I've had a better week than you," she said as they walked. "All the fun of the naval war without the death and burning ships. Couple vessels had to be towed in for repair, but it was worth it. The Wisp is a war ship, Baldur. Like you wouldn't believe."

 

The outlines of the town stood out in the moonlight before them. Builders had been surveying and their markers were laid out for a town square and tavern, and an extension of the old fort. Vigge had been out every day helping them, which mostly consisted of giving his opinions on what a Nord town ought to look like. He was good with woodwork, but knew when to leave the hard lifting to younger men.

 

While Baldur looked around, he said, "I'm glad you had fun at least. I hope to be able to see it in action soon. Wasn't planning on taking the navy courses with the rest, but perhaps I should, since I'm making it necessary for the rest to do so. At least then, we'll see each other during the day again."

 

Baldur always walked through this place like something undead before, paying no attention to the progress made and only concerned with getting home to sleep. But now, his imagination was going to work. Buildings were completed and empty spaces were filled with more woodwork, more longhouses huddled together on the outskirts of town with burning fires behind them. Chimney smoke in mass rose among the white fog, and the town would feel almost empty still, because the wind would drown out any noise coming from the insides of people's homes.

 

When they had to leave the comfort of their sleepy warm houses, the area would bustle with activity all around. There would be more docks later on with paths going down the middle of more homes where groups of families could go to greet their sailors on their return, or just sit and fish. And the streets would lead to the marketplace where the fish market would eventually rival Solitude and Riften's, due to the area not being as contested, and because they have ice to keep the meat fresh longer, as well as plenty of sea salt. And right at the center just in front of the road from the Reach and Solitude would lie a tavern with an upside down ship like Jorrvaskr.

 

Baldur already had Daric let the building crew know to make the plans for it. It was only appropriate in a port town like this one, he figured. And there would be plenty of space for all the visitors they were likely to get, with rooms being under ground. He'd let that be a surprise for Rebec. Though now that the tavern was a ship, he wondered if he could still give it a name like the Horny Horker. It was now less of a tavern and more like a mead hall. But the spirit of it would be the same. It was necessary since they were expecting to attract a lot of travelers. There'd likely be more taverns eventually, but for now this would be it.

 

Baldur smiled to himself and grabbed Rebec's hand happily when he imagined what her face would look like when she realized what the new tavern was. And Boldir's, when he finally made contact with him again and dragged his butt up here to see it and the new forge behind it, just for him. A forge that would attract many from all over from his skill, and also something else, if his idea for the forge worked. Hopefully he could keep this a secret, though he couldn't help but grin happily at the image of all of them at the center of the table with full mugs. And full plates too, with piles of krill and shrimp covered in wasabi, with horker loaves, goat cheese and as much fish as you could eat.

 

Rebec glanced aside at Baldur's boyish grin. She couldn't help but wince at the signs of his ordeal, but forced herself to ignore those. "What are you cooking up in that bard brain of yours, love?"

 

Baldur bit his lip, then said, "I'm thinking... I'm thinking about how much shrimp and Wasabi it'd take for me to trade my wife for food, hehe. And how convenient it'd be to have a tavern where the women come to me." Baldur stuck his tongue out at her to show he was teasing. If he was going to spill the secret, he was going to have some fun first. He hated long secrets anyway.

 

"Then you think about how much of a wasabi bath it would take for the Underking to surrender and beg for death. I know where he lives, you know. In the middle of the night, when you and he least expect it..."

 

Snickering, he said, "As much as he would dislike it, it's probably going to be necessary if you want me to tell you what I'm thinking about. You're going to have to make me talk, woman. If you can."

 

"Wait, you really have a secret?" She pursed her lips. "I guess I'll have to tell you where else I was going to take you for our honeymoon."

 

"For our honeymoon?" Baldur said, confused. "Where? And what made you change your mind?"

 

She stopped and faced him, looping her arms around his waist. Above them, the aurora borealis began to snake through the sky with its brilliant ribbons. "Ah, ah. You first. Spill it."

 

Baldur looked at her with narrowed eyes, thinking she was tricking him. Sighing, he said, "Alright, fine." Placing his arm over her shoulder, he pointed his left finger at a large empty space just in front of a freshly dug out dirt road leading off to some hills in the distance. "See that? That's where our tavern will be. And it's not going to be any ordinary tavern either. It's going to be made out of a ship, like Jorrvaskr. Your old ship, the Howling Harpy."

 

Her eyes widened. "How? It's half charred and at the bottom of the sea."

 

"Daric says the building crew is confident they can locate it, as they know the general area it sank. When they find it, they'll recover what they can and refurbish some of the wood to be used for the outside. If it's really deep, they'll use water breathing potions. Wasn't even my idea, they suggested it to him when I had Daric make the request. Even if we can't recover any wood to use superficially, I think the name 'Howling Harpy' will be great for a boat shaped tavern in Kyne's Watch. Better than what I came up with... the sign can have that ghost giantess on it."

 

Rebec had a hand over her mouth, and she had a hard time not choking on the words. "I don't know what to say. Seems a lot of trouble, but I know it's not just about me. It would mean my crew's sacrifice is always remembered." She paused, then reached up to kiss Baldur, being ginger about it. Even if he hadn't told her what happened, her instinct told her that he was injured. Brushing at his hair, both the singed parts and the remaining locks, she said, "This place is literally going to have pieces of us in it. I never thought I'd feel this way about anywhere on land."

 

Baldur kept his arm on her to make walking easier, then said, "I never thought I'd feel this way about anywhere period. Come on, lets get to the house before it gets any later in the night. You can tell me your secret once we've gotten warm."

 

"Good idea," she said, smirking happily.

 

They found Vigge inside their longhouse, sound asleep in a chair by the fire pit. He started awake when they came in.

 

"Papa, what are you doing here?"

 

"I came to see you," the old Nord growled. "They said you were coming back today, but you're never home."

 

"We had exercises."

 

Vigge waved a hand, uninterested. "There's stew and fresh bread. Ysana made it." The sailor, still bleary eyed, smiled at Baldur and said, "You changed your hair."

 

"Stay to eat with us, papa."

 

"No, no. It's late." He scooped Rebec up in a big hug, clapped Baldur on the shoulder, and shuffled towards the door. Glancing back, Vigge said, "When you get done with this damned foolishness, son-in-law, we'll make your baby's crib. I'd do it but this is something a man ought to do for himself. You can work wood, can't you?"

 

"I can learn," said Baldur, a little nervously. Though he was more concerned with what Vigge said about his hair evidently, as he quickly reached for his comb from the bed. "It's about time I learned a craft, I guess. How hard can it be?"

 

Vigge left, shaking his head and muttering about bards. Rebec was already attacking the stew, ladling out two bowls and ripping off big hunks of bread to dip into it.

 

Baldur already had his fill of horker and cheese earlier, so he took the time to finish combing his hair before washing it in the freshly placed water he imagined his mother must have gotten for them. He used his crudely made squeezing scissors that he had for trimming his beard to cut off the singed hairs from his side. Only after he was sure not a single hair was out of place did he finally join Rebec in the stew.

 

"Thank Talos for something besides horker. It's been ages since I've had freshly made bread. So, where were you planning on taking me?" he asked as he hunted out the chunks of fish and shrimp in the stew.

 

Grinning conspiratorially, Rebec swallowed her bite of stew and said, "Atmora. Well, close as anyone can come. It's dangerous, though, and has to be done at midsummer or not at all. I'm going to be big as a mammoth by then."

 

"Atmora?" he asked, trying his best not to let her hear the disappointment in his voice from not being able to go. He ate some stew dipped bread first to give himself a moment, then said, "Heh, well I think it's a fair trade. I asked for a child after all. It would've been nice seeing the land we took up after being forced from Tamriel, but I've been to High Hrothgar. Doesn't get any closer to our origin than that."

 

"Still, you've never seen anything like Atmora. I can't really describe it. From a distance, you can see... things. They may just be columns of ice, but my pa swears they're the frozen kings. Giant kings who stood in place when they died until they became part of the land, part of the ice. That's the legend. Might be they were statues made of our kings. It's crazy, though, going up there. Probably better we don't anyway. Have to send all the non-Nords into the hold or their skin would freeze. The ship groans and creaks like it's going to become part of the ice any moment, too." Her eyes shone as she described it, so the memory is still a thrilling one for all that.

 

"Oh, I see," Baldur said, feeling even worse now for missing the opportunity. "Well, I did get to see a god in Helgen. And Sovngarde possibly. So I'll get over it. How'd the exercises go? Didn't let those Sons of Wulfharth show you up, did you?"

 

"Maybe we'll go someday when we're grandparents ourselves. As for the exercises, they can beat me in a race but not in a battle. Their ships don't maneuver well enough. Old Eilif looked like he'd gotten some bad mead when he realized that." She chuckled. "Humbled Sigrid a bit, too. She's a Nord and doesn't like to be beaten, but especially by someone young enough to be her daughter."

 

"Heh, I can imagine. I bet she was one of those that thought you got lucky with the legion due to the Sea of Ghosts. I bet that removed her doubts. And the battle is what counts, not a race. Their egos are going to be in need of repair, especially the man, Eilif." Baldur finished the last of his stew and stood behind her. She just got back from a trip, so he knew she must've been tired. Grabbing her shoulders, he worked his hands to relax them, then moved them close to her neck before nuzzling her cheek. "I've been missing you greatly. Even before you left, it's like you're only around in my sleep."

 

Rebec put down her spoon and turned her head, cradling Baldur's cheek with one hand. "I didn't sleep much on the ship. Cabin seemed lonely without you. We're going to get through this, then I get you in this longhouse for a few days and the rest of Tamriel can piss right off."

 

A smirk sneaked up on his face as he whispered, "There's no time like the present. All that time out in the cold sends my thoughts to your warmth. But the memories have been getting distant without you. You must be weary. Lay on the bed and I'll wash your feet and clean the sea salt off you."

 

"Only if you let me take care of you after." She stood and turned, putting her hands on his shoulders. "I know you've been through Oblivion and back."

 

"It was just a dream. It had to be, or I couldn't feel so good now." He took her hand into his then, kissing it gingerly. "But I'll take you up on your offer. First though, you sit and relax."

 

Baldur put his hand on her shoulders and lead her to their bed, then removed her boots and woolen socks, though that was no easy task. After the heavy footwear was removed, Baldur helped her remove her trousers while she got rid of the rest of her clothing, then dipped a cloth in the large wash bucket he used earlier for his hair. While the clean water washed the bits of salt and sweat away, Baldur massaged her feet with his large hands. "Mazoga's doing well, if you were wondering. She put a man almost twice her size out of commission. I think she'll make it."

 

Rebec had her eyes half-closed, but stirred at this. "You don't say? Good for Maz. I knew she had it in her." That wasn't true, of course, but the orc was a survivor and no one had seen this more clearly than Rebec had. Forcing herself up despite the luxury of the foot massage, she said, "Strip. You've got far too much clothing on."

 

He stood reluctantly, abandoning her freshly cleaned feet to disrobe in front of her. 

 

Smiling down at her, he cast his fur cloak aside, standing only in his trousers then, revealing his chest and stomach to her. The bandages were changed out for clean ones, but the stitches remained. There wasn't as much bandage covering him, now that the wound was sealed. If the bandages were off, you could tell the cut was still deep, however. It wouldn't scar much, thanks to the skill of Menel and his healers, even without magic. Besides the main cut on his chest and over his left forearm, which was uncovered, there were other nicks and various bruises. But despite his discomfort, he wore them proudly, standing tall before her as if they weren't there as best he could.

 

Sitting up, Rebec's eyes went from the new scars to his face. Brushing her fingers along the wounds, she said, "No healing magic. I guess it's to learn not to depend on it." Internally she winced over every nick, but when she looked up again, she smiled. "I'm so proud of you. Papa may say it's foolish, but I know why you're doing it." Leaning forward, she kissed his stomach, letting her lips warm the skin that had been so battered.

 

Baldur's stomach rose along with his chest as he breathed deep from her kiss. Even such a simple thing as this stirred him, as it had been a while since he truly felt her. At least for them. He ran his hand through her hair slowly while his eyes were closed and while his other hand rubbed hers along his chest, then said, "He may be right. I had to kill a good man the other day. He was strong, but he died needlessly in a training exercise. Such a waste. But it's necessary for my plans."

 

Her hands caressed his waist. "He's in Sovngarde. More will die if we don't have fighters able to stand up to the damned elves." Rebec began to tug at the laces of his trousers, kissing whatever skin she exposed, and laughing happily as the Underking showed himself. With relish and not a hint of shyness, she greeted him as warmly as she had the rest of Baldur, kissing and stroking and at last lodging as much as she could reach in her mouth. Her hands slipped around his hips to brace herself. Her movements were languid but insistent, drawing out the moments so that he could feel her love, not only her lust, and remember it in the harsh days to follow.

 

Baldur's thoughts were treading close to guilt about not feeling more sorrow for a dead comrade, but all thoughts and aches from the trials leaked away when he felt his wife's lips on him. Eyes still closed, his head rolled back while he stroked her hair with his hands. He didn't hold back his gasps and moans, knowing full well she loved to hear them. He massaged her shoulders as she continued, feeling chills go up his spine as he felt her tongue work under his tip before taking him deep.

 

"Rebec, stand," he said as he tapped at her arm. As much as he wanted her to continue, he wanted to enjoy her fully and slowly. It had been a while since they were together, and he intended to savor it.

 

She didn't hurry but eventually complied, brushing at her lips and then putting her arms around his shoulders to hug him tightly, face burrowed into his neck.

 

Her breaths along his neck continued the tingling he felt throughout his body as he held her close to his while running his fingers down her back. He stayed that way for a few moments to calm himself, then lifted her off the ground towards the wall by the fire in the corner of the room. He thought he messed up for a minute, as he felt pain from his injuries in the initial lift, but all was well once he had her pinned to the wall.

 

"Let me see those Atmoran blue eyes," he said as he rubbed his head against her vulva both to tease and prepare her, though she was already slick at the touch. When his blue eyes met with hers, he chuckled happily and kept her gaze as he moved within her. At first he kept up his game, moving only partially within her before he finally penetrated fully and felt her nub while he nibbled at her neck, hands at her backside for support.

 

"Baldur, be..." She gasped at his entry, wrapping her legs tightly around him. "...careful." After that she was too occupied for worry, the ache of arousal being replaced by a wave of contentment at the sensation of him filling her. There was always a rightness to it with Baldur that went beyond the physical, and the lack of his touch over the past weeks made her need for it all the stronger. At first the reward was as much emotional as physical, but gradually lust became stronger and she began to brace on his shoulders and rock her hips against him. Rebec tended to be on the quiet side in lovemaking, but each motion drew out a little moan, her breath warm in his ear.

 

He ground against her slowly, yet intensely at first. Making it last and also more sensual and intimate. He focused his mind on the way she sounded in his ear and their heartbeats, and the taste of her skin and the smell of the salt in her hair, as well as the feel of her dripping over him while up against the wall, tickling the hairs on his sack. That sensation along with the sounds she was making increased his excitement even more.

 

Backing up from the wall, he put her down and turned her before entering her again and wrapping his arms around her. He rested his chin at her shoulder, pressing their cheeks together as he moved more urgently within her, ragged breaths matching in rhythm.

 

I wish we could do this forever, he thought, then said to her in a whisper before guiding her to the bed for his final stand, letting her feel the security of his weight on her back, their cheeks still fiercely pressed against one another while his legs held her in place. If his memories of being with her felt like a distant dream again, at least it would a warm one.

 

The different sensations from his piercing her from behind made her groan more loudly and push back against him. As his limbs wrapped her in the bed, however, she calmed again and let him take her up slowly. Her hand rested on his arm, and finally coiled together with his. Rebec was still holding his hand when her excitement peaked again in a gentle but unstoppable wave. Her body lifted on its power, pressing into him.

 

He started to grunt softly when her body fought against his. Hers pressing up and his pressing down as even his stomach muscles contracted as he got closer to letting go. Finally he released and let go waves of stress and loneliness from the lack of her touch. His groans were panicked at first as the ecstasy caught him off guard, but the softness of her rump pressing under him and the firmness of her grip anchored him and helped him recover his calm. All that remained was a selfish need fulfilled, and the contentment of reuniting with her once more. He stayed atop her for a while, kissing at her cheek and the back of her head before eventually moving over to his usual place with a childish smile on his face.

 

"It's almost scary how much I needed that after only two weeks. Needed you."

 

Rebec stroked his cheek, smiling and letting her breath return to normal. "Ah, Baldur. If they made men like you and sold them in Windhelm market, somebody'd be rich. But then I wouldn't know what I've got." She nestled close against his chest and let her hand drift down his side. "Did you hurt yourself?"

 

"My chest is sore, I admit. I may have reopened the cut in a spot somewhere. But it was worth it, heh. So worth it. The way you accept me so readily... and how you look at me with those eyes. And having you in my arms. It feels like I have the world." Baldur placed a long kiss on her head while his hand traced up an down her back. "Your father seems a little different now. No smart ass comments this time. I think I miss it."

 

"You're giving him a grandchild. He's trying to be nice to you. Don't encourage his grumpiness, he's got enough all on his own."  She moved away slightly to examine his bandages. There was a small red spot on one of them. "You'd better let me fix that. Can't let the men know you got wounded by poon."

 

"Hah, that's not something to be ashamed of. Toralf would be proud. I'm not gonna tell them that if you don't though," he said. "But it's gonna bother you all night if I don't let you, I'm guessing. Isn't that right?"

 

She was already up and retrieving their med kit. "Let me take care of you. And not just take care of your nethers." Her bedside manner isn't exactly gentle, more fit to getting a sailor back in the action fast than coddling him. Rebec quickly pulls off the plaster holding the bandage, taking a few of his chest hairs with it. Then she efficiently repairs the stitches and re-bandages him. "What's next in your training? You're almost done, aren't you?"

 

Rubbing his aching chest again before laying back down, he said, "Nothing I can't handle, love. It'll be over in a few more weeks. Probably best you don't know exactly what comes next. How about you and your exercises?"

 

She gave him a pointed look. "We're almost finished. I promised the auxiliaries they'd be done for the spring trading season. Can't keep Skyrim's fleet idle and let the Bretons do all our trading for us." When his chest was bandaged, Rebec put the supplies aside and curled up close to him again, nose to nose. "Tell me a little. What is it you don't want me to know?"

 

With Rebec talking so close, it felt as though she knew what he was hiding. Maybe she did. He never did get away with hiding things from her. She always seemed to know when there was something wrong with him, even if she didn't always bring it up. But being close made it easier for him to explain himself since lying this way would feel like a betrayal.

 

He rubbed her nose with his before kissing her, then said, "The next period is only one week, but it'll be the hardest. It involves what I guess you could call torture. After that, normally you'd be done, but there's a final test I have to complete on my own, which may take a few days. It just sounds foolish if I say it out loud, since it seems like I'm punishing myself. I thought of this before I decided I too would participate."

 

"Gods," she said softly. "Didn't you get enough of that in... No, I'm sorry. I told myself I wasn't going to criticize it. I just can't bear to think about you hurting and me not able to help you."

 

"You already are," he said, squeezing her tight and planting an obnoxiously loud smacking kiss on her cheek. "It'll make sense once you see the fruit of our labor. I'm halfway through it. I'll make it, as long as I have you and the little one to come home to."

 

"We'll be here. I couldn't keep up this pace much longer even if I wanted to. The baby already wants a lot of energy from me, I can feel it. I'm glad I've got Sigrid. She's grumpy sometimes, but at least she's capable." Rebec's voice was getting sleepy.

 

Baldur closed his eyes and said, "We better sleep now, then. We spent all night talking and screwing. We're both gonna pay for this in the morning."

 

Rebec reached up and tickled his beard, then laid her arm across his side and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

 

***

A week and four days later

 

"Are you, uh, sure about this, Red-Snow?"

 

"Uh huh, I'm sure."

 

"I won't lie to you, general. I don't feel comfortable about this in the slightest. Ulfric told me I was supposed to watch after you and not let you kill yourself. I stood by and watched you and these men torture themselves for weeks, but now you want me to help do it too?" Thrice-Pierced looked over to Head-Smasher for support.

 

"I'm inclined to agree. What is this supposed to prove? Will your men really be any better for it?" Head-Smasher added after getting the hint.

 

Baldur opened a weary bloodshot eye and looked to Head-Smasher from his place in a wooden chair. He tried his best to ignore the smell of the old dead flesh of the Thalmor torture chamber in the fort. The bright side was there weren't any flies of any kind around, since the outside was freezing cold.

 

Baldur said, "The only way we'll know for sure is if we try, right? I need to do this to answer a question I've had in my head for a long time ever since I knew this war would take us to Valenwood. If the outcome is positive, then these men and all the others that come after them will prove invaluable to my strategy in the war to come. It's the difference between winning the war and simply surviving it. Besides, aren't you dying to get back at me for that horker tusk joke, Thrice-Pierced? Hehehe."

 

As usual, Thrice-Pierced didn't smile. He only shook his head in disapproval of the joke as well as the task before him. "I'll do as you ask, but I don't think you'll get the desired outcome from me. Knowing it's you, I can't put as much into my punches as I normally could."

 

Baldur sighed, then got up from the chair and without warning grabbed it and hit Thrice-Pierced so hard that the wood cracked partly on one of the legs. While the Nord moaned in pain, Baldur assaulted the man again by stomping him in the groin and spitting in his face. "I appreciate the loyalty, but I'm giving you an order. If you don't beat me, I'll beat you. There's plenty of tools in here. Sledgehammers, poles, your gods given fists. Use them. Or I'll make you wish you were dead."

 

Thrice-Pierced got up slowly after coughing up some of his breakfast from that day, turning back to Baldur with hate in his eyes. "If that's what you want, sir...." He looked around until he saw one of the sledgehammers Baldur was talking about, then swung at him with all his might. The weapon smashed Baldur's chair right through the seat, then the commander ripped it from his hands.

 

"Good. Now h- augh!" Thrice-Pierced needed no further instructions and took the liberty of cutting off his words with a hammer butt to his gut and a knee to his face when he buckled over from the pain.

 

"You heard the general, Head-Smasher. Get to smashing!"

 

***

Pain was her god. If this is what it meant to follow Malacath, then Mazoga had been reborn as a true orc. Everything hurt, including her insides, since their food rations had been gradually reduced and made of poorer quality. She was too tired to care whether worms were crawling in the waybread.

 

Now, the orc stumbled into the practice field, dripping blood from several wounds, one eye swollen shut and less a few teeth. People had told her she was pretty for an orc, but that meant little and less anyway, so it was no matter that she had new scars. Some of them, like the sword wound in her side, were a few weeks old, and she had just earned a few new ones from the battering she took at the hands of the instructors.

 

In the field, practice dummies were taken off their posts so that soldiers could be bound to them instead, and the battlemages stood ready. Most of them were young and looked more nervous than the Grim they were about to torture. The fat Bosmer walked along talking to each one, giving them last-minute instructions. They were not to hold back, Mazoga heard him say. No Dominion mage would. Menel himself looked to be in good spirits. When he was done talking to the other mages, he stood back, cracked his knuckles, and bounced to keep warm, like an athlete about to run a race.

 

Mazoga had enough wits to want to grin at this, but her mouth just twitched, and then Thrice-Pierced was at her side, pulling her forward and lashing her to one of the empty posts. She was tempted to be resigned at her fate, but had learned over the past few weeks that acceptance was weakness. The only way to get through this was to rage back at the pain, and then to rage some more. She cursed Thrice-Pierced in a guttural voice. When she saw Menel step up before her, a spell blooming in his hand, she bared her tusks and made a low animal growl at him.

 

"I'm sorry about this," the Bosmer called out, not sounding very sorry at all.

 

The orc was about to curse him and tell him to get on with it, but then her body was racked with electric shock. She smelled her hair burning. It felt like her eyeballs were melting in their sockets. And then, the pain and rage were burned white-hot into fear, and she could only think about how to make it stop.

 

***

Baldur heard the cries of pain the others gave from somewhere far away it seemed. Every yell, every swear made his body twitch until he eventually came to, gasping for air atop some table. He tried to lean up, but he found himself shackled and unable to move. "What's going on? Hey, someo-, rraaugh!!"

 

Suddenly, the excruciating pain and misery came rushing back to his conscious body, as well as the memory of what happened. Images of Thrice-Pierced pummeling him with a sledgehammer, and Head-Smasher breaking wooden poles on his back filled his mind, as well as the both of them stomping on him repeatedly, just before being thrown outside and filled from head to toe with the power of the arcane arts from Menel's battlemages.

 

He leaned forward to see his body exposed, his skin black and blue, stained with blood and swollen all over from the punishment he took. His muscles were cramping in places he didn't know they could in a lingering reaction to the spells that coursed through his body. Even breathing was a labored and painful endeavor. "Get. Me. Out. Of these damn shackles!"

 

Eventually, Daric came running and burst through the door into an area in the fort re-purposed into a medic room. There were other tables like his, two of which were already occupied besides the one Baldur was on. One of the men atop the table was no longer breathing. "Baldur, hold on. I have the keys," he said as he rushed to free him. When he did, Baldur cursed as the iron that was cutting into him was released.

 

"You had a seizure from the magic attacks. They had to restrain you to keep you from hurting yourself," Daric said.

 

"A seizure? I don't remember that..." Baldur tried to get off of the table, but ended up stumbling to the ground under the pain of his violently cramping legs.

 

Daric ran over and helped him up as he said, "Don't try moving too much! They said I should take you to bed when you were up to rest for the night. By then, you should be able to move again."

 

"How are the others fairing?" Baldur asked.

 

"Stump is dead," Daric said hesitantly as he looked behind them. "He had a seizure too. As did Falgrum. Stump choked on his own tongue. They couldn't get his mouth open to save him. The one called the Innocent gave up."

 

When Daric and Baldur reached the room he and Rebec stayed in their first day in Kyne's Watch, Daric eased him down until he could manage to crawl in himself. "F ucking f uck... did I break any bones?"

 

"No, luckily. There's a bucket of water here and a cloth for you to clean up. Had to change your clothes. You and some of the others, uh, pissed themselves from the pain. They said you were running a fever, and I can see you're still sweating. You should stay here for the night while you recover. If you go outside now in the cold, you could get seriously ill. Best to regain your strength for the remainder of Oblivion Week."

 

"Orkeywhik." Baldur said.

 

"I know. That's just what the other Stormcloaks are calling it now. A lot of us thought you'd die." When Daric saw that Baldur didn't make any objections, Daric turned to leave and said, "I'll tell the Admiral why you didn't come home tonight."

 

Baldur's lip trembled from holding his breath, waiting to make sure Daric was long gone. When he was sure no one was around, Baldur yelled out like a man possessed as tears rolled down his eyes. It was a while before sleep managed to claim him, but when it did, all it brought was past memories from the Thalmor's cell. At least one good thing came from being allowed only three hours of sleep that week.

 

(To be, or not to be continued? To be continued. Like....)

[BTC]

(Now)

 

***

Towards dawn, Mazoga was dragged into the medic tent. She was protesting, though from her broken teeth and swollen tongue, it was hard to make out her words. "Not done... not done... I didn't give up... take me back."

 

The medic, finally understanding, said, "It's alright, ma'am. The magic trials are done. You made it. We're just supposed to observe you for a while in case you have brain or heart damage." Unceremoniously, the medic began to cut away her bloodstained clothes. She had burns on her fingertips, ears and chest, black patches oozing blood and water. The medic was unfazed, saying,"Believe it or not, you're doing better than most. Must be the orc blood."

 

While the medic was bandaging her, Mazoga's eyes fell on Baldur. Seeing his condition, she chuckled, which came out like a grunting sound. "You were right," she said, words slurred. "General looks like shit."

 

"Only reason you look better is because you looked like shit from the start," said Baldur. He was too tired and hurting to care for making it sound like a joke.

 

Mazoga grunted again, then passed out. Some time later, the medic was shaking her awake. They kept doing it, watching her for brain damage. Eventually Menel came in to check her.

 

"This part of the torture too?" the orc complained.

 

"Sarcasm. That's a good sign. That means you can vacate my medic tent." As Mazoga stood painfully to her feet, the Bosmer turned to Baldur.  "How about you, general?" He reached down and pried Baldur's eyes open, checking his pupils.

 

When he did, Baldur snarled at him and bit his finger like a rabid dog, both a learned reaction from being in Thalmor captivity and also because he was hungry for anything that wasn't stale or moldy. Even Bosmer.

 

"Hm. Not quite grumpy enough for a clean bill of health, but you're getting there. Stand up, if you please."

 

"Sorry about that. But you did stick your fingers in my eye while I was sleeping." When he stood, he said, "I'm fine, so no need to waste time with tests. The next day has started and it's time for us to get to running."

 

"Right. I won't bore you about the long-term effects of injury and sleep deprivation on the body and mental condition and other unimportant things. Have a nice day."

 

"Good, you're learning. These are things all soldiers face at war, and something our most elite must embrace. We can sleep once the week is over. Ready, Mazoga? We've still got six more days left in Oblivion."

 

Mazoga was working her arms and legs, trying to forget the pain of her burns by focusing on the pain in her joints. "I'll see you at the top of the mountain," she said.

 

"Unless you collapse first from internal hemorrhaging," Menel added cheerfully as he went down the line, waking up others.

 

***

As the naval exercises wound down, Rebec met with each of the officers, auxiliary captains and first mates to debrief and make training and patrol plans. She came out of the fort to see some of them off, but stopped as in the distance she saw the spark and fire of spellcasting and heard screams. Shaking her head, Rebec cursed under her breath. Her night with Baldur had almost made her forget the image that had haunted her for weeks, of her husband’s body being brought to her on a litter. The image came back now and she had to force it away.

As she and the captains reached the quay, they all stopped as they saw a large galley anchored offshore, bearing Breton colors. A dinghy was on its way in. Rebec met the Bretons, who proved to be traders. They had brought a sampling of their wares in the small boat. “We heard you were making a new town. We’ve got clothing, bolt cloth, tableware, food and wine, and household sundries. Are you interested?â€

“You bet your skinny Breton backside,†Rebec answered. “You lot have good timing.†Most of Skyrim’s traders were right there at Kyne’s Watch. Between them and Rebec, the Breton ship was emptied and didn’t need to go further to Solitude or Windhelm. The Bretons were talking of civil war in their own country, but refused to say who had better odds of winning. They would trade with whomever emerged victorious.

Rebec had some of her goods loaded on to the Wisp, to give Mazoga something to trade- if she came back. The rest she loaded on to a hand cart and had brought up to the town. As she was unloading some of it into hers and Baldur’s longhouse, she saw a small group of people coming down out of the mountains. These weren’t traders, but two families from the Reach who were looking to settle. They had Reach silver to trade for their housing, so Rebec set them up in two of the empty longhouses and even sold some of her Breton goods to them.

Back at her own house, Rebec’s cart was still full of housewares and the best cloth and ribbons off the Breton’s ship. She pulled it up to Ysana’s longhouse and knocked on the door.

 

"Just a minute!" said a voice from inside. While she waited, she could hear Ysana rummaging around and eventually the sound of the latch at the door unlocking. When the door opened, Ysana's brown haired head poked out from withing, a sight not common since she was usually wearing priest robes to protect her skin from the sun to prevent wrinkles. But today she was wearing a colorful turquoise and sea blue cloak with white sabrecat spotted fur linings from Windhelm after selling her Hammerfell clothes in the market.

 

"Is that you again, Daric? When is my son going to bring his rump over h- Oh, I'm sorry dear, it's you. I was expecting Baldur's little servant boy again. Would you like to come in?"

 

Rebec grinned at this designation of Daric. Gesturing behind her, she said, "I brought you some stuff, Ma. Fresh off the boat from High Rock. You're the only one in miles who can do anything with this fancy cloth."

 

Ysana kissed Rebec's cheek excitedly at the mention of new material and immediately pulled some of it out to examine. "Oh gods, these are just what I needed! Your husband has me working on new officer uniforms for his men and women that survive the trials, but it's hard when all you have to work with is basic leather and thread. At least the quicksilver rivets are shiny looking though. But now I can spruce them up with better quality thread and put some fancy stitching in the design. Maybe put the Stormcloak bear on the back. And these fancy patterns and colors will be perfect for the clothes I plan on making you when your belly gets too big. Then when you're not pregnant, I can cut away the extra material and refit them, but it's probably best to just hang on to those. You both could really use some more clothes. And there's enough for more baby clothes too! I'm going to be a busy woman it seems."

 

Rebec smiled at Ysana's happiness, and helped her bring in all the wares. There was a cask of whiskey and some fine cheese, too. "That fancy cloth would be wasted on me. You make yourself a nice dress or two, Ma. I'm just glad the word's getting out about our little town. On that subject, there's something else I want to talk to you about."

 

"Hon, I'm too old for a dress like that. I look okay for my age, but my time for such things has come and gone. You should enjoy things like this while you still can, dear. I'll not take no for an answer. Now, what is it that you wanted to ask? Something about the town?"

 

The admiral turned a chair around and straddled it. "How'd you like to be mayor?" Rebec told her about the new settlers that had come in from the Reach. "They think it'll be safer here with the navy base, than out in the hills where the Forsworn can hit them. That means there'll be more, which is good. Baldur or I could do it, but we're busy with the military, and you're a priestess and good with people. These folks need someone to organize and help them. In a year or two, when there's more townsfolk, we could have elections, but in the meantime we need you."

 

"A mayor?" There was a long pause before she said anything again. "I don't know, dear. A Dibellan priestess being mayor of a town based around a military base? Would the others even respect me?"

 

"You're damned right they would. If it came to that, you'd be good advertising." Rebec grinned. "If a priestess of Lorkhan can lead Whiterun hold back in the day, you can lead our town."

 

Ysana paused again, biting her lower lip. "Hmm, I always forget that I used to help run a chapel full of wild women and rowdy grown men. I suppose if I can put up with that, then I can handle a town. I just help to solve issues they're having? Settle disputes and make sure they're settled in well enough? Answer questions and all that? I suppose being the mother of the kingdom's general and mother in law to Skyrim's admiral would give me some authority. And I know how to be assertive."

 

"Now you're talking. That's settled." Rebec stood up and began rummaging in the pantry cupboard. "Got any horker jerky? I'd give my left teat for some horker jerky."

 

"I didn't actually say ye- oh, never mind. There should be plenty of jerky. That's practically all the meat they had when we first got here, and I'm not much of a fan of it. Leftovers from what they caught for the men I guess. When are your lot gonna start fishing?"

 

Rebec found the jerky stash and started chewing, returning to her chair. "I don't have any fishermen in the navy. We got to get some to move out here. Maybe as mayor you could write notices to all the holds to invite settlers. The jarls might not like it, so maybe send them to the tavern owners. We need fishermen, tradesmen. They've got to bring their own seed money. The navy can only do so much."

 

Ysana said, "It seems a bit odd that the navy doesn't have fishermen. Oh well, it can't be helped. Just more incentive for me to take this job I guess. Could I use some of Baldur's men to do the leg work, you think? To deliver the messages I mean. They're the only ones this far out, and I can't pay for messengers myself. Some of them look bored anyway. Also, I overheard the Queen saying she wanted to start an orphanage. If that's true, then this would be the best place to start, since we have the room. I could send a request for anyone willing to help run it, if she was still serious about doing that."

 

"If you've ever smelled a fishing boat's timbers, you know why traders don't do it unless they're going full time at it. I could have my boys do some fishing for you, if you want. They have to wait for Maz to get back before they can sail. As for messengers, we can send some with the navy to Solitude and Windhelm and distribute them from there. We'd take orphans, sure. Our little one needs other kids to play with."

 

Ysana said, "Looks like I'll have some writing to do then. I'll have the necessary letters and details written out within a day. I'll just have Daric give it to the men since he's our little servant boy, it seems. May as well get use out of him before Baldur finds out and accuses me of running him ragged." Regarding Rebec cautiously, Ysana looked for a way to squeeze in talk of the child.

 

Finally after a few awkward moments of searching for what to say, she said, "Oh, speaking of the little one, how are you doing? Feeling okay? I had to take care of pregnant women every now and then in the temple. Not every priest wishes to prevent child birth, you see. And I did have Baldur with me for a little while before we separated."

 

"I haven't had time to think about it really. At least I've stopped puking in the mornings." Rebec got back up and went to the cabinet, returning with some honey nut sticks. She munched for a bit, then glanced over. "Oh... did you mean...? Yeah. I try not to think about that, either. I can't. If it happens again, it'll be the end of me, so I just can't think about it."

 

"It won't. Things like that don't happen twice to healthy people, dear. But if it does, it isn't the end of the world. Some women think it makes them less of a woman, like their husbands won't want them because of it. But my son isn't like that. And neither am I for that matter. I won't blame you. Sorry to bring up unpleasant topics, but it had to be said. I heard things about your last mother-in-law, you see."

 

"Yeah. Rivka. Not going to be invited to any family parties, that's for sure. About the baby... Baldur's so happy. It would crush me if... I'm sorry." Tears had sprung to Rebec's eyes. "And I feel guilty, you know. Guilty to be alive and to be so happy now, and my baby lying in the cold ground next to her father."

 

"You have no reason to be guilty over something you couldn't control. And she's in Aetherius, not the ground. Just you remember that. As for my son, I know you want to make him happy, and I'm grateful for that, but at the end of the day his happiness isn't your responsibility. All you can do is try your best. If he's any sort of real man like I hope he is, that will be enough, and he'll love you for it. I know that doesn't make the idea any better, but it's you that made him happy in the first place. The sadness will pass. You could even adopt."

 

Rebec had stopped eating and sat sideways in her chair, trying to keep the tears in her eyes from flowing. What Ysana didn't know is that she had never been able to talk about her grief at the time it happened. Her doing so now was something new. Getting her composure back, she smiled and nodded. "I know. There's no better man in Skyrim and I'd crossbow anyone who said otherwise. You're going to help me with the birth, right? I'm not sure Baldur could take it."

 

"Ha! I'll bet. Most men's first question when they see a child birth is 'Will it ever shrink back to its normal size?' Ha, when that happens, I like to scare them and say it may never recover. Idiots. Though I do have some women ask the same question. Actually, so did I... Uh, anyway, yes I'll be there. Baldur will be too or he'll be wearing my boot in his ass. The father is supposed to sever the cord himself."

 

"He can be there, but someone else has to be in case he faints." Rebec grinned. She looked around. "You alright in here, Ma? I know we've all been busy, Bjol included."

 

"That's a real possibility, considering his father did... I'm fine in here. I bump into your father on occasion, not that he says much. And I keep busy. Wish my son would come around, but I know he's busy risking his life to prove what's already been proven... I try not to think about that. As for Bjol..." Ysana suddenly grew a smile that could charm a daedra. "If he's ever free, could you tell him I've been missing him?"

 

Rebec squirmed, suddenly sorry she had brought up the subject. "Uh... sure. I'll do that." Not a chance in Oblivion that I'll do that. "Baldur's got another week or so, I think. He's doing fine." That was a white lie, too, but she wasn't about to tell Ysana what she saw and heard earlier. "I'm done with exercises now, though. We could eat dinner together tonight if you want." Pointedly, Rebec didn't offer to cook.

 

Ysana lit up at the offer and said, "Of course, I'd love to have some company over for once. And you should be eating something better than horker jerky. May as well stay the night since Daric mentioned Bldur'd be staying in the fort for the week. Hope you like gumbo."

 

"I like gumbo like a giant likes stinky cheese." Rebec began tossing off her boots, and before long was curled up in Ysana's spare bed like she owned the place, buried under furs and napping the afternoon away.

 

***

As the week went on, Rebec found herself hanging around the fort more than she needed to, hoping to get a glimpse of Baldur or overhear what was going on with the trials.

 

After some convincing from Menel, Baldur finally agreed to allow the trial runners to take a minor healing potion before he had them go on to their final test. At least enough to allow them to walk normally. It was true they had to endure punishment, but if they ever endured that much punishment in real war, they'd likely be dead anyway, or taken off the battlefield. That and a number of the survivors broke out in serious fevers that had to be tended to, or sending them out in the cold alone for a long time would be an automatic death sentence. They survived the week and proved their mettle. There was only so much the body could realistically take without either time to heal, or the help of medicine.

 

When Baldur came out of the fort after receiving his treatment and cleaning his face up as best he could, he spotted Rebec immediately and shuffled over with a  walking staff. "Over here!" he yelled, waving her over with his free hand.

 

"Baldur!" She ran over, eyes on his walking stick. "What happened? Are you coming home?"

 

Baldur took a while to answer, but finally said, "Yes, I'm finally coming home for the day. Sorry I stayed at the fort, but I had to."

 

"Don't apologize, just come on." Rebec put her arm around his back so that he could lean on her as they walked. "What happened to your leg?"

 

"What didn't happen to it. There was some kicking, sledgehammers, lightning causing muscle spasms and cramps. I think Menel enjoyed his task a little too much... I guess it was revenge for 'picking him up and putting them down'. I took a small healing potion, so I'll be good to walk without assistance by tomorrow. And Mazoga is still alive so far as well. She's officially a Grim One."

 

Rebec's face lit up. "She is? That means you're done now?"

 

"Well... see, I need officers. To run the trials for me, you see. Make the less elite taking the test experience what it's really like to be in harsh combat, which they can't do by fighting themselves. So, that means the ones that survived will need to be those officers. It's why I picked some of the royal guards from Windhelm, supposedly the best of the best, to go first. To make the first run as hard as possible. Anyway, that means that all the survivors will take a final test to be given officer roles. Including me. It'll probably take a few days, but once I finish, I'm done for the next five years."

 

"What kind of test?" Her tone turned wary.

 

Baldur said, "Well, you know how I was telling you that I was getting tired of eating horker?"

 

"I've got Breton ham at home."

 

"Sorry, but Daric's too useful to eat. So, I'm going hunting for dragon."

 

Rebec laughed and elbowed him. "Sure. What is it really?"

 

Baldur didn't laugh. "I'm serious."

 

"There are no more dragons. If all you're going to do is go for a walk in the mountains, then I suppose that's fine."

 

"Actually, there are some around, they just haven't been bothering us lately. But you're right, I'm not hunting a dragon. Can't get anything by you, can I? Heh." Here it goes. "No, I'm just hunting a measly old frost bear. Anyway, now that that's settled, how's ma been doing? Did you see her?"

 

She stopped in mid-stride. They were at the edge of the new village, where the little town pier came up to the cluster of longhouses. "You're going to hunt a bear? You and all the other officers together?"

 

Baldur scratched his head and kept on walking. "Eh, not quite. They're not officers until they come home draped in the white fur of the bear and a sack of meat along with it, as well as the heart. It's symbolic. They'll all be hunting, just not together, or at the same time either. Say, have your breasts gotten bigger dear? You look wonderful."

 

Rebec's jaw worked. She had told herself she was going to be supportive of whatever he had to do, but the strain of the past weeks was getting to her. "Don't do it. Please. I didn't ask before because I couldn't, but you don't need to do this."

 

Baldur stopped walking then, taken off guard by the response. He expected anger maybe, or dismissal since they've been through the song and dance of being in danger recently already. But this was worse than flat out anger. At least then, he could be angry too and feel less guilty about it. "Rebec, I know you think it doesn't make sense now, but one day I'll explain it, and you'll see. There's a much bigger picture to all this than you think. Much bigger."

 

Her brow knit. "What bigger picture? The thrice damned elves? I'm tired of being afraid of them."

 

Not quite. "Who's afraid? Not me. Did you forget who you're talking to here? I am Baldur the Unkindled. Slayer of elves, bane of empires. I'm not afraid of the Thalmor, and I'm certainly not afraid of a mindless beast. You have nothing to worry about, except what you're going to do with all the bear meat I bring home."

 

She stepped forward and reached up to cradle his face in her hands. "And they call me Kyne's favored, but I've wrecked two ships. You start thinking you're invulnerable and you'll make our baby an orphan."

 

"Never. That will never happen. Not because I am invulnerable. The trials made sure I knew better than that. The bones that feel like crumbling inside me right now are telling me that. But I refuse to die until I've seen you old grey and wrinkled. No other man's going to raise my child but me, and no other man's going to love my wife but me. Do you understand that?" Baldur cradled her face in his hands just as she was doing to him, then rested his forehead against hers. "I will not do anything that will put my life at risk for no good reason. And even then, I'll never leave you. I'll hold you here all night in this freezing weather until you acknowledge that."

 

The tears she had held back for weeks leaked out on Rebec's cheeks. "Stubborn Nord fool." She smiled as she said it, despite the tears. "Come home with me, then. The bear doesn't get you yet."

 

Baldur watched the tears roll down his fingers and thought he felt water trying leak from him as well just from the sight of it on Rebec's face. It wasn't easy making her cry, and he knew then that he wasn't the only one who suffered from the trials.

 

He kissed her on each wet cheek, then wiped them away and said, "I'm sorry you fell in love with such a stubborn man. When I get home, you and I won't have to wake up without seeing each other in the morning for a long time. You'll be begging me to leave you be, you'll see. I told you I wouldn't have to take these trials again for five years right? When the time comes for me to take them again, I won't. That's when I'll retire from the Stormcloaks."

 

Rebec nodded against his forehead. "You keep that promise, Red Snow, or you'll wish you'd bedded down with the bear." She didn't shed any more tears, only turned again towards home.

[BTC]

Baldur Red-Snow

Day after the end of the Trials

 

Literally freezing his ass off would be an understatement if Baldur were to describe the hell that was traveling on foot in Skyrim's frozen forests, especially without a fur cloak. All that he permitted himself to carry as the first person to 'kill death' as he put it, was a standard issued Stormcloak uniform, a steel sword, shield, dagger, and a fair sized woolen sack to bring back the bear meat he was hoping to acquire. Sixty pounds worth at least. The sack was closed tight with rope, which extended out long enough so that Baldur could carry it on his back beneath the shield along with his sword. The dagger was tucked under his belt on his side.

 

He also made sure to bring some reading material for his thu'um meditations in the form of Mankar Camoran's Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, the first and most common edition. There was a line within it that didn't have much relevance to him before his training. In it, Mankar said, "Offering myself to that daybreak allowed the girdle of grace to contain me. When my voice returned, it spoke with another tongue. After three nights I could speak fire." Whether or not what Mankar said was true didn't really matter. The mystery behind it all still intrigued him, since to his knowledge, no elf ever used the voice.

 

It was only noon, and already Baldur was famished. He made sure to stuff himself with a great amount of Rebec's Breton ham, which Baldur was amused to find was actual ham and not a joke about Daric. But he'd been walking since morning with no sight of any bear nearby. No frozen droppings, no dead animals, no disturbed snowberry bush. Nothing. It didn't help either that he still felt as though he was kicked by a mammoth. His feet had long since stopped making footsteps in the snow in favor of snow trenches as the tired general dragged his feet. The minor health potion did exactly and only exactly what Menel said it would. Allow him to walk.

 

"I left behind my pregnant wife for this shit? Gods, what the hell was I thinking."

 

***

"Keep running! We'll get there. Just a few more miles!"

 

"Pa, I don't think I can run anymore..."

 

"You have to, or we're all dead!"

 

The little Breton boy did as his Nord father said, running as fast as he could to keep up with his mother and sister. Behind them, they could hear the cries of liberation for the Reach from their pursuers, and his fear and curiosity got the better of him. He had to turn to see just how close they were. His eyes couldn't make them out with all the snow swirling around. Neither did he make out the branch half submerged in snow on the road in front of him.

 

The mother heard him fall first, then the father who ran back to save him.

 

"Ow, I think I twisted my ankle, pa!"

 

"You need to keep moving, son!"

 

"I can't run anymore!"

 

"Then move as fast as you can! Take him away, hon. I'll hold them back. Don't argue, just go!"

 

The man waited until his family was fairly far away before drawing his blade. Like his son, he too couldn't make out where the Forsworn were, but he knew they were there. "Come, on... Come on! I'm here, you mongrels! Face me!" Shortly after he ceased shouting, he heard the crunch of snow coming from the dead forest of winter from his right and saw a figure emerge from behind a half broken tree. "You! How'd you get behind me? Come face me like a man, coward! Agh!"

 

***

"Look, there. On the road. Looks like he caught our arrow."

 

"Where's the rest of them?"

 

"They must've left him behind. I bet he stayed to hold us back. Too bad for him my aim is top notch. Looks like he managed to take it out though. Finish him off so we can leave."

 

The two Forsworn men did as the woman told them and approached the still form laying on the road with their crude bone strewn stick weapons for the kill. "Figures. Such a shame. The father stays back and dies for his family, and how will he be repaid for it? His wife will remarry and forget about him in time, his kids will grow up probably resenting her for it. It'd be better for them all if they just died together. Don't worry, fool. We'll be sure to make that happen."

 

The other man stood by the man's body in silence, waiting for his friend to hurry up and kill him so they could move on and continue their scouting on this new Nord town they heard about from families in the Reach planning to flee there. Something wasn't right though. But he couldn't put his finger on it. The man on the ground before them was wearing a Stormcloak uniform, but they were sure this was the man they were chasing with the family. He even had the bloody arrow in his hand that they shot at him.

 

"For the Forsworn!"

 

"Hey, this guy wasn't a Stormcloak was h-"

 

"For Skyrim!"

 

"Hnh!"

 

"Too late," Baldur said as his blade sat buried in his friend's chest. The Forsworn man dropped his weapon from above his head, then dropped dead quickly after Baldur pushed him off his blade. The other Forsworn man didn't sit and watch, and quickly struck out at Baldur while he could. Baldur twirled, using the shield on his back to block the strike, and at the same time swung his blade, slicing the man's neck and blocking his attack all in one movement.

 

While his enemy sat there on his knees bleeding out, Baldur took his shield in his hands, remembering that the woman with the arrows was nearby. If he forgot about her, he'd have been reminded quick. It wasn't even five seconds since he held his shield before an arrow bounced off it.

 

While the female Forsworn notched another arrow, the warrior in front of her had closed the distance between them unexpectedly fast. She only had time to release one last arrow and watch it get buried in his shield before that same shield and arrow came smashing into her, knocking her down. Baldur's blade found its way in her throat before she had time to try anything else.

 

"Good warm-up. Literally, too. Killing always makes my blood run hot. You can come out, now," said Baldur. The man from earlier came forward from the same spot Baldur had earlier.

 

"Thank you, Stormcloak, tha-"

 

"Hurry and get to your family before they get into any more trouble. They'll be safe in Kyne's Watch. Oh, and do me a favor. When you get there, look for a man named either Falgrum, Thrice-Pierced, or Head-Smasher and tell them to send patrols into the trails in front of the town and watch for more Forsworn scouts," said Baldur.

 

"Falgrum, Thrice-Pierced or Head-Smasher. Got it. See you around, then. And thank you."

 

As the man dashed off to find his loved ones, Baldur couldn't help but think about what the Forsworn man said about a father's role in protecting his family. It was a harsh reality, but one that a father had to be willing to accept. He pushed the thought out of his mind, then sheathed his blade after wiping the blood off with the woolen sack. Before he continued his journey to find a bear, however, the sight of the blood from the Forsworn woman's throat caught his eye and froze him in place. The blood closer to her body was a deep and dark crimson, in contrast to the blood further away which was thinner and a beautiful bright red settled in on the snow. Red snow. Baldur had to laugh at that. He was truly home.

 

***

"Shor's scaly scrotum, hell yes!" Baldur said, as his hands made contact with chicken wings in the pack the Forsworn woman was carrying. He was so excited, he even ate the bones. "Looks like you guys intended to stay a while. Too bad for you." Unfortunately they didn't have any mead or ale, so Baldur was stuck melting snow in his hands again for water. He gave up on that eventually and just shoveled snow in his mouth again like they did during the trials. And lots of it. Which was the direct cause for what he decided to do next.

 

"B.... A.... L... come on D... come on... damnit. This was a lot easier when I was ten years younger." While Baldur was relieving himself in the snow and trying to spell his name, a small snow colored fox stuck its head out from under a mound of it and sat next to his foot, just staring up at him. Baldur packed himself back in his pants and said, "What? I swear this almost never happens."

 

The small white fox just kept sitting, ignoring Baldur's attempts at shooing it away. "What? You must be hungry to approach me." Baldur took out two pieces of chicken from the Forsworn pack and chucked it at the little fox. "There, now leave me be."

 

"Aww, that's cute, hehehe."

 

Baldur jumped around and drew his blade in time to see a big burly Orsimer with a long scraggly grey beard and a white skull painted over his face. His hair was long as well, touching his shoulders. Unlike his grey beard, his hair was uniformly white like the snow that draped the landscape. 

 

"What is your name, and what do you want?" Baldur asked.

 

"My name? You can call me Horkis gro Akathmal, friend. As for what I'm doing, it depends on what you mean specifically. I'm in Skyrim again, because I heard that dragons have returned."

 

Baldur noticed that the Orc was unarmed, but he still kept his blade up for the moment. "You actually came to Skyrim because of the dragons? Well, you must be quite the warrior then. Or quite the fool."

 

"I'm nostalgic."

 

Baldur gave him a quizzical look, but eventually sheathed his sword. "Right. Whatever. Something you want, then? I can't help you find a dragon if that's what you're after."

 

"No no, I'm just wondering what you're doing actually. Looking for some company is all. If you'll indulge an old man."

 

"Sure, I guess. I can't stay for long, though. I'm hunting and I need to be home in a few days." Baldur took a seat on the road, while Horkis followed him. The little fox from earlier followed them both and sat in front of Baldur, as if it was protecting him.

 

"Haha, I guess that critter doesn't think you can protect yourself. Has to keep you safe from the big mean Orc, hehehe."

 

"I have no idea what this thing wants. I guess I shouldn't have fed him after all," said Baldur.

 

"You should keep him. Give him a name, warrior."

 

"I don't know about that. Not sure what my wife would think about a fox coming home with me. Though maybe it could stay outside. Maybe." Baldur looked down at the animal, then said, "I want to call it something like Stuhnir, but that doesn't really have a good ring to it. I really don't want to acknowledge the nine divines, but the name Sten just sounds right for him, don't you think?"

 

"You mean like Stendarr? And Stuhnir is in reference to Stuhn. You know the old gods of the Nords, then," said Horkis.

 

"Aye, I know them. More than most. I'm surprised you do. On second thought, Stuhnir sounds fine. Maybe he can have both," said Baldur.

 

"A Nord who knows the old gods. Sadly that's rare nowadays," said Horkis.

 

"Yes, it is. But I'm trying to fix that. In fact, I'm doing that now with these trials I set up back home for my men called the Grim Trials. The first week is Marawhik, the second period of two weeks is called Stuhnwhik, the third period is Tsunwhik, and the final week is Orkeywhik, or Oblivion Week, to the men. Right now, I'm taking the last test after Orkeywhik, which is the Death Trial, or Killing Death."

 

"Killing Death?" Horkis asked.

 

"Yes, a bear. Bears are Orkey's animal, the god of death. Since he killed my patron, Shor. And for that, he is our enemy god."

 

"Heh, yes. Though others call him Malacath and Trinimac nowadays. Tell me, if he is an enemy god, why do you Nords revere him? Wear his symbol," Horkis asked.

 

Baldur said, "You mean the Stormcloak bear? He may be an enemy god, but we respect strength. He literally created death. A concept that the gods have never known. By ripping out Shor's heart, he forever changed the entire plane of existence that we now reside in. Before Shor's death, the concept of chaos and disorder was not there. When he was killed, Trinimac forced everything to change. Even a Daedra, Jyggalag. The other Daedra didn't put a curse on him. Trinimac simply created a universe where the concept of complete order and stasis was no longer possible. So when that changed, the Principality had to change as well. And so it was that Sheogorath was born. And Shor died and created the concept of emptiness. He became the god of the void. Space, twin god to Time."

 

"Twin god to Time? You mean the time dragon?"

 

"Yes," said Baldur. "That's why when Orkey summoned Alduin's ghost, Shor was able to defeat him. In death, Shor became more powerful somehow. Time and Space are one and the same, because both are illusions of the mortal mind."

 

"Time I can see being an illusion, because the idea of time can only really be perceived by creatures effected by it. But how is space illusion too? The distance between you and I for example is rather real, isn't it?"

 

"Not at all," said Baldur. "Think about it. Look into the void, to the corpses of the gods. You see literal planes of existence supposedly floating to our mortal eye, right? But the scholars all agree, these planes, planets, objects, whatever you want to call them. They don't actually exist in the way that we perceive them. They're not round, but whole planes surrounding the mortal world. We only see them as round instead of encompassing us like the void, because mortal eyes cannot see planes within planes within planes. Yet, they are indeed entire planes within one another, and within the void."

 

The Orc only blinked and said nothing, waiting for Baldur to continue. Finally Baldur asked, "Don't believe me? Look at the void and what it is. Oblivion. Oblivion is the void around us, and yet it contains planes of existence known as Oblivion realms, which like these planets, are in fact the bodies of the Daedra Lords themselves. These entities are literally whole planes of existence like the gods. And they all exist within the void. Infinites within infinites. Space is truly an illusion. And what's a bigger illusion than making mortals believe you are dead and gone? See, that is very typical of a god they call the Trickster, don't you think?"

 

Sten gave a little bark as if to approvingly answer him, which made both men laugh. "So, you don't just know the old gods. You're a scholar. So space is twin to time. Makes sense. If time isn't real, it only makes sense that distance not be real as well, because people measure distance with time."

 

"Exactly," said Baldur. "How can distance exist if it doesn't take any 'time' to get somewhere? Because it's not real. Not really. Only mortals are held back by these limitations. While gods are everywhere and nowhere at the same...'time'. Because their planes like the void are literally all around Mundus."

 

"So, the bear underestimated the snake, it seems," said Horkis.

 

Baldur said, "Aye, the bear thought he summoned a dragon to fight a snake, when the snake was actually a dragon in disguise. That's why the trickster in the end always wins. There's a reason why Wulfharth, aspect of Shor, a Shezzarine, had the soul of a dragon. He mimics the real thing. Time and Space, one and the same. In fact, I'd say all real dragonborn, that is, those that weren't given dragonsoul power, but were born with it, were Shezzarine. If Shor's ghosts are watered down versions of him, and Shor and the Aka spirit are contained within one another, it makes sense that Shor's ghosts would have a piece of Aka spirit's power as well. And yes, I think the Emperors were given dragon energy from the amulet. If they were born dragons, why would Martin Septim's death matter? We know for a fact that the dragonblood isn't hereditary. Or they'd all be related to Talos. Amulet gets destroyed, and suddenly there's no more dragon Emperor. Tiber coincidentally found the Amulet of Kings... As did Reman Cyrodiil. But that's a conversation for another day."

 

"Hah, so the snake is really a dragon, huh? I'll keep that in mind. When I approached you, I did not expect to have such an enlightening conversation. Though with that kind of mind, surely you'd be better off in some dark room somewhere surrounded by dirty old tomes, rather than out here on the field where real warriors should be." Horkis said.

 

"Real warriors? You underestimating me too, orc? Did you happen to notice the dead Forsworn I left back a few minutes away?"

 

"Scum, rabble, milkdrinkers. They are not a real challenge. Not for a real man. Did you know that we Orcs, the real Orcs that is, we choose to die young in war and strife rather than be old greyed and useless? I think you should take up that practice, you Nords. Malacath was trying to do you all a favor when he used Alduin to rob you of your years. You are no use to anyone at your age... 'warrior'."

 

"Old age? First, what about you? Sitting here with your hair so white, and beard grey as ash. What about you?" asked Baldur.

 

"I have my reasons. Unfortunately, life doesn't always allow someone to do what they want. But enough about me, scholar. We're talking about you. You really think you have what it takes to... 'kill death', as you put it? I'd love to see it."

 

"And you shall," said Baldur.

 

"We'll see. I can't believe that there exists a man of the sword and the pen like yourself. You kill a snow bear, then I'll reward you with my amulet of Malacath." Horkis stuck out a hand for Baldur, which he readily took.

 

"You're on, friend. That amulet is as good as mine," said Baldur.

 

"We'll see, warrior. We'll see."

 

***

Baldur quickly parted ways with his new friend, eager to show him he truly was warrior and scholar alike. Though he also wanted to get things over with so that he could return home. Rebec's tears and her pleading still was fresh in his mind. A husband needed to be home with his family, especially when his wife was with child. He was glad he left before Vigge could say what he already knew.

 

The sun had receded by now, but Baldur and little Stuhnir continued their search for a frost bear. They found plenty of frost trolls, which he made sure to avoid, but so far Baldur had yet to find a bear. He supposed it was to be expected this time of year. Most were probably already in hibernation. Any still out by now were probably struggling to find food. Which meant that any he found would be both pissed and hungry....

 

"You! Stop right there, traveler."

 

Baldur and the fox turned to see two steel plated females approaching him with torches in hand. One was an Imperial while the other was a Nord. Both were hooded. "What is it? What do you want?"

 

"We are both Vigilants of Stendarr. We're hunting Daedra worshipers. Are you a Daedra worshiper?" asked the Imperial.

 

"What I am is a Stormcloak. Vigilants of Stendarr have no power over me, so I'll not answer your question. Out of my way." Baldur turned to walk away then, but when he turned, the Nord Vigilant was already there. "What the..."

 

"Answer the question." The Nord woman pulled out her mace, as did the Imperial, trapping him on both sides.

 

Damnit. "No, I'm not a Daedra worshiper, now move before I have both your heads. I'm in the middle of a test to kill Orkey. I mean a bear." Shit. Shouldn't have said that.

 

"Kill Arkay? He said some gibberish about killing a divine!" said the Nord woman.

 

"No, I said kill 'Orkey', an enemy god to the Nords, you pathetic excuse for a Nord! And don't forget Orkey is Malacath. I'm as far from a Daedra worshiper as you can get! Look." Baldur lifted the chainmail sleeve from around his arm to show his armband to her and the Imperial. "See that? That's a snake, symbol of Shor. And my marriage ring has a snake on it too. See? Not. A Daedra worshiper."

 

After he showed it to the Nord woman, he turned to show it to the Imperial. While he did, the Nord Vigilant snuck in his pack and dug around inside. When she found something in it, she pulled it out and was pleased to find out that this Nord could read.

 

"Looky looky what I found here, Asilia. Mankar Camoran's Mysterium Xarxes...."

 

"That's Mankar Camoran's Commentaries on... oh gods damnit," Baldur facepalmed himeslf.

 

"Aha, see? What did I tell you. Daedra worshiper," said the Nord woman.

 

"I'm not a Daedra worshiper, I'm a scholar. I've been reading this book because of a line concerning the thu-" To his dismay, Baldur found that he could no longer speak. His mouth moved, but no words came.

 

"Enough! A silence spell should shut you up. Stormcloak or no, you're a Daedra worshiper. And Stendarr's mercy does not extend to the likes of you!"

 

Baldur couldn't speak, but he could still fight. Before the women could strike him, Baldur rolled from between them, drawing his sword and shield. The Imperial woman came at him first with her mace, and was surprisingly effective with it. Baldur could feel the strength behind her attack on his already bruised and injured arm when he raised his shield. She was intimidatingly fast too, even faster than him. No matter where his sword swung, she was never in its path. And while she avoided his strikes, her mace was right there making him pay with every block he successfully pulled off. Backed up to a mound of ice and snow, Baldur ducked just in time to avoid her mace again. This time, the mace's spikes stuck into the ice after missing her initial target. But before she could free it, she met the rim of Baldur's shield right between her eyes and was out cold.

 

Now, for the other one. Where are you, wench?

 

"Over here..."

 

Baldur turned just in time to see the Nord woman emerge from the ice that the Imperial's mace was stuck in, which she pulled out effortlessly on her way out. Before Baldur could react, her freezing hands were at his throat, lifting him off his feet once again with absolutely no effort. Baldur knew what she was even before her eyes started glowing bright orange right in front of him and her smile revealed fangs. He didn't have time to say it, however, as the woman ran with him in her grasp and slammed his back in the ground so hard that snow burst out into the air around him. He too was out cold.

 

***

"Wakie wakie, my handsome strong Nord man."

 

"Rebec?" Baldur asked. It wasn't her. "Great, so I wasn't dreaming, then."

 

"No, you weren't. You were asleep for quite some time. Gave me enough time to make sure my partner stayed asleep for a little while longer, while I fed off of you."

 

"You did what?!" Baldur tried to move, but found that his limbs wouldn't obey him.

 

"Don't worry. You'll be dead long before turning into one of us becomes a problem."

 

"Heh, is that so? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Molag's whore bags hiding among the very people out to slay them. Makes sense," Baldur said.

 

"Doesn't it though? And now I'm feeding on a Stormcloak, bearers of Orkey's symbol. Also known as Arkay. Another enemy of Lord Molag Bal. What a happy day this is for me. Now, enough talk. It's time I had another snack. Was getting tired of the taste of Imperial."

 

"Hnh! Arghh! Ahhh!"

 

"Yes, you love it, don't lie," she said before going back to Baldur's neck. Baldur's entire body tingled and grew more and more numb as the Nord vampire sucked the life out of him while he lay on his back.

 

No, gods no! I can't die here! Shor help me, please. Please... No god answered Baldur's prayer, and his body grew colder and colder. Until suddenly, he noticed that the sky was lightening again. The sun was rising, and with it his body temperature rose as well.

 

"Don't you vampires fear the sun?"

 

"Not my clan," she said.

 

"Maybe you should," Baldur said. Even as he was slowly losing blood to this disgusting creature, Baldur couldn't help but smile. Something changed in him. He could feel it as he watched the birth of the dawn. Offering myself to that daybreak allowed the girdle of grace to contain me. "When my voice returned, it spoke with another tongue. After three nights I could speak fire."

 

"YOL!"

 

"AAHHHHH!!!"

 

The Nord woman was even more surprised than Baldur was when fire seemed to have been summoned out of nowhere, engulfing her entire unholy corrupted body as the sound of his voice echoed from its own power, thundering like a storm. Baldur watched with astonishment, still unable to believe what happened. All of his body shivered from the awe of what he just did. He stood to his feet then, albeit with much effort, and smiled as the vampire beat at herself, trying to put out the flames. "Feel the burn, bitch! Feel the burn, hahaha!"

 

The vampire finally managed to put out the flames by summoning a shield of frost. When she was free of his inferno, she cast two swirling storms of frost in Baldur's direction. Even if he was a Nord, he couldn't resist the kind of power within her spells.

 

"Shit!" Baldur cried. All he could do was try and thu'um again, but when he said the words, nothing happened. Baldur crouched his legs and folded his hands together in front of him to try his best and focus. Finally, as the frost licked and stung his face, he let loose the flames from within his throat, causing the spells to clash and burst in an explosion of steam. He said it once more just in time to catch the vampire off guard and strike her once again with the power of his voice.

 

Still aflame, the vampire charged angrily at him, bearing her fangs in rage. She had her hands again at his throat while Baldur had his at hers. He noticed that the flames around her stung him, but it didn't burn his flesh, just like before during the trials. While she snapped at him like a rabid animal, Baldur shoved his hands in her mouth and pulled them apart. Forcing himself closer, Baldur smiled before once again saying the word that he'd been thinking on for so long, even in his sleep. "YOL!"

 

Again, the flames shot from his mouth, only to enter hers and flow right down her throat. When she let go, Baldur fell to his back while she started sprouting holes throughout her body with flame flying out of it before finally succumbing to the heat and bursting into a great pile of ash before him.

 

***

Baldur woke up some time later, realizing that he once again passed out. When he did, he became immensely aware of what felt like fire in his throat. He instantly fell to his knees and coughed a great deal of blood onto the ground, threatening to make him lose consciousness again. "Shit, I think I overdid it...My head is killing me right now... Wait! My neck!"

 

Baldur stood up immediately, trying his best to ignore the pain. He ran over to the ash pile in front of him in hopes that the vampire had a cure disease potion for her partner. He dug his hands through the pile and sure enough, there it was. There was two in fact, which Baldur guessed she kept to make sure her victims stayed human so she could keep feeding on them. Baldur downed both of them just to be positive that he wouldn't return to Rebec a stranger in her husband's body.

 

Once the pain in his throat subsided, he collected the ash in the other bag in his sack from the Forsworn, then grabbed the rest of his things from nearby on the ground. He went back to where he left the Imperial woman and woke her up by dripping melted snow on her face from his hand.

 

When she regained her senses, the first thing she did was scramble for her weapon, but Baldur kicked her down and put a foot on her stomach so that she would listen to him.

 

"A vampire? Are you serious?"

 

"Her armor's still over there if you don't believe me. And I have her ashes in my pack as proof," Baldur said unsympathetically.

 

"I...I can't... I need to drink a cure potion!"

 

"You do that. I'm outta here."

 

"Wait!" she said. "I need to contact my friends, but I can't reach them without supplies. Do you know somewhere I can go? Is your town nearby?"

 

"I don't know if I want someone so moronic as you near me. But fine. Kyne's Watch is a new naval base with a town built around it. You can get supplies from there if you have the coin. Cut through that forest over there and go straight in that direction. You'll hit the town in no time."

 

"Okay, thank you soldier. And please, forgive me."

 

"Whatever. Just get out of my face already. I've got work to do," said Baldur. The Imperial waited for Baldur to walk out of her sight. When she was sure he was gone, she finally stood up and took off in the direction that he pointed to, smiling with the same smile that her old partner showed him not too long ago.

 

***

"Stuhnir, hey! Thanks a lot for the help back there, you useless pup!" Despite Baldur's words, he was happy to see the little animal again, who he assumed ran off to escape the danger. He was glad it did. The two walked for a better part of the day through the forest, searching still for the symbol of Orkey.

 

Stuhnir ran off suddenly on his own, causing Baldur to give chase after him, thinking he'd finally found a snow bear. He was close, but it wasn't big enough. Baldur watched the little fox jump on a little baby bear laying all alone in the cold snow. It was clearly dead, but Baldur didn't see the cause of death. Its fur was completely in tact. It wasn't until a strong gust of wind blew enough snow away for them to see the mother nearby that he realized what happened. She unlike the cub wasn't untouched.

 

Baldur snagged the baby bear before Stuhnir could ruin the skin and walked over to examine the mother. Her muscles and innards were all almost completely gone. "Another bear must have did this. Or maybe a troll. Sabrecat even. This cub must have starved without her. Baby bears will resort to eating their mothers if they have to. But looks like whatever did this didn't leave anything left for him. He must have ran away and returned to his mother's scent when he got the courage to return. Only to find this."

 

Baldur took his dagger out and began skinning the little dead bear. Tears threatened to come from his eyes, but he held them back and said, "Sorry, little one. But I can use your fur for my little one." After the deed was done, Baldur let the fox eat his fill before he covered the cub in snow and went on their way. The fox lagged behind from the weight of the food, so Baldur picked it up and let it climb into his woolen sack to sleep.

 

Eventually, Baldur too wanted to take a nap, but it wasn't dark yet and he needed to keep moving if he wanted to find a bear quickly. Though his body didn't seem to care about such things in the slightest. He even started nodding off in mid stride, and even imagined that he saw a dead bear in the middle of the road. "Looks like that thu'um really took it out of me. I'm even more exhausted than I was before. The blood I lost couldn't have helped either."

 

Stuhnir started to stir in the pack, and eventually jumped out and ran off like he did earlier, right in the direction of the dead bear Baldur thought he was imagining. "Wait a second... holy hell, looks like it's real!" Baldur chased the fox again to hurry and test the meat for freshness, which should be fine thanks to the cold. As long as no other animals got to it first anyway. While Baldur was trying to pull the bear off the road, the fox was busy yelping and pawing at a hill covered in snow for some reason.

 

"Hush, Stuhnir, the bear's over here! If you want to eat, you should be here with me." The fox kept digging, however, while Baldur tried to figure out how he was going to salvage anything from the carcass when it was almost frozen. "Maybe I could try the thu'um to soften it up. Or make a fire and put the carcass beside it for a while. Or I co-"

 

"WHO DISTURBS MY SLUMBER?"

 

"What.. the...." Baldur had his hands at his ears trying to protect them from the booming voice that came from behind him. When he looked to where Stuhnir was, the snow on the hill burst up towards the sky in a giant surge. Before Baldur knew what was going on, the ground shook violently as whatever went up came crashing down. Stuhnir got away, but Baldur was flat on his ass by the bear still wondering what in Oblivion was going on.

 

When he lifted his head, all he saw was the 'hill' he thought he saw completely gone, and flashbacks from Helgen staring him right in the face.

 

"THIS IS MY KILL, HUMAN! I WAS SAVING IT! I AGREED TO BOW TO PAARTHURNAX'S TEACHINGS, BUT I SHALL NOT TOLERATE THIEVES!"

 

Baldur didn't know or care to know who the hell Paarthurnax was, or what the dragon was talking about. All he knew was there was a massive dragon staring him right in the face, and if he didn't move, no amount of flame resistance was going to help him.

 

"WELL? WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF, MORTAL?"

 

"Y-Y..."

 

"WELL?!?" The dragon yelled.

 

"YOL!" Baldur cried, before scrambling to his feet, slipping, tripping, and eventually running away. The dragon averted his eyes from the flame but was otherwise fine. In fact, it ignored Baldur entirely and ate the bear after setting it on fire.

 

Meanwhile, Baldur was a mile away before he finally stopped running with Stuhnir in his hands. Shivering like a leaf and sweating ferociously while trying to recover his breath. When he tried to walk again, Baldur stopped in his tracks and blacked out once more from exhaustion.

 

***

When he eventually woke, the Orc Horkis gro Akathmal was standing over him while the fox licked at his face. "What... happened?" Baldur asked.

 

"You were holding out on me, warrior! You didn't tell me you could thu'um! Are you a greybeard? That would explain the scholarly knowledge. Though you're not a pacifist."

 

"And neither are they. Or at least, they're not supposed to be." When Baldur leaned up, he said, "Shit, I remember! I saw a dragon! Up close!"

 

"Aye, you sure did, hehehe. I had a good laugh watching you run, hahahaha! Some warrior!"

 

"Shut it, that was a ******* dragon! What has I supposed to do?" Baldur said.

 

"I dunno, fight it to the death and honor your ancestors? I though Nords would have gladly fought and died for the chance to go to Sovngarde."

 

"My ancestors had the th- oh. Well, mine's not that strong. And anyway, I'm not stupid. I have important things to live for. If I didn't, I'd have gladly fought that thing, believe me," Baldur said.

 

"Uh huh. You had me fooled there. I thought after seeing you kill that vampire, you'd have no problem with the dragon."

 

"I fail to see the logic in that. Wait a minute, you saw that? And you just sat there and watched?!"

 

"I don't interfere in the business of others. A true warrior would have been offended to receive help. You disappoint me, Nord. But at least you killed it. Us Orcs can't stand the sight of the undead. Molag Bal is an enemy to Malacath. Perhaps he's here watching your trial as you attempt to kill his symbol. His presence is said to attract Molag Bal's servants, I hear. Oh, and I also noticed you trying to take the fur of an already dead bear! Haha, nice try. That would not please your Orkey in the slightest, I imagine. Perhaps he sent that dragon, hehe."

 

Baldur got to his feet, then said, "Well it's a good thing I'm not trying to please Orkey. Now if you'll excuse me..."

 

"If you still intend to kill a bear, there's a few in those woods off to the east over there," said the Orc.

 

"I don't need your help, I can do this myself," Baldur said.

 

"Could have fooled me. I'll wait here with the fox, so he doesn't get hurt, if that's alright with you."

 

"Sure, fine. Be ready to give me that amulet when I get back. And don't hurt my fox," Baldur said.

 

"I won't. I'll take good care of him throughout his life once you're dead," Horkis said with a chuckle.

 

Baldur ignored his taunts and immediately left on his own so he could finally go home. He had his sword and shield at the ready, though before he left, he made sure to tell the other Stormcloaks that the kill would only count if the bear had at maximum three kill cuts in its fur. So they couldn't furiously cut and slash at the bear, and more importantly, mages couldn't just roast it. Burned fur wasn't exactly fashionable after all.

 

Baldur tried to concentrate and focus on watching his surroundings, but he couldn't help but think about how much he was going to pig out on the bear meat once he dragged it back home. Unfortunately, he'd have to wait a few weeks to let the meat hang out and lose the fat. Otherwise the smell of cooking it would be almost unbearable. "Hah, puns."

 

It also helped to compact the flavor by letting the moisture evaporate from the meat after cutting out the fat. The fat Baldur would pack up and see if he couldn't sell it to some alchemist or something. "My wife's gonna be full on bear meat. That's gotta be good for the kid. It's gonna come out with an axe in it's hand and a bear hat already on it's head! Haha!"

 

Something told Baldur he should shut the hell up suddenly, maybe Rebec in his head. And good thing too, since he saw humongous tracks in the snow. That meant there was a bear close by. Incredibly close, as it was still snowing, and yet the tracks remained. Normally, this would be the part where Baldur retraced his steps and make a wide birth around the area to avoid the creature. The last time he killed one of these things, it was with an ice wraith which he used to rip through it's head, which he currently did not have. But unfortunately Baldur was hunting the thing, so instead he followed the tracks, filling them with his much smaller insignificant footsteps.

 

The paw prints disappeared pretty quickly however, so once again Baldur was going in blind. He started getting frustrated when he noticed that the time was getting late. He started running, even, to hurry and cover more ground. A mistake he soon regretted.

 

Baldur's lack of patience indeed helped him to find his bear, but he found it in the worst possible way he could. Without the element of surprise, and on top of its back after tripping over it while it was slumbering. While Baldur was screaming, the giant snow bear rose to its hind legs, casting the snow that hid it aside as he roared and issued the foolish human its challenge. Baldur fell off, and quickly found himself under the impressive weight and strength of the animal with nothing but his shield between them.

 

"This is bad, this is bad!" He yelled as he thought of how to get away. The thu'um? No. Baldur was convinced that overusing it when he wasn't practiced in it was hurting him. His throat was still sore, and he was positive that using it again against the dragon was what made him collapse. He couldn't risk that happening here, or he'd be bear food for sure.

 

The bear forced his hand however and grabbed his foot in its powerful jaws, dragging Baldur away before trying to jump on him again before he could raise his pesky shield. Baldur managed to slip away, but the bear's massive paw slammed over Baldur's left hand. He was forced to let go of the shield to get away, though not before the bear's claws scraped him. Luckily there was a tree close by, or Baldur would never have managed to reach it before the bear, considering they can run as fast as horses. Unfortunately, they could also climb trees pretty high, and though Baldur could climb higher than a bear could, the bear was right on his pale Nordic rosy red ass, salivating at the mouth and excited to get a mouth full of long-pig ham in his hungry bear belly.

 

Baldur was panicking, and yelling as he heard the bear's grunts just bellow him. Even more so when the bear took a chomp in the direction of his nethers. Baldur finally reached a branch, and tried stomping the bear off by ramming his foot repeatedly in his face. Bad idea.

 

Baldur's foot followed the surge of steam rising from his mouth and plugged it up good. Only this time, the bear bit down, hard.

 

Luckily Baldur managed to pull his foot away, but his boot didn't return. The damn thing was evidently starving, because it actually tried swallowing it. And it pretty much did, though it was having some difficulty. It even looked like it was choking.

 

"Holy hell, it must've thought it bit my foot off, ha! Now's my ch-... Where's my sword?" Baldur looked around and realized his sword wasn't in its sheathe or his hand. All he had was his dagger for skinning, and that wasn't going to cut it. "****, I dropped it after the bear tackled me!"

 

Baldur started to panic, but he bit his lip and forced himself to be calm and think. His mind went to Rebec as it often did when he wanted to calm himself, and this time it gave him an idea. He took the sack off his back and cast it aside, removing the rope from it and tying it into a noose.

 

It took him a few tries, but eventually he managed to lasso the bear's head. When he did, he gave a silent prayer to the gods, then jumped off the branch in an attempt to hang the massive bear and suffocate it, or break its neck. It didn't happen that way however. Not initially.

 

The bear's weight was so great that instead of Baldur suspending the bear in the air, the bear hanged for a few seconds before pulling Baldur up while it fell. Baldur found himself back on the branch, but he managed to catch himself and hang upside down from his legs. Meanwhile, the massive bear threatened to rip his arms off with its weight as Baldur held on as best he could.

 

He was screaming the whole time from the strain he was forced to deal with. He was so caught up in his adrenaline, that it was a while before he realized that the bear had long since stopped breathing. When he finally opened his eyes and looked down, he had to laugh at himself and how stupid he'd been, though he wasn't laughing anymore when the tree branch gave way to the bear and Baldur's weight, snapping at the base and sending him tumbling head on into the snow.

 

"Son of a, owww!" said Baldur, yelling from his bruises now having bruises. He rolled to his side, only to scream again in momentary terror when his face met the open maw of the dead bear. Once again, the Nord general had to laugh at his own stupidity.

 

"Bravo, bravo," said Horkis from behind, slow clapping as he walked to him. "Well done. Not the most dignified way to defeat Orkey, but it was entertaining. To say the least, hehehe. But, dignified or not, you did kill it. A bet's a bet. Here. There's not much special about it. Though a friend of mine said he thinks it made him lucky. I find that it gives me strength in times of hardship, which seems more appropriate to me of the lord of the Ashpits. Probably doesn't even do that though."

 

Horkis gro Akathmal tossed the amulet to Baldur and let Stuhnir go from his arms. Baldur stayed on his back next to the dead beast, and smiled when he saw that the Orcs too represented Malacath with a bear, as the amulet looked like a silver mini bear skull. "Thank you, friend. Regardless of the function, I'll wear it proudly."

 

"Good. Oh, by the way, you do know that the other woman you let go was a vampire too, right?"

 

"Oh yea, I know. I've read Immortal Blood. Besides, she was traveling with the thing. I'm sure it took a nibble or two. I'm not stupid. I told her the name of my home, but the direction I sent her to lead right into a thick pack of trolls, hehe. I killed a bandit chief that way before, you know. Ugly as hell. I guess you could say it was... troll on troll crime, hehehe. Of course, the Imperial woman could have cured it without even knowing she was infected. I'm sure Vigilants are paranoid like that. But whatever. She was being a bitch anyway."

 

Horkis chuckled, then nodded before bidding Baldur farewell. He looked back one more time and got one last good laugh at the image of the Nord laying next to the bear, both on their backs as though they just got through a romp. He kept it to himself though and it was the source of at least a dozen more chuckles on his way to wherever it was he was going.

 

Meanwhile, Baldur was celebrating his victory by punching and slapping around the dead animal. "Haha, I made you my bitch!" he said, as he pretended to strangle it to death before kissing it on the nose. He skinned, gutted, then packed away as much bear meat as he could, but he left his boot inside it, hoping that someone would come around and see it and find it as humorous as Baldur did. By the time he left, it was dark. But Baldur left a happy man with a pack full of bear meat and its heart, while draped in its fur and a fox perched up on his shoulders. He was missing a boot, and his arm was wounded, but at least he was finally heading home.

 

"Still, wish I wore socks at least. It's colder than Molag's left nut right now."

 

"Reeoo!"

 

"Heh, Stuhnir agrees."

[BTC]

Gracchus Ceno

Night

The Ceno Household

 

The High General gripped his mother's hand tightly as she softly snored. Her chest, and the numerous blankets atop it, rose and fell with each breath. She looked so peaceful sleeping, like a baby held tight to her mother's breast. But, beneath that blissful exterior, Gracchus knew foul forces were at work. Lately she had been having lapses in memory, to the point that she would sometimes forget who he was. Other times she would think Gracchus was her husband, and shy away from his hand as he moved to hug her.

 

Those moments hurt, reminding the soldier that he had forsaken his first and only duty, the duty to protect his mother, all those years ago. And then, he had been so cowardly he had assumed she had died, rather than look for her and face her like a man. It was sickening, that he was now responsible for so many lives, yet he couldn't even look for the one that mattered. It had fallen to Catia, who had no responsibility to even seek Lyra out, yet did so for Gracchus because she loved him. It was almost incomprehensible, that she would go through all the trouble to do that when the most time alone they'd ever had was a months leave together.

 

He smiled, caressing Lyra's hand before loosening his grip and setting it on top of the covers, which he pulled up further. Walking to the fire, he reached over and threw in another log into the already powerful blaze. Gracchus stood there, staring, the flames reminding him of his dreams in Falkreath, as well as showing the numerous events of his past that still haunted him to this day.

 

Visions of his childhood house burning, his mother crying out as flame and rain mixed and he ran like a coward in the other direction. His father's laughing face as he ran after Gracchus, eyes replaced by black pits of pure evil. Eventually, no matter how fast he ran, those thick, calloused, farmer's hands wrapped themselves around the young Gracchus' neck, choking the life from him while his mother screamed in the background.

 

Dreams of blood, sea water, men's screams and the roar of the waves and flames that shot from his hands, engulfing the Harpy. The face of Rebec Red-Snow, contorted with rage and hatred much as it had been when they next met in Falkreath, still haunted his memories, yelling and cursing and spitting at him, the names of her crew that he'd killed forming on her lips as she clawed at his face. Always she managed to peel away the skin, with talons like a Hagraven before she burned him in retaliation.

 

He even remembered near forgotten dreams, of his fight with Regulus in the Solsethiem ashen tundra. In that version, the ghosts of Regulus' friends egged him on, eventually allowing Gracchus to be overtaken by the younger man. Laying in the snow, he could see the fear in his own face as it reflected on Regulus' blade, mere seconds before ending his life, jerking him awake with a cold sweat and a spine-tingling shiver.

 

Somehow even the Justicar he'd slain in the Great War still haunted him. The older, wiser, more experienced Thalmor always proving too much for dream Gracchus, as the young battlemage faltered under the weight of the elf's powerful spells. Even the real battle had played out similarly, the inexperienced Imperial beating the Justicar not through skill, but sheer determination to not die.

 

The log he had just thrown on crackled loudly, snapping him from his thoughts. Gracchus sighed, shaking away the nightmares that occasionally still visited him. Peering over his shoulder, he checked to make sure his mother still slept soundly before quietly closing the door. Moving to his own room in a trance, he sat on the edge of his bed. Catia was still downstairs, reading most likely, but he couldn't face her. Not with the all the ill memories still hanging over him like a cloud.

 

That was the worst part, that he still felt something, after all these years. I'm not like Lorgar, I can't kill without feeling remorse, even for that Justicar. Yet here I am, in charge of thousands of lives, every one of them with loved ones and people counting on them to return. Within a few years, many will be buried on foreign soil, never to see those loved ones again. I'll be responsible, I'll be the one they ask "Why did you let my son die? Why did my daddy not come home? Where is my husband?" And I won't be able to answer them, because I will have sent their sons, fathers, husbands to die. And they'll hate me for it. They'll-

 

"What're you thinking about?" Catia asked, standing in the doorway.

 

Gracchus, face sullen and sunk, lifted his eyes from the spot on the floor he had been staring at to meet his wife's.

 

"How evil I am. How cowardly I've been, and how many people I'll end up sending to their deaths," he said candidly, much as he usually did when speaking to Catia.

 

She moved to his side, draping her arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. "They know what they're signing up for. Their families know, and they know what to expect. You're just doing your job, and they're doing theirs. You can't save everyone, Gracchus, no matter how much you want to. And I know how much you want to. If you could settle this without any more death, you would. But you can't. The time for negotiation is long gone, and now you have to do your part to make sure the Thalmor can't oppress a people ever again."

 

"It's not just that...I've had nightmares. Old and new. They keep me awake and follow me like during the day, like malevolent specters constantly hiding in the shadows, only to appear when I close my eyes."

 

"Every soldier has nightmares, Gracchus."

 

Turning to look his wife in the eyes, Gracchus said, "Only the ones ashamed of what they've done."

 

They sat for several moments, the silence draped over the room like a veil. Finally, Gracchus broke the silent, somber barrier.

 

"How many times have you rehearsed that? The speech about the soldiers knowing, their families knowing."

 

"Oh, just a few times," she joked, smiling. "You don't hide your emotions very well, so I was waiting for the right time to say what needed to be said."

 

"I honestly sometimes wish I was turned off to the killing and evils of war, like some men. It sure would make my job easier. But, with the string of so many incompetent High Generals, I couldn't let someone else come destroy us. Tullius, as much as I liked him, made some awful choices towards the end, and that couldn't continue if we are to survive, to win, this war."

 

"And you're the right one for the job. You know why? Because you do care. Leaders that honestly, truly care for those that follow them end up much better off than those that rule for themselves."

 

Gracchus smiled again. "As usual, you're right. I do find it disturbing how easily you read me though."

 

Catia smirked playfully. "Like a book. So just remember that if you ever decide to try and hide something from me."

 

"Trust me, you don't have to worry about that. Even a dragon would fear a scorned woman, and I've seen you angry enough times to know that's the truth."

 

Catia laughed and took Gracchus by the hand, leading him to bed. He slept restfully that night, with her words warding off any Vaerminan trickery that might have sprouted up from his thoughts earlier. And when he awoke, he was more refreshed the he'd been in a long time. The thoughts of so much death looming on the horizon still weighed on him, but he felt stronger, and the emotional load was easier to bear.

 

**

 

A knock could be heard on Gracchus's door, just around ten thirty in the morning. Carter, the steward and manservant, answered the door, his face kind like a grandfather's.

 

"Ceno household," he said in a deep, baritone voice.

 

A young looking woman in a green maids outfit was there. She had brown hair, and green eyes. She bowed her head, "I have an invitation and message for Lord general Ceno from Lady Lillin Quentas of Chorrol."

 

Carter nodded, then waved in indication for the woman to come in. "They are in the living area, by the fireplace. You are lucky, ma'am, for you caught the High General on a rare day off."

 

Gracchus was sitting, one leg crossed over the other alongside his wife. He wore a simple blue tunic and brown pants, while Catia sported a dress, the same color as the maids' shorter version. In his right hand he held an old book, while his left casually flipped the pages when the time came. Balanced on the left arm of his chair, a sweating glass of water sat, and Gracchus occasionally chilled is with a frost spell.

 

Catia, meanwhile, painted her husband in a wide array of pastels, his eyes as sharply green as the maid's, while shadows danced across his face from the flames.

 

"Sir, madam, you have a visitor from Lady Lillin Quentas," Carter said, the Cenos looking up from canvas and tome.

 

She took an envelope out of her chest area, bowed her head to both Catia and Gracchus while offering the Imperial officer the sealed envelope and said in a crisp tone,

 

"My lady offers her greetings to General Gracchus Ceno and Lady Catia Ceno. She invites the both of you to a private dinner, with her and a "few" other guests tonight at the Quentas Family manor. She apologies for it being so short notice."

 

"No apologies necessary," Gracchus said with a cheerful smile, as he grasped the envelope. "You may tell the Spymaster we will be there."

 

The maid eyed them, before saying, "Not my place to say milord and milady but I advise you come in something formal."

 

"Of course. Parties such as this require more formal attire," Gracchus said, his voice betraying a hint of minor annoyance that the maid assumed they wouldn't dress up.

 

She snottyilly raised her face, bowing somewhat reluctantly and left the room.

 

Once she was gone, Catia raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "I guess we must now attempt to please maids by dressing formally in our own home. Presumptuous, wasn't she?"

 

"I agree, but it matters little. She most likely has false pretenses about how people of our stature should dress and act. We aren't exactly living up the billing of High General and his wife," Gracchus motioned at his clothes to support his point. He opened the envelope, saw it was only a pass to get in Quentas manor, then set it aside.

 

Carter scoffed at the idea. "My lord, she still had no right to make remarks about either you or Madam Catia. Young and foolish."

 

Gracchus laughed at the man's disdain for the young maid, while he resumed his pose and Catia took up the paint brush once again.

 

**

 

Wearing his classic gold and red general's armor, Gracchus straightened his cape while Catia moved to his side. She wore a a black dress laced with red, and her hair was scrunched up in a bun atop her head. Gracchus groomed his salt and pepper goatee, adjusted his saber's scabbard, then gave a swift, forceful, knock on the door.

 

Behind Gracchus and Catia was a massive and magnificent garden, filled to the brim with all sorts of flowers of various sizes and colour. In the middle was a large fountain, with a stone Rose on its top.

 

The door opened to reveal two men. Both of then had Pentiulas Occultus service badges, but they didn't look like any Occultus agents Gracchus had seen before. Both men were wearing black long coats, and carried two longswords on their backs. Covering there faces were leather Balaclava's.

 

Noticing his uniform and rank insignia both men saluted Gracchus sharply,

 

"High General sir. I'm sorry sir, but I'll have to ask for you to leave your weapon here and to show me your invitation."

 

The Occultus was only used as guards if somone very important was around. Perhaps there was another special guest?

 

"I would otherwise be offended, but given the last High General's betrayal it's understandable that even I cannot be trusted. Very well," Gracchus said, unhooking his scabbard and laying it ceremoniously in the right most guard's hands.

 

"I must ask, though. Why the masks? I doubt your faces need much protection, or hiding. Same with the longswords. Not exactly close quarter weapons."

 

"Its the standard of my unit, sir." He said in an almost emotionless tone, the Occultus agent beside him spoke up, "Occultus Black Team. We're Special Forces, sir. Colonel Quentas requested are presence due to her Majesties presence."

 

"The mask or the swords?" the general asked. "Either way, they seem over the top and extravagant. But, I trust you are well trained, and thus can wield them expertly. If you may message the kitchen, I left my two battlemage escorts near the garden entrance. I believe they would like some food, if at all possible."

 

"Handpicked by the former spymaster, sir. We'll protect you." He whispered something into his comrade's ear. The one on the right nodded his head and went to the kitchen, the remaining one said, "You're free to go into the hallway sir." He glanced at Catia and bowed his head , "Ma'am."

 

Catia smiled and nodded back, while Gracchus offered a salute. Lorgar's men, he thought. The fact that men loyal to Lorgar still worked in the uppermost parts of the Oculatus was strange, and frankly made him nervous. As he led his wife into the party, he squeezed her hand tightly.

 

A mix of black team and heavily armoured first legion legionaries patrolled, all of them stopping to salute the general, who in turn returned the salutes. At the end of the hallway was an imperial officer, shown by his helmet, unlike the black team guards, he had a friendly tone, "Alright bossman. A ground rule. Please dont start any fights even if the others act like pricks."

 

"Officer, have I ever been one to start a fight? Tullius, maybe, but not me. I'm more likely to break up an scuffles than start them," Gracchus said with a lighthearted grin.

 

"Yeah that's what they all say." He said grinning back. The man had a 7th legion insignia, meaning he was one of Grommash's men. Which would explain why he was so informal. He winked at Catia, "Wouldn't you want your man to show off to his little lady?"

 

"Keep your twitchy eyelids in check," Gracchus dropped the smile, and sternly growled at the man.

 

"Right bossman." He said smiling and rubbing the back of his head, "You guys are lucky today. The big C seemed to have invited some tolerable people this time."

 

"Who is this "Big C"?" Catia asked.

 

"Lillin. Bossman Grom started calling her that and the name stuck on."

 

"And "Big C" stands for what, exactly?" she inquired again.

 

"Colonel." He said confused. "Her rank." He stepped aside, "Well don't keep the lions waiting."

 

"I wasn't aware of her rank. I always assumed that it was Spymaster. No matter. Good evening," Catia said, while she and Gracchus waded into the party.

 

A great many people were already mingling about, talking and laughing and drinking away. Gracchus smiled and introduced people to his wife, before leaving to go get each of them a drink. He came back to find his wife talking to Lady Grey.

 

The woman looked like she was in her mid twenties, despite having pure grey hair. She was wearing an attractive grey and black dress, and had her hair done long with a pair of black ribbons. She was physically stunning, and she spoke in a boisterous yet kind voice,

 

"Catia, is it? How lovely. My dear what's your secret for looking so young?"

 

"I wish I had one. The blessing of the gods is all that comes to mind. Your earrings are lovely. Ebony, are they?" Catia asked, as she realized Gracchus was arriving.

 

"Oh, Gracchus, this is Lady Grey. Madam Grey, my husband, High General Ceno," Catia took the drink from Gracchus and sipped it quietly after the introductions.

 

Gracchus bowing graciously, said "A pleasure to meet you."

 

The woman bowed her head in return, "Cecilla Grey, the pleasure is mine High General Ceno. Just call me Lady Grey." She chuckled, "They are. Made by Dumneri Jewelers from Blacklight. A gift from an Redoran officer in fact."

 

"You likely have better luck talking to a Dunmer than I would. They barely listened to the emissary we sent to tell them of the new Orsinium plan. It may take a great many more years before they can even tolerate our presence in Tamriel," Gracchus said solemnly.

 

"They are quite lovely," Catia said, admiring the near void-like blackness of the precious metal.

 

"Its understandable, all things considered." She turned to Catia, "Our dear host would say it fits my black husk of a soul. But I wear them because they tend to match my clothing. And they have an air of mystery to them no?"

 

"That is rather horrid of her to say that, unless it is in jest. But yes, they appear to almost be holes in the light, rather than solid objects. Again, they are beautiful," Catia admiringly said.

 

"Speaking of host," Gracchus interjected, before he become even more bored with the fascination over the earrings, "do you know where Colonel Quentas is?"

 

"Lilly?" She laughed, "I saw her flirting with a nobleman, as well as a servant girl a few hours ago. She's most likely mingling among the crowd."

 

"Well, until we can find her, why don't you introduce us to some of your friends, Lady Grey," Catia quickly said before Gracchus could run off.

 

"It would be my pleasure-oof." Lady Grey was interrupted by a young girl bumping into her. She was wearing an a long white dress. Her raven black hair was done in a bun, and two medium sized strands falling down her side. She had the same blue eyes that Lilly possessed. She had fallen onto her butt, in a shy voice she said, "Ummmm sorry Cecilla..." Lady grey let out chuckle, "Its alright dear Helen."

 

Gracchus helped lift the girl from the floor, while Catia kindly asked "And who is this pretty young lady?"

 

The girl blushed, and bowed her head while curtsying to the two after Gracchus had helped her up, "Ummmmmm...... Baroness Helen Claudiaus Quentas. Ummmm...." She shyly fidgeted, "A pleasure." Lady grey laughed, "Lillin's niece." She had almost no resemblance to Lilly, but looked oddly simmiliar to her wayward sister, Milly.

 

"Don't be so shy. I can guarantee I am more nervous than you. You are at least accustomed to being a member of the upper class. I'm still entirely new to the experience. We both are," Catia said, gracing the young woman with a kind smile.

 

She nodded her head with a small smile, "Lilly made me take off my glasses, so I can barely see. Sorry about that Lady Grey." The grey haired woman laughed, "As I said my dear, it's fine. You need to be more assertive, stop apologizing for every little thing you do!!!" Helen let out a tiny chuckle, she turned to Catia, "What do you mean "new"? Did you inherit a lot of money from a dead family member or something?" You could tell by her tone she wasn't trying to be offensive, and seemed genuinely confused.

 

Catia chuckled, her smile still in place. "No no, my husband here is High General Ceno. Upon his promotion from legate to general at her majesty's coronation, we received a large bonus. Well, I wouldn't say we. We were not yet married, although we had been dating for some time."

 

"Oh." She turned her head to the imperial officer, "You work in the military? Just like Lilly?"

 

Gracchus nodded, and politely said, "Yes, my lady, I do. I'm the High General, actually, which means I oversee the entire military."

 

She smiled brightly, "Well, I thank you for protecting us from the Dominion and the rest of the empire's enemy." She cheerfully bowed her head, which caused her to slip on her feet. She let out a cry as she fell forward, only to be caught from the side by another woman. She had long blonde hair, cheery blossom lips, and wore a black and gold embroiled dress. And she was quite short. She had a teasing smile on her face, and everyone knew who she was,

 

"Helen my little dove, you must watch your footing. You're a young lady now."

 

Helen became crimson faced as she barely stuttered out, "Your majesty.... my... my.... apologies..."

 

Gracchus bowed, while Catia curtsied in unison. "Your majesty, I hope you are enjoying yourself in a much deserved break from your busy schedule," the former said.

 

"Quite my friends." She glanced around, eyeing all the nobles who were watching her intently, before muttering, "My Gracchus...you look...Ravishing today. So handsome." She smiled gently, "You should be careful Catia, if our dear friend Gracchus here was single, I might not have been able to control my actions. Your quite the lucky woman." She subtly winked at her, not in a flirtatious manner, but as if she was making some kind of hidden joke.

 

Catia and Gracchus, well aware of the empress' ploy, played along with her little game.

 

"Oh, I doubt you are the only one. I certainly didn't marry him for his brains," Catia joked, causing Gracchus to shake his head in mock defeat.

 

"Well, I guess the secret is out now," the general added, his head dejectedly hung down.

 

She smiled, before become strict. "HELEN!!!" The young girl called out rather loud, "Yes?!" Dales ordered "Straighten out your back." She complied. Dales turned over to Gracchus, "So, how did you end up at one of Lillin's party?"

 

"Invitation. I don't suppose I know why she invited us this time rather than before. But I can say the distraction was needed by myself as well, and I'm sure Catia appreciates the boredom alleviation," Gracchus spoke in a slightly less stiff manner than usual with the empress, deciding that a social event warranted a softer tone.

 

She said deadpanly, "I was making a deal with are apparently mutual friend, Lady Grey, when she invited me to attend, since she needed a friend to go with her." She did an odd hand gesture to the grey haired woman, who responded in kind. "Lilly usually requests you bring another person with you, hopefully a new face. It's her way of getting new contacts." She chuckled,

 

"Well, I doubt I will be joining her list of informants. Not my style," said Gracchus' wife, hinting at the displeasure this party was a setup.

 

"Eh, she dosen't like the honest type as her agents," Lady Grey interjected, with a sly smile, "No offense to you Catia dear, but I could never see you as a Pentiulas Occultus contact."

 

"Nor would I want to be, dearest Lady Grey," Catia replied, with an air of sarcasm on 'dearest'.

 

Across the room, Gracchus spotted an odd looking individual, one whom he hadn't seen before. A Breton, he discerned from his height and slightly angular cheekbones. The man had a bag slung over his right arm, which allowed the square pouch to hang on his left hip. Talking quickly with a great many hand motions, the man pulled out a book from the satchel, garnering a nod from one woman, a pat on the back from an Imperial man, and a handshake from another.

 

"Who is that? The one with the book," Gracchus asked Dales, nodding that the one he indicated.

 

"Ambassador Manis Adrard of High Rock." She said the provinces name with an odd loathing, "He arrived recently. Seems to be an honest and good fellow."

 

"Problems with the Manmer?" Gracchus asked, in reference to her tone.

 

While Lady Grey was talking to Catia about cooking, Dales casted a muffle spell around them, "Hear about the recent victory?"

 

"Yes; from what I hear, King Adrard pulled the wool over the eyes of his enemies quite expertly. Of course, we have no firsthand accounts, besides what Legate....Montrose, that's his name, said. Which wasn't much, as his men were with the distraction force," Gracchus had led Dales away into a quiet corner of the room, to ensure solitude.

 

"If it was normal circumstance, and even now, I truly am happy for the success of Theodore's campaign...however, a certain fact of the victory...makes me feel...uneasy." She let out a sigh, "Our friend Theo managed to basically turn his enemies army to him. While it wasn't certainly the only factor...he spread around...that the lord was g*y and having an affair with another man, which caused his army to desert him and his popularity to plummet. " She let out another sigh, "You understand why this would...unhinge me a bit dont you?"

 

"Oh yes, that. Empress, if I may say so bluntly, all is fair in love, and in war. I would do the same in his shoes, because it is a wise tactic. Why kill the enemy, when you can instead gain new troops? Unless he has displayed any ill will towards you personally, I wouldn't be overly stressed. But, I cannot help but wonder if there is more to the story. I know Legate Montrose mentioned that that the lover's brother was among those that joined Theo, and if a sibling can find it in himself to switch sides, the rest of the men would be hard pressed to not do the same," Gracchus explained, hoping to soothe the young leader.

 

"This isn't about Theo. Its the general thought about....my sexuality used against me politically as well to vilify me infront of the public. I've tried for the past month to dispel any rumors. Not even looking at a woman in weird way. I need to remain hetero in the publics eye."

 

Gracchus nodded, thinking hard. "In that case, the only sure-fire way is to become pregnant. The rumors are too persistent, and that is the only definitive rebuttal. But to use your unborn child to manipulate public perception is quite devious indeed, something not to be undertaken unless all other ideas ave failed. As it stands now, I do not think your sexuality is so glaring an issue it requires immediate action. You are young, likely to outlive your rivals, and the war will take many people's minds off of domestic issues. That is why I choose now to enact the plan for New Orsinium, because those that would normally oppose it will be busier with the war."

 

She let out a massive sigh, and she whispered, "There's a problem with that, come to the Laughing Fox after the party" She smiled and said out loud, "Yes that was quite comical general."

 

"I'm glad I could be of some amusement" he replied, but not as loud as she had. No need to make a scene. They moved back to Catia and Lady Grey, eliciting a a raised eyebrow from the former, but not a word about their absence was said.

 

"Using red makeup is a good way to make yourself looking like a blushing, twatty, school girl." She said with a laugh, Dales eyed Lady Grey and said snarkily, "Lecturing Catia with your fashion tips I see..." Lady Grey smiled in repsonse, "Of course your majesty. Of course, Catia dosen't need any, since she's naturally very attractive."

 

"I appreciate you saying so," Catia cheerfully thanked the woman. "If only I could manage to look as good with grey hair as you do. My hair is obviously still brown, but who knows for how long. Once the war starts, all the stress of Gracchus being gone may age be years!"

 

"My family's hair is naturally grey, as you can tell. Some say it makes me look old, but I rather like it."

 

Gracchus nodded, reciprocating her feelings. "My hair has been grey for more years than I am willing to admit. So long as I continue to have hair, though, I cannot be upset."

 

"Come now General Ceno. Grey is a very noble colour. You should be honoured to wear it."

 

"Oh, I didn't mean it is dishonorable, just that I have had grey hair for quite some time. Catia claims to like it, but I assume that is her being nice because she likes me," Gracchus gave his wife a grin, and she couldn't help but laugh.

 

"Don't be like that. I think you look very handsome master ceno with grey hair." She gave a sly grin, "Your very much like how Marius Imperius was. Much more handsome as you get older." She gave Catia a smile, "Though you don't have to worry dear, Gracchus isn't my type."

 

"You're the second person to tell me that. I'm not sure if that is worrying or a compliment," Catia said with a smirk.

 

"You should cherish the fact many woman convent your husband." She smiled and said,"Your majesty, do you know why I found master Ceno lacking in some way?"

 

Dales laughed, causing Helen to look puzzled, "No idea."

 

"I truly am dying to know, so please continue," Gracchus dryly intoned.

 

"Just a joke between me and her majesty, dear general."

 

Gracchus realized exactly what the nature of the joke was, shaking his head as he did. "Well then, I can see how I may not be the man-er, person for you."

 

Helen grabbed Lady Grey's arm, and said, "Cecilla, sorry to disturb, but you said you had a book for me earlier?"

 

Lady Grey let out a melodic laugh, "Yes dear. I'll go grab it." She bowed her head to the pair and to the young ruler, "It was a pleasure meeting you both. I'm sure we'll see each other again tonight sometime."

 

She turned her head to Dales, and said blankly, "Not to be rude your majesty, but I expect your signature tomorrow night latest." And with that she curtsied and disappeared into the crowd.

 

"Signature for what, if I might ask?" Gracchus inquired, looking inquisitively at the empress.

 

"Massive lumber deal. Lady Grey runs one of the largest lumber companies in all of Cyrodiil."

 

"Ah, I see. She was rather forcible about you signing it, though," Gracchus verbally noted.

 

"Lady Grey, for some reason despises the capital, and wants to leave as quick as she can, or so says the colonel anyway."

 

"An understandable position. Politics are a headache at best," lamented the High General.

 

"Tell me about it." She turned to Catia, "So as the wife of the highest ranking millitary officer in the empire, have you thought of enrolling in the upper class lifestyle?"

 

"I prefer the solitude of my books, paintings, cooking, and riding, personally. Although, occasional parties like this are a nice reprieve from my reclusiveness," Catia explained courteously.

 

"I gave your man a pay raise. You should use that to the full extent. Or you can donate it."

 

"We've built a house with that money, as well as upgraded the Fox in a few areas. With his pay and what the inn brings in, we do more than well enough. Both of us are used to going without, so we prefer to keep our money rather than spend it extravagantly," Catia explained. "But, I did drop a fair amount on this dress."

 

She chuckled, "Well, you do look lovely in that dress, though this young lady over here, looks the best tonight." Helen blushed and nodded her head, "Thank-thank you your majesty."

 

A man in a long coat approached, it was jet black, and under it he wore a grey Oculatus dress uniform. His hair was grayish brown, and he a well groomed beard. He saluted the empress, "Ma'am."

 

Dales bowed her head, "Major."

 

Gracchus nodded in greeting to the man, while Catia said, "Catia Ceno. And you are?"

 

Oddly, he didn't salute, which was uncharacteristic of an agent of the Occultus, instead returning the nod. He also didn't address Gracchus with a sir, "General Ceno." He turned to his wife, and while his voice was cold, it certainly wasn't unfirendly, "Ma'em. Major Aveus Infernus. Commanding officer of Black team." Helen dropped her head down a little, causing the Occultus officer to smile, "Lady Quentes. Caius told me to tell you he sends you his regards." She became red faced, "Oh....tell him I said hi."

 

Gracchus wrinkled his brow, confused as to the Major's behavior. But, it wasn't in his character to call the man out during this party. "Major, if I might have a word later, I would appreciate it. I'm curious as to why I was unaware of you team's existence, is all."

 

"Ah, the High General!" A voice called, and Gracchus turned to see the Breton man from earlier. He estimated the man was around five feet, seven inches, with medium length light brown hair tied back in a short ponytail. His eyes were hazel, with hints of green, and he sported a disconnected mustache goatee combo, with was similar in color to the rust on an ancient sword's blade. He sported a long-sleeved robe, which could be discerned to be lighter than the winter variety. The collar, cuffs, and button area lined with fur. It appeared to be wolf pelt, a light brown that matched his hair. The rest of the robe was a deep black, and his tunic underneath a light blue, with daffodil yellow trim. His bag hung over his shoulder, and a book also peeked out of a pocket inside the overcoat.

 

"And who are you?" Gracchus asked.

 

"Manis Adrard, ambassador from High Rock. Cousin of Kind Adrard," the Breton said with an elegant, sweeping bow.

 

"Good day to you." Helen said bowing her head, Dales bowed hers as well, "I trust King Adrad is doing well?"

 

The major didn't do anything to greet the new comer, he just nodded at the High General, "Of course." He motioned for the general to follow him, glancing at Dales, who nodded her head.

 

"Major, if you would hold off, for now. Accompany her majesty to the Laughing Fox Inn tonight, and we can talk there," Gracchus ordered, before addressing the ambassador.

 

"I've heard King Adrard is well on the battlefield. Messy business, civil war. We can only hope it ends quickly and with as little loss of life as possible."

 

Manis cleared his throat, smiling a goofy grin. "Oh yes, my cousin is quite the tactician, although Lord Estermont is mostly responsible for the success. The man may be gruff, but he knows his way around a fight. Legate Montrose's troops also fought valiantly, I hear. On behalf of all of High Rock, I thank you, High General, and you as well Empress Dales, in your contributions. If I may ask, though, do you plan on committing anymore troops? I am personally asking, of course, as King Adrard had not requested I ask. Just personal curiosity, haha."

 

The major nodded, taking position beside Dales who responded deadpanly, "Unfortunately Manis all of are other available troops are being concentrated on the Valenwood Border. The rest are preparing for war."

 

"Completely understandable. Like I said, the king was more than thankful for the troops you had already given, and I was asking purely off the books," Manis said, quickly changing the subject once he had explained his reasoning.

 

"So, Empress Motierre, how go the wedding preparations? Swimmingly, I hope."

 

"Quite fine. My fiancée wants somthing, while elegant, is relatively simple. So everything is much less of a hassle to plan."

 

"Oh, that is nice. I'm sure with all that's going on, an illustrious wedding would only add stress. I do hear there are plans for a mage tournament. That should be fun time indeed," Manis said, the excitement evident. "The ones in High Rock are always well attended."

 

"Yes. Though I don't many details. My fiancée is dealing with that. I'm admittedly far too busy with the goings of the empire for a mage tournament."

 

"Well, I hope to be a spectator regardless of who oversees the tournament's running. Will you be participating High General?" the Breton asked, turning his youth-like, gleeful visage towards Gracchus, who could tell the manmer was more than a little drunk.

 

Dales laughed, "If that was the case it wouldn't be much of a competition. Gracchus could steam roll anyone in magic."

 

"The Empress sings my praises too highly. I would like to, but I don't know if my current position as High General allows it. I also lack a magical artifact, which is required for entrance. I would like to, but the stars don't seem aligned," Gracchus explained humbly, which was really no different than his usual gracious tone.

 

"Ah yes, the entrance fee. Quite unique, as it gives the Empire an influx of magical artifacts, even weak ones. I must congratulate the Court Mage on his ingenuity in forming the idea," Manis said, voice full of praise.

 

Being from a land of prolific magic use, he could respect a man who had risen to one of the more powerful wizarding positions. Especially since this man was from a province that had historically abhorred the use spells and incantations. While recent memory served to right that wrong, a culture of fear towards the magical arts was still woven into their society, or so he had read in a Breton book titled Magics Across Tamriel.

 

"The only thing I use magic for these days are lighting pipes." Dales said rather pleased with herself. "Or to conjure ice spears to skewer and impale would be assassins."

 

"Oh dear, please don't tell me you smoke? What a horrid habit to take up. I couldn't stand it when Gaius and Lorgar stunk up the Fox with their fumes," Catia said, her nose slightly scrunched at the memory.

 

Manis came to the Empress' aid. "Now now, not all smoke is so unpleasant. I prefer the flower aroma laced tobacco of Wayrest. Quite a lovely flavor, and the sent is like a freshly picked bouquet. Let me send you some, Empress. I'm sure you will enjoy them. Not as hard as the typical product, but softer and lighter for those days when your lungs need a slight reprieve."

 

"That what be appreciated." She said with a bow, she turned to Catia giving her a smile, "Lorgar usually smoked when he hunted animals, he said the smoking calmed his nerves and helped him focus before he made the shot. I use to take to take Gaius's brand, "Golden Cyrodiil" over Lorgar's Black Marsh brand. He would brag saying it had a tiny dosage of hist sap, which is bollocks if you ask me. Golden Cyrodiil is made with pure tar." She giggled at the memory,

 

"Ahhh. But unfortunately, my fiancée requested I quit. I use a pipe and natural tobacco now." She said in an almost sad tone.

 

"Don't bow to me, your majesty," Manis, his cheeks blushing slightly. "I am at your discretion. High Rock sits under Imperial control, so I am no more than your loyal subject."

 

"None sense. I'm a servant to the people, right? That's what a monarch should be. Your my subject. I live to serve you and the rest." She said winking,

 

"Aren't we all?" Said Lillin Quentas she went in to join the group. Wearing a long silver dress, and having her long hair done the same as usual, she, like many of the ladies attending the party, looked beautiful.

 

"The Spymaster! How wonderful. What juicy secrets have you dug up regarding me?" Manis asked, both joking yet slightly curious at the same time.

 

"Mrs. Quentas, you do look stunning tonight," Catia said plainly, but not in an rude way.

 

"Colonel," Gracchus addressed her, giving her the same nod as the major.

 

"Catia. High-General Ceno." She said bowing her head. The major simply nodded, "Ma'em." Lilly seemed a tad annoyed, as she returned the nod.

 

She turned to the Ambassador, "I've heard some rumors, nothing to worry about my dear ambassador."

 

She curtsied the young empress, "Your majesty."

 

Dales gave her a smile, "Colonel Quentas."

 

"Pray, do tell. I love hearing gossip and rumors. The more outlandish, the better. Especially when they pertain to myself! Ha!" Manis grabbed a nearby drink off a servant's tray, sloshing it slightly before downing it a swift gulp.

 

Gracchus chuckled at the emissaries' drunkenness, while noticing the animosity between colonel and major, but not commenting on it. He addressed Lilly, making idle small talk, "So, Colonel, how goes your investigation? I understand you have a few leads, as well as a tag along."

 

"Very well. And yes, an author interested in the case. Hopefully we catch this bastard before he takes another life." Lilly had...a strange tone. She wasn't talking like a girl.

 

"Something amiss?" Catia asked concernedly.

 

"A murder. A daughter of an elder counciler was killed at a party recently. The Oculatus was asked to investigate."

 

"Yes, Gracchus told me of the incident. I was referring to your voice, you seem upset. Probably that horrible case," Catia suggested, trying to avoid any awkwardness.

 

"Ahhh. Not particularly. While its a horrible way to go, I've investigated far worse and disturbing cases."

 

"Well, whatever it is, I hope you get to feeling better. This is a wonderful party, Lilly, and you should be quite proud," Catia smoothly switched topics, and sipped her wine as she did.

 

"Thank you. You do look ravishing tonight by the way dear." She said in an tone that was almost flirty-like, causing the major to cough and say coldly, "Yes quite wonderful, ma'em. This over the top, expensive, gathering of the nobility is truly something."

 

Lilly simply said, "Excuse me?" The major went up to Catia and said, "If you wouldn't mind, miss. Everyone seems to have have drank all of there drinks. May you assist me in getting everyone more?"

 

"Um, yes, of course," Catia replied, hiding the slight panic in her voice as she worried she was getting embroiled in the major and colonel's personal feud.

 

The major looked the part of a leader of a black ops unit. He had several scars running down his face, and his eyes seemed hollow. He eyed the colonel sharpy, which she returned, before heading away with Catia.

 

Dales, obviously not caring about the animosity between the two, said, "I mighty fine soldier the major is."

Causing Lilly to lazily and reluctantly nod her head.

 

Helen shyly added, "...His son helped me when I fell down and carried my books for me when I was headed to class."

 

"Sounds like a fine young man," Gracchus said with his father-like demeanor. "I'm sure the major keeps him straightened out well enough. Pardon my asking, Miss Helen, but how old are you?"

 

"Ummmmm...fifteen." The young lady said.

 

"Well I hope this boy isn't too much older than you!" he said with a slight chuckle. "I'm sure your cousin will keep you in both in check."

 

"Oh..." She blushed a deep shade of red shaking her head, "I...dont really care at all for romance. It's leads to all kinds of...complications."

 

"Life will be complicated whether you choose to love, lust, or do neither, so you might as well spend it with someone whose company you enjoy. Trust me, before you know it you're fifty-seven and getting a few hours of sleep a night, if you're lucky," Gracchus said with a cheeky smile.

 

Meanwhile, Catia and the major had reached the bar. "Is there something you wanted to talk about? The hostility between you and Ms. Quentas is fairly obvious."

 

The major picked up a glass of wine, and said to Catia, "Just a small warning. That woman tends to spread deceit and lies to whomever she associates with. Like most politicians."

 

"I've heard no such lies tonight, although this is our first meeting. I'll heed your warning, but know this; many of the people hear tonight are taking a much needed reprieve from their jobs, similar to you. I'm sure they wish to spend these few precious hours off enjoying themselves, not watching you two bicker amongst yourselves. This may be the wine talking, but I don't give a hoot. Let's just try and have some fun, shall we?" Catia eased off the reprimanding towards the end, drinking some fabulous champagne to calm her down. "Sorry, but I know Gracchus needs this party to relax as much as anyone, and I'll be damned if his good time is ruined."

 

"I-"

 

"Sir!!!' A black team commando came up to the major, saluting. Major Infernus returned in, before lending his ear to the soldier. He whispered somthing to him. The major nodded, semi drawing his blade to check if it was sharpened.

 

"Damn, there goes the good time," Catia said, chugging the glass of champagne before walking back to Gracchus, who was already adopting a defensive pose, with Dales, Helen, and now Catia behind him.

 

"Major, what is going on?" the High General inquired.

 

Dales put her self in front of Helen, shielding her. The major bowed his head, "Nothing to be that concerned over. One of my commandos spotted a suspicious individual skulking the grounds. Before we could apprehend him, he vanished."

 

"What did this man look like?" Gracchus asked, fearing that the old Spymaster was trying to pay the current on a visit.

 

The major took out a leather Balacava, just like his comrades and put it on. Unlike the rest of them, it had a horrifying human skull painted over it. Instead of wearing an occultus service badge he had a strange one with a grey wolf howling. Which caused Helen to let out a cry of fear and hug Dales tightly,the major spoke,

 

"Nothing but a mask ma'em. The officers in my outfit traditionally wear these." He turned to the, high general,

 

"Very skinny and lanky." As if he could tell what the general was worried about, "Don't worry. Any one of my men could identify the...other colonel by sight."

 

"Well, seeing as we have nothing else to go on, we might as well compile a list of Lorgar's known associates and see if this mystery person matches the description of anyone he's previously known. That is, if we have more to go on than 'very skinny and lanky.' If not, I suggest we up the perimeter defense and continue with the party. Most people are too far in their cups to even notice the commotion," Gracchus pointed out, motioning to Manis who was now seemingly flirting with not just a man, and not just a woman, but both members of the noble couple. These Bretons were strange drunks indeed.

 

"Agreed. But I don't think its any one of Colonel Grim-Maws associates." He referred to him in an almost respectful way, "He already burnt all of the data relating to current location. " He looked around, "It could be a sloppy and second rate assassin."

 

"Or an expert trying to draw men into the garden to make an assassination easier. We must prepare for any inevitability, and not assume," Gracchus reminded the younger man.

 

"Whatever the case. You all stay here. I'll leave most of my men and a handful of first legionaries here." He bowed his head to Dales, "I'll return to escort you maem."

 

And with that the masked man left. Dales said deadpanly, "Helen...would you please stop crushing me...."

 

Helen let go of the empress and bowed her head blushing, "Forgive..me your majesty. I was...very frightened." Dales chuckled, causing Helen to look down at her feet,"Its...not funny."

 

Dales patted the young girl on the head, "Don't worry. I'll always be here to protect you my lovely dove."

 

Gracchus watched the balaclava wearing major vanish into the garden, only turning his eyes away once he had. "Your majesty, if I may suggest something? A scroll of recall would be undoubtedly beneficial in times such as this. Might it be prudent to have Skjari fashion you some, for quick escapes."

 

Manis Adrard had moved on to some off room, either with the aforementioned couple or another willing mate, while Catia was comforting Helen.

 

"Lilly already did." She turned to Helen who was kinda hyperventilating, and speaking with Catia,"What if the assassin gets in here...that scary mask...maybe the majors the assassin, its like a novel!!!!"

 

Catia cooed softly, "Oh Helen, I can say with the utmost certainty this isn't like a novel. The major is not an assassin, and the mask is nothing but an intimidation tactic. Rest assured, we are safe. Plus, Gracchus here knows enough spells to fight of any attackers."

 

Little Helen was breathing hard and still looked terrified. Dales walked briskly saying, "I'll go grab her some water." Lady Grey had returned glancing around. She went up to Gracchus and asked "What's all the commotion about?"

 

Gracchus turned to the woman with the unaged gray hair. "Suspicious figure in the garden. Nothing too serious, although Helen seems to be of the worrying type and thus panicked slightly."

 

"Helen was always a very timid child. It's her parents fault." She went over to the teenager, instructed her to breath in deeply. Dales returned handing her a glass of water, which she gulped down in a second.

 

"Nothing like an assassination scare to liven up a party," Catia said dryly, eliciting a chuckle for Gracchus.

 

"Let's go get some food, dear," Gracchus said, leading his wife to the nearest table. They wined and dined for the rest of the night, consuming all manner of delightful finger foods, as well as hearty main courses, enough to feed an small army. The drink flowed freely, but they limited themselves so a small buzz, unlike some party patrons. Soon, people began leaving or passing out, so Gracchus and Catia followed suit with the former, heading straight for the Fox.

 

The inn was as neat and orderly as ever, although Ena had rearranged some of the tables since she took over management. All the patrons had gone to sleep, so it was eerily quiet, besides the soft creaking of the sign outside as it fluttered in the breeze. Occasionally, a floorboard moaned and groaned, matching the sign outside in its senescence. Those would soon be repaired by Relan, Ena's carpentry adept husband. Better him than the general, who was never skilled in woodworking, and didn't aspire to ever be skilled

 

"Mr. Fancy Pants High General dropping by for a visit? How gracious to bless us lowly commoners with your presence," Ena said, giving Gracchus a good ribbing. He realized he'd missed her sarcasm, even if she almost always facetious.

 

"Ena! Oh how nice to see you!" Catia said, words slurring slightly. She had hit the drink a little harder than her husband, which was evident.

 

"Good evening. We have some important guests coming, so when they arrive just direct them to the parlor. Thank you, Ena," he said, ascending the stairs.

 

"Yeah yeah, I'll try not to get them lost. No promises, though," she said, chuckling to herself as she scrubbed the countertop.

 

Gracchus, once upstairs, felt under a couch until he could find the hidden bottle of whiskey and a glass. He'd taken the rest, and Ena hadn't restocked his old liquor cabinet, but he had a few spares hidden throughout the room. He poured himself half a glass, then frosted it to keep it cool. Being a mage surely had its benefits.

 

A knock came from downstairs, and Ena could be heard directing the people upstairs. Creaks greeted their arrival on the staircase, and before they could knock Gracchus said "Enter."

 

Dales was at the front, wearing the same dress as before. Flanking her was the heavily armored Captain Imperius, in his trademark white and gold plate mail, and the Balacava clad Major Infenrnus, no longer wearing a longcoat, but dark leather and mail.

 

"Gracchus." Dales said.

 

"Your majesty. Ah, Imperius, I wasn't aware you were coming as well. Have a seat, all of you. Would you like something to drink?" Gracchus bowed to hospitality and manner, as he was wont to do.

 

"Some water if you would." Said Dales. The captain took off his white helmet, and the major took off his balacava, all three of them taking seats.

 

Gracchus poured three glasses of water, dropping balls of magic-made ice in each glass with his left hand while pouring water with the right. He delicately lifted all three up in his right hand, attempting the same method he'd seen Catia use hundreds of times while working here at the Fox. His left stowed away the empty pitcher, and his gently lowered the glasses onto the table in front of the trios' couch. Taking his seat, he crossed right leg over his left, ankle resting on knee.

 

"You both said you had something to tell me. Something, important, I presume," he stated, knowing well and full that whatever warranted their secret meeting was paramount. What it was, though, he hadn't the slightest inkling, besides it involved Dales' sexuality and the Major's unit.

 

The major spoke first. "First of all, you said you wanted to ask me a few questions about my outfit? You are aware this is classified at the highest level, and not even the spymaster knows this information."

 

"I'm aware now."

 

Turning to Catia, Gracchus said, "I trust you completely, but it may be better you not know," Catia nodded solemnly and left, leaving the government officials alone.

 

"You may continue," he said.

 

He paused, turning to the Empress who nodded at him, before saying, "What do you know of the word "Bloodwolf"?"

 

Gracchus furrowed his brow in thought, before coming up empty handed. "Absolutely nothing."

 

"High-General Tullius told me he told you about the term. Think," he said.

 

The reminder sparked the memory, although not much information came up. "I'm sorry if I don't recall every detail of a conversation I had with a traitorous ex-general, but yes, I remember him mentioning it."

 

"Bloodwolf was a demon from skaalish mythology. A beast of misdirection, and shadow."

 

He let out a breath of air, "Bloodwolf was the codename for a massive and top secret anti-dominion operation split into three parts, authorized by High General Tullius and Colonel Lorgar."

 

He turned to Dales, who let out a sigh of sadness, "I was only aware of the first part, which Lorgar came to me for approval. The formation of an Black Ops unit made to defend me, and carry out my orders. Team Black, or, more formally, Grey Wolf."

 

Gracchus shuddered, silently revolted that Lorgar was involved. He glanced at the door, remembering what he'd done to Catia, and wanting as little mention of the traitor as possible.

 

"What were the other three parts?" he asked, hiding the disgust in his voice through gritted teeth and clenched jaw.

 

"Project Asdmodeus." He stopped before saying, "The Oculatus was well aware that somone was after her majesty. So Lorgar suggested we insert a double agent into the Dominion to predict their movements. Of course the Dominion had it's eye on the Oculatus operations. We needed a smoke screen to give us a window, and to distract and draw attention away from the Oculatus."

 

Both Dales and the major went silent, "Tullius volunteered."

 

Gracchus rose, his face burning red hot in anger. "You let him sacrifice himself? We need competent leaders now more than ever, and while I may not have agreed with all of his choices, he was more than competent."

 

He cooled down, sinking into the couch as the cold realization sank in. He knew who double agent was. And it sickened him, a pit forming deep in his gut. "Lorgar is the double agent, isn't he?"

 

Dales turned away in silent shame, while the major stared, "It was Tullius's decision. Jon Hard-Heart's arrival proved useful. To make it seem real, Tullius's needed to seem like he was ready to die for Jon's cause. I take no pleasure in my hand in it, but I dont feel guilty ever. You do realize now what he sacrificed? He'll go down in history as a despicable traitor with no sense of honor or loyalty."

 

He answered the second question, "I dont know. Presumably one of his persona's took over, and complied him to attack Red-Snow in Solitude. The third part of the operation was never made known to me, Tullius, or her majesty. Tullius inserted that information about Lorgar feeding his paranoia into his diary to make it seem like Lorgar was manipulating him into betraying Dales. I know for a fact even his enemies would agree, that Tullius was loyal to the empire to his dying breath before knowledge of his so called "Betrayal" came out."

 

"The incompetency displayed here is staggering. Fake Dales' assassination, get Snow-Strider in on the plan, do something other than let a decorated, veteran of multiple conflicts sacrifice himself. And to go along with a plan whose ending you did not even know!" Gracchus yelled.

 

"You three sicken me. Now we've lost both Tullius and Lorgar, with no double agent to show for it. Your 'gamble' was fruitless, irresponsible, and lacking any traces of competent leadership. I am not one to openly defy her majesty, but this is too much. What sort of Sheogorathian madness possessed you to commit to such a gross, negligent act?"

 

Gracchus, having stood again while yelling, was now pacing back and forth, fists clenched as right as his jaw. A vein throbbed in his neck, and his complexion matched the red dragon central in his chest plate. His boots stomped hard with each step, and a voice in the back of his mind wondered if he could stomp a hole in the floorboards, prompting him to let off on the angry buildup. He stopped the cross caused pacing, turning in military fashion to face the three people sitting on his couch. He didn't say anything, just glared at them. His eyes narrowed, looking like crescent moons turned sideways, those pasture green eyes growing steely, stony, unsympathetic to the victims of his verbal onslaught.

 

Before the Empress could say anything Captain Imperius went out of his chair pointing his finger at Gracchus, "Did you even ******* know the general's mental state?! My brothers death just threw him off course even more. He would spend hours wasting away in the bottle. He said in his diary he wanted to end the bad dreams."

 

Major took a document from his side and placed it on a table, ignoring the mans outburst and remained cool while Dales said calmly, "Tullius and Lorgar acted alone. I was only aware they were attempting to insert a double agent." She eyed him angrily "Im sorry if I was to comatose from a poisoned knife thrust to stop a plan I didn't know was happening."

 

The major placed it on the table. The document was in code, "I simply said I didnt know if it was Lorgar. We received this three days ago. Its a mixture of Oculatus and legion code. It reads "Stand by. Will contact you soon." He also placed a green leaf on the table, "This leaf was with it. Its from a tree native to Valenwood."

 

"Don't any of you try and justify what was done. Whether you were unconscious or not, the people under your leadership should respect you enough to tell you these things. Also, where was the Major's special group to protect you, that was the basis of this plan? Where was Lorgar?" Gracchus asked Dales.

 

Turning to Imperius, he shook his head condescendingly. "Of course I know what his state was. He was a drunk, and like most drunks drank away his problems."

 

"But that doesn't mean that what has been done is right. By rewarding the rogue and leaderless outbursts of those two, you created a system wherein it is okay to do your own thing. We are the military, and have a chain of command. There is a reason for that. Now we've lost one general, and one of our former Spymaster is unhinged, attacking our allies. And this," he picked up the coded parchment and leaf, "means this plan either worked, or the Dominion caught wind and is feeding us false information. Either way, we cannot contact this person and cannot trust them."

 

"Half of my unit was in Hammerfall, including me trying to establish a link with an Alkir group, under.orders from her majesty." Dales finished saying sadly,

 

"I wasn't.... doing well. Tullius's sudden death and so called betrayal hit me. The rumors...were feeding my depression and I sulked to the bottle. I would have gone to you or Lord Snowstrider for help...but I didn't want it. Nami came to me at night..and feed me lies and comfort. She told me to order my guards away."

 

"My unit is supposed to obey her majesty's command to the letter. Unfortunately, the men on duty didn't view the small girl as a threat."

 

Captain Imperius spoke up, "That coded letter was given to me by a famous assassin by the name "Wraith."

 

The major spoke, "The lanky man from the party."

 

"Why tell me this? Why now? Because we have some assassin, presumably that someone hired, give us a letter? He could have been paid by the Thalmor to do that. As much as we need this plan to work, the chances are slim. Even if it is Lorgar, or someone under his orders, we can't do anything but sit and wait," Gracchus said, still standing and giving his narrowed eyed glare.

 

"His real name is Lucienus Valerius. A century old vampire who was reported by your wife to be travelling with Lorgar. Today at the party he gave me the location of three dominion cells in the sewer and waterfront. They all checked out."

 

"Yes, I recall now, but she referred to him as 'the creepy man' and not Wraith. Well, either he's legitimately from Lorgar or the Dominion is trying hard to make it seem legitimate. Still, what can we do with this information?" Gracchus asked, while his face softened from scowling statue to emotionless palace guard.

 

"Already done. Killed half of them, captured the rest. My men are already..."asking them questions."

 

"That doesn't answer the question as to whether Wraith gave over real information, or if the Dominion is feeding us intel to make him appear legitimate. I would not put it past them to sacrifice a few of their own," Gracchus said, still skeptical of this Wraith.

 

"If anything, I know Wraith as a man of his word. If your wife sawhim assisting Lorgar, then he's loyal to him as long as the money flows. Look past the mans flaws, and ask yourself, would Lorgar betray the empire? A man with the motto, "Loyalty to the End?"

 

"Yes. I know for a fact he would. He gave me the names of which generals to contact in the eventuality I wanted to rebel. He also attacked our allies, which constitutes betrayal in my book. The man is insane. Unhinged, crazy, and yet you trust him. He lets his blinding hate of Snow-Strider guide his decision making, which is why he have me generals' names," Gracchus sternly stated.

 

"General Red-Snow tortured him, and slaughtered his men. I don't approve of his actions, but I understand them." The major looked at Dales once again who nodded, "I trust the man since he's saved my life more times than not. We have a source inside the dominion, which you know we've never had. If we let this opportunity slip, then Gaius died in vain."

 

Dales looked at Gracchus, and said something only he would understand, "Lorgar's actions were guided by his loyalty for me. To free me. I completely disagree with them, but what done is done. All we can do is make best of this horrible situation."

 

Gracchus nodded silently, taking his glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling the liquid around before downing it in one gulp. The burn calmed his nerves, snapping him back to the issue at hand.

 

"You obviously came to me for a reason. Not only to tell me what happened, but also to include me from here on out. So, what is your current plan? Also, your majesty, you said you had something else to tell me."

 

"Oh Talos no, you think that's a good idea your majesty, telling him about...that?!" Said Imperius shouting, Dales brought her hands up, "I'm very sorry for the deception. I'm also planning to tell Lord Snow-Strider, so you dont have to worry about that. We use the information. We keep in contact with Wraith, and have him deilver orders to whoever he's taking orders from."

 

"I still don't trust the man, and I advise against anything that would hurt us, but we might as well use him. Now, if you would so kindly let me in on what it is you're talking about?" Gracchus asked.

 

Dales gulped, "I...think it's better if we show you." The major rolled his eyes, "Oh good grief..." He got out of his chair, and put on his Balacava, Imperius did the same, putting on his helmet. Dales said playfully, "Would you be willing to go for a walk?"

 

Gracchus only nodded, putting his glass away and exiting first. Catia was across the hallway, fast asleep on a couch. He penned a quick letter and dropped it next to her, before going back to the hall.

 

"Lead the way," he said.

 

**

 

They had walked a good fifty minutes before arriving at dingy looking apartment. They walked up a few stops before Dales knocked on the wooden door, she said,

 

"Koni, open the damn door!!!"

 

The door opened, revealing a woman with brown hair, and a knife in her hand. Imperius stepped forward, becoming a shield for the empress, "Drop that knife woman!!!"

 

Gracchus had seen this girl before. One of Dales hand maiden. She yelled, "I'm cooking some ******* potatoes, anything wrong with that?!"

 

"So, what is it you wanted to show me? One of your maids cooking potatoes?" Gracchus asked, confused by what was going on.

 

"Hush...you'll wake her up." Whispered Dales. The fighting people nodded their heads, Koni dropped her knife, and started tip toeing, Dales stopped Gracchus before he could enter, "First. I need your word you will not tell another soul about what's beyond here."

 

Gracchus nodded, still not sure what would be hidden in such a grungy place.

 

Dales lead Gracchus inside the apartment which was filled with...stuff that made it look like an Oculatus torture chamber. Shackles, chains, paddles, and whips were everywhere.

 

Dales said, annoyed, "Koni...you said you would clean your shit up."

 

The woman shrugged. "Meh. It's cleaner than before."

 

Gracchus raised an eyebrow, curious as to what secret could possibly be hidden here, but he stayed quiet and followed the empress.

 

The major took off his Balacava and said, with a worried tone, "Maem...maybe we should withdraw." The empress ignored him and opened a door that lead into a room. In the middle of the room was a craddle,and inside the craddle was a sleeping baby.

 

Gracchus walked up to the cradle, looking inside and watched the tiny chest of the child rise and fall. It looked like Dales, from its pixie like bone structure and similar colored hair. It surprised him, but the shock was momentary and passed before he looked back at the young empress.

 

"It isn't yours, so your father's, then. Or one of your brother's, perhaps."

 

"She's my brother's. Born out of a wedlock and a servant. She's my niece."

 

"Snow-Strider doesn't know, but you plan on telling him...will this child be your heir?" Gracchus said, using a single finger to sweep some hair out of her face.

 

"I was referring to Tullius and Lorgars insane gambit. Lord Snow Strider cannot know about this." She paused, as she dotted over the baby gently smiling, "I trust that man with my life, I would give anything to please him. However...I doubt he would be merciful on her. She's a direct threat to me and his rule. And no, I don't plan on it."

 

It pained Gracchus to say what he was thinking, but he stuffed down his emotions and spoke as rationally as possible. "Your majesty, it's known to me that neither you nor Snow-Strider much want children. No matter the reasoning, this child is an opportunity for you two. An heir legitimizes the throne, and ends any rumors as toward your sexuality. This child can be trained and molded to take over once you are gone, even though you are still young yourself. Even if she only rules for a short time after you're gone, she can in turn train her own children. This is your lineage, sleeping right here in this cradle."

 

Taking a deep breath, and closing his eyes before he spoke, Gracchus looked ten years older in this moment. He was about to say something he hated himself for thinking, because of just how wretched it was. "Fake a pregnancy. I would never suggest this, it is vile and underhanded and manipulating this child's entire life, but it is right. Otherwise it grows up as the bastard of a dead cretin. It looks young enough that you can pull it off. Make an announcement that you are six, maybe more months along, and because you haven't made many public appearances lately no one can dispute it. But time is of the essence. The longer you wait, the less plausible it becomes."

 

It was Kongani's turn to speak, "You want to ruin this child's life?! You can't possibly considering this Daley?"

 

Dales was silent obviously thinking it over, "Do you even know what will happen to this child? How much burden your going to be putting on?" The major was as calm as usual, "I think General Cenos suggestion is logical. Screw the ethics."

 

Gracchus nodded slowly, regretting he had even suggested the idea. But the major was right, ethics aside it was the best option. "It's either that or you hide her the rest of your life, not only from the public but Snow-Strider and the Thalmor. If you take her as an heir, you can protect her from all three much more easily. Get her the best politics, magic, and business tutors. Make her into an empress worthy of taking this empire over."

 

Imperius spoke up. For a second, you could hear Marius's pragmatism coming from him, "I hate saying this but I think we should have just killed the mother and deposed of her when we had the chance. Would have solved a few issues."

 

Gracchus noticeably flinched, but didn't say anything. He had made his pitch, and risked overdoing it by speaking anymore.

 

"Cut her throat, and throw her body in the sewer. Let the vampires devour her. No one will miss her." The major added, "I can arrange that."

 

"Oh yes," Gracchus said sarcastically, "let's chop up the little child and feed her to vampires. THAT will solve all of our issues. Two birds with one stone, if we make the child and heir. Her lineage is no longer a problem and Dales now has an heir."

 

"I'm talking about the mother. It would be better if we take her out of the picture."

 

Gracchus had assumed she was out of the picture, so it was a minor shock to hear her still alive. "That complicates things. I don't condone your method, however. I think we buy her off, then ship her to High Rock. We need not bloody our hands needlessly. Has she made any fuss or requests?"

 

"No." Said Dales, her hands were twitching and she had a blank expression, "She used to sneak cookies for me when I was younger. All she asked was for me to take care of her."

 

"And take care of her we shall. We need not kill anyone, your majesty," Gracchus said, pleading with Dales' conscience.

 

"Is this...really alright Gracchus?"

 

"Go to Skjari, and tell him this is your plan. Do not ask, but let him know what you plan to do. Then, you both can work out the details. He is a powerful mage, and can use his illusion are powers to help you fake the pregnancy. I've long kept your secrets, and I believe everyone here can attest they do the same. There is nothing left but to do it, Dales," Gracchus said.

 

She turned to the others. Imperius and the major nodded there heads while Koni stared at her angrily. She let out a sigh,"I supppse its for the best."

 

Gracchus nodded, giving one last look at the baby before stepping away. He smiled faintly at the child, then at Dales. "I offer one alternative, your majesty. Rather than leave the baby here, I would off my house to this child. Catia and I can raise it, and easily say we adopted it. Whatever it takes to keep the child alive."

 

"I thank you for the offer. But I need my top general at his highest and a child would be a massive distraction. I'll raise her as my heir."

 

Kongami raised her hand and said, "You might need a nanny for help. I highly doubt Lord Snow Strider will bother assisting you. May I suggest little Helen?"

 

Dales noddee "Helen is an excellent candidate. Such a sweet and nurturing girl."

 

The major yawned, "I was hoping for another black op. But this is a logical solution. I'll arrange security for her." Captain Imperius nodded, "As will I"

 

"We need to convince Snow-Strider of the need for this. No doubt, he will not like the idea at first. But it is the best option, and with Helen on board he need not do more than occasionally hold the child," Gracchus suggested, then he snapped his head around to the baby. He had forgotten to ask the most basic question when meeting a child for the first time.

 

"What is her name?"

 

Dales gently touched her belly, "Her name is Abigail. My little Abby." She smiled looking down on her.

 

"Abigail. Future leader of an empire. It's perfect," Gracchus said.

[BTC]

Stalks-Deep-Waters

Applevale

 

Next morning he woke up and walked down to the dining area to eat breakfast. And while he ate a cheap meal, he overheard a conversation with what he guessed was the owner of the inn, mentioning the three adventurers and that they hadn't returned since their trip out in the woods yesterday. They talked about strange forces being at work in the woods just outside of town. Superstitious lot. Probably just got lost in the dark or a bear that got 'em. Stalks thought. 

After breakfast Stalks was done eating he made sure he hadn't forgotten anything and then set out, away from the inn, the town and the damned, irritating fog. Even though he hadn't felt stirred up in the town, he felt a light relief when he found himself on the big, paved path of The Yellow Road. With sunlight shining on his scales and no eerie silence hanging on the wind.

 

He continued south till he had walked a few miles into Blackwood. There he turned east along a broad and relatively well traveled dirt road. And as he got closer to the border he could start to smell the scent of Black Marsh in the air. A smell he was rather comfortable with compared to most landstriders that would find it disgusting. The insects, like the fleshflies, didn't bother him that much as his scales were too hard for the insects' bites. Though they were rather annoying as a swarm as they covered the view and all the buzzing got irritating after a while. And soon Stalks saw a familiar sight dawn in the distance. At first he could only see the first watchtower, then the rest of the outpost came into view. 

The outpost wasn't much, a few small houses and some stands and four watchtowers places in a square around it all, one at both roads leading in and out of the outpost and the other two at the other far ends. Though there were no walls to speak of. The watchtowers were manned by a couple of legion archers each. And a legionary stood near the road watching with bored eyes on the small and slow moving traffic of merchants. Small jars with burning incense, made of a mixture of herbs native to Black Marsh (which Stalks knew as one of the first jobs had been to collect these herbs for a merchant at the outpost), was placed here and there around the outpost and in the watchtowers to keep the insects at bay. It also made the smell in the air more pleasant to outsiders. 

This was a small trading outpost. Which was also the first settlement outside Black Marsh Stalks had visited. It wasn't exactly prosperous but there was enough trade going on the justify it's existence. The little market had both imperial and Argonian merchants. The Argonians selling hides, herbs and reagents that could only be found in Black Marsh. As well as some Argonian craftsmanship, most prominently that of Argonian made jewelry and other trinkets. The imperials sold pretty much the same: hides, herbs, reagents and craftsmanship that instead couldn't be found in Black Marsh. 

For Stalks this was the time to spend his money. Because the deeper you got into Black Marsh, the less valuable the gold becomes. And as such, most of the coin that the imperials spent here never made it far into Black Marsh, but was instead spent on their merchandise. 

Stalks wandered around the market, trying to find some fishing and hunting equipment as well as some preserved food and fish. One thing that caught his eye was a peculiar dagger. It was slightly curved, jagged on the backside and had a leather binding covering the hilt. But what peaked his interest the most was that unlike his own dagger that was carved from bone, this dagger looked like a tooth still much in it's original shape. The Argonian merchant claimed that it came from the southeast coast of Black Marsh. Where a few tribes lived beneath the waves and hunted fierce sea monsters. And that this dagger in fact came from one of those sea monsters. While Stalks had a little hard time believing in sea monsters or that there were people actually hunting them, he could not deny that whatever beast the tooth had belonged to must have been huge. As amazing as the origin of the dagger might be, he still stood there and compared the dagger to that of his own. After feeling on the sharpness and feeling for the balance of booth weapons for a moment, he decided that the new tooth dagger was slightly better. Though the purchase cost him a bit more than he would've liked. 

He continued his shopping. He did not find any new spear he liked or no new bow. But he did manage to buy quite the selection of fishing and hunting spears, a few rods and a few simpler knives. And then for the last of his gold he bought some heavily smoked meat and fish, tightly packaged in oily big leafs. Though it all proved too much for him to carry alone. And seeing as he had no gold for hiring a courier he instead managed to strike a deal with an Argonian merchant, that was going to pass by closely to his home village, for some room to store his stuff on the merchant's wagon (though it was more like a small boat with wheels) in exchange for his services to protection from possible bandits and, the more likely, hungry predators. 

 

A few days later the merchant and Stalks set off towards the border and into Black Marsh. It took some time for them to get close to the village. The roads weren't as well made as in Cyrodiil and a few times they even went by water. The merchant also made a few stops to trade with other small towns and villages. This annoyed Stalks a bit but he knew that it was still faster than trying to carry all his stuff alone. And also more safer. Which he was reminded of every time he saw the shadow of a hackwing sail across the ground. Giant bird-like creatures with long saw-like beaks almost as long the rest of the body. There were Argonians that hunted those winged beasts. Just standing still in a clearing, waiting for a hackwing to swoop down on them, and then at the last second they would throw a spear at the winged monstrosity and roll out of the way. It was a dangerous hunt, but the beaks of those winged terrors were valuable enough to make it worth the risk.

When Stalks began to recognize his surroundings he was filled with a sense of joy and relief. He retrieved his stuff and bid the merchant farewell. Heading down a small dirt path with a heavy pack on his back. Though he grew tired quickly, but the excitement of soon being home made him go on and only take short stops to catch his breath. 

Soon he walked alongside a small river. And a big head popped up from the water a few feet ahead of Stalks. The head was almost as large a man's torso and had spikes lining it's bottom jaw as well as in a line on the top of it's head. It just starred at Stalks with it's (compared to the head) small eyes. 

 

"Hello Shocky." Stalks said, relaxed at the sight of big beast. He then dropped his pack on the ground as he searched for some of the preserved meat which he unpacked and then held up. "Want some meat?" 

 

The reptile came crawling up from the water. The lizard was huge. It's height and length ratio was as much as a regular lizard, with it's body relatively close to the ground. But even then the lizard was as tall as a man. The spikes on it's head continued in a line along it's body down to the slightly flatted tip of the the tail. It was a wamasu, an electrical, giant lizard only native to Black Marsh. It could generate great currents of lighting when threatened. 

Stalks tribe had thoroughly disagreed with him when he one day brought home a wamasu egg he had found abandoned in some bushes. There was arguing and a few that even wanted to to cook the egg. But in the end he managed to keep the egg, with a lot of help from his cousin and the tribe's shaman. The egg hatched and now the once puppy sized lizard had grown way too large to even fit through a door. And that the wamasu had been friendly so far was also quite the miracle. As these beasts wasn't known for being docile. 

Shocky now came up to Stalks and looked at him and the meat he held out. Then opened it's maw and Stalks threw the meat. Shocky caught the meat and shewed it for a second before swallowing it. Then he slipped down into the water again and disappeared. 

 

Slightly disappointed at the lack of welcome he got from his old friend Stalks picked up his pack again and continued down the path to his home village. Well there he found that much hadn't changed in the few years since his last visit. There was the small dome shaped huts with it's round holes for windows. All located near a small almost swamp like lake where some of the tribes older fishermen sat with their fishing rods (which were just simple sticks with a line attached at one end) and waiting for the fish to bite. It was a quiet and peaceful little village. 

 

"Look who's here." Stalks heard a familiar voice behind him say. He turned around to see his father walking towards him. Or rather limp as half of the right leg was gone and he had a simple wooden crutch to help him walk. He looked pretty much like Stalks except that instead of two lines of horns going like eyebrows to the back of the head he had one line beginning a bit further back in the middle and had overall bigger horns.

 

Stalks could only stare in disbelief at the leg for a few seconds before he could come back to his senses. "What happened to your leg?"

 

"Is that how you greet your own father? And the leg; a damn crocodile, that's what happened. Out in the swamps north of here. Now I mostly stay at home, fixing the nets. And fishing with the old. So how long will you stay with us?"

 

"A week or so." Stalks then dropped down the pack, which was huge relief as the weight had been killing his back. He started to unpack and before his father could respond he handed him a fishing rod with line going along the rod through small circles to a roll with a winch near the handle. "Here."

 

"Hmm." his father said as he took and inspected the rod. "Argonian made. Near the western border I presume. Given the wood." he then grabbed the far end of the rod and bent it almost in a half circle. "Strong, yet flexible. Must have cost you."

 

"It's relatively cheap at the border. But that's probably because the imperials want to pay as little as possible. Got a couple more along with some more equipment. And a little food."

 

His father was about to say something when they heard the people at shore cry out. And when they looked they saw that it was because Shocky had decided to resurface in the middle of the line of fishermen. Forcing them to move out of the wamasu's way. They began cursing at the beast for scaring away the fishes, among other things. The wamasu then walked up from the beach to a large clearing between a couple of houses where it damped down with a loud thud. Just laying there with legs outstretched like it had fallen dead to ground. 

 

"Lazy bastard." Stalks' father said before turning back from the little spectacle. "All it practically does is sleep, laze and eat. At least it can hunt for itself or it would have eaten us into starvation."

 

"Hmm." was all Stalks responded with. And he hoped his cousin, who were the real caretaker of Shocky, wasn't suffering the displeasure of the tribe because of the great beast. "And how's mother?"

 

"She's doing fine. She's out collecting roots and herbs, like usual. You can talk with her yourself when she gets back."

 

"And how are things here in general?"

 

"Rather calm." Suddenly a small spark-like explosion was heard from the wamasu. Looking back at the beast again they could see a few children standing by the great lizard with a long stick and a smoking hot fish at it's end. They were about to try to fry another fish that way before one of the older fishermen came and made them scurry off. "Well most of the time. Kids should know better than to poke a lightning drake. Still can't figure out why Sleeps-With-Trees thought it would be a good idea to keep it. And speaking of our shaman, you should go and see him. Make sure your connection with the Hist has not diminished."

 

"I don't feel like I've lost the touch." 

 

"Never hurts to make sure you're not becoming a landstrider. Now come." he said with a commanding voice and began to limp off on his crutch.

 

Stalks could simply roll his eyes before he followed. Apart from his father's leg it seemed like nothing had really changed since his last visit. And it was good because he wouldn't want the feeling of home to be different in any way at all.

[BTC]

Rebec

Kyne's Watch

 

After Baldur left on his hunt, Rebec tried to work, and did make a deal on a trading cog for her new venture as shipping business owner. Manning it would take a trip to the ports, but she didn’t want to leave Kyne’s Watch in case Baldur returned, so she moped around the town and fort trying to keep busy.

Bjol was back with Ysana again, and Vigge was off gambling with his sailing buddies, so at supper time one evening, Rebec went to the fort’s mess hall.  There she found Menel in front of his usual three full plates of food.

“What’s that you’ve got there, elf?†she asked.

The Bosmer looked up at her like a dog protecting his bowl. “I can only take so much of the slop the camp cook makes, so I spent all afternoon preparing this Valenwood hotpot with fourteen meats. You’ll pardon me if I don’t offer you any.â€

Rebec made a face. “You keep your skeever stew to yourself. I’ll settle for the cook’s boiled rabbit.â€

Both of them were relieved at that. When she sat back down, Menel said, “You’re especially mopey today. I take it the general hasn’t come back from his test of Nord manhood. Mazoga’s not back yet, either.â€

“I can’t sleep or eat much for worrying,†Rebec admitted. “But for the little one's sake, I’d not bother trying.â€

“Ah, yes. Fire Hand made me promise to check on you, make sure you weren’t under too much stress. I’m afraid I was under too much stress myself to follow through.â€

“Not your job to mind that, nor the queen’s either, but I know she meant it well. I’ll be fine once I know that I won’t be raising the little pip alone.â€

“Pair bonding,†Menel said with a shake of his head. “What a waste of energy. No offense.â€

“None taken. I’d probably have agreed with you some years back. Now...†The admiral thought about how necessary Baldur had become, not just to her happiness, but to her sense of what life meant. Wishing to change the subject, she said, “You never thought to... I mean, I know you like the sausage and all, but some men do shack up.â€

“I like men, I like women, but no, I've never felt inclined to, as you say, ‘shack up.’†Menel made a shuddering noise. “It would be against my religion.â€

Rebec’s chewing slowed. “What sort of heathen elven nonsense would that be?â€

“Not elven as such, though maybe more common among Bosmer. I am a hedonist.†At her blank expression, Menel sighed and went on, “It means, my ignorant Nord friend, that I take my pleasures as and in whatever form they come, and that is all I ask of life. Whether people admit it or not, pleasure is the highest good, perhaps the only real good. All else is puffery.â€

“So what are you doing as a soldier?â€

“An excellent question, admiral, one I ask myself daily. But you see, sometimes it does require work to produce pleasure. Hence my sore back from cooking all day.â€

“You’re fighting the Thalmor so you can be a lazy fat bastard afterwards?†Rebec thought a moment. “That’s not a bad plan.â€

“Just so. When someone interferes so greatly with your capacity to experience pleasure, it requires a response. There was this nice imperial fellow in the College, lean and muscular, with this long black hair...â€

Rebec cut in,“That’s enough of that. Just get to the point.â€

“Oh, very well. Aristo was his name. The justiciars questioned him because his father and brothers were in a regiment that deserted rather than comply with the White Gold Concordat. They wouldn’t leave him alone. One day, he didn’t come back from their interrogation. He wasn’t the only one. I’d had enough. When I said as much to my friend Veleda, she eventually invited me to a meeting, and the rest is mythopoeia, as they say.â€

“Is this 'hedonism' why you took up illusion magic?" Rebec's tone turned wary. "You cast all sorts of spells on yourself, don’t you."

“Actually...â€

“No, forget I asked. Don’t want to know about your magical perversions.â€

Menel chortled and poured himself some Breton brandy from a flask he was guarding in his pocket. “What I was going to say was, spellcasting requires a lot of mental discipline. Strictly speaking, a hedonist probably wouldn’t bother.â€

Rebec thought about her thu’um, or lack thereof. She’d been trying to meditate on it every morning, but was distracted by thoughts of Baldur, of their baby, and just about anything else that came to mind. She said as much to Menel, adding, “Maybe I’m a hedonist, too.â€

“I doubt that. I may be able to help you, admiral. By Yffre, don’t look so suspicious. Battlemage apprentices need training in how to attune their minds under stressful circumstances. The thu’um is magic, isn’t it?  I’ll join you at your practice tomorrow morning and we’ll see if my training method will work with the thu’um as well.â€

Rebec was reluctant, but finally agreed. The next morning, Menel waddled out half an hour late and chewing on a roasted haunch of goat. “Go on, try your thu’um,†he prompted.

She was even less successful than usual with an audience, but Menel was unperturbed and cast a calm spell on her. “Try again. Oh, wait. Take that damned amulet off.â€

The hawk of Kyne at Rebec’s throat was glowing blue. Muttering, she took it off and laid it behind her on a rock. “You turn my ears pointy, elf, and you’ll meet my other equipment,†she said, patting the haft of Kyne’s Talon as it hung on her belt.

“Charming. Hold still.†He cast the spell again. “Now look out towards the sea, and try again.â€

Rebec did it. Her eyes watched the roll and swell of the morning tide, and tried to remember what Ulfric had written down about the nature of Force Push. Thoughts of Baldur tugged at her mind, but the spell’s effects blunted her concern about them. “Fus,†she ventured. A strange sensation went through her, like the shaking after a crack of thunder. It really was a word of power, she thought, somewhat amazed. To be able to have the power of the winds at her call...

“Keep going,†Menel coached behind her. “The thing to realize is that casting a spell is not creating something new. The magicka is here, all around us, and in us. The trick is to align yourself so that the power in the world can move through you. When it does, now that is real pleasure. Think of it like your mind is a room and...â€

“FUS.† Driftwood and pebbles at her feet went flying off into the surf. For a moment both she and Menel stood speechless, then Rebec let out a yell and grabbed the Bosmer to gave him a Breton rub on his greasy head. The shock wave wasn’t nearly as powerful as Ulfric’s had been when he’d sent imperial soldiers careening through the air in the Battle of Solitude, but something had happened.

“Unhand me, please,†Menel said, extracting himself from Rebec’s embrace. He was grinning, though. “You see. All it took was a little concentration. I don’t know why you just don’t take up telekinesis, but I’ve stopped trying to understand Nords.â€

Rebec wasn’t listening while the Bosmer prattled. The word of power filled her mind, crowding out all else. She didn’t protest when Menel cast a calm spell on her again. Her voice was hoarse, however, and it took some time before she could say the word again. When she did, more rocks went flying, and she staggered. The feeling was incredible. Behind her, the Kyne amulet was glowing a rich silver. Rebec was still looking out at the sea long after Menel went to find someplace warm.

 

***

"In hindsight... it wasn't a very bright idea leaving my boot behind... that's what I get for getting caught in the moment," said Baldur. He found himself talking a lot to Stuhnir, regardless of the fact that the fox pup couldn't understand him. Even though it hurt to both breathe and talk from what Baldur knew was thu'um over-usage, he felt comfort in speaking to the creature.

 

He slept on his shoulder most of the way back, since Baldur didn't want him eating the meat. But every now and then Stuhnir'd let out a little yelp or a strange howl that made it seem like he was listening, regardless of the fact that he didn't understand Baldur's words. It was a good distraction from his fatigue and pain, especially since his arm was still injured from the bear's claws. If he was further away from a healer, he'd worry about infection from the creature due to the smell.

 

Stuhnir was starting to get restless and started pawing at Baldur's ear before he hopped off his shoulder. He'd disappear for a while, making Baldur think he'd never return, though he always did. "You must be searching for food. I'm hungry too, but we're almost home. Almost..."

 

Baldur got to the point to where he was so exhausted, his hunger just left him completely. The two traveled well through the night, but Baldur just couldn't go on anymore. His wounds and bruises were all taking a toll, and his body refused to move another inch until he slept. And sleep he did after collapsing beside a tree. Before drifting off, he said, "Wait till you see Rebec, buddy. I think she'll like you, as long as you don't start talking, heh. Hopefully. Wake me up if there's trouble..."

 

***

"It's not a bear, you idiot! Don't shoot!"

 

"What?"

 

Baldur woke to the sound of something hitting the other side of the tree he was sleeping on, as well as something hitting some snow covered stone by his feet. Stuhnir was making an ear piercing screech as well, a sound he didn't even know foxes could make. His bleary eyes barely made his white fur out amongst the ground, though he didn't notice the men rushing at them either.

 

"Hey, I said stop firing! It's the general! Baldur, you alright?" said a blonde Stormcloak woman kicking his feet. The other men with her helped him stand and immediately checked him for wounds beneath the bear fur he wore. When they saw his arm, one of them tore off some of their uniform tunic to wrap it.

 

The other men were trying to shoo Stuhnir away, thinking it was going after Baldur for his wound after smelling blood. Before it started biting at them, Baldur pushed the men helping him walk aside, then grabbed the fox before yelling, "Leave it be! It's mine."

 

The men apologized and offered to carry it for him while they helped him walk, but he turned them down. "You the ones sent to watch for Forsworn?" Baldur asked.

 

"Yea, a man and his family claimed that a Stormcloak saved them and told us to send scouts. That was you, I take it."

 

"Yes, and if you're the team sent out here for that purpose, then I want you to get back to it. I can make it to the town on my own," Baldur said, ignoring their expected protests and shuffling off to Kyne's Watch.

 

***

Rebec had just turned back for home when she saw Daric running towards her. Whenever she saw him, the Breton was never walking, so she didn't think much about it until she heard him shouting that the High General had returned. Then Rebec herself took off at a run. Daric had to sideleap to get out of her way.

 

Out of breath, she only stopped when she was in his arms. "Baldur. Oh, thank the gods." There was a little yelp and a flash of white fur as Stuhnir got caught in the hug as well.

 

Baldur almost had the wind knocked out of him upon contact, but he had enough air to laugh when Stuhnir struggled enough to poke his head through he and Rebec's chest for air. Baldur put the fox down and hugged her again proper, running his hands through the back of her hair. "This brings back memories," Baldur said, thinking of Falkreath after Pale Pass while seizing her lips with his. Just like he wished he'd done back then.

 

"You smell like a bear's ass," she said, laughing as she kissed him. There were tears as well, which had become a habit of late. She couldn't stop hugging him at first, but finally released him and looked him over. "Oh Baldur, you're hurt. Gods, come on. I'll find Menel." Her eyes fell on the scrap of fur that would look like part of the snowpack but for the little golden eyes that stared back at her. "What in Dagon's day is that?"

 

"That's the little freeloader that started following me. He popped out of the snow while I was relieving myself. I gave him some food, and he's stayed with me since then. So, what do you think? He's called Stuhnir. And he doesn't talk, just makes strange noises. There's quite a lot that happened on my trip. I've got a few more surprises for you. Menel too, actually."

 

"That was going to be my first question." She looked at the fox, who wasn't doing anything magical or otherwise bizarre, just scratching its ear with its back paw. "Well whatever. Come on, let's get you patched up. Daric!  DARIC!" When the Breton lad appeared around a corner, she said, "Go find that fat Bosmer and get him over to our house on the double. Baldur needs healing."

 

Daric was starting to get annoyed by being barked at by everyone. He was the general's assistant, not the entire town's. "Sir? Since I'm not in the navy and you're the one in charge of me, do you consent to that order?"

 

Ooh, bad move, Daric. After putting little Stuhnir back on his shoulder, Baldur said, "Aye, that I do. And tell him to bring me some meat not yet cooked. I want it to be cooked fresh at home. Tell him I know he's got the good stuff stashed away, and I have a fair trade for it worth his while."

 

Daric nodded and took off before he could hear Rebec say anything. Rebec was too relieved and happy to give the boy his proper due, but that would come. As they walked she said, "You got your bear, then. Look at you. You're a proper wild Nord now. Though I'm guessing that bringing a fox home wasn't part of your trial."

 

Baldur felt a rising feeling that men knew all too well beneath his snowberries when he thought about the fight for his life that he had. "Yea, I got him alright. It wasn't easy in the slightest either. I got lucky, I'll admit it. I'll give you the details when Menel gets here. You guys won't believe the shit I saw while searching. As for Stuhnir... well. I guess I got a bit sentimental. You know, with the baby and all? Which reminds me..."

 

Baldur took his meat filled pack out and showed her the cub bear fur he acquired. "I'm going to have ma use this for the child. I didn't kill it, I just found it and made use of it."

 

"A bear cloak for our little Nord?" She nodded approvingly. "Papa's not going to believe this. You'll have to tell him the story, too."

 

As they approached the house, Baldur said, "I don't know... I'm already not looking forward to hearing what he has to say about me leaving. Especially after he hears about what I was doing. At most, I'll probably just get a 'Unh' or 'Mhmm' and a nod, heh. We'll see though. But at least he can cook the meat after it's hung up for a while."

 

"Well I'm proud of you. At least, I think I am. If you die from bonebreak fever, I'm going to kick your ass in Sovngarde." She opened the door and helped him with his heavy pack. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "You coming in, fleabag? Better not crap on the floor or it's the snowbank for you."

 

Baldur wearily plopped his butt in a seat, practically melting in the chair. He didn't bother mentioning that he'd come into contact with worse than bonebreak fever. At least not yet. He had no intentions to mention he was bitten by vamps either, though he'd have to at least mention he fought them eventually. He made sure that the right side of his neck was well covered just in case the undead woman left marks. Hurry and get here, Menel.

 

Meanwhile, Stuhnir was stiffing the inside of their longhouse before he went any further. Though after a few quick smells, the fox pup came trotting right in and made himself comfortable in the furs of their bed, paying Rebec no mind.

 

Stuhnir had caught her in a good mood, so all was well for the moment. "I'll get you some mead. Take off those furs." For a few minutes she was busy feeding the fire and pouring Baldur a flagon of juniper mead. "I've got a healing potion somewhere. Shor only knows where that elf is. Though he did me a good turn today. I've got stories to tell you as well."

 

While Rebec was rooting in their stores, Daric and Menel knocked at the door. "I hear I'm wanted again," the Bosmer said as he entered. "What would you people do without me. Oh dear..." He looked at Baldur, then squinted and peered more closely at him. "Hm, yes. Not good. Not good at all."

 

Rebec's face turned whiter than Stuhnir's fur. "What? What?!"

 

"Hm? Oh, nothing a Panacea spell can't cure. You'd better be glad I studied some restoration. Tricky spell, that one. Not used very much anymo-"

 

"ELF! Cast the damn spell!" Rebec's face was turning from white to red.

 

"Oh very well. You know, a less agreeable fellow would object to your tone." Menel blinked his eyes rapidly as he always did when casting a difficult spell, mumbled, and hit Baldur with it.

 

"Whoo, that tickles, haha! Gods, that feels good." Baldur rubbed at his throat and made a few clearing noises to test it out. Baldur didn't know what it was Menel was referring to when he said 'Not good', but he shot him a warning glance just in case he happened to somehow know what he was hiding. There was always the chance that the potions he took failed to cure him.

 

Feeling the familiar tingling of his wounds and bruises slowly healing, he said, "Did you bring some fresh meat like I asked? I brought you a present." Baldur took the forsworn bag out filled with the vampire dust and tossed it over. "Hopefully you know some alchemy. Being trained in illusion, I assumed you could make use of that. Or sell it, whichever."

 

Menel opened the bag, got a noseful of vampire dust, and sneezed more of it into the room. "Agh! Bother. That was twenty septims worth right there." He took out a dirty handkerchief, blew his nose, then deposited the rag back into the bag and closed it. "This will more than pay for the top round roast I was saving for dinner." He brought his own pack around and plopped it on the table.

 

Rebec stepped forward, watching this exchange. "What will pay for it? What was that?"

 

"Oh yea!" Baldur said, salivating at the mouth so hard that it hurt from the tingling. "We're gonna roast this up nice n' proper." Baldur ran his hands over the roast like a pregnant woman's belly. "As for the bag, I guess I may as well start telling you what happened. First, we'll need to be careful about who's coming to town for two reasons. First, I ran into some Forsworn scouts trying to spy on us. And then..."

 

Baldur told them first about the strange Orc man he met and the conversation they had, placing the Malacath amulet on the table before continuing. When he got to the vampires, he left out the thu'um and the fact that he was bitten, for now. "He said he didn't know what it did, but maybe you can tell me, Menel? Also, I may need your help later on to make sure no vampires made their way into the town."

 

Menel squinted at the medallion. "You shouldn't just take magical artifacts from any schmo you meet, you know," he scolded. "For all you know, this has a scrotum shrinking enchantment." He threw a spell at it. "Not daedric in origin. That's good. Let's see..."

 

Rebec picked up the medallion and tossed it onto a side table in the corner. "Go experiment on it over there, not near the food." She turned her attention to Baldur, placing a hand on his shoulder. Tone concerned, she said, "You fought Forsworn and vampires? Gods damned Tamriel. They're not wasting any time. We get some Thalmor probing us and the gang will all be here."

 

To Menel, he said, "The Orc was wearing it, so why would I think it shrinks my boys?" Baldur placed a hand on hers as he stood. "We'll be fine, we've got the military here. That vamp was much stronger than myself. It was a Volkihar, and could even phase through ice. So that's what we're facing."

 

Daric, who was sitting on the far side of the longhouse to avoid Rebec finally piped up and said, "How'd you manage to deal with two vampires? No human can do that. Not with Skyrim's vampires."

 

Baldur smirked, and said, "I'm glad you asked, boy. I've got one last surprise, and then I'll be done boasting and showing off today. Rebec, can you pass me the roast?"

 

"You can boast all you want, since you're back here in one piece." She picked up the roast in one hand and a meatboard in the other and slapped both down in front of him.

 

"Don't forget the garlic," Menel piped up from the corner. "Gods forbid!"

 

Stuhnir finally woke with a howl, probably because he noticed the smell of food.

 

"Never tell a Nord he can boast all he wants... " Daric said.

 

While Baldur sprinkled garlic and chopped parsley, he said, "What is that... you know what, nevermind. I'll let that one go, before I decide to take Rebec up on her offer for Breton ham." When he was done seasoning the roast, he took it in his hands and walked towards the fire, which was in need of stoking.

 

Strangely enough, it almost seemed harder to focus outside of battle. Baldur cleared his throat and took a deep breath just as Daric said, "Um, what does a roast have to do with killing va-"

 

"YOL!"

 

Daric fell out of his chair as the sound of thunder echoed through the house. Stuhnir ran under the bed.

 

The flame burst forth from Baldur's mouth, cooking the roast almost completely and making a large new fire in the fireplace. The roast still had some flames licking at its surface, which Baldur allowed to burn for showmanship. "And there you have it. Don't ask me to do it again though. It's really tiring."

 

Rebec jumped back, staring, then grinned and exchanged looks with Menel. "Should I...?"

 

The Bosmer waved his hands. "NO! Not advisable!"

 

Laughing, she hugged Baldur's waist. "Very well. Impressive, my love. And useful."

 

"Wait...don't tell me you can too?" Baldur asked, catching on to Menel's distress. Smiling mischievously, he said, "This roast is a little warm. May need to be cooled down a bit..."

 

With an impish look, Rebec concentrated a moment, then: "FUS!" The fire guttered and spoons, bowls and elf's ear went flying. She laughed, unconcerned about the mess.

 

The roast hit Baldur's face so hard that it almost knocked him over. His hair went from being its normally wavy impressive self to almost looking the way it did during the trials. Luckily Baldur caught the roast though after it fell from his face.

 

After putting the roast on the table and wiping roast juice from his face... and stopping the ringing in his ears... and stopping himself from laughing... he put his arm over her shoulder and said, "Wow, yea, that's the thu'um alright. My wife is a tongue."

 

"Stop yelling already! My head..." Daric said after getting to his feet finally.

 

"What's up with your amulet?" Baldur asked.

 

Rebec touched her throat. "It glows silver when someone uses the thu'um. I never noticed it during the Battle of Solitude. Too busy trying not to die."

 

Baldur sat down again and ripped off a large portion of the roast. With his mouth almost full, he said, "You don't say. That may be useful. I guess now's a good time to mention that I almost ran into a dragon on my trip as well. He thought I was stealing his bear, but the damn thing was completely covered in snow. I heard that like the Greybeards, they can sense people using the voice. So besides this being dangerous to our health, we shouldn't overuse it, or we could put the town in danger."

 

Menel came over, holding the orc's amulet. "Then there is the more mundane danger of burning down your hut or blowing its roof off. Risk of being a Nord, it seems. As for this little trinket, it's definitely a stamina boosting enchantment. That was easy. The other one is more sophisticated but I'd bet the finger bones of my ancestors that it is a banish."

 

"Banish? Banish what? Can I smite troublesome greedy Bosmer and send them to the void? Hehe."

 

Menel said, "For that, you use your axe. I speak of returning a daedroth to the Void. Not the most useful enchantment generally, but if you've ever seen a Xivilai up close, you know to cherish it."

 

Baldur signaled with his free hand for Menel to toss it over. Holding it up, he said, "An amulet that gives vitality and has the chance to banish daedra? Sounds like Orkey for sure. Too bad I'm not likely to run into any daedra, unless a wizard summons an atronach. Well, that's all I've got to say about my little venture. With vampires and Forsworn, it looks like we're not as isolated up here as we thought."

 

Rebec was haphazardly cleaning up, which consisted of tossing things from where they were to someplace else. "What's Orkey got to do with it?"

 

"Malacath is Orkey, which the Imperials call Arkay, and the Altmer and Dunmer refer to him as Trinimac. The Imperials claim he was just a man turned god, but there's no real basis behind their story. Everyone knows Alessia just took the name Orkey from us and adapted it. He was Trinimac when he took Shor's heart, Malacath when Boethia dung-birthed him, and the Nords called him Orkey after that. Malacath's a daedra lord, so banishing daedra makes sense for an amulet dedicated to him. And Orkey/Arkay's sphere is death and life, so giving stamina is appropriate for that fact as well. Makes me happy we married under one of his priests. One of the reasons my father worshiped Boethia is because she defeated him."

 

Rebec gaped at him. "I don't know what you just said, but I think part of it was that your pa was a daedra worshiper."

 

"He worshiped a lot of deities, but yes. Boethia was his patron. Orkey's a spirit that people claim to be aedra and daedra alike. They're just pointless classifications on beings we barely can comprehend. With Shor eradicating mer and Alduin consuming the world, I think it's safe to say both daedra and non daedric spirits are to be feared and revered."

 

Rebec said, "You heard what Orkey did to Wulfharth. Maybe the elf was right about that medallion shrinking balls."

 

Baldur opened his mouth to say something witty, but paused. "Well y... Uh. Hmm. Got me there."

 

"Aha!" Rebec grinned, pointing at him. She wasn't really concerned about anything now. She put the medallion around Baldur's neck then sat on his lap. Menel was already attacking the roast, but Rebec pulled the board towards her and grabbed a piece.

 

After a few bites she gestured at Daric and said, "You best get some of this. Or do you need Baldur to tell you when to eat?" She noticed the fox peeking out from under their bed. "Yes, you'd better get some too. What sort of Skyrim snow fox is scared of a bit of thu'um, anyway?"

 

The little fox walked over with his tail and head lowered until he saw that the loud lady's voice was normal. Baldur took off a decent chunk and tossed it near the bed so Stuhnir could drag it under to eat in peace. "Give the thing a break, he's just a pup. We'll make a Nord out of it soon. Reminds me of Daric when I first met him, ha! Ow!"

 

Daric slapped the back of Baldur's head and ran off with the piece of the roast in his hand. "See ya, I've got work to do!"

 

"I'm gonna burn you, you little milkdrinker!"

 

Laughing, Rebec said, "Boy's got spirit. Maybe I won't turn him into ham after all. Can't say our Bosmer friend here won't put him into a hotpot, though."  She watched Menel eyeing every scrap of meat that wasn't going into his own mouth. "Don't you eat the dead? To watch you, I can believe it."

 

Menel appeared insulted, but his mouth was too full to protest.

 

After recovering the meat he lost and making sure he got enough food to be full, Baldur said, "That's just the Valenwood-borns. Menel, you sly dog, you're lucky we're letting you eat any of the roast at all. I did give you an entire bag of vampire dust. Be glad I'm so nice."

 

"That's because you're the hospitable sort," Menel said when his mouth was clear enough to speak. "And no, I don't eat people. You wouldn't either, if you'd studied restoration. All sorts of diseases." He stopped. "Are you... Why, yes you are."

 

Rebec had stopped paying attention to his chatter and was nosing at Baldur's cheek slyly. She nipped at his ear, then said, "Menel. Take the rest of the roast with you."

 

The Bosmer didn't have to be told twice.

 

"That mer just got away with the deal of his life." Baldur felt a familiar stiffness coming from below him at Rebec's seduction, then said, "Oh well. I've got another roast," as he smiled and slid his hand to her backside. "Listen, honey. I'm a little tired, so I'm going to lay down." He paused a while to kiss her and enjoy playing at her delicates through her pants from behind, then eventually whispered in her ear and said, "When I do, I want you on me, and I want you to wear me out. That's an order."

 

"Yessir, general." She smiled and pawed at his clothing while they stood and went to the bed. As they got near, Stuhnir shot out from underneath the bed and darted to the opposite corner where Baldur's bear furs were piled. "Good idea, little imp."

 

When Rebec had Baldur's shirt off, she pushed him back on the bed, then began stripping herself. While she climbed astride him, her own fingers took his place between her thighs. She let him watch her a few moments, then pulled at the laces of his trousers until he was free and she could sink herself on him. Gasping, she moved slowly at first, then stopped completely and looked down at him. Stroking Baldur's cheek, she said, "My love. Thank you for not leaving me alone."

 

Baldur ran a thumb through the hair at her center while his hands rested at her hips, then took both of hers in his, interlocking them. "I wouldn't miss out on this for the second coming of Shor, love. I love you more than is humanly possible. Now, show me what I'd miss out on if I did."

 

Laughing, Rebec kissed him, sliding her tongue against his even as she began to move again on his hardness. Soon she released his mouth so that he could watch her ride him, sitting back on her haunches and putting her hands over his as they gripped her hips.

 

Oh Shor, please let me keep that promise, Baldur thought. Even though in the end he didn't leave her, he hadn't forgotten that he'd come much closer to doing so than he ever would have wanted to. But for now, Baldur put the memories of the vampire at his neck in the far back of his mind, where it could rot in hell for all he cared.

 

He preferred to live in the here and now, and right now he was celebrating with his baby's mother, running his hands over her stomach and between her chest at the same pace that Rebec set atop him. When things started to pick up, his hands eventually gravitated to his wife's bouncing breasts. He teased her by pinching slightly at her nips, making her move faster. Before long, it was too much for them both, and he had to be closer.

 

His arms locked behind her and pulled her forward enough so that he could taste her chest, just before he moved her back down to place himself inside again, moving as frantically as they had just before the interruption. His excitement was on the brink of peaking, and as their breaths grew more and more hectic, they kissed so long and hard that they forgot whose air they were breathing.

 

The emotions were too strong for Rebec to release, but it meant she could hold Baldur and hear and feel every bit of his. Not breaking the kiss, she rolled to his side, her hands rubbing down his back and side. Still aroused, she took his hand and slid it between her legs. He knew just how to play her, and soon she was squirming against him, breath warm on his neck.

 

She stayed right there, as close as she could be to him, and drew the furs around them.

 

He had her head cradled over his arm while he was playing at her, and eventually he could feel himself getting excited again against her. When she eventually was still, he used the moistness of his hands to finish himself off a second time while she was close. He let her hear his breathing thick at her ear as he gasped, occasionally kissing her and looking into her eyes before finally finishing at her hip beneath the sheets.

 

Even after they were done, he kept her close and in his arms. He normally would say something, but his contentedness kept him silent and smiling peacefully at her side, right where he belonged.

 

***

 

“I know that look.â€

The woman started. She’d been cloaked, but when the stranger stepped into the moonlight, the vampire understood why the spell hadn’t fooled her. “They’re mine. I earned this.â€

Both women looked down at the little cluster of Nord longhouses. “What did they do to you?â€

“One of them did this.†The woman opened her cloak to reveal a broken arm, ghastly but not bruised as it ought to have been.

“They attacked you?â€

There was a pause. “No. He tricked me. Sent me off into a pack of trolls. I barely made it away with my life.â€

The other woman laughed. “So you tried to feed on them, and instead of killing you, one of them decided to let the trolls finish the job.â€

“I didn’t... it was my... Who are you, anyway? This is none of your affair. This village is mine. I’m going to bleed them slow, one at a time.â€

“By the looks of you, that’s all you could handle. However, I'm going to do you a favor. You're not to take one drop from this village.â€

The two women stared at each other, the injured one haughty, the blonde woman giving the other a small, coy smile. “You’re from Cyrodiil.â€

“I am. And this village is under Order protection, for now.â€

“I’m from Cyrodiil, too. And I don’t have to take orders from...† The injured woman’s throat began to constrict. She reached for it, more shocked than anything. It wasn't the spell of a typical alteration mage, even a vampire. Feebly she tried to cast a dispel but the blonde woman knocked her hand away with the flat of a curved shortsword.

“I think you didn’t hear me. This village is under our protection. You’ll go find your nourishment elsewhere, and lick your wounds, far from here, or I’ll finish what the trolls started. And that would be only the beginning."

Wheezing noises were the only reply. When the pressure on her throat released, the woman gasped and said, “But it is my right...â€

Shaking her head in disgust, the blonde vampire sheathed her sword. “You can barely walk, dear one. I’ll help you set that, then you’ll be on your way.â€

Maggie was relieved when the woman relented. She had had enough of killing other vampires for one century. The little village, so brazenly thrown up in the shadow of Castle Volkihar, had to remain unmolested for Serana’s sake, however. The Bathory women owed Serana that much.

She had just returned from Solitude, and had business in Kyne’s Watch herself. It would have to be performed delicately.

 

***

"Hello? Ma! Open up, or I'm breaking the door down!" Baldur yelled. He finally got wind that Ysana and Bjol were shacking up. Even though he knew that would happen, it still put him in a foul mood and made him want to see her personally instead of sending Daric. Stuhnir was with him, following him at his heel.

 

Finally, Ysana opened the door, albeit aggravatingly slow. The creaking made Baldur's knitted brow twitch. "Yeees, deary?"

 

"Don't yes deary me." Baldur tried to peek his head in. Stuhnir stealth walked past Ysana beneath her feet and made himself home inside while they spoke. "Where's Bjol?"

 

"He already left early this morning. Funny that I had to invite him over to get my son to finally show his face. I was starting to think you didn't care. Why are you all bothered anyway? Don't you like Bjol?"

 

"Yea, but... Augh, nevermind, just forget it. I came to see if he was treating you well, is all," Baldur said.

 

"He's the perfect gentleman. You should be worried if I'm treating him well. Not that it's your business. I don't get into the particulars of you and your wife. Not that you'd tell me."

 

"No I wouldn't," Baldur agreed. "We're doing fine."

 

Ysana seemed to be searching his eyes to see if that were true. After she was convinced it was, and Baldur stepped inside her home, she squeezed Baldur so tight, that he had to stand on his toes. When she released him, she dealt him a blow in his arm. "That's for all that foolishness with fighting bears when your wife is pregnant, oaf. The hug was for returning safe."

 

"I knew that was coming," Baldur said, rubbing his arm.

 

"I finished adding the fur to your new officer uniform for your little club."

 

Baldur excitedly followed his mother to see it, holding it up for inspection. There was fur over the arms and shoulders, with the bear's claws at the end, and the straps covering it were of much higher quality than he expected. The back also had tan stitching of the Stormcloak bear in the dark brown leather. The trousers were simple in make, but of the same quality leather as the top. Same for the boots, which were lined with fur at the top and the inside.

 

"I love it, ma! Thank you very much for your hard work. This will be good for battle at sea or on the ground. And I may be able to place armor over this too, though it might be too warm for that in Valenwood."

 

"I'm glad you like it, son. I hope you'll forgive me not including the rivets like you wanted, but I thought it'd look better if it opened up in the middle like a shirt, or a leather coat. Instead, I put the rivets on a leather vest that you can wear under it, and it has the Stormcloak bear on it as a leather patch in the middle. That way you can wear this casually or to fight. Try it on, will you?" asked Ysana. Baldur did as he was told and removed his old officer uniform, laying it over the bed. Ysana waited for him to put everything on before he handed him the rest of the bear's furs which served as a fur cape, and a new bear head covering to replace his old brown one. "Looks good, son. I've got the others ready for your men as well when they return from their tests."

 

Baldur slid his bear head covering back where it rested like a hood, then said, "There's one other thing I want you to work with." Baldur went by the door where he dropped his small pack, and pulled out the cub's fur he found. Ysana looked like she was about to gear up for another punch before Baldur held a hand up and said, "I didn't kill it! It was already dead. Can you make this into a cloak for the baby?"

 

At that, Ysana's expression softened, and she immediately took the fur from his hands. "I'd love to. Shouldn't be hard."

 

"Great, thank you, mother. I'm going home now, but maybe you could come over for dinner? If you're not busy with Wave-Runner, that is..."

 

"Hush, I'll be there. Now run along to your wife before she comes hunting for you when she should be resting."

 

"Right, love you," said Baldur before kissing her on the cheek. Ysana may have been annoyed at the lack of his presence, but she smiled at seeing his appreciation for her help. Being of some use to him when she wasn't there for him before made her feel like leaving her friends behind in Markarth was worth it after all.

 

The little fox that walked out behind him broke her thoughts, however, leaving her standing there confused.

 

When Baldur returned home, Rebec wasn't there, but Vigge was outside. With a small chisel, he was carving lintel reliefs into the posts around their doorway. Besides the usual whorls meant to ward off giants, there were animals fighting and playing. He barely gave Baldur a glance, then went back to the leaping whale he was carving.

 

Baldur cursed silently under his breath, seeing Vigge's current project as a way to trap him. He remembered Rebec said he was trying to be nice, But Baldur wasn't sure of that yet.

 

Baldur approached him slowly, looking at the work he was doing, then removed the bear hood from his head. Stuhnir moved from his shoulder then to inside the bear head on his back while Baldur said, "Why are you defacing the house, old man? An axe would be quicker."

 

"Defacing," Vigge growled. "It isn't really a house til it's marked. Guess no one ever taught you that."

 

Smiling, Baldur said, "Sorry, that was a joke. Though you're right, no one ever taught me that. Wasn't really important. My house was wherever I laid my head." Placing a hand on his father-in-law's shoulder, he said, "Anyway, I came to see your daughter, but I guess she isn't home. So that leaves you and me. Weren't you planning on teaching me this stuff, Vigge?"

 

Vigge grunted. "Watch and learn." As he continued carving, he said, "Heard you bagged a snow bear."

 

Baldur stood aside so he could have space to work and did his best to pick something up from watching him. With fingers on his chin and his elbow resting in his other hand, he said, "Don't worry, I'm done with all the foolishness. Done playing soldier, ready to be a father. I know words to you are cheap, which is unfortunate since words are my thing. So I'll just have to show you."

 

"You remember what I told you that night in the cellar, eh," Vigge gave a little grin. He had warned Baldur that he'd tear him in pieces if he hurt Rebec. The old sailor worked a little longer, occasionally brushing away the splinters with his leathery fingers, then said, "Was she a big one?"

 

"Bigger than the last one I killed. I'm stronger than the last time I fought one, but it didn't matter one godsdamned bit. Its maw looked like it could crush my head with a bite. I swear, these things... I've seen dragons, yet still, I'm always amazed by the power of Skyrim bears. They may not be gods, but they're killing machines all the same. When I was gutting it, the limbs had these broad sinews and the thickest bones. Everything inside the thing just screamed power."

 

Baldur looked up from the ground back to Vigge's work when he was done revisiting the memory. Vigge was working on a whale now with shapes around it that looked like clouds. "But I bet it was nothing like you hunting whales in the old days, right?"

 

Vigge grunted at Baldur's story, his back still turned. "Never been whale hunting, eh? Not many do, anymore. Hunting snow whales, now that would do you some good, bard. Got to remember to tip your spear with wasabi, though. They'll just fly off if you forget it. Either that or smother you. Seen it happen." He paused, moving on to the next section of the doorjamb. "Never would've given it up myself, if not for the woman. Spent twenty years hunting Bjuukarvenigenaal, the One Eyed. King of whales. Might be that was a sin, but I couldn't leave it alone. Saw him. Had my spear in his old hide, stared into that one eye. It made a man of me, anyway. If that's what your wars and your bears do, well then. You think about that."

 

And I thought Ynihinundr had a long name. Though if you count his clan's name too... I bet Vigge made up some of that. I couldn't remember that name, and he's an old man. "You hunting Snow Whales? I thought these were grey whales, heh. Imagining you high off of Snow Whale dust... now THAT's a sight to see!" Baldur waited a while to sober up from his laughing. The image of a merry Vigge tickled him to no end.

 

Finally, he gave thought to his words on his wars and said, "Believe it or not, I've wanted to give all this up since the moment I realized I loved your daughter. Unfortunately, the Dominion is a whale that won't let me give up chasing it. In fact, I'd say it's doing the chasing. But I made Rebec a promise. Whether war comes or not, in five years, I'm leaving the Stormcloaks. That's when I'd be required to take the tests again. I'll leave before that happens. If that happens before I'm called to war, then Ulfric will have to be satisfied with the preparations I've made for him. He can handle the rest."

 

Vigge glanced over his shoulder, nodded once, then went back to work on his fox. "See you like these," he said as he blocked out the shape. "That thing warming your pillow now?" He gestured with the chisel to where Stuhnir stood by watching them.

 

"Well actually," Baldur made to say that Rebec usually shared his pillow, but thought better of it. "Uh, he sleeps at our feet sometimes. Until Rebec eventually kicks him away, that is. He's no baby troll, but I think she likes him. Even if she doesn't say it. My brother's daughter likes foxes. Hopefully I'll make contact with them soon, and she can take him off my hands a bit when I'm busy."

 

"Thought you were more the cow type, not the rodent." It was hard to tell with his back turned, but Vigge had a stupid grin on his face. Stuhnir yelped, and the old Nord turned around to look at him. "Alright, I'm sorry. It wasn't an insult on you. Just got to keep my son-in-law on his toes."

 

"Wouldn't have it any other way, old man. Rebec thinks we're fighting, but we're just sparring so to speak. It's leagues away from how pa liked to keep me on my toes. Which involved actual sparring." Baldur gave Stuhnir a curious look. Sometimes his coincidental yelps seemed too coincidental, but he supposed that the Nords didn't call Stuhn a clever fox for nothing. "I could tell you a horror story about cows that'd make you shed your beard, but Rebec probably wouldn't like me taddling on her to her pa."

 

Vigge looked up at Baldur. "Well go on. You're a bard, aren't you? So, bard."

 

"Hmm. Okay, I'll give it a go. Haven't sung in a while, so forgive me if I'm a bit off."

 

One starry night, two Nord lads were drinking. The first only had one, the other four without thinking,

But a cruel maiden came with her tightly grasped whip, "Get off of yer asses, or I'll bust yer lips!"

The two lads were wary, but the whip made them compliant, even though she said, "We're visiting the giants!"

She commanded the men like a captain at her prow, and off they went to prepare then her cow,

 

"We paint so the Old Ones know it's an offering so they'll leave!" She made the men paint, offering no reprieve,

They painted and painted, one lad painted on it nethers, And in turn, the cow kicked him in his nethers,

With enough force to break through any ship's bow, the cow laid that lad out, all with one blow,

But the cruel maiden gave him no kindness, reprieve, "The giants are waiting! March on, we must leave!"

 

So the two lads obeyed, one with a ghastly limped step, and the other lad mentally in sympathy wept,

But danger was close, the pain he had to bear, for the bonfire was visible, and the giants were there,

The stubborn cow however could not be made to move, but the cruel maiden was bullheaded, this fact she soon proved,

"Get that thing moving, my command you'll abide! If that cow doesn't move, I'll tan both yer hides!"

 

Afraid the lads were, of that terrible grump, so one lad used the flat of his axe on its rump,

With rope in his hand, it took off far and wide, and with it, the Nord lad was taken for a ride,

Off towards the giants, towards the eye of Kyne, but somehow the Nord lad turned out just fine,

On his back he laid, covered in shade, shadow of a giant, he opened one eye, defiant,

 

The other lad distracted with his flute's sweet sounds, leading them away as they shook the ground,

But one remained, though he allowed them to go, it seems he was friend, and never a foe,

Since then, the giant tore their enemies asunder, the Nords found a companion in the giant, Neskonungr.

 

Vigge had stopped his carving to listen. When the song was done, he tugged thoughtfully at his beard. "That was you and Rebec. And some other fella. Painting a cow for the giants, eh?" The sailor turned back. "She always had funny ideas. Her mother said she got 'em from me. That's obviously wrong." He started working on the fox again. "You ever heard a whale call? I can teach you."

 

"Go right ahead, Tsun-Biter," said Baldur with a snicker. "I've only been able to imagine their song so far. I used to dream of hearing it as a boy."

 

"Alright. Listen carefully." This was said with a raised chisel to emphasize, his back still turned. A moment later, he began, starting low and building. "Suu suuuu suuuuuuuuuuuaaaaa, hik hik hik suuuuuuuuaaaaa..."  The chisel gestured again. "Now you. Let's hear it."

 

That did it. Baldur heard stories of what the Snow Whales sounded like, so he knew Vigge wasn't pulling his leg. But hearing such high pitched whiny noises from the grizzled old sailor... not in a million eras did he think he'd hear it. It was a while before Baldur recovered from his laughing fit. "Okay... only way I'll do it is if you do it with me. You too Stuhnir. One, two....  Suuuuuuuaaaaaaaaa! Suuuuuuuuuu, sua, hik hik hik!" Stuhnir joined in as Baldur asked, though with a fox howl while tilting his head, confused as to what the humans were doing. Baldur's chuckling threatened to come back and interrupt the whole thing. As much fun as it was, Baldur promised himself that one day, he'd make the old sailor take him to see one of those beautiful beasts, so that he could sing with them.

 

Vigge kept chiseling, but had to pause a moment or two as his grumpy expression was failing. Turning around finally, he gave Baldur a hard stare. "You're a landlubber, nothing to be done about that. Guess you'll have to practice."

 

"Would be easier if I heard the real thing. Perhaps you could help me with that," said Baldur.

 

The sailor sighed heavily. Shuffling out towards the sea, he repeated the call.

 

As he was on a "suuuuu," Rebec came walking up from the fort. She stopped, looking from Vigge to Baldur and back.  "Do I even want to ask?"

 

"Go ahead, I'm wondering myself," Baldur said. "There's no way. Snow Whales can't be here, can they?"

 

Crossing her arms, Rebec looked at Vigge. "What are you doing?"

 

"What? Boy's gotta learn somehow."

 

"That's what I'm afraid of." She turned to Baldur. "Well? You going to call some whales for me?"

 

Baldur looked from her to Vigge, thinking that they must've been pulling his leg. All the time he wasted in Skyrim wishing he could see a Snow Whale, and they could have been there the whole time. Maybe. "Worth a try, I guess. Hope none of the men see me doing this." Baldur cupped his mouth with his hands and closed his eyes, concentrating the way he did during his meditations before letting loose a "Suuuu!" As loud as he could, which was considerable as a Nord. Stuhnir once again joined in at the sound of the ear splitting noise.

 

Vigge grinned over at Rebec, pleased with himself.

 

"I hope you're happy," she said, shaking her head. He was, and went back to his chiseling while she stepped to her husband's side. "If there were any whales nearby, they're headed out to sea to get away from all the racket."

 

Baldur's cheeks were so red, someone could've sworn his blue warpaint turned purple. To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. "That's... you took advantage of my childhood dream, old man. Blast it all, I'm so gullible."

 

A moment later, they heard yelling in the distance, and saw Daric making a run straight towards them with impressive speed. "Hey! What's going on? Did you guys blow the warhorn? Is Baldur injured?" When he finally reached them and recovered his breath, he looked up and said, "Oh no, are you sick? Your face is so red. I'll get Menel an-"

 

Baldur yelled, "Daric! Go home, damn it."

 

Rebec, laughing, put her arm around Baldur. "What ails him is nothing you can do anything about, boy."

 

Her father looked over and gestured at Daric. "You ought to call some whales, too. Put some Nord in you."

 

"Call some what? No thanks, I like being a Breton. Bretons make a lot less noise for one."

 

Vigge snorted. "Now who told you that. Never knew a Breton but could run his mouth til your ear fell off."

 

"Don't start in on Daric, papa," Rebec warned. "You're having too much fun tormenting Baldur as it is."

 

Daric said, "I didn't say we don't talk a lot, just that we're not as loud about it."

 

"I never heard a house cat roar myself, Daric. You may be right about that," Baldur said.

 

"Hey, whose side are you on?"

 

"Mine," Baldur said, smirking. "And if you ask me, the both of you could use a little more Nord in you. I killed a bear without wounding it. Now name a person that any of you know that ever did that! Go on, I'll wait." Baldur had his arms crossed with his chest puffed out, clearly proud of himself. Daric shook his head and mentioned how he was right about Nords and boasting.

 

Rebec rolled her eyes. "Put your horker tusks away." Noticing what her father was doing, she said, "What's all that, papa?"

 

"You got eyes in your head," Vigge answered. He stood back, and gestured to the top piece, which was still untouched. "What do you want up top? Something about Shor and Kyne?"

 

The admiral thought about it a bit, then said, "No. The gods get too much due. Put me and Baldur up there. That okay with you, love?"

 

Baldur put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. It was Daric's turn to roll his eyes. Baldur said, "Aye, I agree. Lately, all they've done is try to kill us anyway."

 

Rebec smiled and, seeing Daric's expression out of the corner of her eye, said, "Run along back and... do whatever you do when you're not hanging around here. The general's fine."

 

Vigge stopped work for that day, complaining about his ear drums hurting from all the shouting, but the next evening the carvings on the lintel were complete. On the top piece, along with the usual decorative whorls and hash marks, were three figures. They were crude and stylized, but clearly one was a woman, one a man, and a small child stood in between.

[BTC]

Endar

"It isn't even that bad."

"That bad?! She could be dead! When the Empress finds out-"

"She's not dead, imbecile." Endar could hardly wrap his head around the stupidity of the palace servant, or, for that matter, the unconscious maid drooling at his feet. "She is in a comatose state. Probably for a week at the longest. Don't forget to feed her and she'll be fine. I am not to blame for her approaching my quarters at such an inopportune time."

"It's entirely your fault! You called her in!"

"And it is certainly not my job to ensure that each and every guest takes the proper safety precautions. One should think that by now the potential hazards of my work would be known to any who expect to associate with me. Do you warn every palace guard you deliver food to that it could burn their mouth?"

The servant clearly didn't have a mind for analogy, as Endar could tell from the twisted look on his face as he apparently tried to grasp the meaning behind his words. "Why, such a thing can't even be compared to- arrgh! You have to heal her!"

"She looks healthy to me."

"Wake her up, I mean. She works for the Empress!"

"Then let the Empress deal with it. I have work to do. Work that this one," he tapped the sleeping maid with a boot "was much less helpful with than I had hoped for when I beckoned her in."

"What am I to tell Empress Motierre?"

"That is up to you." Endar dismissively turned back to his work. "Just remove the body please."

As the grumbling servant clumsily dragged the maid out, Elara entered, sparing them a quick glance before delivering Endar his expected package from Kvatch. "The Count is making progress, it seems." she said. "This is the third of your journals he's apparently covered in a month. The courier is staying at the Laughing Fox, as usual. Want me to go ahead and give him another to send back?"

"Later." The courier would be here tomorrow still, but high noon was only an hour away and Endar intended to catch it. He was confident now that direct sunlight was important. "Right now, I need you to hold this." He handed his stewardess a modified welkynd stone, altered to absorb light magic at a rate only slightly lower than that at which it gives it off. "Now, you have consumed your sacred lotus extract today, haven't you?"

"Err, yes. Why?"

"The fool who came in before you hadn't, if you can believe it. But that is unimportant. Hold still." Endar pulled his hands together several inches in front of his chest, and conjured a bright ball of light between them. For several moments, a thin golden link appeared between the light and the stone, and then it was gone. "Perfect." It was suitable for what came next. Endar dissipated the magic and made for the door.
"Elara, get the mirrors and bring the stone."

They made their way up the many flights of spiraling stairs. The servant from earlier, now with another helping him carry the maid, shot them an ugly glance as they quickly passed by him. After five floors, Endar was already growing tired of the ponderous climbing, but it was necessary that he conduct this experiment at the palace top, where nobody would disturb him and sunlight was in abundance. I must remember to set a mark there when we arrive.
Up and up they climbed, both thankfully saved from the typically experienced strain by their respective worn enchantments. Eventually, as they neared the top, they reached a locked door and a stern-looking pair of palace guards on either side. "Only the royal family and specially admitted staff or guests are allowed in." said the one on the right, before Endar had even spoken a word.

"We work on behalf of the Empress," he answered, "and our work requires that we access the balcony."

"No entry unless you're of the royal family or have been personally granted clearance. You have not."

Endar didn't have time for this, he subtly brought the faint illusion magic to his finger tips, and he prepared to change the guards' minds when he heard something behind him.

"So then you water it with a special type of liquid." Came a quiet and shy voice. Two young looking woman enterted into the hallway. One was wearing a blue maids dress, while the other had an embroided black dress. The first one, the shorter of the pain, had black hair done in braids, she looked like couldn't be over fifteen. The second one had peach skin, and long blonde hair. She walked straight, and spoke in a clear commanding voice. The guards on duty, suddenly went on there knee's and saluted by pumping there chest's,

"Your majesty."

The young empress responded with,

"Amiduius." She turned her head to face the Dumner, "And you are?"

"Endar Drenim." he replied. His eyebrow raised at the guards, and then higher when he saw his own stewardess following in suit. "I presume you are the Empress?"

"You are the wizard from House Telvani?" She bowed her head, "Dales Motierre. It's an honor. I had a servant from House Hlaalu when I was a girl, and I knew a mage from house Telvani who worked at the synod."

Endar knew that typically, when dealing with an Empress, it was customary to respond with all of the curtesy he'd known in his days among the Telvanni. "Of course you did."
He also knew that royalty were busy people, much like himself, and that she would most likely understand his need to get a move on quickly, so with only a short pause, he continued. "I need to go upstairs."

She looked at the guards, "You will allow the mage to enter from now on. Understood?" The guard nodded his head. "Yes your majesty." She turned her head to face the Dumner again, "If you'll excuse me. I'll see you again when we're both less busy, yes?" And with that she went down the corridor, with the small girl quickly trailing behind her.

Endar exchanged a glance with Elara, and then the pair of them continued on up. Once again, there was much climbing. The floors were more regal up here. The banners and rugs were made of Tamriel's finest materials, and even the lighting fixtures were designed with well-crafted inlays and unique designs. Eventually, they came to the top floor, which had many doors and rooms just like those below, but a quick clairvoyance spell led them to the trap door used by the Empress to access the greatest view in all of Cyrodiil. Elara seemed in a trance the entire time. When the door was opened, and she finally began climbing the short flight of stairs, that was when the blabbering finally started. "We're walking in a place meant for Emperors... Tiber Septim was here! And Martin, and Titus Mede... and Amaund Motierre... and that was Empress Dales Motierre we just spoke to! And..."

Yes yes, climb faster. Endar thought. We don't have very long. The girl was still prattling on by the time he's reached the top. Something about the view and how she could see everything from up here. He did his best to block it out as he set up the specially crafted and enchanted mirrors as they were shown in the documents he'd memorized. Their positioning was important, even more so than that of the sun itself. When the twenty first and final mirror was finally set up, he stepped back to overlook the whole scheme. It looked solid enough, if somewhat primitive compared to the massive and more advanced layout of those detailed in his schematics.

"... So I declare, for this day, and all days after!"

Endar looked back to see Elara looking out over the rounded balcony edge, to the south. She was speaking in a mock deep voice, probably mimicking some Emperor or other. "You are not nearly so important, I'm afraid." he said, "Now bring me the stone, and its pedestal."

"Pedestal?" Elara handed him the modified welkynd stone, but she showed no sign of having the pedestal required to hold it it at the proper height.

"Yes the pedestal. Don't tell me you forgot it."

"You said to grab the mirrors and the stone. You didn't mention a pedestal."

"Of course we need the pedestal. No matter, this is just a trial. I will hold it in place myself for now. Go back down, Elara. You are not equipped for what comes next."
That was a command she didn't hesitate to obey. After Elara was gone, Endar took the stone and headed out to the designated spot at the center of his mirror configuration. Holding the stone above his head, he waited. At exactly noon, he saw the light hit it at just the proper angle, and proceed to reflect off if every mirror around him, giving off a soothing warmth. He mutter the words and casted on himself the most powerful protection magics he could muster. This would make history if it worked. And.... Now! He released the stone, allowing its magics to work freely. All around him, structures of pure light appeared, blinding to any who would be unprepared. They took shape, and the light turned solid, lifting the mirrors, the stone, and Endar himself feet above the balcony floor, yet despite their solidity they were composed of nothing but light and arcane energy. By most accounts, it shouldn't have been possible, but Endar didn't make a habit of doubting possibility.

The stone was glowing now, and the heat around him grew hotter, to a point where he found himself sweating despite the protective spells. Strange. I haven't sweated in decades. The odd emotion he felt seemed to be true and genuine excitement, which was even stranger than the sweat. "I've done it!" he shouted over the miniature sunbird's gentle humming. He hadn't the faintest clue how it worked, or where to go from here, but he had time, oh Endar had all the time in the world! He would study his contraption, learn its weaknesses, its strengths, he would outdo the greatest minds from all the eras before him! He would-

Bzzzzzzzzzz-

Endar's inner celebration halted when the stone began making an odd buzzing sound, which quickly grew louder.

BZZZZZZZ-

"Netch feces."

The swear was all the wizard could get out before the stone apparently exploded, sending off a wave of intense energy. The mirrors around him bent like rubber, and for but a moment, he could see the air and smell the sounds. And then in a flash, Endar was airborne, and his work fell into the sky as his fragile mortal form fell from the White Gold Tower.

It wasn't a strong enough battery. he thought, as his protective wards fought hard against the golden flame that engulfed him. Or was it an issue with the basic laws of harmonics? There was no reagent drawing the energy. Whatever his spells couldn't do against the flames, the wind rushing past him snuffed out. No, that isn't right. The presence of mirrors reflecting all energy into an endless cycle removes any need of that. It must be the battery.

He cast his slowfall spell seconds before the ground reached him, and Endar gently landed on his feet. The startled crowd of onlookers gave him some of the most curious stares. "That flash..." started a peasant. "Was that you?"

"You were on fire." said another in disbelief.

"What was that?"

"Is the Empress okay?"

"Are you a god?"

Endar ignored them all and hastily made his way back to the palace entrance. Nobody made a move to stop him, which he appreciated. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to set a mark, so there was almost an hour of brisk climbing before he finally made it back to the top. When he, arrived Endar found a terrified Elara standing to the side answering questions for two palace guards. The interesting part, however, was the silver, smokey stream starting at the spot he'd held the stone, and traveling all the way up to the heavens. Ignoring the others, for a moment, he headed to the stream and ran his hand through it. As suspected, it passed through like smoke, but the stream's shape didn't change.

"Oh thank the gods!"

"Wizard!"

Elara had seen him, and one of the guards seemed to be yelling at him now, but Endar paid them no mind. He sniffed at the stream. It somehow reminded him of the moment of the flash, when he had comprehended more than imaginable, but now, his limited mortal senses couldn't quite make out what he was supposed to gather. The mirrors were gone, he noticed, as was the stone. He suspected that wasn't the doing of Elara or the guards.

"Wizard!" He felt a gauntleted hand clasp on his shoulder, and Endar immediately let off a drain fatigue spell. The over-touchy guard's hand slumped to his side, and then he sank to his knees, and then proceeded to fall onto his face, knocked out by the physical exhaustion of trying to move.

The second guard was more intelligent, and remained where he'd been standing. "There are reports that you tried to blow up the palace." he said. "Your helper denies them, and typically terrorists don't return to the spot they just attacked. Do you mind telling me what just happened?"

"I just proved Master Unalway wrong on at least a dozen points." Endar said. "Sunbirds were more than capable of aetherial travel. In fact, we just inadvertently launched one."

Now the guard looked beyond confused. "Uhh, so you didn't do anything illegal?"

"Is sending a vessel of light into Aetherius outlawed? And is intent a factor in the sentencing?"
"Uhhh... Nobody's hurt?"

"No. Your friend just fell asleep. Overexertion."

"I'll just... head back downstairs, then." The guard grabbed up his friend and carefully carried him down the stairs.

Endar tightly closed his fist around the green aurora signalling his light charm spell. It wasn't a moment later that Elara was in his face, hugging him. "What in the-"

"I thought you'd died!" she shouted. "Thought you'd got yourself blown up!"

He sent out a second drain fatigue spell, knocking out the over-touchy stewardess just as he had the guard. As she slumped to the ground, he went back to observing the trail. It gave off magicka, that much was obvious. And it seemed to be slowly fading. He figured that it might've been at least twice as bright immediately following the launch.
As he'd fallen, Endar had figured it was a battery problem caused by the lesser welkynd stone, but now, seeing the aftermath, it was clearly something else. The stone did not act as a battery, which made sense, as he'd always known that the sun was meant to do that, and the sun shouldn't need help from a welkynd stone. The stone worked as an anchor. It was needed to keep the energy robbed from Magnus on Mundus, as opposed to Aetherius where it belonged. It would require a substantially more powerful anchor to hold even his miniature model in the realm of mortals, let alone the full-sized ones used by the elves of old. This failing was another breakthrough. He may not have created a sustainable sunbird, but he had managed to send one to Aetherius, which was a feat that was worthy of many books on its own.

"Wake up!" He gave Elara a gentle kick. "We still have much work to do. Go downstairs and fetch everything I need to record what has happened. And tell someone to bring me a table." He looked again at the stream. It hadn't visibly changed yet, but given the rate at which it released magicka, he predicted that it would fade in time. "I will be here for a while. There will be a new star tonight."

[BTC]

Tacitus Meridius

Night

Anvil

 

The Imperial High Admiral swirled the the liquor in its glass, the ice cubes drifting towards the center of the vortex. He had seen the same thing on the ocean, giant spinning whirlpools sucking ships down into the black of the sea. His experience with the water cyclones had come off the coast Black Marsh on the way to Skyrim. To avoid the Argonian pirates, the fleet commander took the ships into deep, open water, steering by the stars. Unfortunately, a tempest hit, and it was no ordinary storm. Waves sunk several of the smaller ships, and another was lost to an explosive bolt of red lightning, the likes of which disintegrated the mast upon impact. The whirlpools opened up nearly the same time, dragging the poor, unlucky ships in. Like greats giants, they pulled the boats towards their gaping maws and snapped them like twigs, leaving not a single man alive.

 

So were the perils of the open sea, where even worse things lurked, as the phantom throbbing in his left hand reminded him. There were days when that happened, the place where his missing hand should have been itching or hurting, and he generally solved that by stabbing the nonexistent appendage. Still, whenever he drank the feeling seemed to return, a fact that annoyed him now that he was drinking more and more often. Never on the ship, lest anyone report his "foul habit" back to the Empress, but every day he stayed ashore meant another night liquoring up.

 

He smiled as he downed the remainder of the glass, then poured himself another from the bottle on his table, draining that away too. The tavern he was in, a salty place frequented by merchant sailors called the Mermaid's Maidenhood, was half full. A few raucous sailors sat in the corner, laughing and smiling, already three sheets to the wind. The rest of the room was sparsely populated, the next largest group three old sea dogs having a go at cards. Here and there were the lone, quiet, brooding sailor, a few passed out already.

 

He heard bottles breaking, and his head swiveling around the room until it settled on the rowdy seamen. They were attempting to see who could make the most bottles in a spittoon up against the far wall, their inebriation resulting in no one coming close. One of the sailors, the youngest of the bunch, closed his eyes and chunked his empty vessel, the glass bottle spinning like a windmill. It was mere moments before impact that Tacitus realized the bottle was headed straight for him, his drunken brain lagging behind the normal reaction speed. So it was the bottle crashed into his shoulder, his face clearing the glass projectile by a hair's breadth.

 

Silence covered the table like a shroud, all except the deck hand who threw the bottle. He continued his intoxicated guffawing, until he too realized something went horribly wrong. His eyes opened, snapping around the room until settling on Tacitus' stony visage. The room was so empty of noise that everyone could hear the old men setting their cards down. Their faces said I've seen this before. Glancing from trio of aging sailors to Tacitus, the young man's eyes grew to saucer size, his Adam's apple bobbing in rapid movement as words hung in his throat.

 

Tacitus brought his glass to his dry, chapped lips, the coolness of the cup feeling good against them. He swallows the burning scotch, then gently sat the empty glass down on the table. Rising, his chair creaked from the release of his weight. His boots scuffed the floor, feet dragging slightly. With his hook, scraggly, blonde and prematurely grey beard, bald, shining head, thick, muscular chest and arms, and crooked, broken nose that told of many hard won fights, he looked like a sailor's version of Death himself. His hand balled into a fist as he stopped beside the table, fingers flexing, anxious to release their built up tension. The four men could have easily taken him, even if Tacitus used his deadly hook, but his presence was so terrifying that they froze. They were statues, unmoving and unspeaking.

 

Even though he knew, and the looks on the sailor's faces clearly ratted out the perpetrator, he asked, "What's the occasion?"

 

The perplexed stares he got back indicated the men had expected nothing less than a beating, and to even hear the assaulted sailor speak was shocking. Eventually, one of them realized this might prolong their lives, and spoke up, voice cracking like a pubescent child.

 

"It's h-his birthday," he said, pointing a slightly shaking finger at the bottle thrower, who gulped and nodded.

 

"Birthday eh? You fellas get him f***** yet?" Tacitus inquired, as if they were discussing the weather.

 

The confused men once again sat quietly, still in awe their faces' hadn't been pulverized yet. They shook their heads this time, perhaps thinking that if they didn't speak Tacitus would just leave.

 

"What kinda sh*t-brained friends are ya? Unless yer all qu**r or somethin'. Get yer a**es up and follow me before I kick my boot so far up 'em that if ya are a f*g, next time yer boyfriend bends ya over he won't be able to tell the difference between yer a**hole and a f***** cave," Tacitus growled out in his natural accent, which usually expressed itself when he drank. He had only suppressed it because the first captain he worked under said it made him sound like a "angry troll choking on a giant's c*ck." He had always laughed at the analogy, and immediately took a liking to the man, even if he was a rich, pompous prick who made his men swab the deck constantly, once even making a cowardly sailor scrub during battle.

 

Taking a mead bottle off the table and downing it like a shot, Tacitus wiped foam from his face as the sailors rose, still in disbelief. They rose as he sauntered out, his drunken swagger hiding the fragile soul of a nearly crushed man. The sailors behind him had no idea, of course, as they rushed to catch up, ducklings chasing their mother.

 

"So, uh, where are we going?" the sailor whose birthday it was asked.

 

"First, yer names," Tacitus said, turning around sharply in military fashion.

 

Birthday boy abruptly stopped, coming a little too close to Tacitus, which elicited a scowl from the admiral. Floundering, the young man said, a little too quickly, "Luther."

 

A squat, built Redguard said, "Azzan."

 

The last sailor, a tall, skinny Imperial said, "Ontus. Now what's yours?"

 

"Tacitus. We're goin' to a whorehouse to get yer friend laid for his birthday," Tacitus slurred out.

 

The sailors smiled, perplexed but excited. The whorehouse wasn't far, and was one of the nicer in the city. The inside was plush, the floor covered in thick carpet, the walls sporting tapestries depicting scenes of debauchery, which was echoed in a few paintings as well. Topless, busty girls strutted around carrying drinks in cups made of twisted, intricately designed blown glass. Tacitus was a frequent visitor of this particular brothel, The Dazzling Pearl, ever since he had signed on as a cabin boy on his father's merchant cog. It was here some of the older sailor's all pitched in to buy him his first woman, a curvy Nord named Sonje Night-Song. He was only fifteen at the time, and his father had lashed out upon hearing, although Tacitus knew that anger was directed at the sailor's more so then Tacitus.

 

He had looked much different then, which was a stark contrast to how little the Pearl had changed in those twenty-three years. His bleached blonde locks were gone, his clean shaven face covered by a shaggy beard, his nose bent and broken in several places, and his left hand obviously missing. His muscles were larger, chest wide and hard, arms thick and meaty. Even as a young man he was endowed with a strong build, but that paled even to his post imprisonment weakened state. More than just that had changed. Gone was the boy who was gentle when needed, a fighter and a lover both. The Tacitus that stood here now had nothing but hate and loathing in his heart, and hadn't loved since Adrianne had died in childbirth. No, love was as foreign a concept to him now as social tolerance. All his live had disappeared on that night, the night the gods took both his wife and child.

 

He didn't hate the gods, though. All his hate was reserved for the Thalmor, the entirety of his soul, his being, his life, now devoted to wiping them from the face of Tamriel. The hate was horrible, and no person could stay sane with their heart filled with it. So, he numbed the hate with liquor and whores, even though he only found joy in the ending of a Mer's life. These other pursuits were momentary distractions, to keep the hate from eating him away entirely.

 

An Imperial woman approached, perky breasts bouncing with each step. Tacitus could tell she was trained to walk so they bounced when she did, and as he glanced around the room, he saw their asses did the same. This particular one wasn't as endowed as the others, but hers looked more natural, perky and, he could tell, soft to the touch. Her brown hair was swept over the side of her face, one eye covered. Her bronzed skin matched his, and she smelled of a soft sea breeze. She was short, too, reaching up only just barely to his chest, a trait he found surprisingly sexy.

 

"And what are you gentlemen looking for?" she asked, pulling Tacitus closer to her by tugging at his beard. The pain felt good, and he grinned his crooked tooth grin while she did.

 

"Two ladies for the skinny blonde. It's his birthday," he said, gesturing with a thumb at Luther. "Then one each for the other two. All on me," he pulled out a handful of septims, counting them out into her hands.

 

Behind him, the sailors smiled gleefully, while four women came up and hauled them off. Tacitus stayed behind, he and the tanned brunette staring at each other, the sexual tension palatable.

 

She broke the silence, pulling him so close their faces nearly touched. "What's your name, sailor?"

 

"Tacitus," he growled, his voice deep and guttural but no malice in it.

 

Grabbing his hand, placed it on her right hip, leading the way towards a back room. The harlot said, "I'm Silana, and I've heard of you. The other girls have told me stories of a Tacitus, but he was shaven and had the prettiest blonde, nearly white, hair. If you're the same, what happened?"

 

Tacitus' hand had worked lower to her butt, as he massaged it with his hand while following Silana. "Curiosity from a tramp, eh? Well, would ya believe me if I said I was attacked by a sea monster, captured by the Thalmor, then escaped?"

 

Even though he couldn't see her face, the shock played into her voice. "You're the High Admiral? The one they say killed ten Thalmor sailors with only his hook and his barehand?"

 

Tacitus laughed, the sound rough and unpleasant to his ears. He wasn't supposed to be enjoying the company of a hooker, not like this. "I don't know 'bout that one, but I am the High Admiral. Them boys back there didn't know it, but I figured with my pay I can afford to treat 'em to a good time."

 

Silana turned around, the duo having reached their designated room. "Would you like a few more girls then, m'lord."

 

"Don't f*ckin' 'm'lord' me. I don't want no special treatment, nor do I want anyone but you," he said, the words true yet shockingly so, as he didn't have any desire towards any of the other girls here. Just Silana. Something about her excited him in a way no other whore had since his first time with the Nord broad. That time hadn't been just once, as Sonje had loved him again in the morning, for free, just because it had been his first time. Even if he wasn't likely to find that in Silana, she still felt different then other ladies of the evening.

 

Tacitus stroked her face, the cold steel and quicksilver of the hook raising goosebumps from her skin. She was blushing, but whether that was from his acknowledgement of being admiral or his assertion he wanted only her he couldn't tell. He pulled his attachment back, slowly unscrewing it, while she moved in and kissed him hard, attacking his face with hers.

 

The night they spent together more than took Tacitus' mind off hating the Dominion. He truly enjoyed it, the way her body felt against his, the she allowed him to ferociously take her. They started pressed up against the wall, neither minding the extra effort it took to make love and stand at the same time. Her smaller physique, and Tacitus' strength seemed perfectly made for that. Once they had moved to the bed, it became even more intense, even passionate. The headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall, but neither heard the noise. Silana scratched and clawed at his back, even drawing blood, Tacitus spurred onward by the pain. At one point, Tacitus realized, he was moaning along with her. Her screams, moans, and yelps were different then the ones he'd heard from whores before. They sounded real, like Adrianna's had. Meanwhile, people passing the room glanced and listened with curiosity, wondering what sort of bestial fornication was going on just past the door. Inside, beast like it was, with neither man nor woman relenting, throwing everything they had at making love.

 

Twice more they did it, although neither time was as intense as the first. Once, deep in the blackness of the night, when he awoke to see her pleasuring him with her mouth, which he allowed to go on a little longer before taking her, flipping her onto her back, and entering from behind. The final time was in the morning, Tacitus waking up to see her cuddled up to him, head on his chest. He kissed her awake, surprised at the gentleness he hadn't displayed for what seemed like years. It had been, his heart hardening with Adrianna's passing then again during the war in Skyrim. Once she too woke up, they moved soft and slow, savoring each thrust and movement of the body, like a boat on the ocean, moving with and not against the waves. They kissed, passionately, lips locked the entire time. When they finished, it was just as glorious as the first time, the outcome the same even if the method was different. They both fell asleep, completely exhausted with the sex marathon they had ran.

 

It was noon when Tacitus awoke the final time, a smile plastered on his face. Silana lay beside him, staring at the rising of and falling of his chest. He brushed the hair out of her face, revealing the soft, pouty lips, large, brown eyes, and slightly freckled nose. He hadn't realized last night, but she couldn't be over the age of thirty, and he suddenly felt ashamed at what he had done. He had loved her, made love to her in a way he hadn't since his wife. His hardened resolve had failed him at the sight of a ample bosom and perfectly rounded a**, and he began to hate himself for it. She was just a whore, after all, and he the High Admiral.

 

Withdrawing his hand away, she wrinkled her brow in confusion. Once he moved to get dressed, however, she soon realized what she was, who he was, and that last night was just another wave on the sea, one of a million little rocks on a river bottom. As great as last night was, she couldn't have him, even if he wanted her. Tacitus wanted her, but knew that he couldn't do it again. Love someone. No one could handle the pain and hatred he carried with him.

 

Seeing this as her last chance at ever seeing him, he placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. "Before you go, tell my your story. What the Thalmor did to you."

 

He nodded, laying down because he knew that to relive the events, would take a physical toll on him. Silana curled up against him like she had been, head resting on his chest, leg wrapped around his. She slowly moved her fingers across his stomach, tracing the edges of his abs. His right arm held her in tight, arm across her shoulder like he was afraid she might get up and leave. It pained him, feeling like he did, because he knew his mind wasn't right enough to fully love someone. He was too devoted to the end of the Thalmor to have time for other emotions. He was scared that if he loved, not only would this girl get hurt, but he couldn't actively loathe the Thalmor like he had before. Still, he cleared his throat and began, owing her his story, at the least.

 

"It started on a raidin' mission. Spotted a cog on the horizon, along with an escort cutter, both instead of fleein' us upon sight they turned towards us. Moments before they got within range, a sea serpent raised out of the ocean and sank 'em, before sinking my ship too," he started, not even attempting to hide his dockside drawl.

 

"It grabbed me by the leg, a tooth as long as a blade and just as sharp going through the muscle of my calf," he motioned to his right leg, where a large scar sat as a reminder. "I was flung off, fortunately, and washed ashore. There, a Khajit got me and nursed me back to health, but the Thalmor had heard of the attack and showed up, lookin' for survivors. They found me, and crucified him, then took me to Valenwood. There I sat for weeks in a prison, tortured until I couldn't take it anymore. I was gonna do it, take my life, when I heard a guard say somethin' 'bout this general comin'. It gave me an edge, I wanted to survive just to show this hot shot I wasn't weak. He was the one that did this to me," Tacitus held his gauntleted stump up, Silana' eyes tracing it in the same manner her fingers did, before flicking to Tacitus' face as if to say Go on.

 

"Then, I-" he stumbled, wondering if he should tell her the truth, or lie to her like he had so many others. Conscience screaming one thing, logic screaming another, he finally said "Then I got out, and this Bosmer named Maori found me and helped me get to Cyrodiil. Now I'm out here raidin' again, tryin' to keep the Thamlor on their toes."

 

Silana didn't respond, not even a nod, just laid on his chest and traced with her fingers. Eventually, whether it was seconds or hours or minutes, she rose, and moved over to her meager clothing lying on the floor. When Tacitus moved to his own clothes, he found his shirt was in tatters, so he tossed it aside and slid the black leather vest over his bare chest. After he finished, he walked over to Silana, who was busy using a bowl to clean herself off. Tacitus cupped some water in his one hand and dumped it on her hair, rinsing out the sweat and grime from the night before. He then kissed her in the cheek, and as he left plopped down a bag of septims that was twice what he owed her. As he shut the door, he saw glance forlornly at him, a glance he echoed.

 

Out on the street, the blinding sun snapped him back to reality. Still hungover, the sun's harsh rays caused him squint his eyes so much they were nearly close. He made his way to the military docks, overlooked by a small fort. There, the sailors he passed saluted, but the grins on their faces said they knew he had gotten some last night. Most of them had too, as shore leave was a brief affair, one in which every second must be made the most of. Tacitus smirked back, but went straight to his cabin, were he plopped down with a thud on his bed.

 

What in the hell am I gonna do about her? The sun-kissed prostitute was all he could think about, and for the rest of the day he never once desired to kill, maim, or torture an elf, and that worried him more than anything.

[BTC]

Rebec, Baldur

Kyne's Watch

Mornin'

 

"Meyye! Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu'u hin daan!"

 

"You are not but a worm, wyrm! I am your vanquisher, executioner, downfall! Come, taste my axe!"

 

The Stormcloaks arrived early in the morning with a shipment from Solitude, with some requested personal items from Rebec's other house. There were stacks of Baldur's books that now needed a shelf, as well as Rebec's charts and other nautical things Baldur couldn't make heads or tails of, and a chest full of personal keepsakes. In the chest was a sack full of the things Baldur picked up over the years. Things like a modest sack of gold for a mercenary that liked to share his coin, some old mead bottles with label art he liked, someone's undergarments, which he quickly tossed to the fire, his Falmer ear necklace, and at the bottom, a ragged doll with the vague likeness of Ysgramor and his Wuuthrad. The latter of which he was getting his enjoyment out of now, along with the alduin toy he picked up from Windhelm.

 

"Your mortal weapons can't hurt me!" said 'Alduin' as he took to the skies. Ulfric mentioned in his writings that after they successfully learned their words, they would need to try levels of control to better understand them before being able to learn anymore. Baldur attempted to do this as usual, in his own way. "Yol!" he whispered, hoping for small flame, but nothing came out. He kept doing that for a time with no results until he got increasingly frustrated and ended up engulfing the tiny Wuulfharth doll and the whole surface of the table he was at. Unfortunately for him, he could also hear someone jiggling at the door.

 

"Shit!" Baldur frantically beat at the surface with one of his raggy bedshirts until it was smothered out. Just as the door opened, Alduin and Ysgramor went flying onto the bed. Luckily, Ysgramor got away with nothing more than a slightly singed cape.

 

Rebec stepped in, her arms full of firewood, and looked suspiciously from Baldur's guilty expression to the room around them. Nothing seemed amiss, so she dumped her burden and said, "Papa asked for you. What are you two up to?"

 

"Uh, I don't... Oh, right! He must want to start teaching me how to work with wood so I can make a crib." Standing up a little shakily from almost being caught doing something stupid, Baldur kissed her on the cheek before making his way to the door. "Thanks for the reminder. There's still some left over bear meat if you want it. See you later!"

 

She hung her axes by the door and started unwrapping wraps. The longhouse desperately needed tidying, and now that Rebec had the time to actually do it, she had to find other reasons to put it off. Staring around, her eyes fell on the discarded Ysgramor doll on the bed. "What's this?"

 

That gave her an idea. Pawing through piles of clothes and bear fur, she eventually found the fur troll that Baldur had bought for her in Windhelm. Rebec sat on the edge of the bed and propped up the pillows. A moment later, the troll- who was twice the size of toy Ysgramor- appeared over the "mountains" and let out a loud challenge yell, hopping up and down.

 

"You don't scare me, foul beast!" Ysgramor returned in his slightly falsetto voice. "Wuuthrad is gone from me, but I shall tear your arms off and beat you with them! For I am YSGRAMOR THE UNBROKEN, THE MIGHTY, THE ATMORAN, RAAAAARRRGHHH."

 

As the troll descended the mountain, Ysgramor let out a booming Fus Ro DAH! and the troll flew across the bed and crashed into the headboard like the rag doll he was. Ysgramor didn't celebrate his victory, however, because the scenario reminded Rebec that Mazoga was still not back from her trial. Surely, after letting her survive the long grueling weeks, the gods would not...

 

"No, that's exactly what they would do," Rebec muttered, cursing. In a foul mood now, she tossed Ysgramor out of the bed and curled up for a nap with the troll tucked under her arm. Cleaning could wait. Could wait til they built a new house, maybe.

 

***

 

Vigge's longhouse was full of junk as well, but neatly arranged. He was sitting at his table with a few crude sketches laid out, designs for the crib. When Baldur knocked, he yelled for him to come in. "Took you long enough. Look at these. Which would you like?"

 

Baldur made a punching gesture through his hand and said, "Oh, stuff it old man. Got any mead around here?" Before he could answer, Baldur already grabbed a bottle nearby, though it was ale. Plopping down opposite of Vigge, Baldur took a look at the drawings and said, "Wait, are these cribs or ships I'm looking at?"

 

Vigge gave a smug grin, which made his moustache lift. "Who says they can't be both. But I didn't know if a Bruma landlubber would go for it. So that's what this boring one over here is for."

 

Baldur was tempted to pick the boring one just to spite the old man since he figured he was trying reverse psychology on him. But, looking at the boats, Baldur had to admit that they'd make for a great crib, and surprise to the mother. Baldur noticed that there were a few more Imperial looking designs among the drafts, which Baldur took as a trap. He didn't know much or really anything about ships, but he could smell spoiled milk bottles leagues away. If someone threw an Imperial in a forge while Baldur's eyes were closed and asked what his race was, he could smell the milk vapors in the air sent from the milk in his moustache, burned and evaporated away.

 

"I like this one," Baldur said, smiling triumphantly and proud that he navigated through what he imagined was more tests from his father-in-law. "So you can really teach me to make a longboat crib? And make it rock like a boat and everything?"

 

"I can make it. Not sure I can teach you how to make it. I'm not a miracle worker." Vigge tossed the other designs unceremoniously into the fire and went over to his workbench, which occupied one end of the longhouse. He already had wood ready, and began searching through the pieces and marking out the measurements on them with a piece of chalk. "And no, I don't have mead," he said eventually. "Wasn't that supposed to be your job?"

 

"I'm working on it, Vigs. I already have Rebec ringing in my ears about it. The boys just got back with some supplies from the house in Solitude. I'll get some more next month and have my men round up some clean snow to melt for the barrels. You teach me this, and I'll give you enough to keep you drunk for two seasons."

 

"If I live that long." Vigge picked up the wood and showed it to Baldur. "This came from actual ships. It's got the salt in it. That's to make your little one know the smell. Not that he'll need to, considering who his ma is. He'll come out of her squealing to go for a sail." The old man's smile was different now, and his tone was proud.

 

"Or squealing to split some skulls, considering who his father is," said Baldur, smiling as he took the briny piece of wood from Vigge's hands. "So what's this piece going to be?"

 

"We make a frame with this. It's oak. You and Rebec got some fancy wood from Eastmarch that's supposed to be Kyne's wood, but it's all hers, see. And we've been building ships for years without that other wood, so that's good enough for the guppy." He pointed at thinner planks, which had been cut down from larger sizes. "Then we lash together the rest with cords and fit them to the frame. The wood's wet. It'll take the shape. When we're done with that, we fill in the gaps with resin. This don't need to hold water, but it's got to last you til you're done with babies. The way you two carry on, that will take a while."

 

Baldur cleared his throat while trying to think on how to change the subject, but his mind failed him and he had to laugh eventually. "Well, I'm not getting any younger. I'll be forty soon, so if we're gonna make a family, I gotta move with a purpose before I start greying. Though I might grey a lot earlier if this child ends up being a girl."

 

"It'd serve you right, too." Vigge shuffled back to the workbench and took out the piece that would form the "keel." It was a long piece cut out of a fresh sapling, not older wood, since it had to hold the shape for the whole little ship. He showed Baldur how to warm the wood with a torch, then hammer it into place using metal clamps anchored to the workbench. The ends were curved up to make the distinctive curved prow shape of the Nord longships. For a while, Vigge didn't talk, intent on his work. He obviously took this task very seriously.

 

When he was satisfied with the keel, he started in on the ribs, lashing them together with cord. "She was fifteen when he started coming around," he said eventually. "Just starting to look at boys, though she already had her shape for a couple years so they were looking at her. I made sure they didn't look too long. He was sweet to her. Had a boyish way. She felt sorry for him. You met his folks, so you know why." Vigge paused, concentrating, then went on, "I should've known that taking him to the woodshed would only make that worse. Didn't see it then. It was just like that baby troll. No good for her, but she couldn't let it go. He promised to show her Skyrim, and that was the end of that. They took off as soon as summer hit and I thought maybe I'd never see her again. The sea brought her back. I don't know if I'm glad for that or not. Maybe she should've stayed out there. She was always split, like. Torn in two. That's no good."

 

Now Baldur really did wish he changed the subject. He felt the familiar heat in his gut any time Rebec and he got to talking too much about other men she was with. Especially Toki. The name sounded strange to him now. He hadn't thought of the man in a long time and would have preferred it stayed that way. It didn't help that they were thinking of what'd happen with his daughter if he had one, either. Baldur stayed silent for a time, helping Vigge with what work he was able to with his novice hands.

 

Eventually after much working of his jaw, Baldur said with a knitted brow, "It's different now. She's different now. That's all that matters. If I have a daughter, Rebec and I will know what to watch out for. We'll know the signs. And if not, then we'll just have to let her make her own mistakes I guess."

 

Vigge gave a grunt. "You say that like it's an easy thing. I said I'd tear you in two if you hurt her, but the fact is, I can't do a damn thing. Never could. Just wait for her to come home."

 

Baldur's nostrils flared as he remembered how angry he got hearing about how Rebec and Toki ended up. Imagining that now with his own daughter only made his stomach hotter. He was right about that not being easy. Baldur wasn't sure he even had that sort of control in him. No, if any man ever hurt his daughter, a little girl with the same likeness as his wife... there'd be blood. While hammering one of the curved pieces of wood meant to hold up the ship and allow it to rock, Baldur said, "I suggest you change the subject, old man. I don't like talking about this. Frankly, I'm a bit tired of it. Tired of hearing about Toki. It'll be different. I'll put the fear of the gods into any man that tries taking my family away from me."

 

The sailor grunted again. "Big words. You got a young man's mouth. Or maybe that's the bard in you. You don't control women. If you haven't figured that out yet, I feel sorry for you."

 

Baldur's words seethed off his tongue as he spoke. "It's the warrior in me, father-in-law. My word is iron-clad. I don't control women, don't control Rebec, and I'm sure it won't be any different with my daughter. But I don't need to. There's ways to make a man do what you want. If you hadn't figured that out yet, then I feel sorry for you all those years ago. I'll do what needs to be done. Better than sitting around letting some punk take away your daughter."

 

Vigge didn't answer a while. He had started on the clinker plates that would make up the hull of the little ship. "I never said I was a good father. I don't know what that is. You do what you think best, and hope they make their way. Never knew what worry was before I had a son. So small, and look to you for every little thing."

 

Baldur calmed down then and rubbed at his temple. He hadn't even had the child yet, didn't even know the gender, yet already the imaginary daughter was causing him anxiety. Such was the way of daughters and the fate of fathers. He hoped then that if he had a daughter, she wouldn't grow up hating and resenting him. But that was just a risk he'd have to take, he supposed.

 

To Vigge, he said, "Sorry, I know dealing with children couldn't have been easy. But in the end, they both turned out fine. A lot of that was from what you taught them. Rebec is a practical woman. That and her common sense have served us both well."

 

"Practical. I guess. Doesn't know how to live quiet, though. Hand me that rope and glue. You're here to work, aren't you?"

 

"You're here to teach, aren't you? That's Daric work," Baldur said before begrudgingly passing the glue and rope. "Besides, I just assembled the rocking thing. Look." While Baldur passed the crib holder over to Vigge to inspect for the bottom of the ship, Baldur said, "As for living quietly, that'll be a challenge for both of us. But we're trying, aren't we? Don't be so quick to judge her. She's different from the Rebec you knew."

 

Normally Vigge would snort at something like that, and tell his son-in-law that he didn't know what he was talking about, but this time he stayed quiet. After a while he said, "Just work. I can't think with all your bard yap." He inspected the frame, making a quiet grunt. "Should work, as long as the little guppy isn't too fat."

 

"I'll take that as a job well done," said Baldur, smiling. "How's your work coming along, lazy bones?"

 

"Windhelm wasn't built in a day. Go sit on your ass and drink my ale if you're tired." Vigge was getting tired, in fact, but didn't want to admit it. If Baldur sat down, that would give him an excuse.

 

"Windhelm also had elven slaves to do the building for us," said Baldur, taking a seat as soon as he heard 'drink my ale'. "Baby's not popping out any time soon. No need to rush."

 

The sailor sat down heavily on the other side of the table, and brushed a hand over his leathery face. After a while he said, "A poor father had nothing to give his two daughters, so he took them out to where the road forked and said they had to choose their own way. The older went off towards Whiterun and married a rich farmer and had fat babies. The younger was an adventurer, and she went off into the mountains towards Markarth. The old man got older and his girls heard that he was going to die, so they came to him, the fat farmer's wife with her fat children, and the adventurer with her stories. The father said 'I'm sorry I never had anything to give you.' The eldest said, 'Papa, you gave us a place to start.' The younger said 'Papa, I haven't seen my sister in years, and you gave us a place to come back to.' Then the old Nord died, and when Tsun asked him why he should let him into Sovngarde, the old man said, 'I don't answer to you. Ask Shor. He knows why.' And Tsun let him in, just like that. It's because Shor is the father of the world and died for his children. That's what a warrior is. Now you think about that."

 

Despite Rebec's words, Baldur loved Vigge's little stories and tales. The old man had wisdom in him that Baldur hoped to absorb. After some moments of silence, Baldur said, "You're wrong. Shor's the father of the world, but he kept living for his children. He never truly died. Warriors fight and die. But great warriors find a way to keep going. That's what fathers do. That's what I'm going to do. I'll live for my family. Relentlessly."

 

Vigge's moustache twitched. "Sounds like bard promises to me." There was a pause, then he said, "Drink your ale, son-in-law. And get me another one. While you're up there, bring me over some of that cheese. It's hungry work, listening to you flap your jaw like you do all the time."

 

Baldur did as he was asked, then said, "There's a reason why I'm High General, pa. My bard promises come with results."

 

The old man ate his cheese, unimpressed. Then he sat back in his chair with ale in hand. "Well go on, High General. Tell me how you plan to keep the elves from coming back."

 

Baldur didn't like that question. Didn't like it from anyone, but it was one that has been repeatedly asked before. Nibbling at his lip, Baldur thought of how to say it without actually saying it.

 

"Well... I guess you could say I'm going to look to the gods as an example. When we ride on Valenwood with the other nations, I'm going to show them something in their hearts, then I'm going to make them help me create it. There will be chaos, there will be death. But in the end, what I create will be beneficial to Valenwood, and beneficial to us. I'm going to make Valenwood Independent with one move. And then, the nations of man will flee as Magnus and his followers did. And watch the Thalmor caught in the Arena, dying from afar."

 

Vigge seemed to be nodding off. Then he woke himself up with a snore, and mumbled, "Valenwood. Why Valenwood?"

 

"If we really want to invade Alinor, we'll need to take either Elsweyr or Valenwood first, so that they can't hit us on the mainland while we strike. There's more to it than that, but. Well, lets just say that... I'm glad that Skyrim doesn't share a border with it."

 

The sailor was asleep before Baldur got to "Skyrim," his chin resting on his beard like a warm pillow.

 

"Of all the... rude bastard." Baldur stood, feeling a bit embarrassed and foolish, and was tempted to walk out and leave the door open so the snow would blow in, but seeing Vigge sleeping there almost like an infant made him unable to. Cursing, Baldur took the furs from his bed and covered the old man just before heading out into the winter's embrace of Kyne's Watch.

 

Outside, a figure wrapped in a cloak of snow sabrecat fur stood as if waiting for Baldur to emerge. She turned expectantly, and drew back the cloak's hood. Her blonde hair gleamed in what sunlight made it through the snow clouds, and her cheeks were tinged with rose. The fur cloak was not thick enough that it didn't reveal the voluptuous figure underneath it. The woman was almost as tall as a Nord, but her features were patrician, and her accent clearly imperial. "High General Red Snow? They said at the fort that I might find you here."

 

Baldur's first instinct when approached by a strange figure was to reach for his axes. When he saw that it was a beautiful woman however, his hands lowered. He blinked once, stared for a while as if trying to recognize her before backing up, then said, "Why are you looking for me? Look, if you and I... I don't know what I might have told you, or promised, but I'm married now, and you can't be here. Seriously, my wife will drive your face through the snow."

 

The woman paused, startled, then gave a sparkling laugh. "I know. She's apparently a remarkable woman. I hope to have the pleasure of meeting her." The woman reached beneath her cloak, revealing an arc of bare cleavage, and withdrew a book from the inner pocket. Holding it out to Baldur, she said, "This was your tribute to her, wasn't it? They told me at the Bards' College."

 

Baldur started to breathe a little easier at the sight of his book. With more relaxed posture, Baldur said, "Oh right, 'A Gift of the Hawk'. That's her alright. She knows I'm here, so she might make her way over soon." Baldur looked from the Colovian woman to the book in her hand suspiciously, then said, "So, just to be clear. You're saying I didn't dock at your port, right? I didn't storm your Oblivion Gate?"

 

Laughing again, the woman took a step closer. "I'm afraid not. At least... no, I think I would remember. I do think we can help each other, however. You see, I represent certain publishing interests in Cyrodiil, and I'm looking for new talent. I would like to publish your book there. You would be paid, of course. A modest advance now and royalties on any sales. Is there somewhere we can go to look over a contract?"

 

Exhaling, Baldur laughed with his hand over his heart. "Oh thank the gods. I thought I was screwed for a second. Normally I'd invite you to the tavern, but unfortunately it's not complete. I'll have to invite you to our humble longhouse for now. Perhaps when Kyne's Watch gets off her talons, you can return for proper Nord hospitality. Maybe during the next Feast of the Dead."

 

"Feast of the Dead? How delightfully barbaric. I should..." The woman stopped, looking at something past Baldur's shoulder.

 

That something was a half naked Nord woman, a fur slung haphazardly across her shoulder and a crossbow in one hand, charging barefoot across the snow towards them like a sabrecat about to pounce on its prey. Rebec had poked her head out of the longhouse just in time to see the blonde woman take a step closer to Baldur and laugh. A second later her crossbow was in her hand as if it had leapt there of its own accord.

 

Appearing at Baldur's shoulder, Rebec looked the woman up and down like so much rotten meat. "Who in Shor's bloody name are you? What's going on here?"

 

Baldur jumped, being taken by surprise for the second time that day. "What the, Rebec? What in the Aurbis are you doing out here in your skivvies?"

 

"Answer the damned question!"

 

The blonde woman stepped forward and held out a delicate gloved hand. Rebec looked at it like it was a snake. Laughing, the imperial said, "You must be the Gift of the Hawk. And you arrive with talons out. I should have been disappointed at any other thing."

 

Rebec, still ignoring the woman's hand, brought the crossbow around and gave it an affectionate stroke that also prepared to pull back its lever. "I'm still waiting to hear your name and what in Oblivion you're doing here." She gave Baldur a warning, you're-so-dead look. "Horker got your tongue, general?" The tone was accusing, as if his sheepish expression was already proof enough.

 

Baldur walked over and placed a hand on the crossbow slowly. Speaking with his soothing tone meant to mollify, he said, "It's not like that, I asked already. She's just here about my book. Remember? The one I wrote for you?"

 

Then what the woman said registered, and Rebec's eyes fell on the copy of Baldur's book in her hand. "Oh." Lowering the crossbow a bit, Rebec's expression turned at once sheepish and still suspicious. "What about his book? If you want his autograph, just get it and be on your way."

 

"I want much more than that." The blonde woman advanced another step, apparently unconcerned about the crossbow. "I actually hoped to meet you, too, High Admiral. I've been following your progress in Skyrim for some time. We have certain mutual interests. One of them concerns my friend's property." She gestured to the castle that loomed off in the distance, barely visible through the snow cloud cover. "I believe you've been trying to get in touch with the owners?"

 

"That's right, " Rebec answered, tone wary. "I sent a message to the Dawnguard because they're supposed to know something about them. No offense, but you don't look much like a Dawnguard."

 

The blonde woman's eyes flashed. "Oh no. I'm merely a writer and publisher, no fierce vampire hunter. However your message did reach my friend. You of course have permission to build a lighthouse on its promontory, with a few conditions. No ships shall seek port at the castle, and the lighthouse shall be unmanned."

 

"Little hard to light a beacon at night without a fire."

 

Smiling, the imperial lifted her empty hand, and a moment later a flame danced, disembodied, a few inches above it. "Not hard at all, if one has the means. My friend will ensure that the beacon is lit every night and in every storm or fog. None of us have an interest in cleaning up a shipwreck. Messy, or so I'm told." The woman smiled. "Do we have a deal?"

 

Rebec glanced at Baldur. She didn't like this woman at all, and didn't like the idea of depending on some stranger's magic to do her job for her.

 

Baldur eased his arm over her shoulder to try and get her to relax. "What I imagine is going through my wife's head at the moment is that we can't rely on the word of someone we don't even know to keep the fire lit. If for some reason they were to let the fire go out, deliberately or not... we can't trust a military job to civilians. Surely just one soldier could be permitted to have a post up on the lighthouse? They'll come on a dinghy, make sure everything's in order with the fire, then leave. We have no reason to intrude further onto the property. It would be in exchange for our protection. A little island off our coast is a perfect spot for the Thalmor to take if they wanted to attack our port by surprise."

 

"That will never happen, I assure you," the woman replied. After a pause, she sighed and nodded. "Very well. I think it a waste of your precious resources, but that is your decision. Now, about the book...? I found it both touching and surprising. Love poetry from the wild, frozen North. It is just the sort of work I seek to promote in my publishing concerns, new talent from the provinces. Shall we go to your charming hut and look over the contract?"

 

Baldur was so distracted that his excitement hadn't registered till just then. "Right, of course! Honestly, I thought I was going to have to rout from that. I wasn't doing well with self publishing. We can go to discuss the contracting now. What is your name?"

 

The woman began walking towards the longhouse. Over her shoulder she said, "You can call me Maggie."

 

Behind her, Rebec took Baldur's hand and regarded him, her suspicion still evident. "She could be Thalmor," she whispered.

 

"I am no such thing," the woman called back. "In fact, your protection is quite a comfort to me."

 

Baldur whispered in turn, unaware of Maggie's hearing prowess, but trying a little lower anyway. "If she tries anything, I'll roast her. But I don't think she will. She could've just burned your father's house down with us inside. Why would a Thalmor come here with my book in hand? Besides, I'm finally going to have a chance to express our love to the world, which is all I wanted. You should be happy. I'm basically telling every woman in Tamriel that I'm unavailable."

 

Rebec gave him an incredulous grin, then noticed a passing Stormcloak sentry staring at her. Glancing down at herself, she remembered that she was wearing a tunic and nothing else. "Alright. Let's see what she's got to say then. I don't mind parting Cyrodiils from their coin. It's a favorite pastime of mine."

 

"That's the woman I love," Baldur said before kissing her hand. He had to admit again that he liked seeing her jealous every now and then, but he also could not deny that Rebec had him convinced she'd shoot the imp woman dead.

When they got to the house, Baldur held the door open for the two. Baldur took a seat at a table, leading Rebec to his lap opposite of Maggie. Almost as soon as she sat, Stuhnir came charging from under the bed to sit at their guest's feet.

 

"Well hello!" Maggie laughed, and leaned down to stroke the fox's head and scratch at his ears. "Aren't you a sweet little poppet. An orphan, I take it."

 

Stuhnir seized his opportunity then and hopped into her lap, curling up to sleep.

Baldur said, "Yes, the little freeloader started following me while I was out hunting a few days ago. His name is Stuhnir. Not good for much, though he can find food."

 

"Oh, but he's good for being cute." The woman continued scratching the fox's little ear, utterly charmed by him.

 

Rebec glanced at Baldur, barely suppressing an eyeroll. Then she cleared her throat. "You said something about a contract?"

 

"Of course." Maggie withdrew a leather pouch from her cloak and took out a paper, which Rebec grabbed and began to examine.

 

"500 septims up front? That's not much."

 

"My little publishing house is just getting on its feet. I have to show my investors that it can make a profit. I think the royalty terms are more than fair. Ten percent of profits for the first thousand copies, fifteen for the first five thousand. If it sells more than that, we cap out at twenty. You won't find a publisher who'll pay more. I know. They're a rather chary lot, especially with new authors."

 

Baldur shrugged and said, "I don't really care about the money, to be honest. This will be more than I've gotten on my own, if it sells. Which by the way, what makes you confident you can get people to buy?"

 

She smiled. "I can't promise anything, but I'm very good at what I do. This gives me exclusive publishing rights. I've already paid the Bards' College a finder's fee. If it's all in order, then please sign here. Oh, but we should have a witness, shouldn't we?"

 

Rebec jumped up. "No problem." Leaning her head out the door, she yelled, "DARIC!"

 

"Daric could be anywhere, hon. I doubt he's around within earshot. I'll go fetch-"

 

Before Baldur could finish, they heard some shouting from outside, and before they knew it, Daric was opening the door. "Yes, your highly Admiral highn... hi..." said Daric, waving a hand at the gorgeous blonde in their longhouse. Then he saw Rebec wearing nothing but her nightgown in Baldur's lap in front of her and suddenly started looking most perplexed. "What's going on?"

 

Maggie lifted her fingers to the Breton to return his greeting.

 

"Nothing's going on," Rebec snapped. "You stand there and watch Baldur put his mark on this piece of paper so we can take this nice woman's gold."

 

Daric paid her attitude no mind, then said, "Right. Would you like some mead, miss..."

 

Baldur rolled his eyes and whispered to Rebec. "The boy's in love."

 

"I would love some, dear boy. What else should one drink in Skyrim?" Maggie took out a slim golden fountain pen from her cloak and handed it to Baldur.

 

Baldur took the pen and grabbed a little pot of ink from off the table. Daric looked like he was about to ask Baldur where the mead was, so he pointed him in the direction of the cabinet in the back as he prepared to write. Daric made it a point to grab Baldur's favorite Juniper Berry mead, which had been sitting in a small pot with fresh snow because Baldur was about to drink it himself. Baldur took a double take as he saw Daric pouring a large tankard of it in front of their guest, but in the end said nothing, for now.

 

Biting his lip to keep himself from cursing, Baldur quickly wrote his first name with the penmanship expected of a woman. Then Baldur had Daric bring him his dagger while he cleaned the ink out of the pen with a rag. Afterwards, he made a small cut in the palm of his hand, using the blood as ink for the pen to make a red snowflake in place of the actual word, his clan symbol.

 

Cleaning off the pen once more, he said, "Okay, everything should be in order now. I never did get the chance to thank you for all of this, Maggie. It really does mean a lot to me."

 

The woman watched with fascination as he made his clan mark. She stared at it a moment, then puffed air at the ink before tucking the paper away. "You're very welcome, High General. You'll receive a copy of this. Oh, and here is your gold." She dropped a velvet pouch of coins on the table. "Now, shall we drink to our success? I hope this will be the first of many such works." Maggie lifted her tankard, giving Daric a wink.

 

Daric's mouth noticeably went dry as he was trying his best not to start grinning like an idiot. He failed.

 

"Daric! Can we have some tankards please, so Rebec and I can have some of our own mead as well?" Baldur asked, shaking his head in embarrassment. "Get yourself one too." When Daric came over to he and Rebec, Baldur waited for Daric to start pouring so he could whisper in his ear without being seen. "You're supposed to be my apprentice. Stop being so obvious. Act natural, boy."

 

"Right, right. Natural," said Daric.

 

"Don't answer me, numbskull. By Shor, you're hopeless."

 

When the drinks were passed around and Maggie's tankard was refilled, Baldur raised his cup and said, "The kiss of red on rosy sky-cheek, a sight that all shall forever seek. Like the color of Dawn at sea's shore, I look to this occasion and hope there'll be more. To our partnership."

 

"By the Nine, a true poet," Maggie said. "High Admiral, I hope you know how lucky you are."

 

"Don't you worry about that," Rebec answered. "You're from Cyrodiil, right? You lot planning any invasions of Skyrim these days?"

 

"Oh, that. Amaund's visions of grandeur. Whatever our young empress' faults, I don't believe that is an interest of hers."

 

Baldur said, "I don't really know what to make of her from what we saw, but I don't think her interests will matter, given who Cyrodiil's neighbors are. They've got bigger things to kill. And numerous fires that keep cropping up. I hope your lot can keep it together long enough to be able to fight with us. But lets not talk about that now. No one wants to think about that more than we must."

 

"Agreed. High General, have you thought of writing novels based on your adventures? I wrote a book about such things myself, but you have the inside view."

 

Baldur went silent a moment, looking at Rebec, and then glancing off. "I have... I've actually written two short stories already for my children. I didn't think about publishing those however, because it seemed a bit arrogant. Usually people only want to read the adventures of great heroes. But I'd be happy to let you see them if you wanted to. So far the only person who's seen them is my wife."

 

"I'll take them. All I can promise is an honest appraisal, and you may not like what happens when an editor gets her hands on them, but that is the nature of our business."

 

Rebec stood to allow him to retrieve the books. "You take good care of his words. I don't give a damn if anyone reads them, but they're his, and that means something."

 

Maggie stroked the fox's fur languidly. "I understand you completely."

 

It took Baldur a while to hand the books over to Maggie. For one, they were his only copy, though he knew he'd eventually get them back. But still, it was different from the book he wrote for Rebec. It contained his pain, his sins, betrayals, failures. Personal things he'd only been able to share with his wife. Unleashing that on the world felt daunting at the moment. Eventually, Baldur convinced himself to let them go since he didn't think they'd sell anyway.

 

"I can understand if they change some people's names, but please don't change the names of any dead. I'd like them to be remembered."

 

Maggie stood, gathering Stuhnir in her arms and depositing him gently on the end of the bed, then took the manuscripts. "I will take good care of these. And now I think I should leave you."

 

While they were talking, the snow had been picking up outside, and the wind whipped it around the eaves like wolves howling. Maggie looked up at it and said, "My. Skyrim will be Skyrim. Yet I think it would be an unpleasant journey to return to the island now. Is there some accommodation to be had in the town? Perhaps this fine young lad could show me to a corner where I might lay my head tonight." She put a hand on Daric's arm and smiled at him.

 

He couldn't tell if the tingling up his spine was from the weather, or her touch. Daric's cheeks were already red from the cold winds cutting into him like ice razors, so his blushing lucky for him largely went unnoticed. Baldur smiled, knowing full well what hopes and thoughts were going through his little head... as unlikely as they were.

 

Baldur said, "Aye. As I said, the town is still an infant, so the tavern rooms are not an option. But, those houses over there are already furnished with no one living in them. If you need food and drink, the boy can fetch them for you. Right, boy?"

 

"Right. Maybe some spiced wine. That always helps me deal with the cold," said Daric, hoping very much that the woman would request alcohol of some kind. Maybe then he could get a kiss, if he was lucky.

 

Baldur pointed a hand at Daric and said, "Well, there you go. This ain't the Imperial city, or even Solitude, but it's ours. It'll do you fine for your first visit."

 

"That would be lovely. I'll take my leave then. High General, High Admiral. It has been a pleasure. You shall be hearing from me again, at least by messenger. May those messages often be accompanied by the clink of golden coins."

 

"I'll drink to that," Rebec said. After the woman and Daric were gone, she turned to her husband. "What do you make of that. Cyrodiil came looking for your books after all."

 

His hands slid over her hips as he sighed, though whilst smiling as his wavy locks rode the currents of the roiling winds. "And you, missy, almost put a crossbow bolt through the whole deal. I guess it took a woman to appreciate my words to you. Men don't like being shown up. And maybe women will like pretending they're the woman described in the book."

 

"And if they show up here pining for you, there's more bolts where that came from." Rebec brushed his hair back. "I don't care what the Cyrodiils think, but I know it means a lot to you and I'm proud you got some recognition. I guess there are imperials living over on that island, eh? They'd better mind themselves."

 

Baldur said, "Are you surprised? Such a showy fancy home could only be Imperial, love. Now lets get inside before you freeze your nethers off. What were you thinking coming out here like that anyway?"

 

"I'm a lazy thing now, I know. Can't seem to get enough sleep. That's our little one, I guess. As for the crossbow, I was defending your virtue. Better me with bare nethers than you. Though I think Daric is about to get some."

 

Inside now, he said, "I don't know about that, but I know I'm gonna grab a quick bite before bed, seeing how you're already dressed for it and all." Baldur's eyes were tracing over her legs in admiration. He noticed the guard from earlier looking her up and down as well, but he didn't pay it any mind. It made him proud, more than anything.

 

Sitting on the bed, he tapped his lap and held his arms out, beckoning her so that he might hold her. He was tired from working with Vigge, but he figured his sweet heart's vigilance deserved some reward, as cute as it was. "I love it when you threaten someone with violence. It's exciting."

 

Rebec re-took her comfortable spot, reclining on him. "Well then, you ought to be excited all the time. Gods know there's enough fools that need a bolt in the eye. Like those Forsworn. I've been thinking, we ought to post more sentries on the landward side. We're a tempting target here."

 

"You're right of course. I'll take care of it first thing in the morning. Well, maybe not first thing, but you know." Baldur's lips met her supple cheek after his finger ran slowly across her face. He thought about the fears of having a daughter after hearing Vigge's words, but they were momentarily replaced with the delight of seeing what Rebec might've looked like when she was just a girl and not the fierce shield maiden that he knew her to be.

 

He kissed her again, sliding his tongue under her lips, rubbing in the smooth space below her tongue before sliding away, sucking at her bottom lip before his finally parted. Moving his back to the headboard with her still on him, he kissed at her a while up and down the smooth silken skin of her neck, allowing the smell of it and her hair to enrapture him further. Gently setting her head at his shoulder, he tantalizingly snaked his hand between her thighs, whispering, "Our child is going to be a girl. I can feel it."

 

She was murmuring at his touch and kiss, eyes closed. Opening them, she said, "No little Baldur?"

 

He had her rest her back towards him then, spreading her legs apart for him to massage her middle with more ease while he played at her breast up her shirt with his free hand.

 

He kissed and nibbled at her ear on her side, taking a break only briefly to answer her. "Nah, I don't think so. Not this time. The gods have a way of balancing things out," he said, intent on leaving it at that. On one hand, it meant that they owed Rebec another little girl. On the other hand, it meant Baldur suspected the gods agreed with Vigge when he said it'd serve him right. But more than any of that, he realized despite the worrying, nothing would overwhelm him with happiness more than having a baby girl.

 

Rebec watched him, smiling, and lifted her hips to push against his hand. "Then we get a little Baldur next, for balance." Her voice caught and she exhaled sharply.

 

While he was busy, he removed his hand from her bosom to shift his trousers down enough to free himself. He was going to just have her finish him off with her hands the way he was for her, but with the way she was bucking against him, it wouldn't take long for them to end things anyway. As he slipped himself in behind her, propping her up on him, he said, "Balance huh? I believe that's your next word of power. I know a little about that one. Let me show you."

 

"You know a little about Push, too," she said with a laugh, then her voice caught again. Eyes closed, she lifted herself onto one elbow so that she could move on him.

 

At the sound of frantic breathing, skin slapping against skin and his usual hiding spot once again being greatly disturbed, Stuhnir ran from under the bed once more, only barely dodging the barrage of clothing as the two went about their usual shenanigans. It didn't take long for things to pick up further, and when the two humans decided to fill the house with their strange noises, so did the little fox, howling as if to compete with the pitch until the two finally were silent and his resting spot still.

 

Eventually the racket died down, and that night the snow drifted up the doors of the longhouses. Rebec woke to the alarming sight of their thatch roof sagging above her head. "Shor's balls, Baldur, get up!" She threw on some clothes and opened the door, letting a snowdrift in.

 

Outside, there was the sound of voices. Stormcloak guards were using rakes to pull down snow off their roof, while Vigge stood by, supervising. He was wearing snowshoes and entirely unconcerned. Seeing Rebec, he said, "It's about time you layabouts got up. Your outside was almost your in. I'm coming over for breakfast in a little while, so get your fire going. Got something for you."

 

Rebec was still cleaning snow out of their doorway when Vigge and Bjol Waverunner came along carrying a ship of a different sort.

 

The sound of thunder came booming from within the longhouse, along with the familiar crackling of burning wood and upsurging smoke from the house's chimney. Baldur came clumsily walking out in a fur kilt and messy bedhair, feet thumping at the wooden floor like a drunken giant. Behind her, Baldur rested his chin at her shoulder, eyes half open. "So what do you think? The old man did most of it, but I put together the bottom. Not bad for a landlubber, huh?"

 

Rebec started laughing when she realized what it was. "That for our little Captain Red Snow? So that's what you two were up to."

 

They got it into the house and set it up near the fire, Vigge demonstrating how it would rock on its frame.

 

"Guess we'll have to give it a good shake every so often," Rebec said. "Get the little horker used to Kyne's kiss early."

 

Baldur had three large slabs of bear steaks at the end of a sword rotating on the fire while Vigge and Rebec were looking at the boat cradle behind him. Thinking back to his time on their ship, Baldur scoffed and said, "Hnh, Kyne's 'kiss', my ass. Say Vigs, you think you can make toys too? If so, I got something you might be able to tinker with."

 

"Can I make toys, he asks." Vigge's tone was his usual grumble, but his eyes made clear he was in a good mood. "Fry me up some eggs there, son-in-law. Bear and eggs, now that's a Nord breakfast."

 

Baldur's grumbling stomach told him that he thought that was a great idea. "Coming right up, old man." Baldur took six of the eggs Vigge brought over from his chickens, letting them sit on the skillet while he rotated them around slowly to spread the yolk so it would cook evenly at the bottom. It was cold enough for them all that wasabi was warranted in the mix, and by the time he was done, all three had wooden plates with spicy slabs of bear steak the size of their hands and two Magnus side up eggs beside it.

 

After he passed the food around along with spiced wine, Baldur went to Rebec's pack and brought out the Briar Heart he obtained from the Reach, and a small pouch from his own pack that sounded like small bones of some sort when he shook it. "Here, pa. Maybe you can make the little one a Nordic styled rattle out of these."

 

Rebec almost spit out her bear. "You want him to make a rattle out of the heart of a dead Forsworn?" She paused. "That's brilliant."

 

Baldur allowed himself to smirk, thinking she'd somehow protest. He should've known better. "That's right. Our little warrior's gonna have a battle trophy as her first toy. And with actual bear teeth to make it make noise. You can carve her a handle for it, right Vigs? Maybe put some fancy bear images on it for the little one to gawk at?"

 

Vigge was peering at the bristlecone. "Trick will be to hollow it out without burning the whole thing up. You leave it to me, son-in-law." He stuffed the items into his pocket and went back to eating.

 

Bjol had shoved his way in at the table, too, and asked then, "Anyone heard anything about Cap? Uh, I mean... Mazoga?"

 

"No," Rebec answered miserably. She looked up at Baldur. "Can we send someone out to search for her? The crew'd go. They're chomping at the bit to go."

 

Baldur had his mouth packed with egg and bear, which gave him some time to think. Hearing Bjol call Mazoga Cap already nagged at him a bit, and he was surprised to see it didn't do the same for Rebec.

 

Finally, after the sound of teeth struggling to break down juice filled meat and a large lump traveled down his neck, he said, "I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that. If I did, then there may be question to if she passed on her own. Especially if it's her old sea mates. No, I won't do that to her. You all haven't seen her the way I've seen her lately. She'll make it back. With or without the bear, she'll come home. At most, they could wait at the edge of town. I'll send my men with them in case of Forsworn."

 

"Who cares if she passes or not if she's dead?" Rebec's tone was frustrated. "This is stupid. I should've never let her do this, just to satisfy some assholes who'll hate her anyway because she's an orc."

 

Baldur pointed his steak at her and said, "You didn't let her do anything, and couldn't have kept her from it anyway. No offense, but the minute she requested to be a part of this, she stepped over into my command, so if anyone thinks that her life isn't her own to risk, then you can blame me for letting her take part in my trials. Mazoga decided to do this on her own. She's not doing this for those who hate her, she's doing it for herself and her crew."

 

Rebec's only reply was a "hmph," but after a while she said, "Alright, just tell the sentries to look out for her in case she comes in with a pack of Forsworn on her tail. Bjol, I'm sending you with the Wisp to Solitude to pick up some cargo. We need supplies and more trading stock, and you lot don't need to lay around waiting for her to get back."

 

"Bring honey too. And lots of it. I'm gonna have the boys go hunting for Ice Wraiths so I can make some more Baldurbrau. I bet by now my little witch friend is wondering why he's ceased getting his cut, heh. I'd hate to be in his situation, stuck amongst milkdrinkers where real Nord mead is scarce."

 

Standing up from the table with the last bit of bear on his plate, he said, "I'm going to find Daric and go send my men on the outskirts of the town to keep guard there, then he and I will be training. So no yelling for him today, got it everyone? Rebec?"

 

She made a face and shrugged, too grumpy for more of an answer. Vigge was cheerful, however, saying, "Think I'll ride along to Solitude. Bjol here will be giving away coin left and right if I don't keep an eye on him. Good breakfast, son-in-law."

 

Outside, there were shouts from where Daric and the female guest in town were having a snowball fight.

 

Baldur followed the noise, honestly confused as to what the fuss was about. When Baldur walked around the corner, he almost caught a snowball directly in his mug, only missing it slightly by falling to his side. Daric poked his head up from behind a mound of snow he was using for cover, and said, "I'm about to put an end to Baldur the Unkindled! Say goodnight, Nord!"

 

Baldur watched eyes wide as Daric lifted an obviously prepared snowball the size of his head and lobbed it right at him. But nothing connected, as the snowball burst from a sudden rush of flames right in front of Baldur's face. Though flakes of snow did fall over him, but that didn't really count in his eyes. Standing up, Baldur brushed snow out of his hair and from his chest. "Nice try, Breton."

 

"You miserable cheat."

 

"I'm the Unkindled for a reason. Anyway, playtime's over. You and I have work to do. Where's our guest?"

 

Maggie leaned around a tree, snowball in hand. She was staring at Baldur, however, the tussle forgotten. "Was that a shout?"

 

Baldur turned sharply to his right, admittedly caught off guard. "Aye, that it was. You're good at sneaking up on people. Generally I don't trust people who can surprise me."

 

Daric said with the eyes of a little pup, "She's a goddess. I trust her. How could anyone not?"

 

Smiling, Maggie let the snowball drop to the ground and walked up to pat Daric's cheek. "Darling man. Now tell me, High General, are many Nords reclaiming the art of shouting? It's fitting, since you fought so vigorously over the right to proclaim Talos."

 

Baldur crossed his arms, obviously not sure how much he should say. In the end, he figured Daric was right, though not for the same reason. "A... select few are attempting to do so, including my wife, who has succeeded. I'd imagine that might be a disturbing bit of knowledge for Cyrodiil."

 

"We are no longer at war, thank the Divines. It will be interesting to see your talent turned against the Thalmor. Now I should return to the castle. Daric, be a good lad and walk me to the pier. We'll stop at the hut and get my things." Maggie hooked her arm through his. "You don't mind if I borrow your squire a bit longer, do you, High General Red Snow?"

 

Baldur watched Daric's familiar look with nostalgic amusement. Grinning at his worried expression, Baldur said, "No, just so long as he comes back. No eloping and running off with my maiden, now. If you need us, you know where we'll be."

 

Maggie gave Baldur a wink and walked off with Daric, asking him to tell her more about how he fought bravely to show up the High General's rival.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Theodore Adrard
Evermor Camp
Morning

Your Majesty
King of High Rock,

You will be pleased to know that we have been very successful in the north. We found victory at Farrun, and after several days managed to defeat the Pretender's forces, breaking their blockade and relieving the seige on the city. This was three days past. Now, I sit writing this letter on Lord Birian's desk in Jehanna. My forces, bolstered by the survivors of Farrun, surrounded the city last night and set seige. The first push was unsuccessful, but before we attempted a second, a rider came to us claiming to be representative of Lord Birian's wife, Lady Roain. She claims that her lord husband intended to involve her in false plots. He had the intent to frame her so that he could legally dissolve their marriage in favor of one with the Pretender herself. I hope you do not miss the irony of this.
Lady Roain opened the gates to us. With that done, Jehanna fell in less that two hours. Most surrendered. With so many prisoners, I had my men build temporary prison camps to hold them until you can offer judgement yourself. Due to the short time frame, I admit that they are less than accommodating. Though avoiding a long stay in these was reason enough for many of the Jehannan soldiers to fall in line and come to your side. At this point, we have even more men than we did upon setting out. Lord Birian himself is still alive for now, and is currently being held on a ship heading back to Northpoint. I felt more comfortable with him there than attended by the skeleton force I intend to leave here in Jehanna.
You may also be interested to know that your son has fought well. He did not participate in the final surge into Jehanna, as he had taken an arrow to the shoulder in the earlier assault. Worry not, it is just a flesh wound, and our healers are certain that there will be no long term damage.
Unfortunately, not everyone faired as well as your son. Duke Endre's ship caught fire and him with it during the naval battle at Farrun. We never found his body. Sir Vette fell there as well. My own nephew took two arrows in the same battle that your son was wounded in. He lives, but the healers say he will not see morning. He is the eldest of my sister's four, and fought bravely. She will not take the news well.
Tonight, I offer my men comfort, food, and rest while in Jehanna, but tomorrow, we march south. Our progress will be slow, as we must push through Gauvadon Forest, but if there is no delay, we should be arriving in Evermor in roughly a week's time. Hopefully you will be there when we arrive.

Traven, Lord of Northpoint

Theodore smiled to himself, wringing his hands together in cool delight. The war was going perfectly, much more so then he could have ever imagined. Even in a war as planned out as this one was, the gods had favored him yet again. The king sent a silent prayer of thanks up, the grin still covering his face, his mustache curling with his lips.

I'm truly blessed, lucky, or both, he thought in between coughs, wiping snot away from the chocolate colored facial hair. Best not get too full with myself. I must remember to commemorate a day of celebration to all the poor bastards lost on this war. Maybe even give their widows some coin. Bah, what am I saying. They aren't the ones with blasted colds.

The betrayal of Lady Roain Birian was icing on the cake, complementing the bolstering of Lord Traven's forces quite nicely. As it stood, both armies had gained men since they left, an idea that Theo hadn't accounted for. Now, he could expect even more additions once arriving at Evermor, with some of Lielle's "allies" likely to switch sides once they saw banners of the former sir, now Duke Aric, along with Baron Ysciele's, Lady Birian's and the Imperial Dragon.

Theodore shuddered at the thought of the dragon, the recurring nightmare still burned into his mind. His thoughts as to who, or what the dragon was always shuffled around the same people. The Empire itself, an actual dragon, the Nord Skjari, or Arkay. Nothing else dragon related came to mind, and of the four possibilities he felt the Empress' consort and the Empire were the two best possibilities. But, neither of them had any reason to quarrel with him, not so far as he could remember. That could always change, but as of now they meant him no ill will. It was a perplexing case, to be sure. Whatever the dragon represented, he knew he could deal with it in time, as he had a war to focus on.

A shuffling of boots outside his tent snapped him away from the fire, which he hadn't realized he's been staring at. Another chilling reminder of the dragon ordeal, but he shook it off.

"Enter," he said, before the person could even ask for entrance.

In walked Duke Jhared Mon, smiling his unsettling, pale lipped grin. He bowed, flourishing it as if doing so made him more important.

If this man wasn't so gods damned good at procuring money, I don't know if I could stand him, Theodore thought, as he motioned for the Daggerfallian vassal to sit.

"My lord, I bring news from Skyrim. Stormcloack accepts us into the alliance, as well the trade contract proposal," Mon said with his perfectly fake smile still in place.

"What were their conditions? On the trade proposal, that is," Theodore asked.

"A forty five percent tax cut. Of course, it will be difficult to convince the shipping families to take such a tax cut, but seeing as our relationship with Leland is so well, I believe we can talk him into doing at least forty, if not thirty five or so," Mon dismissed the tax cut with a wave of his hand, as if it was inconsequential.

"We'll have to do better than just him. The families in Wayrest are loyal to me, and I can get them to follow the tax cut, as well as those in Camlorn. That should be enough to placate the Nords, for now. Maybe I can convince Traven, but as it stands I'm not worried in the least about the Nord's feeling being hurt because they got a little less then they wanted. We can make do with whatever deal you work out in Kyne's Watch," Theodore said, sipping from his flask as he finished speaking.

"Excellent. I will leave to there tomorrow morning. No rest for the wicked, as they say," Mon said.

"Be sure to talk to their High Admiral about joint naval exercises. Our caravels differ from their long boats, but she sounds clever enough to work out some tactics using both. And ask the High General what his plans are for the upcoming war. Nothing too detailed, just the gist. I want to know where my men are likely to be deployed," Theodore commanded.

"Of course, my liege. I will be taking Sir Charien of Farrun with me. He is the Merchant Guildmaster there, and will speak on their behalf to get a deal worked out. If that is all, I will take my leave," Mon said, rising and bowing again.

"That is all. Safe journeys, Duke Mon," Theodore said, bowing his head respectfully.

The Duke left, and Theo shook his head. "How does that match up?"

A figure appeared from behind a false flap in the tent, so that he was hidden during the conversation. He had a scruffy, unshaven face, a pair of wide eyes underneath a furrowed brow, and a crooked nose. His uniform was mainly green, with white accents, mimicking the green and white owl sigil of the Mon Family.

"Well, all of it really. 'Bout the only part he left out was that he was more than a little rude, I thought. The king didn't seem to like him much," the guard said, bashfully looking at his feet.

"Good. Calm your conscience, I need to know these things. My job as king demands it. And for your troubles," Theodore tossed him a bag of coin, which brightened the mans mood.

"Many thanks, your majesty," he said before leaving with one too many bows.

**
One Week Later

"Move those bodies! We need the space for Traven's men," Theodore cried, pointing his sausage like finger at the field of dead.

The skirmish hadn't lasted long, much to Theo's thanks. Now, the soldiers loyal to Lielle Rolston were holed up in the mountain city of Evermor, and the siege was beginning.

"Your Highness, we have men moving to cut down the trees as you ordered. The towers and ladders should be built-," the young Duke Thierry was cut off by a loud horn's bellow that echoed throughout the valley.

"Excuse me, Duke, I must see to our new arrivals. If you will, gather up Estermont, Gondwyn, Wirich, Ottus, and Aric. The barons too, if they're near. Then, along with yourself, meet me in the command tent," the king ordered, then sent his horse on a trot to meet the newcomers.

At the head of the army, Lord Traven rode, flanked by the heir prince Roland, Duke Vette, Duke Brolus, Duke Northwode, Duke LaRouche, and a man whose shield bore a tarred and severed head, held by the hair from a fist, and that bled from the eyes. A horrendously gruesome family crest, if quite inventive. Theo could never remember the reason for the brutality of it, but he would be sure to refresh his knowledge tonight before he slept. The man was bald, his head covered in liverspots and lipped by a ring of thinning grey hair, slightly yellow teeth formed in a permanent sort of snarl.

"Duke Maul. So you've chosen the winning side," Theodore said to the oldest man of the group, he of the gory sigil.

"That I have, my King. Birian was a fool to join Rolston, and I told him as much. Duke Chirditte, the idiot, yammered on about how vile and evil you were, and Birian fell to the old man's 'wisdom'. I switched sides at the first opportunity, as Lord Traven will attest to," Duke Maul said.

"And Lord Traven, congratulations on your victory. I am sorry about your nephew, my sincerest condolences to your sister," Theodore said.

"Thank you, my King." answered the lord of Northpoint, as plainly as always. "I am certain that your royal condolences will bring much comfort when word gets back to her..." his tired-looking eyes traveled beyond Theo, off towards the city. They snapped back the moment he continued.
"And congratulations to you as well. I've already heard bards practicing new songs of your victory at Wayrest."

Theodore turned to look over his shoulder, tracing the path Traven's took. "Quite a formidable obstacle isn't it? Our nights will be sleepless, I think, while we struggle to crack her open."

"As for bards, I've never been much to listen to their squawking. Yours is the more accomplished battle. Breaking a blockade, relieving a siege, besieging, and sacking all make for a great tale for your grandchildren. Now, let us go to the command tent, where you all are welcome," Theodore said, looking at the various dukes.

"Refreshments await us, of course. But I wish to get to our plans as soon as possible."

"Of course." responded Traven. He turned in his saddle. "Thonir. Send word through the ranks that we are to make camp here. Keep an eye on the Jehannans. They are not to cross over into the king's camp."

"Yes, my lord." replied Traven's Nordic lieutenant before riding off, shouting commands all the way.

As Traven's forces set to work, the lord and his companions followed Theodore to the command tent.

"Tell, Lord Traven, how did you come by a Nord? I have both an Imperial and a Dunmer in my employ, but they are merely tutors. Your's seems to be a bit more than that," Theodore asked, as he and the Lord-in-the-North rode ahead of the lower ranking dukes.

"Indeed he is. Thonir is the Castellan of Northpoint, and one of my chief advisors. My father invited him in after his mother died in the Great War." Traven gave a slight shrug. "I never learned how my father knew this woman from Skyrim, and Thonir never knew how his mother knew a lord in High Rock, but the too obviously were close."

"Ah well, my father too had a few friends in various cities, but I'm afraid none of their children ever made it into adulthood. Pity," Theodore said, voice filled with false melancholy.

Theodore and Traven continued the short ride to the tent, where they dismounted and gave their steeds to nearby pages. Inside the cozy fire-warmed tent the various dukes Theodore summoned were gathered. He smiled, nodded, or shook hands with each one, until he found himself standing at the head of a table covered in maps.

The king cleared his throat after a cough, and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. "Lielle Rolston's forces are holed up inside the city. There are two main gates, one facing this road, and another facing the Bjoulase River. That one leads directly to a bridge, and is quite narrow. Our best chances lie in assaulting the one towards the road, which they undoubtedly expect. So, I will open the floor to whatever ideas you may have."

Estermont spoke up first, as expected. "Thierry here is building the siege towers and ladders, so we use those. We also bundle some trees together in a ram, and use that to knock the door down. It'll take a while, but that's the best way."

"We could use our mages and archers to set the city on fire," Duke Vette suggested. "Burn it to the ground. Though I think that's an option of last resort."

Duke Aric, who had fought against Theo during the Battle of Wayrest, but lacked no zeal when it came to destroying Lielle, chimed in, "What about besieging it? Starve them out. The civilian casualties will be high, but we don't risk losing any men. And we wouldn't need as large a force as we currently have."

"That will take a while." said Lord Traven. "I am not against a siege, but it would be good to know what we are up against. Between Evermor and Rolston's forces, how many men are in the city?"

Duke Wirich stepped forward. "I've been doing the calculations, and I've estimated they have ten thousand troops to our thirty seven thousand. We hold a considerable advantage any way you cut it."

"But you must consider that they will also 'enlist' as many civilians as possible. Forcibly so, perhaps," Baron Eardwulf said.

"So," Theodore said, "We have the liberty to take whatever route we wish. My personal preference is the one that costs the least amount of lives, since we need the troops for the Thalmor."

"We are in no hurry." said Traven. "Keeping them pinned in the city works well enough for now. No one is coming to their aid. In fact, it surprises me that the Pretender has not already surrendered. Has there been an attempt to make contact?"

"No. That is troubling. One would suspect her to give up, if only to save herself. That begs the question, what does she know that we don't? She may have something planned that she believes would swing the war in her favor," Theodore pondered Lielle's next move, before finally saying, a nearby royal spellsword, "I want you to double the look outs and scouts around the camp. Keep an extra eye on Baron Ysciele's forces, and the Jehannans."

"I'm worried she may have allies, even mercenaries, we don't know about, in which case we must be prepared. That, or those forces formerly loyal to her may still be so."

"We're starving them out then?" the young Duke Theirry asked. "What about the civilians? Do they deserve to die because Lady Rolston is so foolish that she'd rather die then surrender?"

"Forgive me Sir," said Traven, his eyes on the Duke, "I do not recall your name. But I am assuming that by now you have seen enough of this war to know that lives will be lost no matter which avenue we take. This is the only one immediately present that presents no danger to our men. And it gives the enemy time to assess the situation and realize that their only chance at survival is to open the gates. It leaves options, as we can at any time go with Lord Estermont's plan and assault the walls."

Legate Montrose spoke up. "I don't like it. The King makes a good point. It is troubling that they still have yet to give up. Victory seems so assured, and yet Rolston risks thousands of lives. Why would she do that unless she thought they could win. I am of a mind with Estermont. We should press the attack now before they have any chance to surprise us. Make it a matter of days rather than weeks or even months."

Duke Theirry started to identify himself, but was cut off when Duke Gondwyn, still sporting his Theodore styled mustache and bald head, jumped into the conversation. "Let's take it to 'em. I say days, not months, like the Imp said."

Theodore nodded, but whether that was affirmation he thought the same or a simple gesture one couldn't tell. "There is another matter I haven't brought up yet. We procured some of the Redguard's explosive powers, as well as several experts in its usage to accompany it. If we did decide to capture the city quickly, we could blow up either gate with it, provided we get close enough."

Estermont's eyes widened, and a childish grin stretched from bright eye to bright eye. "I've heard tales of the power of their powder. It caused an avalanche at Pale Pass, and can level entire mountains. Siege engines pale in comparison to what we could do with that."

"Indeed." agreed the Legate. "All the more reason to attack now and end this quickly. We have the means."

"We can end this quickly, at the cost of blood." said Traven. "I have no qualms with this, but our King has already mentioned that the fewer lives lost, the better. Why not give them a day or two, to ensure that they have no intention of surrendering? If they do not, well, we will still have the powder."

Duke Theirry spoke up again. "We may need closer to a week for the siege engines, but if we use the powder then we won't need them. It's your discretion, my liege."

Theodore leaned onto the table, his chin resting in his hand. He shuffled through the maps, until he found one of the city itself, in fairly great detail. It was near one hundred years old, but the city had changed only on the inside, and the walls were the same.

"I think we should rush the siege engines into development, and use them to assault the main gate, as the expect us too. Then, we send in a secondary force to blow up the Bjoulase River Gate, and storm in from there. The result should be a swift victory. Until then, eyes and ears open. I want any suspicious activity reported back to me. I won't have this Pretender turn the tables on us," Theodore said, rising back up off the table.

"Any objections?"

"No objections. But a suggestion." Said Lord Traven. "As you know, I persuaded many Jehannans finally bend the knee up north. I'm certain that one of them could just as easily be convinced to carry a message into the city for you, if you would wish to give terms of your own... strictly for the sake of exploring options of course."

"I believe that is an excellent idea. Maybe then they'll surrender and we can all go home. Or not. Now, you are all dismissed. See to your men and assign work teams on the siege engines. Lord Traven, if you would stay a moment," Theodore asked.

Traven simply nodded and remained while the other nobles exited the tent. The right of his lip curled into a thin smile once everyone else was gone, but he said nothing.

"Did I miss a joke?" Theodore said, his lips traced with a grin of his own while he poured each of them a glass of fine scotch.

"No, my liege." said Traven as he reached for his glass. "But it warms a lord's heart to know that you're warming up to me."

"How do you know I didn't invite you here to kill you? Or banish you forever?" Theodore asked, chuckling as traced the lip of his glass. "Or poison you. People find it so reassuring when the person who may be poisoning them drinks from the same bottle, but I've always thought that if I were to poison someone, I'd lace the inside of glass. No one ever bothers to check that, in my experience."

He sipped his drink, although because of the small quantity that meant half of it was already gone.

"I suppose I wouldn't be prepared. After all, we are family now." Lord Traven lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink. "Of course, King Rolston was family, and that didn't keep him from poisoning you." Traven smiled knowingly. "But you are not Rolston, are you?"

"No, and for that I am eternally grateful. My father may have been a drinker and whorer, but at least he was smart enough to play the game. Rolston would probably have had us sit the war out. He always did despise war, the coward," Theodore said spitefully.

"And I for one would never kill my kin. Although, in his defense, is your wife's sister's husband really family?" Theodore laughed, shaking his head.

"I like to think so." responded Traven. "I believe that anyone considered family should be treated as such. If more people saw it this way, having a large family like mine would be viewed as a strength rather than a risk."

"I can see what you mean, but I find people are only loyal until someone else gives them more than what you can. Loyalty is fleeting," Theodore said, as he sipped the remainder of his drink.

"We never got to discuss your views of the world as it stands today. I know, a broad subject, but I want your opinion on Skyrim, Cyrodiil, everything. Start with the Nords first, since you seem to know them better than most."

Traven took another sip. "I regret that it has been some time since my last update on the goings-on in Skyrim, or anywhere else besides High Rock, for that matter. Our Nordic neighbors seemed to be doing surprisingly well at the time. Good news if we are to be aligned with them in the next conflict with the elves."

"Bad news if they have any designs for our eastern territories. We are on good enough terms with the Redguards that I don't worry about them, but it's no secret the Nords don't respect us. I hope we can change that opinion. This next war brings us the perfect opportunity to do so. Prove our worth. Now, Cyrodiil. Particularly their leaders," Theodore asked.

"Cyrodiil..." Traven finished his scotch and set the glass down on the table. "Amaund was about as likable as a nest of aquatic dreugh, but I knew who he was. From what I've heard, his daughter's young, and her only prior experience was leading some elven inquisition." Traven's brow furrowed. "I'm sure you know how I feel about that... As for the Nord she's marrying, I don't know him at all. Apparently he's a mage. Now, mages have their uses, but giving them political power is how you end up with people like Jagar Tharn. If you ask me, the lot of them can keep to that tower of theirs, and let us keep doing things the way we've been. I guess that's one good side of them. Besides your legate friend, they've all been content to stay out of our way. That's a step above Amaund."

"The mage is an ambitious sort, up-jumping his station rather quickly. And the girl is young, careless, with the makings of a decent leader if she survives that long. My biggest worry is that they aren't content with our mostly independent rule. It remains to be seen, however. Now, I do have something I would like to run by you. It's rather...strange, I would say."

Theodore set his glass aside and leaned over the table, so that his full meaning was clear. "As I traveled back to High Rock, the general I traveled with, Gracchus Ceno, received a letter from the former Spymaster. In it, he said that the mage had bound his soul to the Empress, using a form of very dark magic. I've looked into the practice, and discovered that it's been done before, however it is almost exclusively between people and animals, and even that was long ago. I'm frankly not sure what to do with this information, besides the fact it means he is the real power, and that she is a mere puppet. Which makes their marriage a sham."

Lord Traven's eyes briefly flashed with what might've been surprise, but he quickly hid it behind a dry smirk. Most men wouldn't have even noticed the drop of guard, but Theodore was not most men.
"What you do with information like that, my king, is lock it up and save it for a rainy day." Traven didn't say it, but Theo could tell from the look in his eyes that this news excited the lord.
Gesturing at the entrance flap, Traven asked, "Does Estermont know? Or any of the others?"

"Estermont? Pah, I trust him with almost anything related to killing, and not much else. No, they do not. My mother-in-law does, as does my wife. My son, however, I've kept in the dark. I want to make sure he's mature enough before he can be trusted," Theodore said, leaning back in his chair so it balanced on the hind legs, a precarious situation for the large noble.

"A rainy day..." he twirled a corner of his mustache with index finger and thumb, staring off into the distance. "Yes, I suppose so. But this alone, while a powerful bargaining chip, is not enough. I've mustered what information I could on the man, but all I found was that he worked for the Synod, he was Dales' tutor. Besides that, nothing more than the rumors of him and the Bathory author, him and the Spymaster, and a possible quarrel with a general. Those I was able to garner from the Black Horse, or it's tabloid edition."

Theodore could practically see Traven's mind at work as the clever lord took into account everything he'd just learned. "Not enough..." the man muttered. Finally, he said "I am glad to be the one you've shared this with, my king. Hopefully soon, we can better discuss these matters behind the walls of Evermor."

"I too hope so. While the war ahead darkens the days for most, I think I can see a torches beginning to light our path, and it is one I look forward to walking," Theodore said, sighing with a great release of pent up stress. "Our days are bright indeed."

"Dangerous neighbors in Skyrim, a deceptive mage running Cyrodiil, and an entire elven empire to the south who would see the lot of us enslaved. All while we fight our own civil war. Heh, your idea of bright is interesting, if nothing else." Traven flicked his empty glass. "I'd drink to it if I weren't out."

"You are far to cynical," Theodore said as he refilled their glasses. "All those thing can be dealt with, as long as we play our hand the right way."

"Of course." Traven raised his glass. "To bright days."

"And a brighter future for our children, and grandchildren," Theo said, clinking his glass to Traven's before gulping down the burning, aged alcohol.

**

The next morning Theodore rose early, drinking a potion to rid himself of the slight hangover. He needed to check up on his son, whom he hadn't talked to yet. He dressed quickly in a blue tunic, gold trimmed navy blue cloak, and black pants. His crown was simple, ebony and iron with dark stones inlaid all the way around. Over his neck he slipped a golden medallion, engrave with his family's sigil. His wedding ring, dark ebony with a diamond in the center, slipped on, and a shortsword swung from his hip, in lieu of his greatsword, which he found difficult to wear when dressed up.

The sun cast a bright, glaring light, no clouds to dilute the rays. A soft breeze blew the smell of stewing meat across his nostrils, his stomach grumbling at the notion of food. Slipping back inside, he grabbed a sliver of honey ham and a strawberry effused pastry, eating both as he walked the camp. His son's tent was at Traven's encampment, but at the edge closest to Theo's.

He was momentarily stopped by a few knights looking to flatter the king, and he welcomed their praises for a few minutes, before setting off again. Duke Thierry stopped him, shuffling him off to the construction area where the siege towers and ram were being built. He told the story of a tree guardian attacking a few of the men, but once they got a few flame spells on her she burned like Dwarven oil. Theodore quickly inspected them, noting that they needed protective wards on the front to keep them from burning.

After that, Theodore finally made it to his son's tent. The guards greeted him, but went inside to see if Roland was awake and decent before letting the king in. Standard procedure, if a bit annoying. After all, it was his son. But he digressed, and the guards soon let him in. Roland, right arm wrapped in a bandage, sat shirtless at a small table, with what appeared to be a book in his hand.

"Since when have you ever read for pleasure?" Theodore asked, taking a seat across from the prince.

Roland lifted his eyes from the page, but only for a moment. "I needed something to do while injured. I can't sleep around anymore, I've never been much for drinking, and I can't play any instrument or sing, so now I read."

Theodore lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing for moment. Outside, men could be heard laughing, horses whinnying, tents ruffling in the wind. Finally, Theodore asked, "What are you reading, exactly?"

Roland set the book down, finding an appropriate place to stop. "Not The Lusty Argonian Maid, if that's what you're thinking. It's a Magdela Bathory novel."

"That reminds me, did you hear the news? It's not quite recent, but poor Count Bathory died in a fire. At his mountain lodge, I believe," Theodore said, wiping away at the snot on his nose.

"He seemed like a powerful man from the little I've heard of him from you. Always a shame to lose an ally," Roland said.

Another silence followed, before the king asked, "How's your shoulder?"

"Sore. It was a damn bodkin point, went right through the chain-mail and armor. I'm lucky it only hit my shoulder, or you'd be down a son," Roland rotated his shoulder, wincing as he did.

"Make sure you get the healers to check and clean the bandages. Infection can be just as deadly as an arrow," Theodore said.

"How's your cold?" Roland asked.

"Annoying. The damn thing won't go away. Hell, I think it's gotten words. Bah, it'll be gone before to long," Theo said with a wave, as if that would get rid of the cold.

"'Make sure you get the healers to check it out'," Roland said in the best impression of his father he could manage, both of them laughing heartily.

"Oh shut up, before I ship you back with the women. You and your pansy wound," Theo said with a smile.

They talked and laughed and drank when the afternoon approached, sitting around and catching up until work finally called Theo away. A scout had found captured a messenger returning from somewhere, and trying to sneak back into Wayrest. Even after being tortured, he still claimed he didn't know who the message was for, and that he only dropped it and a bag of gold off in the ruins of an old fort. He unfortunately didn't survive further interrogation, but the king was alarmed enough to double the watches, as well as send off more scouts in every direction. He would take no chances, not if he could help it.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Mazoga

Wilderness near Kyne's Watch

 

Mazoga had stopped counting days. They all were the same anyway. The only thing that mattered was her, the bear, and her work.

She had tracked the bear for a long while, and soon she would be ready. Snow bears didn’t hibernate except to bear young, but after a kill the beast would find a cave and sleep for a day or two before emerging again to hunt. In those times, Mazoga watched and worked.

One day, she looked up and saw an old orc staring down at her. “What’s that you’re making, friend?â€

“It’s a weapon.†Mazoga went back to her work without another word. Before these last few weeks, she had liked company, and the days and nights of tracking she hadn’t spoken to a soul. The trials had changed her, though. Now the old man was just distracting her from the task she had to do.

The man took a seat next to her at her fire. “Not much of a weapon. What are you going to do with it?â€

“Kill a bear.â€

Chuckling, the man said, “It had better be a scrawny one. What are you going to do, tickle it to death?â€

Mazoga snapped her tusks. One of them was broken now, a little reminder of the fight with Bully. “It’s a crossbow. I’m going to shoot an arrow in the bear’s eye.†She was going to poison it, but didn’t say that. It would ruin the meat, and Baldur would probably disqualify her, but no one had said you couldn’t use it.

“Kind of cowardly, don’t you think? A real orc looks his opponent in the eye.â€

“Don’t care about being a real orc.â€

“Is that so?†The man regarded her skeptically. “I guess not. You don’t look so good, if you don’t mind me saying. Better eat something. You’re going to need it when you have to run away from an angry bear.â€

“I’m fine.†Mazoga had been saying that a lot lately, trying to convince herself more than anyone. “I died a while back. That didn’t stop me.â€

“Heh. Is that so. You think you’re the only one who’s tasted a bit of death?â€

At that, she looked up, interested in the man for the first time. “Who are you?â€

The orc stood to his feet. “I’m Horkis gro Akathmal. And since you haven’t got a real weapon on you, I guess I’ll go check my traps and see if we’ve got supper. Don’t keel over before I get back. You might put out the fire if you do.â€

Mazoga watched after him, her brow knit. Ignoring her frozen fingers, she went back to work then. The task was painstaking. She had found some dried-out whalebone on a beach near Kyne’s Watch, and was building the crossbow from peeled layers of it fixed together with pine resin. The bolt tips would be made of bone, too, and the shaft she carved of wood with her dagger. For the poison, she was collecting nirnroot and imp stool. Her mother, the hunter, had taught her wortcraft and fletching, and as for the crossbow, it was a good thing she had studied the diagrams of them they’d taken from the dwarven ruin in Stros M’kai. The old man was right about how she looked. Bully had broken her bones, and now there was something in them. Time was running out.

True to his word, the old orc came back soon with some hares in tow. He set about skinning and cooking them, humming a tune Mazoga didn’t recognize.

While they ate, the man said, “If you don’t care about being a real orc, does that mean you want to be some other kind of elf? A Bosmer, maybe, with your archery?â€

She scowled at him. “That’s ridiculous.â€

“Well if you don’t want to be what you are, you must want to be something else.â€

“I’m Mazoga Thorn-Orc. That’s all I want to be.â€

“Thorn-Orc. What sort of clan name is that?â€

“If you were from Leyawiin, you’d know.â€

“What’s in Leyawiin?â€

“A legend.â€

“Tell me. I like stories.â€

Mazoga sighed, not feeling like repeating the tale. The old fart would probably mock it, too. She eventually complied, however, because she owed her grandmother the honor of being remembered.

The old man listened intently as he chewed, and when she was finished, he nodded once. “A worthy name. And there’s nothing wrong with bows. I did a bit of archery myself in my younger years. If you don’t mind, I’ll hang around for a while. I’m interested to see if this crossbow will work.â€

The next morning, the old orc was gone. Mazoga wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t minded his company after all, but didn’t need any distractions, and didn’t care for the skepticism in his tone. It too closely matched her own fears.

Two weeks later, Horkis gro Akathmal was sitting at the same fire when she came back, a snow bear pelt over her shoulders. He looked up. “Thorn-Orc! You’re not dead after all. That’s a start. I see your crossbow worked.â€

“It worked well enough.†She showed him the broken-off bolt, still sticking out of the bear’s eye socket. One wound, that’s all Baldur had said.

“Did you at least let him take a swipe at you?â€

Mazoga plopped down by the fire. “No. I hid on a ledge where he couldn’t get me even if wanted to.â€

The man groaned. “Is that how an orc does battle?â€

“I told you. I don’t care how an orc is supposed to be. He’s dead and I’m not. I killed it with my own hand, and the arts my mother taught me. If you say that she’s not a real orc, I’ll have to put you in the ground, so don’t.â€

Horkis gave her a sly grin. “You’re not ashamed of where you come from. That’s good. Better to bear even shame and defeat together than to turn your back and seek your own glory. Here, I want to give you this.†He handed her a ring. It was very old, the silver scuffed and somewhat blackened. On its face was inscribed a symbol like wings with two downward slashes like fangs. “It was earned as reward for a battle won, and you’ve won a battle here, so it’s yours. Eat something now, then you’d better be off soon to find a healer. You still don’t look so good.â€

 

***

 

"Not good enough. You can do better than that. If you can't, then perhaps I should kill you right here and save us the embarrassment later."

 

"**** you!"

 

"That's **** you, High General, sir."

 

The clangs of steel on steel would have been enough to disturb anyone nearby if not for the songs of winter drowning all else out. The Sea of Ghosts carried the tune of its inhabitants in its winds, as well as the unforgiving cold of the North, both of which filled Daric's being as his reddened hands shook as he forced himself to hold onto the cold steel at his side.

 

Baldur stood in front of him like a specter, unaffected by any of it and waiting for his pupil to make a move before he did. That didn't happen, however. Daric spent the past half hour attempting to strike him in this weather, with nothing at all covering his torso. Impatient now, Baldur ran towards the shaking Breton and slammed his large fist in Daric's little gut. The hit brought Daric off his feet momentarily, and before he knew it, his back met the snow as the Sky's frozen tears tickled his face.

 

Sighing, Baldur took a step over Daric's body, thinking him being out cold since he dropped his sword. "You haven't put a single cut on me, boy. Not even a nick. Even a scout needs to know how to fight, lad." Baldur raised his axe, looking for a spot to wound him to give him his lesson in pain since he couldn't learn his lesson in skill.

 

As his axe fell towards Daric's arm, the Breton's legs came up, sending spinning kicks that caught Baldur's weapon at its side and sent it flying from his hand. Daric made a scramble for his sword and came at Baldur with the quickness of a charging ice wraith. Just before Daric came close to jabbing at Baldur's exposed gut, Baldur's foot kicked up another axe from the snow into his hands, then the Nord fell to his back. Before Daric could get closer, Baldur's boot found its way to Daric's bruised torso.

 

To his credit, Daric held his ground enough to meet Baldur's swing with his blade when he rolled forward, but with the wind kicked out of him, it had no strength, and his axe made a neat red line across Daric's cheek.

 

"Not bad, Daric. Not bad. You couldn't hit me, so you decided to wait until you could take me off guard. Unfortunately, you're still a boy, charging at the first opening you see in search of quick victory. That'll only ensure you receive a quick end."

 

"You cheated. I didn't know you had another weapon hidden nearby," he said as he stood, pawing at his wound. He could not feel it, thanks to the bitter cold numbing his face.

 

"Don't ever let me hear you say that again, Daric. You're not a child anymore, you're a Stormcloak! There's no such thing as 'cheating' in battle. Expect the unexpected, or expect to be killed. Understand?"

 

"Yes sir..." he said, feeling embarrassed now that Baldur had to yell at him. Daric was busy moping over Maggie's departure before, but now he was glad that she wasn't around to see him still acting like a child.

 

Baldur placed an arm over his shoulder and said, "Cheer up, boy. You're definitely improving. Allowing myself to be disarmed was a poor mistake on my part, so be proud. I'll still keep my promise and allow you to go scouting with the men, alright? Give you some time out there without me holding your hand. In the meantime though, lets go see if Rebec's up yet. If we're lucky, she's got something to eat!"

 

"Something to eat? I've never seen her cook..." Don't think I want to either...

 

"She's cooked.. she can cook... I think." Baldur thought about it some and realized the only time he ever saw Rebec cook anything was in Solitude, when she made sweetrolls better suited for slingshots. "Well... if not, then we'll swing by ma's house and see if she can whip us all up some soup."

 

***

 

Rebec had stirred that morning as Baldur left her side, but it was still dark out and she burrowed deeper under the covers, so tired that it was like her limbs were paralyzed by one of Menel's spells. Her hand moved over her stomach. Was this a good sign or a bad one? If the baby was drawing so much at her strength, maybe it was because it was a strong little Nord. Or maybe something was wrong.

 

While she was debating it, sleep drew Rebec back down, or it must have, because she had the sensation of rocking on a choppy sea. She must be out to sea. A storm was coming on, about to swallow them. As Rebec was about to run to get the sail down, she noticed something white bobbing in the black water. Then she heard a baby's cry and knew what it was. Had she had the baby yet?  She must have, and had been so occupied with sailing the ship that she'd let it fall over the side. Panicked, Rebec ran the rail and started to climb, but before she could reach it, the little white bundle slipped beneath the waves and disappeared. NO!  The storm rolled over them and Rebec swallowed water as she tried to scream.

 

She woke shouting, every muscle and fiber gripped by panic, sweat dripping from her brow and neck.  For a full minute, the terror and guilt and desperation were still just as real as they had been in the dream, and a rush of thoughts crowded Rebec's mind. Baldur would hate her now. She'd let their baby die, she always put the damn ship first. You're so selfish, selfish and careless, you never deserved all this. You know this baby is going to die, just like Jala. It's you. You ruin everything.

 

Heart pounding and limbs trembling, Rebec tried to calm. Reality crept back in, the dim light of dawn revealing the details of the longhouse. She had to piss, desperately. On the pot, Rebec thought about the dream and her thoughts afterward, and felt a prickle of embarrassment. The baby was alright, everything was alright, and Baldur wouldn't hate her. She hadn't ruined anything, not this time. As she finished and stood up, Rebec gave a little chuckle.

 

"This is what happens when you go off mead," she said aloud, trying to chase the last of the fear away. Still, even an hour later when the fire was roaring and she sat writing up her weekly report to Ulfric, a knot of it remained in the back of her gut, like a hint of nausea that wouldn't go away.

 

***

"What is this place, eh? I don't remember this village being here."

 

"Neither do I. It's perfect for us. We can stay here for a while, don't you think? Just long enough to gather supplies before we go back to hiding."

 

"I agree. I don't see any soldiers yet, besides what's on the road in the front. The others should overrun those guys quickly enough. Shh, wait! Someone's walking over there."

 

"I see 'em. It's just a boy and a Nord. Lets kill them. We do that, and they'll be distracted by the time the others get here. Leave the horses and follow me down the cliff. Hey, you two! Hold this rope and lower us down."

 

***

 

Daric put his Stormcloak tunic back on as they got closer to the longhouse with Rebec, unable to cope with the cold any longer and not afraid to admit it. Even Baldur had to admit he was tired of freezing his ass off and throw on his leather officer coat and bear furs. Both no longer cared if there was going to be food ready and only hoped that Rebec stoked the fires already.

 

"So, Daric. About that Imperial woman. Did you..."

 

"Did I..."

 

Baldur nudged him in the shoulder. "Come on, you know what I mean. Got your mead spigot wet, boy?"

 

Daric suppressed a smirk and nudged him right back. "I'm not telling you."

 

"Come on."

 

"No."

 

"Daric... come on."

 

"No!" Daric said. Laughing, he shoved Baldur away from him and said, "It's none of y-"

 

"Oh quit being such a milkdrinker! I've got a bet against Rebec that says you didn't get any. Now cough up the details so..." In a puff of snow, Daric suddenly collapsed to the ground behind him as he continued to walk. When his head turned, what greeted him was an arrow protruding from the back of Daric's shoulder blade. Eyes bulging from his sockets, Baldur's head darted around madly in search of the attacker. And now, either Baldur was going crazy, or two deer heads were peeking around the corner of a longhouse, stalking him.

 

"You missed and got the boy, idiot."

 

Baldur's attention left the two men with bows in their hands and settled on Daric's still form in the snow like a log. There was no movement coming from him at all. No shaking, not even the rise and fall of breath from his chest. Baldur's vision went blurry with what he realized was tears, stinging his eyes as their heat shocked his face, trickling down his cheeks.

 

"No."

 

"How was I supposed to know he'd shove the big one out of the way. Hurry up and kill the other one." The Forsworn smiled as he notched an arrow to his bow.

 

"No.." Baldur repeated as a trembling hand rubbed at his eyes.

 

"I'll show you how it's done." Their garments were too light and exposing to adequately deal with the cold, even with their furs, but when the man let his arrow loose, it still hit its mark despite the chill seeping into his bones and shaking his arms. "Got 'em! Now that's how you..."

 

"Huuuaaaaaahh! Dariiiic!"

 

The Forsworn watched in confusion as the red faced Nord with an arrow in his side kept running towards him, reaching out for him with his bear claw covered arms. The man was enraged, yelling out curses that were unintelligible and with tears in his eyes. Just like the bear that draped his head, the big crazed Nord was disturbingly quick. Before they knew it, the man was on top of him, ripping out the arrow in his hide before he stabbed it in his neck, then his face, where Baldur used the arrow to gouge the man's eyes out.

 

His friend was taken aback by this brutality, momentarily frozen like the land around him. For a moment, all he could do was listen to his companion's startling wails as his face was literally torn to pieces by this animal in front of him. Eventually he regained his composure and was about to run Baldur through from behind, but before he could, he found a bloodied steel blade protruding from his chest. The blade disappeared just as quickly as it appeared, and the Forsworn man's face planted in the snow before he could see the boy he thought he killed run past him.

 

"Baldur! Help," said Daric, collapsing to the ground before he could reach him. The blood pooling in his mouth kept him from saying anymore, only reddening the snow he laid on before his vision went dark.

 

***

 

"Got to... keep..." Mazoga's muttering stopped as she heard movement up ahead in the forest, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, then voices. She must be near Kyne's Watch now, the orc judged, but the weeks of tracking left her wary all the same. Pulling out her whalebone crossbow, she nocked a bolt and moved into the trees.

 

It proved to be just travelers, however, heavy laden with packs and a cart they were trying to get up a steep slope in the road. Mazoga considered slipping past them. Barely able to walk, fire shooting through her bones, she was in no shape to push a cart. Sighing, she replaced the bolt and made towards the farmers anyway. If she was going to drop dead, it might as well be here.

 

Just as she emerged from the trees, a lone woman out ahead of the others dropped as if her legs were cut from under her, a Forsworn arrow sticking out of her neck. Then more arrows were flying through the air. The remaining peasants dropped their burdens and began to run, screaming. With war whoops, Forsworn streamed out onto the road after them.

 

"Shit, this is just what I need." Mazoga dropped the heavy snow bear pelt around her shoulders and replaced the bolt. She had just enough time before the Forsworn disappeared over the top of the slope to run forward, get down on one knee, and put a bolt in one of their backs. Before the Reachman was on the ground, she was already up and loading another as she ran.

 

***

 

"Somebody! Hey! I need help!" Baldur sat in the snow holding Daric's wound, the barbed arrow now removed. Fortunately for Baldur, the arrows were barbed, and didn't do a great job of penetrating his leather coat or the vest under it. Daric however had his arrow's barbs go right through the rivets under his sash, which was what they were made for. The barbs were also serrated, and Baldur couldn't take them out without doing anymore damage to him.

 

"Baldur! Over here!" Falgrum ran his way over to the two in his new uniform matching Baldur's. So too did Huomundr the Sullier, Burla She-Wolf, Hafnur Shallow-Tip, Dagnjorn of Whiterun, Bardok the Impaler, Bjorn Shatter-Wall, Kjisvild Moon-Gazer, Siguroar Twice-Cursed, and finally, Torik, the Dunmer battle mage.

 

Falgrum got to them first, but Torik quickly pushed through the rest. "Out of the way, they're injured!"

 

"Get Daric first!" Baldur said as he stood. "I'm fine, don't waste time on me."

 

"Baldur, the town is under attack. There's Forsworn overrunning our men! We're gonna get overrun if we don't do something."

 

"What? How many are there?" Baldur asked Falgrum.

 

"I don't know, three score maybe more?" While they talked, Daric started to stir under the waves of Torik's golden glow flowing from his hands.

 

"This one will be fine, Baldur. He'll be up soon. He'll have to keep those barbs in him for now until someone can cut them out of him later, but we don't have time for that now. What are we doing, retreating?"

 

Bardok said, "Retreat? **** that, I want blood! People blood. I'm tired of fighting without killing. I need to kill something today!"

 

Dagnjorn said, "I'm in agreement with Bardok. We've been training for scenarios like this right? Let's go cut loose."

 

"Baldur, we're outnumbered. A tactical retreat would probably be best..."

 

"No, Torik. No retreat." Baldur's face was twitching with barely contained anger as he drew his axes from his belt. "These fuckers come to my town, shoot my apprentice and endanger my family? No. They're going to pay now. In blood and flesh. We're going to rip the flesh from their bones! So everyone will think twice about ever coming to our town with ill intent."

 

"Let me come...too..." Daric grabbed Baldur's arm to pull himself up. Looking as pale as the Nords, he said, "I'm good to fight. Let me come with you."

 

Baldur opened his mouth to say no, but his increasing anger and excitement stopped him. "Yea. Alright, if you think you can fight, then I'll let you. But not with us, you'll slow us down. Go, fetch Rebec. Tell her to get her sailors and have them ready to chase the Forsworn into the woods. I've got a plan."

 

From behind another longhouse, another antler adorned head stood by, watching the scene of the Nords counseling near his dead companions. "What are they saying?"
 

"I don't know... I think they're planning on attacking the others."

 

"By themselves?"

 

"Heh, yea. Crazy right?"

 

"Very. The boy and the big one with the sissy hair made short work of Ramon and Stilch though. We should regroup and."

 

"Well well well, what do we have here?" came a voice from behind the two men. They jumped and predictably swung their swords in the Nord's direction, but before they could, the red headed giant wrapped his arm around one of their necks and dropped him with a grisly snap. The man's neck was broken, but he wasn't dead, merely paralyzed.

 

The other Forsworn looked into his milky eye in panic, daring another swing in his direction, only to have the Nord remove his hand with his silver great sword almost as large as he was.

 

Baldur and the others heard the scream and quickly drew their blades. "Daric, go get Rebec and let her know what's going on!"

 

After Daric limped off, Falgrum came from behind the home and said, "Look what we got here, boys!" Falgrum dragged the two Reachmen behind him as if they were mere children, then dumped them both in the midst of the bloodthirsty Nords. The Reachman with the missing hand was losing consciousness quickly, but unfortunately for him, Torik started using his magics to keep him going for the time being. "What should we do with my catch, sir? I've got recommendations."

 

"I know what to do," Baldur answered as he pulled out his dagger. The nordic carved blade's tip moved from side to side before the paralyzed one's eyes like a pendulum that would soon descend and cut into him like the piece of meat he was. "See, I'm a fan of the ancient Nords. And the ancient Nords had many interesting means of execution. One of them was said to steal the power of a man's voice." Baldur patted the tip of his blade at the Reachman's neck. "By stealing their tongues and ripping them from their throat. So what do you say? Let's get Merithic on their asses."

 

The Nords snickered in delight from the frightened man's panicked cries, cracking their knuckles in anticipation of the cut. Baldur and the others paid no attention to the other Reachman as he scrambled away in obvious terror. He was doing exactly what he was supposed to do.

 

Rebec was already out the door and strapping on her axe belt when Daric showed up. She took one look at the arrow in his shoulder and cursed. "Forsworn. Gods damned savages, I'm going to piss in their skulls. Where's Baldur?"

 

Daric was more fatigued than he wanted to admit, but he did his best to ignore the pain running down his arm. "He and the Necro Nords have something planned. He told me to tell you get your sailors ready to fight. He said they'll have the Forsworn in the forests somehow, and we're going to run them over. Didn't say much else, just to hurry and get your men moving."

 

"On it. You get into the fort and get that arm seen to." Rebec didn't stay to make sure he did it, just ran towards the quay yelling "Forsworn!"

 

Daric turned to do as he was told, but stopped just short of running out the door. Baldur said he could fight, but Daric knew the right thing to do would be to get healed properly. The Dunmer cleared him, but they all seemed to be in a hurry, and he certainly didn't feel good enough to kill right now.

 

And yet, Daric was sick and tired of being treated like a boy still. Being yelled at to fetch this or do that, not being treated like a soldier. Daric tried to reach for the arrow, but he couldn't get a good enough grip on it. Every time his finger twitched it, pain would shoot up his arm and through his shoulder again, sending tears from his eyes.

 

Daric was determined not to give the Nords a reason to call him a milkdrinker, however. He'd fight with the arrow in his shoulder if he had to. But, there was still another way. Daric turned his back to the door and creaked it open just enough to stick the arrow through before slamming it shut. He put his Stormcloak sash in his mouth to keep from biting his tongue, then yanked his body from the door as hard as he could.

 

The arrow was successfully removed, but it took almost five minutes of screaming before Daric was able to get up again. He knew he probably wounded himself even further, but at least now he could move his arm normally again. That meant he could swing a blade, which he fully intended to do. Daric grabbed a spare steel axe from within the longhouse and took off in the direction of the fighting, just like the rest of the Stormcloaks, ignoring the blood he felt running down his back.

 

***

 

The Forsworn indeed outnumbered the small posting of soldiers Baldur ordered to the edge of town, numbering in about eighty men and women to the Stormcloak's twenty, holding back the mob of savages with their shields as best they could. There was a rush of newcomers fleeing the scene into the town, obviously expecting there to be more soldiers in the king's new port that they all heard about. The sight of the bare bones barely adequate security disheartened them all and made them think all they managed to do was trap themselves into a dead end.

 

The Stormcloaks were slowly being pushed back by the numbers of the Reachmen despite cutting into their pathetic excuses for armor almost with ease. The numbers were just too much for them to hold back forever. As the assigned captain took a Forsworn bone spiked blade to his face, and had most of it ripped away, the others were just about to rout until they heard behind them, "Help! They're coming after me, help!"

 

The antler adorned Reachman was bleeding all over the place, most notably from his severed hand, and yet somehow he had enough fear in him to make it all the way to the battlefield, only to collapse in front of everyone in a dramatic display. Shortly after, the sounds of what seemed like wolves, or rabid animals drowned out the sounds of battle.

 

With bloodied weapons and blood smeared faces, eleven bear fur wearing barbarians charged directly towards the position of the overwhelmed Stormcloak soldiers, letting out warcries that split the enemy's ears. One of them with greyish skin stayed in the back and shot waves of frost from his hands, hitting the Nords and Reachmen alike. The Nords were mostly unaffected, but the Reachmen in the front lines found themselves backing away from the bitter cold that now hindered their movement. Even more, they had no way to prepare for the barbarians that came charging past the Stormcloak's front lines, as the frost magic blurred their vision, blinding them, allowing the Necro Nords to savagely stab into the Forsworn as if they were in a trance of madness.

 

"Huoooooaaaaaaaaahhh!!"

 

Falgrum's great sword caught a group of the Reachmen off guard, decapitating two of them with a mighty heave and burrowing into the neck of a third. Before he could be jumped from behind, Bardok the Impaler true to his namesake, ran two of the enemy through with his blade. Baldur's axe flew around in a flurry into the backs of routing Forsworn that were ill prepared for such a strong and surprising counter attack from so few. And with the frost magic slowing their swings down, they were being slaughtered quickly. Baldur's axes came down hard into a Reachman's shoulders, allowing him to pull the man towards him and take a chunk of flesh from his neck in a fountain of spurting blood.

 

This grotesque display was enough to discourage the front lines and make them rout for the next group of fresh soldiers to come. Disheartened, but not afraid, the new soldiers came with blades raised, looking to overwhelm and cut down the blood crazed freaks they saw slaughtering their friends. Before one of them could run away, Falgrum's sword stuck him through the back and into the ground. Before the other Forsworn overwhelmed them, Torik sent another wave of frost magic to mask their movements, allowing Baldur and the rest to maneuver through the enemy lines, cutting whoever got in their way.

 

When the frost magic dissipated, Baldur and the Necro Nords were behind the Forsworn, holding one of them with his arm around his neck. Baldur cut a dagger through his gut and made him watch as his men tore his intestines and other organs out from him. This did the trick. While the others bathed their faces in the man's innards and blood, the enraged Forsworn charged their positions, looking for revenge. Baldur and the others ran to the forest, laughing madly as their bloody footsteps showed their enemies the way.

 

Falgrum slammed his gore covered hand to his chest, barking in challenge to the first that were close enough to greet his steel. His child sized blade cleaved through the first woman's arm, then halved the head of the man behind her, sending his teeth flying in a loud crunch before Falgrum dashed away from the crowd with the others. Meanwhile, the Forsworn who would rather take their chances with the other Stormcloaks found themselves in a much less favorable situation, with over half of their men gone and chasing the Grim Ones into the winter hell that these demons surely came from.

 

Behind the Necro Nords, lines of navy crossbowmen formed up and began sending bolts into the back ranks of the Forsworn. Rebec's crossbow was on her back, because come Sovngarde or Oblivion, she was going to fight her way to Baldur's side. She found herself on the right flank of the Stormcloaks just as a few Forsworn broke away, trying to make for the village, no doubt to use the chaos of battle as an opportunity to burn it.

 

"Men, over here!" Rebec called back to her crew, and brought her own crossbow around. Bolts caught one Forsworn in the leg and slowed him enough for Rebec to run up and hack his spine open. She extracted her weapon and saw a young Forsworn man getting away, almost to the edge of the village. The next moment, Kyne's Talon was sailing through the air, spinning end over end. It hit the man's skull, cleaved it neatly in two and continued on, burying itself in the back of hers and Baldur's longhouse.

 

On the slope above the town, Mazoga heard the sounds of battle just as she crested the ridge, and realized that the Forsworn attacking the peasants were just outliers, probably rearguard scouts for a much bigger attack force. Now half of that attack force was routing, and headed straight for her. She had six more of her homemade bolts, then she'd be out.

 

"Better make 'em count," the orc growled as she took aim at an antlered woman.

 

Daric made his way into the fray, trying his best to ignore the pain in his arm. The bigger adult soldiers made it tough for him to work his way in, but Daric's skinny frame made him perfect for stabbing through the shield wall. Before the Nords up front had to move their hands to strike at the Forsworn, Daric quickly slashed at their face any time their heads poked through. Killing was something he'd yet to grow accustomed to. He still had the feeling of subduing to authority, so the idea that he was now killing people much older than him gave him a rush that made it hard to keep his weapons in hand.

 

When the Forsworn came crashing into the shield wall again, Daric got on the ground and stabbed a man through his knee, then dragged him from under to cleave off his head. He only managed to cut his throat with the axe, but the man was dead all the same. Suddenly, one of the Stormcloaks caught a spear through his skull and fell backwards over Daric, allowing some of the Forsworn to pour in. One of them tripped and fell over Daric, but me managed to lift his sword just in time for the woman to fall on it. Only now, Daric was trapped between bodies while a bunch of soldiers stomped around him, threatening to crush his head while this woman's stomach seeped warm blood over his tunic. Daric once again had to fight back the urge to wretch. Good thing he hadn't eaten yet, this time.

 

The routing Forsworn, hearing their fellows charge again into the Nords' shield wall, began to hesitate. Mazoga took advantage of the confusion and put several of them down. She kept moving, using cover, but a Reachman spotted her nonetheless and charged at her with axe brandishing. Even when the orc put a bolt in his chest, he still kept coming. It was her last bolt.

 

Horkis gro Akthamal's taunt came back to her. What are you going to do, tickle him with it? Drawing her dagger, Mazoga waited until the Forsworn was on her, starting to bring his axe down. She ducked underneath, spun, and brought her homemade crossbow around, bashing the man in the head with it. The whalebone layers shattered, and the man screamed as bits of bone flew into his eyes. Mazoga was left with a jagged spear of reinforced bone.

 

The Forsworn was waving his axe wildly, and by chance caught Mazoga across the shoulder, but as she came around, she jammed her dagger square in the back of his neck. It took several more blows to bring the man down. Mazoga wrenched her dagger free and looked up to see two more Forsworn running towards her.

 

She took a moment to curse her luck. A few weeks ago, no one expected her to succeed in the trials, let alone the solo hunt. Now that she was almost within sight of home, of the ship were she would be captain for the first time, it was going to end. There wasn't even time to grab the dead man's axe. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to go down quietly. As Mazoga raised her dagger to meet the attackers, a streak of green moved next to her, and the next thing she saw was Horkis gro Akthamal thundering in among the Forsworn attackers with a harsh war cry, his sword cutting an arc through them.

 

Horkis broke out in curses and shrieks that seemed unfitting for him in his old age, but nevertheless they came, just as his sword did from the withered body of an old man that should not have been fighting either. First, a wild eyed woman fell to his feet when his sword slipped between her ribs. Then a man had his chest cavity illuminated by the world's light for the first time when his sword met his pecks. The man dropped his sword, but with his last strength tried holding onto Horkis' body, the only resistance he could muster against his foe in his dying state. Horkis rewarded him by shoving a fist in his open cavity, ripping his beating heart out from behind his ribs and taking a bite before tossing Mazoga the man's sword.

 

"You can join in any time you want, my little green Bosmer."

 

Mazoga caught the sword, her mouth still agape at the ferocity the old man displayed. Now that was a real orc. She nodded once at him, and said, "Thank you for your help. Now I've got to go. Those are my friends down there."

 

"Farewell then, young one. I'll be watching. Say hello to the scholar for me, and don't get shown up by these pale skins."

 

There was no time to be puzzled by the old orc's words. Mazoga knew she was in pain, but if she had learned anything the past weeks, it was to feed on pain like sustenance. She ran down the hill, shouting, and carved a path through Forsworn until she was at the Nord lines. Beyond the shield wall, she saw the bloodied faces of the Grim Ones, and wondered if they would allow her into their ranks. If they didn't, she really would be dead this time.

 

***

 

"Fall back!" Baldur cried. They were slowly but surely leading the other half of the Forsworn away, but now they were starting to circle around them again. Baldur would not let them have their lives so easily, but instead would slowly pick them off until they ran away to lick their wounds, or Rebec's forces came to clean up.

 

The Grim Ones all but disappeared in the world of ice and desolate trees. The sounds of battle could be heard in the distance, but beyond that, the Forsworn could hear nothing but the winds whispering in their ears. The Grim Ones ran in three different directions, causing the Forsworn to split up, now roaming the Nord territory scattered and disorganized, but too angry and pumping with too much adrenaline to back down now.

 

Their leader was clear as day, sporting a large headdress of six deer antlers and bits and pieces of Legion and Stormcloak armor attached to his attire like trophies. With his spear in hand and his muscles like thick coiled rope, this dark skinned man was easily the most threatening of the lot. He crouched as he stepped silently through the snow, even managing to avoid the crunch.

 

A scream suddenly came from somewhere close. It was from the forest, not the battlefield. The Forsworn were certain of that. Periodically a few more screams would echo around, carried by the winds to taunt them. The leader with the large headdress ignored them, but the men behind him was starting to lose their nerve.

 

"There was more resistance here than we planned. First we got these psycho Nords coming out of nowhere, then they got reinforcements from that bitch with the crossbow. Perhaps we should cut our losses and flee while we still have some numbers left? This is pointless."

 

"We're already committed. Our forces are split and locked into battle. They'll flee on their own if they know what's good for them. In the meantime, we can at least hunt these savages down. We outnumber them. It's only a matter of time. Got me? Well? Hey, where'd he go?"

 

The Forsworn to his right was no longer around. Only he and his other soldier remained. The man in question started spinning around, swinging his weapon at an imaginary enemy, thinking the Nords were using invisibility spells or something. Backed up to a dead tree half gone, he said, "Lets just get out of here and regroup with the others later! I'm cold, hungry... this is no way to die."

 

As if he spoke the password, a roar came from behind him followed by a large pale body covered in bear fur breaking through the dead wood and encompassing him. He had an axe through his neck before he even realized what happened. Before the other one could get involved, the Forsworn leader felt a tap on his shoulder, followed by a two note whistle. "Over here, pal." The last thing he saw was a red headed Nord's milky eye before his great sword cleaved through his neck like a hot knife through butter.

 

Baldur stood from his victim's body rubbing his sore shoulder, smirking. "That tree was harder than I thought."

 

Falgrum peered behind him at the hole Baldur made in the rotted tree from tackling it through the hole on the other side already present when they got there. "Hahaha, you should have seen his face. I saw the whole thing from where I was at. Now what?"

 

"We'll keep picking them off for a bit, then meet up with my wife. By now, her men should be pouring through this area soon. Should be easy pickings with the Forsworn split up like this. Lets go, there's still more scum to wipe off the face of Nirn."

 

Falgrum whipped his sword over the ground, making it hum as the blood flicked off into the snow. He followed Baldur close with his claymore over his shoulder, smirking like a Bosmer in a butcher's shop. "It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it."

 

The Forsworn's bodies littered the ground, but in one last ditch effort, the Reachmen pushed back hard against the Nord's front line by switching out their own front line with the men and women in the back itching for blood. Daric had to watch from his position under the dead woman in quiet panic as the Stormcloak old folk stomping around him suddenly became Forsworn old folk. For the moment, he wouldn't dare move from under his spot. Unfortunately, the gods made that decision for him when a man tripped over the stacked up bodies and knocked the woman from over him. When the man recovered, Daric prayed hard that he would not notice the little Stormcloak staring at him, horrified.

 

But he did. For a moment, it seemed as though who he was didn't register. Daric didn't realize the blood covering him made it hard to make out his blue sash. Unfortunately the blade going through the Reachwoman was a dead giveaway, literally. In a rage, the Forsworn came at Daric with the agility of a man and the killing instinct of one to match. His bone spiked weapons were in his face so quick, all he could manage to do was fall to avoid them. On the ground, he sent a swift kick to the man's groin, but he recovered and stopped Daric's axe swing with his primitive 'blade'. The man lifted Daric up by lifting his Forsworn sword, preparing to swing into Daric's ribs.

 

Only by Daric's lack of arm-strength, especially with his wound, and the blood that drenched his hand from the woman was he saved. Daric's grip slipped, making him fall and avoid the Forsworn's blow just barely. He couldn't reach his sword in time, so he grabbed the only thing he could, which was a half broken Forsworn weapon on the ground, half stomped on and covered in blood, mud and snow. Avoiding the prick in his hand from quickly yanking it up, Daric swung the thing up at the Forsworn's most vulnerable spot. His groin. The spikes on the weapon hooked and made a large line of splattered blood from under him as Daric dragged his weapon away along with his manhood. He couldn't help it. What he saw made him dropping it non negotiable. Daric's enemy fell to his knees screaming louder than anything Daric ever heard before, aside from the thu'um, as he tried in vain to scoop his mutilated genitals back in, only to bleed out shortly after the attempt.

 

Daric already felt as though he did something wrong, but when the other Forsworn started paying attention to them due to the man's screaming, Daric felt as if his stomach just dropped through Nirn. Placing his foot on the woman, he mustered all the strength he could to wrench his blade out, then he charged towards the Forsworn front line, stabbing a man through the back of his head and running over him to escape his pursuers, leaving his weapon imbedded in the enemy in haste. Being a Breton and covered in blood, Daric almost was killed by the Stormcloaks themselves when he came charging through the shield walls, but another blocked an axe swing with his own sword just before Daric was striked dead.

 

"Shit, my bad lad! I hardly recognized you!"

 

"Keep on fighting, soldier!" commanded the one who saved his life. It was a grey skin of all things, draped in the white furs of a snowbear. A Draugr Dunmer. Torik lifted the little Breton up and blasted him with a wave of restoration magic to patch him up again momentarily. Smiling at him and said, "Baldur would be proud. Here, take my sword and keep fighting."

 

"But how will you-"

 

Just then, a Forsworn man came hurtling over the shield wall at Torik, but was blinded with a wave of ice to his face. When he landed, a grey hand met his chest, keeping him from falling, only to have an ice spike protrude from his back shortly after. Letting him drop, Torik winked at Daric, then moved up to the front, where another Forsworn just pushed through, only to have Torik's hands move in a blur, filling the foe with a flurry of little spikes that made him jerk around until the human porcupine crumbled to the ground and died.

 

***

 

Rebec had looked up just in time to see Baldur and some of the Grim Ones heading for the trees, drawing off a portion of the Forsworn. "Gods damn it," she cursed. It was a good strategy, but that didn't mean she had to like Baldur being out of her sight. Meanwhile the Reach berserkers on the edge of the attack force kept charging at the village, and one of them got off a fireball that set a longhouse ablaze. It all started to make her mad. Really, really mad.

 

Spying a female quarry, a big Forsworn charged at her, braying. He stopped in shock as the Nord woman let out a bloodcurdling yell and leapt towards him with equal velocity. Their axes met, locked, slid away, then locked again.

 

Despite Rebec's charge and the fury she felt, she took no chances. The weapons sessions with Baldur had given her plenty of practice at countering big, strong dual wielders. She could counter him and might get a lucky swipe in, but so might he if she stayed in one place too long, and he had a strength advantage. Speed would be her friend. That, and surprise.

 

Abruptly she spun away and began to run as if trying to escape. The man came after her, not seeing that she was sheathing her axe as she ran. When she stopped and turned, he spied the rope in her hand and dodged. The rope sailed over his head, and the man gave a bloodthirsty grin. "Nice try, Nord bitch. I'm going to enjoy-" There was a crack, and the man looked up just in time to see a tree branch coming towards his face. Rebec was on him while he was still clawing at branches. Grabbing at his belts with her free hand, she half climbed the man's torso while her off hand brought her axe down, chopping through the branches and into his skull. Rebec rode the falling corpse and jumped clear just as it crashed to the ground.

 

Around her there was a boil of hacking, screaming, and dying men and women. Rebec was covered head to toe in blood. At one point she turned around and came face to face with a similarly drenched Mazoga.  She shouted happily, "Maz! You look like shit!"

 

"Nice to see you, too, Admiral."

 

"You seen Baldur?"

 

"No. You go on. We got this."

 

Rebec surveyed the scene. It was obvious that the naval forces were carrying things. No more Forsworn tried to charge the village. More were running the other way, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Turning back, she said, "Nah. Screw that. Let's sweep 'em back up the hillside and let Baldur's men help finish them off."

 

***

 

About an hour later, Baldur finally started making his way back to the village, sure that by now, the rest of the Forsworn were either dead or gone. His beard was caked in blood, as was the rest of him, and there was gore and bits of people stuck in the bear furs of his tunic's sleeve, and his bear cloak, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to.

 

Weary, Baldur stumbled his way home on the main road, still feeling jittery from the excitement coursing through his veins, and sporting a smile on his face, exposing his red tinted teeth.

 

Suddenly, Baldur saw five figures ahead of him and thought at first that it must've been Rebec with a group looking for him. The calls of "Forsworn!" put that thought out rather quick, however. They didn't attack him head on, though. In fact, they didn't attack him at all. They only stared as if waiting for him to speak.

 

Baldur looked from his left and right, then slowly took out an axe. "Put down your weapons or die. You're all my prisoners now."

 

Baldur expected them to laugh, but they actually looked like they were considering it, weighing their options. As they ran their eyes over the blood soaked Nord in front of them, one of them finally dropped their weapons, eventually making the others follow her lead.

 

"Wise decision," said Baldur as he signaled with his head towards the trees to their left. Falgrum came out with his greatsword pointing towards the group, snickering.

 

"Lets get moving, or we'll just cut you down where you stand. Behave, and we may let you live," said Falgrum. For once, they weren't lying. They'd need survivors to tell of what happened here today.

 

***

 

The mopping up took longer than Rebec expected. The Forsworn were a determined enemy, you had to give that to them. You also had to give them a bolt in the eye. Rebec had given over her crossbow to Mazoga when she noticed the orc's sword swings growing slower. At a lull in the battle, Mazoga suddenly teetered and fell sideways into a heap.

 

Rebec shouted for help and some of the Wisp's crew came running. When they were satisfied that Mazoga wasn't severely injured, one of them tossed her over his shoulder and loped off towards the fort.

 

Meanwhile Rebec took back her crossbow and followed the rest of the Stormcloaks who were pushing the last of the Forsworn back. She had a bolt drawn on the Reachmen facing Baldur, ready to start putting them down if they made a wrong move.

 

Baldur didn't bother trying to tell her to lower her crossbow, not at all trusting his new prisoners. The other Grim-Ones met up with he and Falgrum, so he had them take the prisoners off his hands to the cells of the fort while he ran up to Rebec. Seeing her equally bloodied, he put his arm over her shoulder as they walked, and said while grinning, "Good morning. You sleep well?"

 

"How's anyone supposed to sleep with all this shouting?" she answered, grinning. Caught by exuberance and not caring about the blood, she grabbed Baldur's shoulders and gave him a quick, hot kiss before walking on, crossbow still raised and brandishing towards the prisoners.

 

"Oh, I could use a soak in the sea, right about now," said Baldur to himself. A moment later, a small limp form came strolling over to them from the side until he was close enough to collapse before him. "Daric! Shit, you look like shit! You alright?"

 

"I'm good," he said, picking himself up. His face was pale as a ghost, however, and Baldur knew he wasn't.

 

"Like hell you are. You're going to see Menel, then you're spending the night in the fort after you get cleaned up." Baldur was exhausted, but he managed to muster enough strength to carry the little warrior on his shoulders.

 

(TBC)

[TheCzarsHussar]

(continued)

 

The prisoners were secured away for the day while the others took care of the Stormcloak and Forsworn bodies by the roads and near the town. Baldur in the meantime checked up on Ysana, who had a dagger in her hand and almost had to use it when she saw how filthy he and his soldiers were in the new uniforms she just made for them. She made them all soak in the sea until the gore was gone, then rolled around in the snow to rid themselves of the salt on their skin and in their hair, letting their uniforms air dry until they were ready to be swatted and beaten to get rid of the salt in them as well.

 

With his hair and beard brushed and freshly washed, Baldur made his way to the infirmary where Daric, Mazoga and Rebec were, along with Burla and Falgrum traveling behind him in matching fur kilts from their stormcloak officer uniforms. Burla was the first to walk in, curious to the state of the orc woman, but saying nothing at the moment.

 

Baldur however ran up to her and immediately greeted her with a hug. "You're back! Rebec thought you were dead. You smell like it though."

 

Mazoga kept her face straight, though the hug made her feel like her bones were cracking again. Menel wasn't there, something about an errand he needed to attend to, and there were only diluted cure disease potions around. It was bonebreak fever, the healers said, and an advanced case.

 

She gave a weak smile. "See you all were planning some fun while I was away. Glad I got back in time to join in."

 

Baldur said, "Yea, we prepared for a few raiders moving in on our town, but we didn't expect that many Forsworn. There must be a reason so many decided to leave the Reach. The townsfolk mentioned what we already know, which is the war. Maybe something happened in Markarth itself. We'll question the prisoners later."

 

"Where's your bear fur, Mazoga?" asked Burla from a corner, her voice booming. She sounded genuinely curious, rather than antagonistic. She walked over just a bit after her inquiry, stepping into the better lit part of the room and exposing the gruesome scars over her stomach like four deep trenches, likely from the bear she herself killed.

 

Mazoga looked up at her, suspicious about the sudden interest. "I dropped it to fight Forsworn. It might be still out there." Probably trampled or grabbed up by one of the Reachmen. Now she could tell Horkis gro Akthamal that she was a real orc. Only an orc could have such shit luck.

 

Baldur shared a glance with the other two, but ignored the accusation in it. "That's... unfortunate."

 

"What now? Is she one of us, or isn't she?" Falgrum asked.

 

"Well, she's not an officer, but she did pass the trials. So that means she's one of us," Baldur answered.

 

Burla sighed, sounding disappointed, though it wasn't clear if it was because she failed the final test, or because she managed to become one of them in the end. She didn't seem intent on elaborating either. "So, what do we call her? We've got Necro Nords, Draugr Dunmer, but an Orc? What's next, Abominable Altmer? Gods..."

 

"Hows about the Odious Orsimer?" asked Baldur. "Sounds about right... Looks about right, hehehe."

 

Rebec came up behind them and looked from one to the other. "What's going on?" When Mazoga explained, she said, "Well you're not all just going to give up, are you? I'm going out there to look for the pelt."

 

"I'll go with you." Baldur said, but Burla shook her head.

"No, I'll go. Just the three of us ladies."

"If it's just the three of you ladies, why are you going? Baldur already looks prettier than two of you..." Falgrum joked.

"What do you mean two?" said Baldur. He and Falgrum both shared a laugh until they saw Burla's look.

 

"Maz needs to stay here. Look at her. She's more grey than green."

 

The orc was already standing up, however, and would brook no protests.

 

Rebec looked around as they were leaving. "Where's Menel anyway, gods damn his greasy hide. We got other wounded and he's off lollygagging somewhere."

 

Burla picked her nose with her pinky, flicking something at the walls as they walked. "The cute little fat elf? That butter ball high tailed it to the Queen already with some devil magic. Had me suspicious, since he left just a few hours before the Forsworn came after checking on my wounds."

 

"Menel's no Forsworn spy," Rebec said, shaking her head. "That would be too much work for him. I'm surprised he stuck around as long as he did. Probably jealous of Ulfric." She glanced back. "Easy there, Maz. You're almost done with all this foolishness." She took the orc's arm to steady her.

 

Mazoga directed them towards where she remembered dropping the pelt. The civilians' broken cart was still there in the road. There was no pelt, however. They were just about to give up when two of the travelers came back up the road from the village with tools in hand to fix the cart. One of them recognized Mazoga and came over to thank her for helping them. When she told them about the pelt, one of the men said, "We found it! It's with our goods. I didn't want the savages to get it."

 

By the time the women got back to the village, Mazoga's heart was pounding. She didn't want to admit that she wanted to succeed in the trial, but she did. If the farmers had taken the bolt out...

 

There the pelt sat on the top of a pile of trade goods, the homemade crossbow bolt still protruding from the skull. Rebec let out a whoop and grabbed it up to go show Baldur.

 

Baldur and Falgrum sat around kicking their feet in boredom while they watched Daric slumber. Baldur wasn't worried before, but now with Menel missing and forced to deal with the other half rate Nordic healers, he was sweating as much as the little Breton was on the medic table.

 

Falgrum noticed this, mostly because watching Baldur sweat was the only interesting thing going on while the women made them wait. "So. The boy tasted real battle today. May as well declare him a Nord now. Give 'em a name and all. What do you think?"

 

"You mean a moniker? Heh, sure. I think he'll like that. How'd you get yours, by the way? You don't use a shield, so why are you Falgrum Blood-Rim?"

 

Falgrum's face suddenly went grave, which considering his bad eye, gave Baldur slight chills, though he'd never admit it. Falgrum looked at him directly and said, "There was a young boy, almost a man in Morthal, born with a glossy blind eye, who was said to be an orphan. The rumor was that he killed his entire family for no reason at all. Just a whim... like how you decide one day you'll wear a new pair of shoes. No one wanted to take in the boy even before they suspected that he did it. The air about him was all wrong. They had to do something with him though, but no one wanted to take up the responsibility. So, they decided to get rid of him, move him to another town. The boy heard the others talking and staring, and they knew they'd come for him. So, he came for them first. That night, there was a dead body in the street, then another the next, then another. Eventually they realized it was the child, because he stood at the edge of town with bloody hands, staring back with that awful glossy eye.

 

The townsfolk had enough, but they grew afraid, saying he was possessed by the spirit of Mephala or Boethia. So they did what Nords always did when there was someone they needed to kill, but couldn't. They got a giant. They forged a great blade with a forked tongue at the end, and painted it in swirls from cow's blood, then sat it in the middle of town and left. They waited three days until they heard the great steps of the giant coming to claim his prize. Thinking that they solved their problems, the townsfolk came rushing back to see the aftermath of the battle... and they all fell to their knees in awe and horror. What they saw, was the giant, shorter now, because his head was missing, and blood shot so high from his massive body's neck, that they could have sworn that the splatter touched the sky, or so that's how they'd always remember it. Since then, the demon boy with the bad eye was known as Blood-Rim. So the story goes. Could have been a giant, could have just been a really big Nord mercenary, but if you go to Morthal and ask about Blood-Rim, the guards will tell you they still have a bounty on his head for your weight in gold if you kill him."

 

Baldur hadn't said anything for the entirety of the story. Falgrum said it with such solemn sincerity, such grave earnest, that even before Baldur asked the question, Baldur knew the answer. "That true? You were that boy?"

 

Falgrum stood up, brow knit as if Baldur just asked was his wife really murdered. Meeting Baldur face to face so close that he could smell his breath, Falgrum said, "Na, I'm pulling your leg, general. I got that name because I like cutting heads off. Get it? Blood Rim is their bleeding open neck holes."

 

"You son of a bitch, I believed you!" Baldur said, disappointed. "That would have been a great story!"

 

"Ahahaha, it still is! That's why it's a story."

 

Rebec was about to burst in with the pelt in her hands, but stopped herself. Handing the bear fur to Mazoga, she said, "Here, Maz. Your kill, and your honor. I'd follow you into battle any day, but that was always so. Now the rest of these assholes will know what they're dealing with."

 

Burla scoffed in reflex, remembering that she was one of those assholes, doubting the Orc's strength. "I admit, you surprise me, Thorn-Orc. You didn't kill the bear up close, but I suppose cunning is nice. I'd rather fight with you than a grey-skin. It'll be nice not being the only female officer."

 

Mazoga shrugged her thanks. She'd had the sentimental beaten out of her. "Anyway, let's go. Then I'm going to sleep for a week." Inside the infirmary, she showed the pelt to Baldur with a blank expression, prepared for him to disqualify her anyway for some reason.

 

Baldur shared a glance with Falgrum, rubbing his beard as he inspected the pelt. "Hmm. Right Falgrum?"

 

"Hmmm... yea, I'm thinking the same thing. Hmmm..."

 

"Hmmm... Oh and-"

 

"Yea, yea. We should, right?"

 

"Uhuh, come here." Baldur and Falgrum left the others to whisper amongst themselves in a corner, occasionally looking back at Mazoga with concerned looks. Finally, Baldur and Falgrum wandered back over to the women to give the news.

 

"Well..." said Falgrum.

 

"We're in agreement," said Baldur. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to tell Ysana yourself to make a new uniform. Neither of us want to deal with her again today. Oh, and you're in."

 

Rebec was the one who shouted and jumped up and down at this, hanging on Mazoga's shoulder and then releasing her quickly as the orc groaned in pain.

 

Mazoga's expression remained blank at first, but gradually she cracked a smile. "Thanks boss." Without another word, she walked over to her cot and fell into it.

 

Hailing Menel's apprentice, Rebec said, "Give her the best potions you got. I know Menel's got his own stash somewhere. Find them and see that she gets what she needs, and come get me if anything changes with her."  The admiral's commanding tone brooked no opposition. Then she turned to Baldur. "I'm going to go help clean up the mess those gods blasted freaks left out there. I'll see you at home later."

 

Baldur hugged her quick and kissed her on the cheek, happy that she could finally stop worrying about her friend. "You have fun with that. I'll be waiting here for a while with Daric and celebrating Mazoga's success with a bottle of mead while you're gone. Get the boy some of that potion too. I'd say he needs it as well, maybe even more."

[TheCzarsHussar]

Lilly

Imperial City

Late morning

 

"******* rain." Said Lilly, annoyed at the rumbling thunder clouds. She puffed in anger, and adjusted her black long-coat.

 

Albecias walked behind her, writing utensils tucked safely in his coat's inside pocket. He frequently ducked beneath awnings, moving from one to another in an attempt to avoid the downpour. He knew the lesser nobles' apartments and houses weren't far off, so he shouldered the deluge and hopped over puddles to avoid ruining his new boots.

 

Lilly said in a rather monotone voice, "Have any of the murder cases you've studied involved the nobility?"

 

"Oh yes, the most recent one in fact. A poor Nordic girl, Friga Shatter-Shield, was brutally murdered by the Windhelm Butcher. It was an awful crime scene, blood and body bits everywhere," Albecias said, dodging out of the way as a cart passed by.

 

"Heard about that. Also recall something about the Shatter Spears were heavily involved in shady dealings, in an attempt to close down the east empire company in the Eastmarch region. Serves them right for all I care." She said, looking around.

 

"Oh, you condone senseless murder, and necromantic rituals performed by said killer, because the Shatter-Shields hired pirates to harass the East Empire Company? My my, you preside in a sick and twisted world, madam Spymaster. I'm afraid the general populace wouldn't share your sentiments, especially given the detailed descriptions I provided in my book. No, they would vilify you for wishing that upon anyone. Lucky for you, I prefer to keep such things to myself. Gossip has it's uses, but I think having you as a friend has more," the writer said with a suspicious smirk.

 

"A friend of mine went down with one of the hit ships. I have many friends in the navy, which the east empire company usually recruits from for navigators. Blood pay's with blood. I'm very sure the Nords would agree with me." She laughed dryly at his remark, "You would do well to remember that my 'friend'. As you said, I'm much more useful as an ally to you." 

 

"I'm sure you have a great many friends, in a great many places. What, with your charming personality and sharp-as-a-blade wits," Albecias playfully said, smiling at his own sarcastic joke.

 

"You know your sense of humor is baffling...with you entertaining yourself by telling really bad jokes..." She said sarcastically.

 

"It is, isn't it? Completely and utterly strange. But that is why I don't write humor," Albecias said.

 

"Murders and comedy really don't lend themselves to each other do they?" 

 

Suddenly Adrian, the suspect she had interrogated the previous day, came into sight as he walked towards them. He gave Lilly a spiteful glare. "Bitch." he also said with an equally spiteful voice as he passed by.

 

"From what I hear, your the one who likes to be bent over and treated like a bitch, boy." Lilly coughed, saying somthing out loud for the author to hear in a mischievous voice, "We shouldn't look down on him. There's nothing wrong with him pretending to be the female in bed."

 

"Oh, come now Colonel. Surely there is some better insult you could slap on the man than his sexuality. I would love to give you some pointers, but then I would offend Mr. Adrian here," Albecias bowed his head in greeting, then took a half step back to allow the lesser noble and spymaster continue their petty squabbling.

 

Adrian's face was now boiling with anger. "One day, you little bitch. One day, you slu-" he was then suddenly interrupted by a white goo hitting the top of his head from above. Adrian's face then suddenly changed to one of shock and disgust as he raised his hand and poked at the goo with two fingers and then held them up before his eyes to see what it was. He simply stood there silently while he looked at the goo, and the look from his face said he was about to explode from the embarrassment, frustration and anger.

 

She gave Adrian a wink and contuined on her way, "Lesser nobles. Tsk tsk. Thinking they're above it all."

 

Albecias hung back, pulling Adrian aside. "If I might have a word; it will only take but a few moments," he asked politely.

 

Lilly brushed her shoulder, doing a hidden signal.

Soon Karsh landed on Lilly's shoulder. "I know there's few people out in the street now, but couldn't you have found a subtler time to call me? Put an invisibility spell on me. And a spell to help keep me dry. Bloody rain ain't good for my feathers."

 

She did so, before saying, "Nice hit by the way. Go see what the author is doing with Adrian." 

 

"Practice makes perfect." he responded before flying off.

 

Adrian was still staring the white goo on his fingers with the same intensity as the author pulled him aside. Even as the rain sped the pace at which it began to slide down his face. "What?" he then managed to spit out in a rather unpleasant tone after a long moments of silence.

 

Albecias whipped out a handkerchief and quickly disposed of the white substance, folding the napkin and sliding it back in his pocket once done. "Why the animosity towards the Spymaster? Any particular reason?"

 

"She interrogated me yesterday. Or rather, mistreated me I would say."

 

"How so? Physical or emotional bullying?" the author and reporter had taken out a small scroll with a charcoal writing instrument, and was scribbling down notes up against the wall of a nearby building.

 

"Both. Mostly physically." he said with a bitter tone.

 

"Do you happen to have any marks or bruises to show?"

 

"Not really. I was slammed into the wall."

 

Albecias wrote something down, then tucked the parchment in his coat. He smiled and cordially said "I appreciate the information, and your time. Good day."

 

Adrian just mumbled something unidentifiable in response as he then continued his walk down the street.

 

"Asshole," Albecias said, long after the noble was out of earshot. He caught up with Lilly, huffing slightly as he came up behind her. "Well that was quite an interesting interview. Enlightening, almost," he said with a sneer.

 

"Well? Was he as personable as me?" she said sarcastically.

 

"I can't say I've ever met anyone with your...personality," the writer said, his word choice careful.

 

"Your really lucky I'm assuming that's a compliment...Oh by the way Sarge is a little rough. Don't get on his nerves."

 

"And who is this 'Sarge'? I assume it's short for sergeant, unless his parents were so dim-witted they named their child Sarge. Either way, I'm sure we will not clash. I'm perfectly likable."

 

"That's debatable..." She muttered under her breath. Walking at a brisk pace she went over to the crime scene, and asked a guard she met yesterday, "Were's the sarge?"

 

The guard saluted her. "Up in the mansion, talking with the noblewoman. He said he was going to get the guest list. Though that was a while ago. She's probably talking his ears off."

 

"Did he mention anything?"

 

"Well, he said that if he ain't back within a couple of minutes that we should pray to Stendarr to have mercy upon his ears."

 

Lilly turned around and headed into the mansion searching for the sergeant and the hostess of the party. It wasn't soon before she heard the familiar voice of Rosentia in the distance. As she headed in the direction of the chatter. And behind a half open door, she found Rosentia talking with a very distressed looking sergeant Amidius about some gossip on a merchant that had been arrested last week for tax evasion.

"My lady, may I borrow the sergeant from you?" She said in a deadpan tone.

 

"But I'm not done talking yet." she answered. 

 

"Just give me the gods damned list!" Amidius said in a rather annoyed and angry tone. 

 

"How rude." she responded and handed him a piece of paper. 

 

"Thank you, m'lady." Amidius managed to force himself to say before hurrying out of the room. "Lets go before she decides to inform us about how the grocery prices have risen." he said to Lilly in a low voice as he passed her.

 

She took the hostesses hand, kissed it gently and said rather rudely, "Stick to tormenting your usual victims okay?" She gave her a cat like smile.

 

A disgruntled "Hmph." was all she got from Rosentia as she clearly felt insulted by the statement.

 

"Don't look so gloomy. If you want, you can stop by the mansion and have dinner with me and Helen."

 

"Fine." she said, trying to look like she was reluctant to accept, while there was a clear glimt of eagerness in her eyes.

 

"Come at eight. Helen has a day off today so you can pester her with questions." And with that she turned around and followed the sergeant.

 

Albecias greeted Rosentia with a smile, and quietly followed Lilly and Amidius. He could've asked her some questions, but he wouldn't get away for at least an hour.

The sergeant walked with a quick pace out of the the mansion, totally ignoring the author and everything else till he got outside. Where he stopped looked up at the clouds in the sky as the rain began to subside. And drew a heavy sigh of relief. 

 

"The mighty righteous imperial guardsmen. Fear not the bandit, serial killer, rapist, and vampire. But you're afraid of gossiper?" She said with a sly smile.

 

"I know how to fight those things. With her all I can do is stand there and try to listen with the occasional nodding." he replied.

 

"She's harmless."

 

"Not to my ears."

 

"You need to get out more sarge."

 

"If that means listening to more people like her, no thanks. Anyway, we should get going. We were to question that rival of yesterday's suspect. What was his name again?"

 

"What we want is Maro then."

 

"Right. He lives in the house opposite of Maro if I remember correct." the sergeant was about to turn around and head as he now noticed the writer following Lilly. "And who are you?"

 

"Albecias Plebo. Author and reporter, quite famous and skilled in both. I'm here covering this murder for the Black Horse Courier, if you don't mind," he said in his usual pompous and pretentious manner.

 

"Famous? Never heard of ya. Just keep out of my way and you wont have to suffer the view of the inside of the dungeon." he then turned to Lilly. "Shall we go?"

 

"I assume that along with fearing talkative noblewomen, you must also be afraid of reading, if you haven't heard of me. Hmph, and what might I see the dungeon for? Gross misuse of sarcasm, perhaps?" Albecias once again facetiously remarked.

 

"Interfering with a lawman's work. That's what." he replied while giving the writer a strict look, before turning back to Lilly once again. "Now shall we go?"

 

"Just let the big boys do there job, and we'll let you write okay?" She turned to the sergeant, "Roger."

 

"Oh yes ma'am. I'll be sure to keep out of your way," Albecias said dryly. "You realize my talking is in no way interfering. Unless you're easily distracted, in which case I'll have this Maro remove all shiny objects, lest you forget why you're here."

 

"Just zip it." She said in a joking tone.

 

Albecias smirked but said nothing. He could antagonize the two for days, but in the end, without their cooperation, he would have nowhere close the access he did now, so he followed the Spymaster's advice.

Amidius muttered something inaudible under his breath as he with quick steps headed out onto the street. 

And as soon as they were out in the open on the street, Karsh (who was still invisible) silently swooped down and landed on Lilly's shoulder. 

 

Lilly whispered, "By the way, are you the one whose been putting the idea that I'm a incestuous pedophile in Helen's head?"

 

"Well aren't you? The way you've been going through her underwear." the raven replied.

 

"That girl has enough problems as it is. Don't cause her more stress. She already has a dozen phobias."

 

"What's wrong with having a phobia of pedophiles?"

 

"If she's thinks I'm one it'll cause her to feel uncomfortable at home. Which is a place she should feel safe."

 

"And how is it my fault you're going through her underwear?"

 

She looked away, embarrassed, "You know teens these days....moon sugar and skooma. I needed to make sure she wasn't hiding anything."

 

"In her underwear?"

 

"Does it look I go around town looking for little girls to molest? What am I? A dirty old man?"

 

"Fine. I wont talk with her about your plans to molest her.

 

"Shut up." She said rather quiet.

 

"Why are you muttering with yourself?" Amidius asked.

 

"Should have cast a muffle spell." Karsh said into her ear with a smug tone.

 

"Allows me to gather my thoughts sarge." She said with a smile.

 

"Oh, okay." the sergeant said with a shrug. 

 

"And I almost forgot. They talked about your interrogation you had yesterday." Karsh said.

 

Casting a muffle spell, Lilly asked, "The details?"

 

"That guy following us asked what happened and that guy with shit on his head said you mistreated him and slammed him into a wall. And that's it. Boring conversation."

 

"Boring is good."

 

"No, it's not. I prefer when people say things that'll get them killed. That way I'll have some nice eyeballs to shew on."

 

"Man I need a holiday. " She started to think deeply, "Maybe a trip to Chorrol. Visit the old harpie herself. Take Helen shopping. Go to the hotsprings. Yeah that would be nice."

 

"After the assassination attempts you should be happy to be able to leave the city without the little blonde thing."

 

"Then your hearing is slightly off. And I'm going to keep calling her little as that makes me feel bigger."

 

"But your tiny." She said in a deadpan tone, "Why don't you ask your master to turn you into a giant fire breathing raven?"

 

"Like if he ain't happy with amount of food I already eat."

 

"Unlike you however, while small, Dales is adorably cute."

 

"At least I'm charming. And handsome." he said with a slightly gruff tone.

 

"Jealous of her majesty? Jealous that your master favors her over yourself?" She said slyly.

 

"Jealous? Favors? I'm the one who does all the important hard work. All she does is sits on a throne and tries to look competent while sometimes taking a sausage up her private quarters."

 

"Dales does all of the 'boring' stuff. Focusing on the social issues, economics, and of course, the paper work of the empire. She wakes up at 5 AM and goes to sleep at 2 AM the next day. While your stuffing your face in meat and sleeping. She does far more then you." She said smugly.

 

"Keep telling yourself that. I am important. And a bit peckish."

 

"The messanger raven is more important then the empress. You're a nice pet."

 

"I'm not a pet! I'm a companion."

 

"Hehehehehe. Want a dog biscuit for dinner? I'm sure Helen would love to dress you up in frilly princess clothing as well."

 

"Like if my feathers weren't warm enough in this climate. Keep your clothes to yourself."

 

"A little baby bib and some little socks. Helen will give you a bottle of milk and make you say 'mama' over again as she rocks you in a manger." She said smiling.

 

"Bah. You humans are freaks."

 

Albecias looked on with awe, first noticing the whispering, then watching Lilly as she cast a spell. He only noticed because he was already watching her strange movements. Then, she began to speak, her lips moving but no words coming out. Occasionally, she glanced at her shoulder, talking as she did. The whole behavior was perplexing, and he had never seen anything like it before. Albecias didn't say a word about it, but noted that the Spymaster might be unstable, or even insane.

 

She dispelled the muffle and said out loud, "So sarge do you think this guy is the killer?"

 

"How should I know? Never met the man." he answered.

 

"I don't know. Last case like this I worked was the black rose killer back in Chorrol." She shuddered at the memory.

 

"The Black Rose case was quite ugly. People can be monsters, that much I've seen firsthand," Albecias piped from behind Lilly.

 

"Yeah, but this seems more like a killing made on impulse under the effect of alcohol. I doubt there's any kind of thought put into the deed." said Amidius.

 

"Worst part about that was we never found out who he or she was. Just letter after letter talking about how it eviscerated and tortured those poor girls." She took a huge mouth full of air. Lilly didn't want to go back to those dark days, "Your right though sergeant. Those murders were calculated and well executed. The black rose killer would stalk it's victim for days before making its move. This one seems to have been in the moment due to how sloppy it was."

 

"Anyway, here we are." said Amidius and stopped in front of the house opposite of the one they had visited yesterday. Both houses looked quite alike. "Hopefully he'll be more receiving of me. Though I doubt he'll take kindly to letting in the writer. I don't think anyone would like his kind watching and taking notes on how your treated as a suspect in such a gruesome murder. Especially nobles."

 

"On the contrary, I think he would want me there. As your first interviewee told me, his treatment at your hands was rather rough. I'm sure Mr. Maro knows this, and would want a witness to report such foul mistreatment," Albecias had dealt with this situation before, and for the most part the person being interviewed wanted someone there that wasn't biased against them.

 

"I agree. The author can come if he wants." Lilly said.

 

"Whatever you say. But in my experience, most nobles prefer a bruised body over a bruised reputation." he said with a shrug and went up to the door and knocked.

 

"And most would want their side of the stories heard rather than be labeled by the general populace as a murderer and rapist." Albecias said with his trademark smug smile.

 

"I don't know what people you've worked with, but I don't go around announcing who's a suspect."

 

The door opened and middle aged woman in simple servant clothing stood there. "Yes? How can I help you?"

 

Albecias took out his noted and scribbled something down, the quickly slipped it back in this pocket. "I've worked with your colleague here, and she kindly told me who the suspects were. Still, it isn't hard to deduce by those who knew the victim. People will assume Maro is involved, because of his relationship with her."

 

Lilly ignoring the two's small squabble, approached the woman and said, "Colonel Lillin Quentas. Were here to speak with your master on Oculatus, and Imperial watch business."

 

"Which one?" she asked.

 

"Maro." 

 

"He's in the dining room. Eating breakfast. Is it urgent?"

 

"Very." She said with a simple nod.

 

"This way then. And don't touch anything." she stepped aside and gestured for everyone to enter.

 

Lilly entered the door first, not bothering to take off her long-coat.

Albecias followed, whipping out his parchment and charcoal so as to write notes more quickly than with ink and quill.

Amidius just followed quietly and kept his strict look on his face. 

 

The servant led them through the entrance hall to a door at the far left on which she knocked. "Mr Maro? The Oculatus wants to see you."

 

"Is it that important? I'm eating!" shouted a grumpy voice from the other side of the door.

 

"They say it is." replied the servant woman. 

 

"Fine. Send them in!" Maro yelled back and the servant opened the door for the three to enter.

 

Lilly entered into the room and bowed her head, "Colonel Lillin Quentas. This will only take a little of your time."

 

Maro who looked like a rather average imperial with short brown hair and a clean shave, except he had somewhat broad jaw. He sat the left side of the table, eating sandwiches made of fluffy white bread and slices of smoked venison from a plate. And delicate glass filled with clear water next to him. Other than that the table was quite barren. On right wall hanged a couple of paintings of what could be assumed was prominent member of Maro's family. A small and relatively simple chandelier hanged in the roof. It was unlit as the sunlight that managed to pass through both the clouds and the windows was still enough to lighten up the place so there were no dark corners. 

Maro straightened his back and looked at Lilly and her little entourage that followed. "Well I do hope you have a good excuse to interrupt a man's breakfast." he said a in a calm yet slightly annoyed tone. Then taking another shew of his sandwich. 

 

"Its about a party you were at recently."

 

"What about it?" he asked with his mouth still shewing on the sandwich.

 

"Were aware that you have an intense rivalry with a noble named Adrian correct?"

 

Maro waited a second to swallow before he replied. "Depends on what you consider intense. I would consider it long-lasting. And given our past disputes, I dare say that things are relatively calm between us right now."

 

"Hmmm. Are you also aware of the murder that happened at that party?"

 

"Murder?" he said with surprise.

 

"She was raped as well. A daughter of an elder councilor. You and Adrian were fighting over her the night of the party."

 

"Maressa? She's dead?" he said and then grew silent and just stared.

 

"Death by strangulation."

 

"Well if it's not Adrian I don't know who it could have been."

 

"May I be blunt?" She said calmly.

 

"Ehm, sure. Go ahead." he said, sounding a bit confused.

 

"You're a suspect."

 

"Why?" he sounded a little shocked at the notion.

 

"You were piss drunk. Angry. And made hopeless passes at the girl."

 

"Who told you that? Adrian?"

 

"A large amount of sources."

 

"Well I can admit I was a little more than just tipsy from the drink. And yes, I had an interest in the girl. And I wasn't angrier than usual when it comes to being close around Adrian."

 

"You understand? If there's anything you can tell us to clear your name it would help."

 

"I mingled. Drank some. Had a brief talk with Adrian inside the mansion. Then I mingled and drank some more. Then I heard from someone that Adrian had been accusing me necrophilia at the party, to some of the guests. When I asked where he was someone said that he had headed into the garden with Maressa. I headed to the garden and we meet just outside. I told him a few things and where he could stick it. Then I headed back to the party and mingled some more. Then drank some more till I could barely walk straight. And then I headed home."

 

"I heard it was a very heated argument that nearly came to blows."

 

"That sounds like pretty much every conversations me and Adrian has ever had."

 

"You both wanted the victim?"

 

"Wanted the victim? I can admit I fancied her. But I wouldn't beat Adrian because of her. If I would beat him it would be because of his smug and arrogant demeanor and not for that he managed to woo a girl and I did not."

 

"He was successful in his attempts?"

 

"Well he managed to get her into garden for some private time. How well it went after that you'll have to ask him."

 

"What was Maressa's mental state at the time?"

 

"A bit tipsy when I spoke with her. Maybe she'd had some more to drink after I spoke with her and before she went with Maro. And she seemed to be enjoying the party and the alcohol."

 

"Was there any... illegal substances going around?"

 

"Not as far as I was aware of."

 

"Besides Adrian was anyone acting strange?"

 

"Strange? I would say that Adrian was his usual unpleasant self. Other than that I would say that everyone acted like people usually do when they have had some to drink."

 

Albecias wrote things down as he listened, hovering behind the two officers of the law, so as to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

 

"Do you think Adrian would have the balls to commit the deed?"

 

"In general; no. Though he had had some to drink. And he becomes a bit unpredictable when he's had his drink."

 

She stretched out, "Has Adrian ever gotten really violent?"

 

"Not in public. Heard he beat one his servants really bad a few years ago though."

 

"Beat his servants? Who was the unlucky victim?" She nudged the author, "Take notes."

 

Albecias rolled his eyes after Lilly had turned around, as he was already writing down the abbreviated words of everyone in the room.

 

"Some young girl or boy. Don't remember. I don't keep track of his servants. It was a rumor I heard a few years back." Maro replied.

 

"Shame. We could have asked him or her about Adrian's sanity."

 

"If being a smug and spoiled brat is insanity. He's really insane."

 

"Hmmmmm. From what I read, Adrian has a small criminal record. He didn't do any time, just for being loud and harassing other nobles. I also read a file on him, he doesn't seem like the person to take something so far.

 

"Well if he didn't do it. Then who did?"

 

"That's what were trying to figure out. Was there any other known 'deviants' at the party my lord?"

 

"Not as far as I could see."

 

"Could someone have sneaked into the party? Was there any guards?"

 

"No real guards as I could see. And I bet that after the reception was over and the drinks started flowing, that someone could have sneaked in. It would then just be a matter of looking like you fit in."

 

"So it must have been somone from the party..." She turned to the sergeant, "Sarge, you have the guest list right?"

 

"Yeah, I got it." the sergeant said and patted his pocked.

 

"Hand it over to Maro over there." She asked him, "Would you look over it and see if any person on the list besides our mutual friend catches your eye?"

 

"Okay." said and fished up the folded piece of paper, which he then handed over to to Maro. 

 

"I doubt I will actually be of some help. If you want suspects you'd be better of asking the hostess." said Maro with a light shrug. He unfolded the paper and looked it over for a good minute. Shaking his head lightly he looked back at Lilly. "I know quite a lot of these people, either friends or barely acquainted. But I don't know anything that would make them suspects in this case."

 

"I think that's about it. We'll contact you if we have any other questions." She bowed her head, "Thank you for your time."

 

"You're welcome. Now I'd like to finish my breakfast in peace." he handed back the list to Amidius and took a sip from his glass.

 

Albecias was the first to leave, deciding he could garner no new information by personally questioning Adrian. He slipped out the door quietly, and exited the front door onto the still drizzly day.

 

Lilly followed him out, she quietly said, "Think he's telling the truth?"

 

"You think I was given a lie detector function when boss infused me with magic?" said Karsh with an annoyed tone. "Honestly, I don't know. He seemed confident enough in what he said. Which indicates that he's either telling the truth or that he's a good liar."

 

"True." She turned to the author and said, "You think he's lying?"

 

"I've dealt with nobles often enough to know that many fancy themselves excellent liars. Whether he is one or not, I couldn't tell. As another member of the party, though, I can tell you that the amount of alcohol flowing through our veins makes discerning lies from confusion or inability to remember difficult. He could have killed her but not remembered, because of his inebriation," Albecias walked as he spoke, brushing past peddlers and vagabonds alike.

 

"You sure know your physiological profiles" She said, praising the author.

 

"I've spent time studying the criminals in our prisons, as well as those of the provinces I have visited. Not to mention tailing law offices in other provinces, such as I am doing now. For a book to be well written, appropriate research must be done. I cannot just make up drivel like some authors. Even my fictional novels have accurate representations of the criminals and guards portrayed," Albecias smiled, the praise warming him like a lizard on a hot day.

 

"Do you know why someone would be compelled to do something this horrific?"

 

"Lust, anger, frustration. Those are my bets." Amidius briefly interrupted. 

 

"Insanity. Drunkenness. Jealousy, or any other strong emotion. Why people do things like this will never make sense to those with sane minds," the author said, before stopping and turning to the Spymaster. "Where are we going, again?"

 

"Whose next sarge on your little list?"

 

"Let me see." he said while fishing up the list again and reading the names and addresses. "Well the closest one on the list lives a bit further down the street. A jewelry merchant. I know that because he's been bothering me about supposed thefts that seem to happen in broad daylight."

 

"Have any kind of record?"

 

"Record on thefts? Not really. We only keep records on thefts if its' really valuable things that is owned by high nobility."

 

"I think she meant does this merchant have any kind of criminal record himself," Albecias said.

 

"What the author said." Lilly said.

 

"No. Not as far I'm aware of." the sergeant replied.

 

"So he's squeaky clean? Middle or high class?"

 

"Something in between. Not nobility but he's isn't lacking in gold."

 

"Can we roughen him up?"

 

"Unless he does something to really warrant it, I would say it's ill advised."

 

"****. All right, lead the way sarge."

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Civil War Aftermath Chapter 3: Season's End 1.11

By , March 30, 2014 in Civil War Aftermath 

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• BladeKnight

Allies  1,864 3,333 posts

   

Posted July 14, 2014 (edited)

Theodore Adrard
Evermor Camp
Morning

Your Majesty
King of High Rock,

You will be pleased to know that we have been very successful in the north. We found victory at Farrun, and after several days managed to defeat the Pretender's forces, breaking their blockade and relieving the seige on the city. This was three days past. Now, I sit writing this letter on Lord Birian's desk in Jehanna. My forces, bolstered by the survivors of Farrun, surrounded the city last night and set seige. The first push was unsuccessful, but before we attempted a second, a rider came to us claiming to be representative of Lord Birian's wife, Lady Roain. She claims that her lord husband intended to involve her in false plots. He had the intent to frame her so that he could legally dissolve their marriage in favor of one with the Pretender herself. I hope you do not miss the irony of this.
Lady Roain opened the gates to us. With that done, Jehanna fell in less that two hours. Most surrendered. With so many prisoners, I had my men build temporary prison camps to hold them until you can offer judgement yourself. Due to the short time frame, I admit that they are less than accommodating. Though avoiding a long stay in these was reason enough for many of the Jehannan soldiers to fall in line and come to your side. At this point, we have even more men than we did upon setting out. Lord Birian himself is still alive for now, and is currently being held on a ship heading back to Northpoint. I felt more comfortable with him there than attended by the skeleton force I intend to leave here in Jehanna.
You may also be interested to know that your son has fought well. He did not participate in the final surge into Jehanna, as he had taken an arrow to the shoulder in the earlier assault. Worry not, it is just a flesh wound, and our healers are certain that there will be no long term damage.
Unfortunately, not everyone faired as well as your son. Duke Endre's ship caught fire and him with it during the naval battle at Farrun. We never found his body. Sir Vette fell there as well. My own nephew took two arrows in the same battle that your son was wounded in. He lives, but the healers say he will not see morning. He is the eldest of my sister's four, and fought bravely. She will not take the news well.
Tonight, I offer my men comfort, food, and rest while in Jehanna, but tomorrow, we march south. Our progress will be slow, as we must push through Gauvadon Forest, but if there is no delay, we should be arriving in Evermor in roughly a week's time. Hopefully you will be there when we arrive.

Traven, Lord of Northpoint

Theodore smiled to himself, wringing his hands together in cool delight. The war was going perfectly, much more so then he could have ever imagined. Even in a war as planned out as this one was, the gods had favored him yet again. The king sent a silent prayer of thanks up, the grin still covering his face, his mustache curling with his lips.

I'm truly blessed, lucky, or both, he thought in between coughs, wiping snot away from the chocolate colored facial hair. Best not get too full with myself. I must remember to commemorate a day of celebration to all the poor bastards lost on this war. Maybe even give their widows some coin. Bah, what am I saying. They aren't the ones with blasted colds.

The betrayal of Lady Roain Birian was icing on the cake, complementing the bolstering of Lord Traven's forces quite nicely. As it stood, both armies had gained men since they left, an idea that Theo hadn't accounted for. Now, he could expect even more additions once arriving at Evermor, with some of Lielle's "allies" likely to switch sides once they saw banners of the former sir, now Duke Aric, along with Baron Ysciele's, Lady Birian's and the Imperial Dragon.

Theodore shuddered at the thought of the dragon, the recurring nightmare still burned into his mind. His thoughts as to who, or what the dragon was always shuffled around the same people. The Empire itself, an actual dragon, the Nord Skjari, or Arkay. Nothing else dragon related came to mind, and of the four possibilities he felt the Empress' consort and the Empire were the two best possibilities. But, neither of them had any reason to quarrel with him, not so far as he could remember. That could always change, but as of now they meant him no ill will. It was a perplexing case, to be sure. Whatever the dragon represented, he knew he could deal with it in time, as he had a war to focus on.

A shuffling of boots outside his tent snapped him away from the fire, which he hadn't realized he's been staring at. Another chilling reminder of the dragon ordeal, but he shook it off.

"Enter," he said, before the person could even ask for entrance.

In walked Duke Jhared Mon, smiling his unsettling, pale lipped grin. He bowed, flourishing it as if doing so made him more important.

If this man wasn't so gods damned good at procuring money, I don't know if I could stand him, Theodore thought, as he motioned for the Daggerfallian vassal to sit.

"My lord, I bring news from Skyrim. Stormcloack accepts us into the alliance, as well the trade contract proposal," Mon said with his perfectly fake smile still in place.

"What were their conditions? On the trade proposal, that is," Theodore asked.

"A forty five percent tax cut. Of course, it will be difficult to convince the shipping families to take such a tax cut, but seeing as our relationship with Leland is so well, I believe we can talk him into doing at least forty, if not thirty five or so," Mon dismissed the tax cut with a wave of his hand, as if it was inconsequential.

"We'll have to do better than just him. The families in Wayrest are loyal to me, and I can get them to follow the tax cut, as well as those in Camlorn. That should be enough to placate the Nords, for now. Maybe I can convince Traven, but as it stands I'm not worried in the least about the Nord's feeling being hurt because they got a little less then they wanted. We can make do with whatever deal you work out in Kyne's Watch," Theodore said, sipping from his flask as he finished speaking.

"Excellent. I will leave to there tomorrow morning. No rest for the wicked, as they say," Mon said.

"Be sure to talk to their High Admiral about joint naval exercises. Our caravels differ from their long boats, but she sounds clever enough to work out some tactics using both. And ask the High General what his plans are for the upcoming war. Nothing too detailed, just the gist. I want to know where my men are likely to be deployed," Theodore commanded.

"Of course, my liege. I will be taking Sir Charien of Farrun with me. He is the Merchant Guildmaster there, and will speak on their behalf to get a deal worked out. If that is all, I will take my leave," Mon said, rising and bowing again.

"That is all. Safe journeys, Duke Mon," Theodore said, bowing his head respectfully.

The Duke left, and Theo shook his head. "How does that match up?"

A figure appeared from behind a false flap in the tent, so that he was hidden during the conversation. He had a scruffy, unshaven face, a pair of wide eyes underneath a furrowed brow, and a crooked nose. His uniform was mainly green, with white accents, mimicking the green and white owl sigil of the Mon Family.

"Well, all of it really. 'Bout the only part he left out was that he was more than a little rude, I thought. The king didn't seem to like him much," the guard said, bashfully looking at his feet.

"Good. Calm your conscience, I need to know these things. My job as king demands it. And for your troubles," Theodore tossed him a bag of coin, which brightened the mans mood.

"Many thanks, your majesty," he said before leaving with one too many bows.

**
One Week Later

"Move those bodies! We need the space for Traven's men," Theodore cried, pointing his sausage like finger at the field of dead.

The skirmish hadn't lasted long, much to Theo's thanks. Now, the soldiers loyal to Lielle Rolston were holed up in the mountain city of Evermor, and the siege was beginning.

"Your Highness, we have men moving to cut down the trees as you ordered. The towers and ladders should be built-," the young Duke Thierry was cut off by a loud horn's bellow that echoed throughout the valley.

"Excuse me, Duke, I must see to our new arrivals. If you will, gather up Estermont, Gondwyn, Wirich, Ottus, and Aric. The barons too, if they're near. Then, along with yourself, meet me in the command tent," the king ordered, then sent his horse on a trot to meet the newcomers.

At the head of the army, Lord Traven rode, flanked by the heir prince Roland, Duke Vette, Duke Brolus, Duke Northwode, Duke LaRouche, and a man whose shield bore a tarred and severed head, held by the hair from a fist, and that bled from the eyes. A horrendously gruesome family crest, if quite inventive. Theo could never remember the reason for the brutality of it, but he would be sure to refresh his knowledge tonight before he slept. The man was bald, his head covered in liverspots and lipped by a ring of thinning grey hair, slightly yellow teeth formed in a permanent sort of snarl.

"Duke Maul. So you've chosen the winning side," Theodore said to the oldest man of the group, he of the gory sigil.

"That I have, my King. Birian was a fool to join Rolston, and I told him as much. Duke Chirditte, the idiot, yammered on about how vile and evil you were, and Birian fell to the old man's 'wisdom'. I switched sides at the first opportunity, as Lord Traven will attest to," Duke Maul said.

"And Lord Traven, congratulations on your victory. I am sorry about your nephew, my sincerest condolences to your sister," Theodore said.

"Thank you, my King." answered the lord of Northpoint, as plainly as always. "I am certain that your royal condolences will bring much comfort when word gets back to her..." his tired-looking eyes traveled beyond Theo, off towards the city. They snapped back the moment he continued.
"And congratulations to you as well. I've already heard bards practicing new songs of your victory at Wayrest."

Theodore turned to look over his shoulder, tracing the path Traven's took. "Quite a formidable obstacle isn't it? Our nights will be sleepless, I think, while we struggle to crack her open."

"As for bards, I've never been much to listen to their squawking. Yours is the more accomplished battle. Breaking a blockade, relieving a siege, besieging, and sacking all make for a great tale for your grandchildren. Now, let us go to the command tent, where you all are welcome," Theodore said, looking at the various dukes.

"Refreshments await us, of course. But I wish to get to our plans as soon as possible."

"Of course." responded Traven. He turned in his saddle. "Thonir. Send word through the ranks that we are to make camp here. Keep an eye on the Jehannans. They are not to cross over into the king's camp."

"Yes, my lord." replied Traven's Nordic lieutenant before riding off, shouting commands all the way.

As Traven's forces set to work, the lord and his companions followed Theodore to the command tent.

"Tell, Lord Traven, how did you come by a Nord? I have both an Imperial and a Dunmer in my employ, but they are merely tutors. Your's seems to be a bit more than that," Theodore asked, as he and the Lord-in-the-North rode ahead of the lower ranking dukes.

"Indeed he is. Thonir is the Castellan of Northpoint, and one of my chief advisors. My father invited him in after his mother died in the Great War." Traven gave a slight shrug. "I never learned how my father knew this woman from Skyrim, and Thonir never knew how his mother knew a lord in High Rock, but the too obviously were close."

"Ah well, my father too had a few friends in various cities, but I'm afraid none of their children ever made it into adulthood. Pity," Theodore said, voice filled with false melancholy.

Theodore and Traven continued the short ride to the tent, where they dismounted and gave their steeds to nearby pages. Inside the cozy fire-warmed tent the various dukes Theodore summoned were gathered. He smiled, nodded, or shook hands with each one, until he found himself standing at the head of a table covered in maps.

The king cleared his throat after a cough, and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. "Lielle Rolston's forces are holed up inside the city. There are two main gates, one facing this road, and another facing the Bjoulase River. That one leads directly to a bridge, and is quite narrow. Our best chances lie in assaulting the one towards the road, which they undoubtedly expect. So, I will open the floor to whatever ideas you may have."

Estermont spoke up first, as expected. "Thierry here is building the siege towers and ladders, so we use those. We also bundle some trees together in a ram, and use that to knock the door down. It'll take a while, but that's the best way."

"We could use our mages and archers to set the city on fire," Duke Vette suggested. "Burn it to the ground. Though I think that's an option of last resort."

Duke Aric, who had fought against Theo during the Battle of Wayrest, but lacked no zeal when it came to destroying Lielle, chimed in, "What about besieging it? Starve them out. The civilian casualties will be high, but we don't risk losing any men. And we wouldn't need as large a force as we currently have."

"That will take a while." said Lord Traven. "I am not against a siege, but it would be good to know what we are up against. Between Evermor and Rolston's forces, how many men are in the city?"

Duke Wirich stepped forward. "I've been doing the calculations, and I've estimated they have ten thousand troops to our thirty seven thousand. We hold a considerable advantage any way you cut it."

"But you must consider that they will also 'enlist' as many civilians as possible. Forcibly so, perhaps," Baron Eardwulf said.

"So," Theodore said, "We have the liberty to take whatever route we wish. My personal preference is the one that costs the least amount of lives, since we need the troops for the Thalmor."

"We are in no hurry." said Traven. "Keeping them pinned in the city works well enough for now. No one is coming to their aid. In fact, it surprises me that the Pretender has not already surrendered. Has there been an attempt to make contact?"

"No. That is troubling. One would suspect her to give up, if only to save herself. That begs the question, what does she know that we don't? She may have something planned that she believes would swing the war in her favor," Theodore pondered Lielle's next move, before finally saying, a nearby royal spellsword, "I want you to double the look outs and scouts around the camp. Keep an extra eye on Baron Ysciele's forces, and the Jehannans."

"I'm worried she may have allies, even mercenaries, we don't know about, in which case we must be prepared. That, or those forces formerly loyal to her may still be so."

"We're starving them out then?" the young Duke Theirry asked. "What about the civilians? Do they deserve to die because Lady Rolston is so foolish that she'd rather die then surrender?"

"Forgive me Sir," said Traven, his eyes on the Duke, "I do not recall your name. But I am assuming that by now you have seen enough of this war to know that lives will be lost no matter which avenue we take. This is the only one immediately present that presents no danger to our men. And it gives the enemy time to assess the situation and realize that their only chance at survival is to open the gates. It leaves options, as we can at any time go with Lord Estermont's plan and assault the walls."

Legate Montrose spoke up. "I don't like it. The King makes a good point. It is troubling that they still have yet to give up. Victory seems so assured, and yet Rolston risks thousands of lives. Why would she do that unless she thought they could win. I am of a mind with Estermont. We should press the attack now before they have any chance to surprise us. Make it a matter of days rather than weeks or even months."

Duke Theirry started to identify himself, but was cut off when Duke Gondwyn, still sporting his Theodore styled mustache and bald head, jumped into the conversation. "Let's take it to 'em. I say days, not months, like the Imp said."

Theodore nodded, but whether that was affirmation he thought the same or a simple gesture one couldn't tell. "There is another matter I haven't brought up yet. We procured some of the Redguard's explosive powers, as well as several experts in its usage to accompany it. If we did decide to capture the city quickly, we could blow up either gate with it, provided we get close enough."

Estermont's eyes widened, and a childish grin stretched from bright eye to bright eye. "I've heard tales of the power of their powder. It caused an avalanche at Pale Pass, and can level entire mountains. Siege engines pale in comparison to what we could do with that."

"Indeed." agreed the Legate. "All the more reason to attack now and end this quickly. We have the means."

"We can end this quickly, at the cost of blood." said Traven. "I have no qualms with this, but our King has already mentioned that the fewer lives lost, the better. Why not give them a day or two, to ensure that they have no intention of surrendering? If they do not, well, we will still have the powder."

Duke Theirry spoke up again. "We may need closer to a week for the siege engines, but if we use the powder then we won't need them. It's your discretion, my liege."

Theodore leaned onto the table, his chin resting in his hand. He shuffled through the maps, until he found one of the city itself, in fairly great detail. It was near one hundred years old, but the city had changed only on the inside, and the walls were the same.

"I think we should rush the siege engines into development, and use them to assault the main gate, as the expect us too. Then, we send in a secondary force to blow up the Bjoulase River Gate, and storm in from there. The result should be a swift victory. Until then, eyes and ears open. I want any suspicious activity reported back to me. I won't have this Pretender turn the tables on us," Theodore said, rising back up off the table.

"Any objections?"

"No objections. But a suggestion." Said Lord Traven. "As you know, I persuaded many Jehannans finally bend the knee up north. I'm certain that one of them could just as easily be convinced to carry a message into the city for you, if you would wish to give terms of your own... strictly for the sake of exploring options of course."

"I believe that is an excellent idea. Maybe then they'll surrender and we can all go home. Or not. Now, you are all dismissed. See to your men and assign work teams on the siege engines. Lord Traven, if you would stay a moment," Theodore asked.

Traven simply nodded and remained while the other nobles exited the tent. The right of his lip curled into a thin smile once everyone else was gone, but he said nothing.

"Did I miss a joke?" Theodore said, his lips traced with a grin of his own while he poured each of them a glass of fine scotch.

"No, my liege." said Traven as he reached for his glass. "But it warms a lord's heart to know that you're warming up to me."

"How do you know I didn't invite you here to kill you? Or banish you forever?" Theodore asked, chuckling as traced the lip of his glass. "Or poison you. People find it so reassuring when the person who may be poisoning them drinks from the same bottle, but I've always thought that if I were to poison someone, I'd lace the inside of glass. No one ever bothers to check that, in my experience."

He sipped his drink, although because of the small quantity that meant half of it was already gone.

"I suppose I wouldn't be prepared. After all, we are family now." Lord Traven lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink. "Of course, King Rolston was family, and that didn't keep him from poisoning you." Traven smiled knowingly. "But you are not Rolston, are you?"

"No, and for that I am eternally grateful. My father may have been a drinker and whorer, but at least he was smart enough to play the game. Rolston would probably have had us sit the war out. He always did despise war, the coward," Theodore said spitefully.

"And I for one would never kill my kin. Although, in his defense, is your wife's sister's husband really family?" Theodore laughed, shaking his head.

"I like to think so." responded Traven. "I believe that anyone considered family should be treated as such. If more people saw it this way, having a large family like mine would be viewed as a strength rather than a risk."

"I can see what you mean, but I find people are only loyal until someone else gives them more than what you can. Loyalty is fleeting," Theodore said, as he sipped the remainder of his drink.

"We never got to discuss your views of the world as it stands today. I know, a broad subject, but I want your opinion on Skyrim, Cyrodiil, everything. Start with the Nords first, since you seem to know them better than most."

Traven took another sip. "I regret that it has been some time since my last update on the goings-on in Skyrim, or anywhere else besides High Rock, for that matter. Our Nordic neighbors seemed to be doing surprisingly well at the time. Good news if we are to be aligned with them in the next conflict with the elves."

"Bad news if they have any designs for our eastern territories. We are on good enough terms with the Redguards that I don't worry about them, but it's no secret the Nords don't respect us. I hope we can change that opinion. This next war brings us the perfect opportunity to do so. Prove our worth. Now, Cyrodiil. Particularly their leaders," Theodore asked.

"Cyrodiil..." Traven finished his scotch and set the glass down on the table. "Amaund was about as likable as a nest of aquatic dreugh, but I knew who he was. From what I've heard, his daughter's young, and her only prior experience was leading some elven inquisition." Traven's brow furrowed. "I'm sure you know how I feel about that... As for the Nord she's marrying, I don't know him at all. Apparently he's a mage. Now, mages have their uses, but giving them political power is how you end up with people like Jagar Tharn. If you ask me, the lot of them can keep to that tower of theirs, and let us keep doing things the way we've been. I guess that's one good side of them. Besides your legate friend, they've all been content to stay out of our way. That's a step above Amaund."

"The mage is an ambitious sort, up-jumping his station rather quickly. And the girl is young, careless, with the makings of a decent leader if she survives that long. My biggest worry is that they aren't content with our mostly independent rule. It remains to be seen, however. Now, I do have something I would like to run by you. It's rather...strange, I would say."

Theodore set his glass aside and leaned over the table, so that his full meaning was clear. "As I traveled back to High Rock, the general I traveled with, Gracchus Ceno, received a letter from the former Spymaster. In it, he said that the mage had bound his soul to the Empress, using a form of very dark magic. I've looked into the practice, and discovered that it's been done before, however it is almost exclusively between people and animals, and even that was long ago. I'm frankly not sure what to do with this information, besides the fact it means he is the real power, and that she is a mere puppet. Which makes their marriage a sham."

Lord Traven's eyes briefly flashed with what might've been surprise, but he quickly hid it behind a dry smirk. Most men wouldn't have even noticed the drop of guard, but Theodore was not most men.
"What you do with information like that, my king, is lock it up and save it for a rainy day." Traven didn't say it, but Theo could tell from the look in his eyes that this news excited the lord.
Gesturing at the entrance flap, Traven asked, "Does Estermont know? Or any of the others?"

"Estermont? Pah, I trust him with almost anything related to killing, and not much else. No, they do not. My mother-in-law does, as does my wife. My son, however, I've kept in the dark. I want to make sure he's mature enough before he can be trusted," Theodore said, leaning back in his chair so it balanced on the hind legs, a precarious situation for the large noble.

"A rainy day..." he twirled a corner of his mustache with index finger and thumb, staring off into the distance. "Yes, I suppose so. But this alone, while a powerful bargaining chip, is not enough. I've mustered what information I could on the man, but all I found was that he worked for the Synod, he was Dales' tutor. Besides that, nothing more than the rumors of him and the Bathory author, him and the Spymaster, and a possible quarrel with a general. Those I was able to garner from the Black Horse, or it's tabloid edition."

Theodore could practically see Traven's mind at work as the clever lord took into account everything he'd just learned. "Not enough..." the man muttered. Finally, he said "I am glad to be the one you've shared this with, my king. Hopefully soon, we can better discuss these matters behind the walls of Evermor."

"I too hope so. While the war ahead darkens the days for most, I think I can see a torches beginning to light our path, and it is one I look forward to walking," Theodore said, sighing with a great release of pent up stress. "Our days are bright indeed."

"Dangerous neighbors in Skyrim, a deceptive mage running Cyrodiil, and an entire elven empire to the south who would see the lot of us enslaved. All while we fight our own civil war. Heh, your idea of bright is interesting, if nothing else." Traven flicked his empty glass. "I'd drink to it if I weren't out."

"You are far to cynical," Theodore said as he refilled their glasses. "All those thing can be dealt with, as long as we play our hand the right way."

"Of course." Traven raised his glass. "To bright days."

"And a brighter future for our children, and grandchildren," Theo said, clinking his glass to Traven's before gulping down the burning, aged alcohol.

**

The next morning Theodore rose early, drinking a potion to rid himself of the slight hangover. He needed to check up on his son, whom he hadn't talked to yet. He dressed quickly in a blue tunic, gold trimmed navy blue cloak, and black pants. His crown was simple, ebony and iron with dark stones inlaid all the way around. Over his neck he slipped a golden medallion, engrave with his family's sigil. His wedding ring, dark ebony with a diamond in the center, slipped on, and a shortsword swung from his hip, in lieu of his greatsword, which he found difficult to wear when dressed up.

The sun cast a bright, glaring light, no clouds to dilute the rays. A soft breeze blew the smell of stewing meat across his nostrils, his stomach grumbling at the notion of food. Slipping back inside, he grabbed a sliver of honey ham and a strawberry effused pastry, eating both as he walked the camp. His son's tent was at Traven's encampment, but at the edge closest to Theo's.

He was momentarily stopped by a few knights looking to flatter the king, and he welcomed their praises for a few minutes, before setting off again. Duke Thierry stopped him, shuffling him off to the construction area where the siege towers and ram were being built. He told the story of a tree guardian attacking a few of the men, but once they got a few flame spells on her she burned like Dwarven oil. Theodore quickly inspected them, noting that they needed protective wards on the front to keep them from burning.

After that, Theodore finally made it to his son's tent. The guards greeted him, but went inside to see if Roland was awake and decent before letting the king in. Standard procedure, if a bit annoying. After all, it was his son. But he digressed, and the guards soon let him in. Roland, right arm wrapped in a bandage, sat shirtless at a small table, with what appeared to be a book in his hand.

"Since when have you ever read for pleasure?" Theodore asked, taking a seat across from the prince.

Roland lifted his eyes from the page, but only for a moment. "I needed something to do while injured. I can't sleep around anymore, I've never been much for drinking, and I can't play any instrument or sing, so now I read."

Theodore lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing for moment. Outside, men could be heard laughing, horses whinnying, tents ruffling in the wind. Finally, Theodore asked, "What are you reading, exactly?"

Roland set the book down, finding an appropriate place to stop. "Not The Lusty Argonian Maid, if that's what you're thinking. It's a Magdela Bathory novel."

"That reminds me, did you hear the news? It's not quite recent, but poor Count Bathory died in a fire. At his mountain lodge, I believe," Theodore said, wiping away at the snot on his nose.

"He seemed like a powerful man from the little I've heard of him from you. Always a shame to lose an ally," Roland said.

Another silence followed, before the king asked, "How's your shoulder?"

"Sore. It was a damn bodkin point, went right through the chain-mail and armor. I'm lucky it only hit my shoulder, or you'd be down a son," Roland rotated his shoulder, wincing as he did.

"Make sure you get the healers to check and clean the bandages. Infection can be just as deadly as an arrow," Theodore said.

"How's your cold?" Roland asked.

"Annoying. The damn thing won't go away. Hell, I think it's gotten words. Bah, it'll be gone before to long," Theo said with a wave, as if that would get rid of the cold.

"'Make sure you get the healers to check it out'," Roland said in the best impression of his father he could manage, both of them laughing heartily.

"Oh shut up, before I ship you back with the women. You and your pansy wound," Theo said with a smile.

They talked and laughed and drank when the afternoon approached, sitting around and catching up until work finally called Theo away. A scout had found captured a messenger returning from somewhere, and trying to sneak back into Wayrest. Even after being tortured, he still claimed he didn't know who the message was for, and that he only dropped it and a bag of gold off in the ruins of an old fort. He unfortunately didn't survive further interrogation, but the king was alarmed enough to double the watches, as well as send off more scouts in every direction. He would take no chances, not if he could help it.

Edited July 15, 2014 by ColonelKillaBee

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Elders  8,050 11,750 posts

   

Posted July 18, 2014 (edited)

Mazoga

Wilderness near Kyne's Watch

 

Mazoga had stopped counting days. They all were the same anyway. The only thing that mattered was her, the bear, and her work.

She had tracked the bear for a long while, and soon she would be ready. Snow bears didn’t hibernate except to bear young, but after a kill the beast would find a cave and sleep for a day or two before emerging again to hunt. In those times, Mazoga watched and worked.

One day, she looked up and saw an old orc staring down at her. “What’s that you’re making, friend?â€

“It’s a weapon.†Mazoga went back to her work without another word. Before these last few weeks, she had liked company, and the days and nights of tracking she hadn’t spoken to a soul. The trials had changed her, though. Now the old man was just distracting her from the task she had to do.

The man took a seat next to her at her fire. “Not much of a weapon. What are you going to do with it?â€

“Kill a bear.â€

Chuckling, the man said, “It had better be a scrawny one. What are you going to do, tickle it to death?â€

Mazoga snapped her tusks. One of them was broken now, a little reminder of the fight with Bully. “It’s a crossbow. I’m going to shoot an arrow in the bear’s eye.†She was going to poison it, but didn’t say that. It would ruin the meat, and Baldur would probably disqualify her, but no one had said you couldn’t use it.

“Kind of cowardly, don’t you think? A real orc looks his opponent in the eye.â€

“Don’t care about being a real orc.â€

“Is that so?†The man regarded her skeptically. “I guess not. You don’t look so good, if you don’t mind me saying. Better eat something. You’re going to need it when you have to run away from an angry bear.â€

“I’m fine.†Mazoga had been saying that a lot lately, trying to convince herself more than anyone. “I died a while back. That didn’t stop me.â€

“Heh. Is that so. You think you’re the only one who’s tasted a bit of death?â€

At that, she looked up, interested in the man for the first time. “Who are you?â€

The orc stood to his feet. “I’m Horkis gro Akathmal. And since you haven’t got a real weapon on you, I guess I’ll go check my traps and see if we’ve got supper. Don’t keel over before I get back. You might put out the fire if you do.â€

Mazoga watched after him, her brow knit. Ignoring her frozen fingers, she went back to work then. The task was painstaking. She had found some dried-out whalebone on a beach near Kyne’s Watch, and was building the crossbow from peeled layers of it fixed together with pine resin. The bolt tips would be made of bone, too, and the shaft she carved of wood with her dagger. For the poison, she was collecting nirnroot and imp stool. Her mother, the hunter, had taught her wortcraft and fletching, and as for the crossbow, it was a good thing she had studied the diagrams of them they’d taken from the dwarven ruin in Stros M’kai. The old man was right about how she looked. Bully had broken her bones, and now there was something in them. Time was running out.

True to his word, the old orc came back soon with some hares in tow. He set about skinning and cooking them, humming a tune Mazoga didn’t recognize.

While they ate, the man said, “If you don’t care about being a real orc, does that mean you want to be some other kind of elf? A Bosmer, maybe, with your archery?â€

She scowled at him. “That’s ridiculous.â€

“Well if you don’t want to be what you are, you must want to be something else.â€

“I’m Mazoga Thorn-Orc. That’s all I want to be.â€

“Thorn-Orc. What sort of clan name is that?â€

“If you were from Leyawiin, you’d know.â€

“What’s in Leyawiin?â€

“A legend.â€

“Tell me. I like stories.â€

Mazoga sighed, not feeling like repeating the tale. The old fart would probably mock it, too. She eventually complied, however, because she owed her grandmother the honor of being remembered.

The old man listened intently as he chewed, and when she was finished, he nodded once. “A worthy name. And there’s nothing wrong with bows. I did a bit of archery myself in my younger years. If you don’t mind, I’ll hang around for a while. I’m interested to see if this crossbow will work.â€

The next morning, the old orc was gone. Mazoga wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t minded his company after all, but didn’t need any distractions, and didn’t care for the skepticism in his tone. It too closely matched her own fears.

Two weeks later, Horkis gro Akathmal was sitting at the same fire when she came back, a snow bear pelt over her shoulders. He looked up. “Thorn-Orc! You’re not dead after all. That’s a start. I see your crossbow worked.â€

“It worked well enough.†She showed him the broken-off bolt, still sticking out of the bear’s eye socket. One wound, that’s all Baldur had said.

“Did you at least let him take a swipe at you?â€

Mazoga plopped down by the fire. “No. I hid on a ledge where he couldn’t get me even if wanted to.â€

The man groaned. “Is that how an orc does battle?â€

“I told you. I don’t care how an orc is supposed to be. He’s dead and I’m not. I killed it with my own hand, and the arts my mother taught me. If you say that she’s not a real orc, I’ll have to put you in the ground, so don’t.â€

Horkis gave her a sly grin. “You’re not ashamed of where you come from. That’s good. Better to bear even shame and defeat together than to turn your back and seek your own glory. Here, I want to give you this.†He handed her a ring. It was very old, the silver scuffed and somewhat blackened. On its face was inscribed a symbol like wings with two downward slashes like fangs. “It was earned as reward for a battle won, and you’ve won a battle here, so it’s yours. Eat something now, then you’d better be off soon to find a healer. You still don’t look so good.â€

 

***

 

"Not good enough. You can do better than that. If you can't, then perhaps I should kill you right here and save us the embarrassment later."

 

"**** you!"

 

"That's **** you, High General, sir."

 

The clangs of steel on steel would have been enough to disturb anyone nearby if not for the songs of winter drowning all else out. The Sea of Ghosts carried the tune of its inhabitants in its winds, as well as the unforgiving cold of the North, both of which filled Daric's being as his reddened hands shook as he forced himself to hold onto the cold steel at his side.

 

Baldur stood in front of him like a specter, unaffected by any of it and waiting for his pupil to make a move before he did. That didn't happen, however. Daric spent the past half hour attempting to strike him in this weather, with nothing at all covering his torso. Impatient now, Baldur ran towards the shaking Breton and slammed his large fist in Daric's little gut. The hit brought Daric off his feet momentarily, and before he knew it, his back met the snow as the Sky's frozen tears tickled his face.

 

Sighing, Baldur took a step over Daric's body, thinking him being out cold since he dropped his sword. "You haven't put a single cut on me, boy. Not even a nick. Even a scout needs to know how to fight, lad." Baldur raised his axe, looking for a spot to wound him to give him his lesson in pain since he couldn't learn his lesson in skill.

 

As his axe fell towards Daric's arm, the Breton's legs came up, sending spinning kicks that caught Baldur's weapon at its side and sent it flying from his hand. Daric made a scramble for his sword and came at Baldur with the quickness of a charging ice wraith. Just before Daric came close to jabbing at Baldur's exposed gut, Baldur's foot kicked up another axe from the snow into his hands, then the Nord fell to his back. Before Daric could get closer, Baldur's boot found its way to Daric's bruised torso.

 

To his credit, Daric held his ground enough to meet Baldur's swing with his blade when he rolled forward, but with the wind kicked out of him, it had no strength, and his axe made a neat red line across Daric's cheek.

 

"Not bad, Daric. Not bad. You couldn't hit me, so you decided to wait until you could take me off guard. Unfortunately, you're still a boy, charging at the first opening you see in search of quick victory. That'll only ensure you receive a quick end."

 

"You cheated. I didn't know you had another weapon hidden nearby," he said as he stood, pawing at his wound. He could not feel it, thanks to the bitter cold numbing his face.

 

"Don't ever let me hear you say that again, Daric. You're not a child anymore, you're a Stormcloak! There's no such thing as 'cheating' in battle. Expect the unexpected, or expect to be killed. Understand?"

 

"Yes sir..." he said, feeling embarrassed now that Baldur had to yell at him. Daric was busy moping over Maggie's departure before, but now he was glad that she wasn't around to see him still acting like a child.

 

Baldur placed an arm over his shoulder and said, "Cheer up, boy. You're definitely improving. Allowing myself to be disarmed was a poor mistake on my part, so be proud. I'll still keep my promise and allow you to go scouting with the men, alright? Give you some time out there without me holding your hand. In the meantime though, lets go see if Rebec's up yet. If we're lucky, she's got something to eat!"

 

"Something to eat? I've never seen her cook..." Don't think I want to either...

 

"She's cooked.. she can cook... I think." Baldur thought about it some and realized the only time he ever saw Rebec cook anything was in Solitude, when she made sweetrolls better suited for slingshots. "Well... if not, then we'll swing by ma's house and see if she can whip us all up some soup."

 

***

 

Rebec had stirred that morning as Baldur left her side, but it was still dark out and she burrowed deeper under the covers, so tired that it was like her limbs were paralyzed by one of Menel's spells. Her hand moved over her stomach. Was this a good sign or a bad one? If the baby was drawing so much at her strength, maybe it was because it was a strong little Nord. Or maybe something was wrong.

 

While she was debating it, sleep drew Rebec back down, or it must have, because she had the sensation of rocking on a choppy sea. She must be out to sea. A storm was coming on, about to swallow them. As Rebec was about to run to get the sail down, she noticed something white bobbing in the black water. Then she heard a baby's cry and knew what it was. Had she had the baby yet?  She must have, and had been so occupied with sailing the ship that she'd let it fall over the side. Panicked, Rebec ran the rail and started to climb, but before she could reach it, the little white bundle slipped beneath the waves and disappeared. NO!  The storm rolled over them and Rebec swallowed water as she tried to scream.

 

She woke shouting, every muscle and fiber gripped by panic, sweat dripping from her brow and neck.  For a full minute, the terror and guilt and desperation were still just as real as they had been in the dream, and a rush of thoughts crowded Rebec's mind. Baldur would hate her now. She'd let their baby die, she always put the damn ship first. You're so selfish, selfish and careless, you never deserved all this. You know this baby is going to die, just like Jala. It's you. You ruin everything.

 

Heart pounding and limbs trembling, Rebec tried to calm. Reality crept back in, the dim light of dawn revealing the details of the longhouse. She had to piss, desperately. On the pot, Rebec thought about the dream and her thoughts afterward, and felt a prickle of embarrassment. The baby was alright, everything was alright, and Baldur wouldn't hate her. She hadn't ruined anything, not this time. As she finished and stood up, Rebec gave a little chuckle.

 

"This is what happens when you go off mead," she said aloud, trying to chase the last of the fear away. Still, even an hour later when the fire was roaring and she sat writing up her weekly report to Ulfric, a knot of it remained in the back of her gut, like a hint of nausea that wouldn't go away.

 

***

"What is this place, eh? I don't remember this village being here."

 

"Neither do I. It's perfect for us. We can stay here for a while, don't you think? Just long enough to gather supplies before we go back to hiding."

 

"I agree. I don't see any soldiers yet, besides what's on the road in the front. The others should overrun those guys quickly enough. Shh, wait! Someone's walking over there."

 

"I see 'em. It's just a boy and a Nord. Lets kill them. We do that, and they'll be distracted by the time the others get here. Leave the horses and follow me down the cliff. Hey, you two! Hold this rope and lower us down."

 

***

 

Daric put his Stormcloak tunic back on as they got closer to the longhouse with Rebec, unable to cope with the cold any longer and not afraid to admit it. Even Baldur had to admit he was tired of freezing his ass off and throw on his leather officer coat and bear furs. Both no longer cared if there was going to be food ready and only hoped that Rebec stoked the fires already.

 

"So, Daric. About that Imperial woman. Did you..."

 

"Did I..."

 

Baldur nudged him in the shoulder. "Come on, you know what I mean. Got your mead spigot wet, boy?"

 

Daric suppressed a smirk and nudged him right back. "I'm not telling you."

 

"Come on."

 

"No."

 

"Daric... come on."

 

"No!" Daric said. Laughing, he shoved Baldur away from him and said, "It's none of y-"

 

"Oh quit being such a milkdrinker! I've got a bet against Rebec that says you didn't get any. Now cough up the details so..." In a puff of snow, Daric suddenly collapsed to the ground behind him as he continued to walk. When his head turned, what greeted him was an arrow protruding from the back of Daric's shoulder blade. Eyes bulging from his sockets, Baldur's head darted around madly in search of the attacker. And now, either Baldur was going crazy, or two deer heads were peeking around the corner of a longhouse, stalking him.

 

"You missed and got the boy, idiot."

 

Baldur's attention left the two men with bows in their hands and settled on Daric's still form in the snow like a log. There was no movement coming from him at all. No shaking, not even the rise and fall of breath from his chest. Baldur's vision went blurry with what he realized was tears, stinging his eyes as their heat shocked his face, trickling down his cheeks.

 

"No."

 

"How was I supposed to know he'd shove the big one out of the way. Hurry up and kill the other one." The Forsworn smiled as he notched an arrow to his bow.

 

"No.." Baldur repeated as a trembling hand rubbed at his eyes.

 

"I'll show you how it's done." Their garments were too light and exposing to adequately deal with the cold, even with their furs, but when the man let his arrow loose, it still hit its mark despite the chill seeping into his bones and shaking his arms. "Got 'em! Now that's how you..."

 

"Huuuaaaaaahh! Dariiiic!"

 

The Forsworn watched in confusion as the red faced Nord with an arrow in his side kept running towards him, reaching out for him with his bear claw covered arms. The man was enraged, yelling out curses that were unintelligible and with tears in his eyes. Just like the bear that draped his head, the big crazed Nord was disturbingly quick. Before they knew it, the man was on top of him, ripping out the arrow in his hide before he stabbed it in his neck, then his face, where Baldur used the arrow to gouge the man's eyes out.

 

His friend was taken aback by this brutality, momentarily frozen like the land around him. For a moment, all he could do was listen to his companion's startling wails as his face was literally torn to pieces by this animal in front of him. Eventually he regained his composure and was about to run Baldur through from behind, but before he could, he found a bloodied steel blade protruding from his chest. The blade disappeared just as quickly as it appeared, and the Forsworn man's face planted in the snow before he could see the boy he thought he killed run past him.

 

"Baldur! Help," said Daric, collapsing to the ground before he could reach him. The blood pooling in his mouth kept him from saying anymore, only reddening the snow he laid on before his vision went dark.

 

***

 

"Got to... keep..." Mazoga's muttering stopped as she heard movement up ahead in the forest, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, then voices. She must be near Kyne's Watch now, the orc judged, but the weeks of tracking left her wary all the same. Pulling out her whalebone crossbow, she nocked a bolt and moved into the trees.

 

It proved to be just travelers, however, heavy laden with packs and a cart they were trying to get up a steep slope in the road. Mazoga considered slipping past them. Barely able to walk, fire shooting through her bones, she was in no shape to push a cart. Sighing, she replaced the bolt and made towards the farmers anyway. If she was going to drop dead, it might as well be here.

 

Just as she emerged from the trees, a lone woman out ahead of the others dropped as if her legs were cut from under her, a Forsworn arrow sticking out of her neck. Then more arrows were flying through the air. The remaining peasants dropped their burdens and began to run, screaming. With war whoops, Forsworn streamed out onto the road after them.

 

"Shit, this is just what I need." Mazoga dropped the heavy snow bear pelt around her shoulders and replaced the bolt. She had just enough time before the Forsworn disappeared over the top of the slope to run forward, get down on one knee, and put a bolt in one of their backs. Before the Reachman was on the ground, she was already up and loading another as she ran.

 

***

 

"Somebody! Hey! I need help!" Baldur sat in the snow holding Daric's wound, the barbed arrow now removed. Fortunately for Baldur, the arrows were barbed, and didn't do a great job of penetrating his leather coat or the vest under it. Daric however had his arrow's barbs go right through the rivets under his sash, which was what they were made for. The barbs were also serrated, and Baldur couldn't take them out without doing anymore damage to him.

 

"Baldur! Over here!" Falgrum ran his way over to the two in his new uniform matching Baldur's. So too did Huomundr the Sullier, Burla She-Wolf, Hafnur Shallow-Tip, Dagnjorn of Whiterun, Bardok the Impaler, Bjorn Shatter-Wall, Kjisvild Moon-Gazer, Siguroar Twice-Cursed, and finally, Torik, the Dunmer battle mage.

 

Falgrum got to them first, but Torik quickly pushed through the rest. "Out of the way, they're injured!"

 

"Get Daric first!" Baldur said as he stood. "I'm fine, don't waste time on me."

 

"Baldur, the town is under attack. There's Forsworn overrunning our men! We're gonna get overrun if we don't do something."

 

"What? How many are there?" Baldur asked Falgrum.

 

"I don't know, three score maybe more?" While they talked, Daric started to stir under the waves of Torik's golden glow flowing from his hands.

 

"This one will be fine, Baldur. He'll be up soon. He'll have to keep those barbs in him for now until someone can cut them out of him later, but we don't have time for that now. What are we doing, retreating?"

 

Bardok said, "Retreat? **** that, I want blood! People blood. I'm tired of fighting without killing. I need to kill something today!"

 

Dagnjorn said, "I'm in agreement with Bardok. We've been training for scenarios like this right? Let's go cut loose."

 

"Baldur, we're outnumbered. A tactical retreat would probably be best..."

 

"No, Torik. No retreat." Baldur's face was twitching with barely contained anger as he drew his axes from his belt. "These fuckers come to my town, shoot my apprentice and endanger my family? No. They're going to pay now. In blood and flesh. We're going to rip the flesh from their bones! So everyone will think twice about ever coming to our town with ill intent."

 

"Let me come...too..." Daric grabbed Baldur's arm to pull himself up. Looking as pale as the Nords, he said, "I'm good to fight. Let me come with you."

 

Baldur opened his mouth to say no, but his increasing anger and excitement stopped him. "Yea. Alright, if you think you can fight, then I'll let you. But not with us, you'll slow us down. Go, fetch Rebec. Tell her to get her sailors and have them ready to chase the Forsworn into the woods. I've got a plan."

 

From behind another longhouse, another antler adorned head stood by, watching the scene of the Nords counseling near his dead companions. "What are they saying?"
 

"I don't know... I think they're planning on attacking the others."

 

"By themselves?"

 

"Heh, yea. Crazy right?"

 

"Very. The boy and the big one with the sissy hair made short work of Ramon and Stilch though. We should regroup and."

 

"Well well well, what do we have here?" came a voice from behind the two men. They jumped and predictably swung their swords in the Nord's direction, but before they could, the red headed giant wrapped his arm around one of their necks and dropped him with a grisly snap. The man's neck was broken, but he wasn't dead, merely paralyzed.

 

The other Forsworn looked into his milky eye in panic, daring another swing in his direction, only to have the Nord remove his hand with his silver great sword almost as large as he was.

 

Baldur and the others heard the scream and quickly drew their blades. "Daric, go get Rebec and let her know what's going on!"

 

After Daric limped off, Falgrum came from behind the home and said, "Look what we got here, boys!" Falgrum dragged the two Reachmen behind him as if they were mere children, then dumped them both in the midst of the bloodthirsty Nords. The Reachman with the missing hand was losing consciousness quickly, but unfortunately for him, Torik started using his magics to keep him going for the time being. "What should we do with my catch, sir? I've got recommendations."

 

"I know what to do," Baldur answered as he pulled out his dagger. The nordic carved blade's tip moved from side to side before the paralyzed one's eyes like a pendulum that would soon descend and cut into him like the piece of meat he was. "See, I'm a fan of the ancient Nords. And the ancient Nords had many interesting means of execution. One of them was said to steal the power of a man's voice." Baldur patted the tip of his blade at the Reachman's neck. "By stealing their tongues and ripping them from their throat. So what do you say? Let's get Merithic on their asses."

 

The Nords snickered in delight from the frightened man's panicked cries, cracking their knuckles in anticipation of the cut. Baldur and the others paid no attention to the other Reachman as he scrambled away in obvious terror. He was doing exactly what he was supposed to do.

 

Rebec was already out the door and strapping on her axe belt when Daric showed up. She took one look at the arrow in his shoulder and cursed. "Forsworn. Gods damned savages, I'm going to piss in their skulls. Where's Baldur?"

 

Daric was more fatigued than he wanted to admit, but he did his best to ignore the pain running down his arm. "He and the Necro Nords have something planned. He told me to tell you get your sailors ready to fight. He said they'll have the Forsworn in the forests somehow, and we're going to run them over. Didn't say much else, just to hurry and get your men moving."

 

"On it. You get into the fort and get that arm seen to." Rebec didn't stay to make sure he did it, just ran towards the quay yelling "Forsworn!"

 

Daric turned to do as he was told, but stopped just short of running out the door. Baldur said he could fight, but Daric knew the right thing to do would be to get healed properly. The Dunmer cleared him, but they all seemed to be in a hurry, and he certainly didn't feel good enough to kill right now.

 

And yet, Daric was sick and tired of being treated like a boy still. Being yelled at to fetch this or do that, not being treated like a soldier. Daric tried to reach for the arrow, but he couldn't get a good enough grip on it. Every time his finger twitched it, pain would shoot up his arm and through his shoulder again, sending tears from his eyes.

 

Daric was determined not to give the Nords a reason to call him a milkdrinker, however. He'd fight with the arrow in his shoulder if he had to. But, there was still another way. Daric turned his back to the door and creaked it open just enough to stick the arrow through before slamming it shut. He put his Stormcloak sash in his mouth to keep from biting his tongue, then yanked his body from the door as hard as he could.

 

The arrow was successfully removed, but it took almost five minutes of screaming before Daric was able to get up again. He knew he probably wounded himself even further, but at least now he could move his arm normally again. That meant he could swing a blade, which he fully intended to do. Daric grabbed a spare steel axe from within the longhouse and took off in the direction of the fighting, just like the rest of the Stormcloaks, ignoring the blood he felt running down his back.

 

***

 

The Forsworn indeed outnumbered the small posting of soldiers Baldur ordered to the edge of town, numbering in about eighty men and women to the Stormcloak's twenty, holding back the mob of savages with their shields as best they could. There was a rush of newcomers fleeing the scene into the town, obviously expecting there to be more soldiers in the king's new port that they all heard about. The sight of the bare bones barely adequate security disheartened them all and made them think all they managed to do was trap themselves into a dead end.

 

The Stormcloaks were slowly being pushed back by the numbers of the Reachmen despite cutting into their pathetic excuses for armor almost with ease. The numbers were just too much for them to hold back forever. As the assigned captain took a Forsworn bone spiked blade to his face, and had most of it ripped away, the others were just about to rout until they heard behind them, "Help! They're coming after me, help!"

 

The antler adorned Reachman was bleeding all over the place, most notably from his severed hand, and yet somehow he had enough fear in him to make it all the way to the battlefield, only to collapse in front of everyone in a dramatic display. Shortly after, the sounds of what seemed like wolves, or rabid animals drowned out the sounds of battle.

 

With bloodied weapons and blood smeared faces, eleven bear fur wearing barbarians charged directly towards the position of the overwhelmed Stormcloak soldiers, letting out warcries that split the enemy's ears. One of them with greyish skin stayed in the back and shot waves of frost from his hands, hitting the Nords and Reachmen alike. The Nords were mostly unaffected, but the Reachmen in the front lines found themselves backing away from the bitter cold that now hindered their movement. Even more, they had no way to prepare for the barbarians that came charging past the Stormcloak's front lines, as the frost magic blurred their vision, blinding them, allowing the Necro Nords to savagely stab into the Forsworn as if they were in a trance of madness.

 

"Huoooooaaaaaaaaahhh!!"

 

Falgrum's great sword caught a group of the Reachmen off guard, decapitating two of them with a mighty heave and burrowing into the neck of a third. Before he could be jumped from behind, Bardok the Impaler true to his namesake, ran two of the enemy through with his blade. Baldur's axe flew around in a flurry into the backs of routing Forsworn that were ill prepared for such a strong and surprising counter attack from so few. And with the frost magic slowing their swings down, they were being slaughtered quickly. Baldur's axes came down hard into a Reachman's shoulders, allowing him to pull the man towards him and take a chunk of flesh from his neck in a fountain of spurting blood.

 

This grotesque display was enough to discourage the front lines and make them rout for the next group of fresh soldiers to come. Disheartened, but not afraid, the new soldiers came with blades raised, looking to overwhelm and cut down the blood crazed freaks they saw slaughtering their friends. Before one of them could run away, Falgrum's sword stuck him through the back and into the ground. Before the other Forsworn overwhelmed them, Torik sent another wave of frost magic to mask their movements, allowing Baldur and the rest to maneuver through the enemy lines, cutting whoever got in their way.

 

When the frost magic dissipated, Baldur and the Necro Nords were behind the Forsworn, holding one of them with his arm around his neck. Baldur cut a dagger through his gut and made him watch as his men tore his intestines and other organs out from him. This did the trick. While the others bathed their faces in the man's innards and blood, the enraged Forsworn charged their positions, looking for revenge. Baldur and the others ran to the forest, laughing madly as their bloody footsteps showed their enemies the way.

 

Falgrum slammed his gore covered hand to his chest, barking in challenge to the first that were close enough to greet his steel. His child sized blade cleaved through the first woman's arm, then halved the head of the man behind her, sending his teeth flying in a loud crunch before Falgrum dashed away from the crowd with the others. Meanwhile, the Forsworn who would rather take their chances with the other Stormcloaks found themselves in a much less favorable situation, with over half of their men gone and chasing the Grim Ones into the winter hell that these demons surely came from.

 

Behind the Necro Nords, lines of navy crossbowmen formed up and began sending bolts into the back ranks of the Forsworn. Rebec's crossbow was on her back, because come Sovngarde or Oblivion, she was going to fight her way to Baldur's side. She found herself on the right flank of the Stormcloaks just as a few Forsworn broke away, trying to make for the village, no doubt to use the chaos of battle as an opportunity to burn it.

 

"Men, over here!" Rebec called back to her crew, and brought her own crossbow around. Bolts caught one Forsworn in the leg and slowed him enough for Rebec to run up and hack his spine open. She extracted her weapon and saw a young Forsworn man getting away, almost to the edge of the village. The next moment, Kyne's Talon was sailing through the air, spinning end over end. It hit the man's skull, cleaved it neatly in two and continued on, burying itself in the back of hers and Baldur's longhouse.

 

On the slope above the town, Mazoga heard the sounds of battle just as she crested the ridge, and realized that the Forsworn attacking the peasants were just outliers, probably rearguard scouts for a much bigger attack force. Now half of that attack force was routing, and headed straight for her. She had six more of her homemade bolts, then she'd be out.

 

"Better make 'em count," the orc growled as she took aim at an antlered woman.

 

Daric made his way into the fray, trying his best to ignore the pain in his arm. The bigger adult soldiers made it tough for him to work his way in, but Daric's skinny frame made him perfect for stabbing through the shield wall. Before the Nords up front had to move their hands to strike at the Forsworn, Daric quickly slashed at their face any time their heads poked through. Killing was something he'd yet to grow accustomed to. He still had the feeling of subduing to authority, so the idea that he was now killing people much older than him gave him a rush that made it hard to keep his weapons in hand.

 

When the Forsworn came crashing into the shield wall again, Daric got on the ground and stabbed a man through his knee, then dragged him from under to cleave off his head. He only managed to cut his throat with the axe, but the man was dead all the same. Suddenly, one of the Stormcloaks caught a spear through his skull and fell backwards over Daric, allowing some of the Forsworn to pour in. One of them tripped and fell over Daric, but me managed to lift his sword just in time for the woman to fall on it. Only now, Daric was trapped between bodies while a bunch of soldiers stomped around him, threatening to crush his head while this woman's stomach seeped warm blood over his tunic. Daric once again had to fight back the urge to wretch. Good thing he hadn't eaten yet, this time.

 

The routing Forsworn, hearing their fellows charge again into the Nords' shield wall, began to hesitate. Mazoga took advantage of the confusion and put several of them down. She kept moving, using cover, but a Reachman spotted her nonetheless and charged at her with axe brandishing. Even when the orc put a bolt in his chest, he still kept coming. It was her last bolt.

 

Horkis gro Akthamal's taunt came back to her. What are you going to do, tickle him with it? Drawing her dagger, Mazoga waited until the Forsworn was on her, starting to bring his axe down. She ducked underneath, spun, and brought her homemade crossbow around, bashing the man in the head with it. The whalebone layers shattered, and the man screamed as bits of bone flew into his eyes. Mazoga was left with a jagged spear of reinforced bone.

 

The Forsworn was waving his axe wildly, and by chance caught Mazoga across the shoulder, but as she came around, she jammed her dagger square in the back of his neck. It took several more blows to bring the man down. Mazoga wrenched her dagger free and looked up to see two more Forsworn running towards her.

 

She took a moment to curse her luck. A few weeks ago, no one expected her to succeed in the trials, let alone the solo hunt. Now that she was almost within sight of home, of the ship were she would be captain for the first time, it was going to end. There wasn't even time to grab the dead man's axe. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to go down quietly. As Mazoga raised her dagger to meet the attackers, a streak of green moved next to her, and the next thing she saw was Horkis gro Akthamal thundering in among the Forsworn attackers with a harsh war cry, his sword cutting an arc through them.

 

Horkis broke out in curses and shrieks that seemed unfitting for him in his old age, but nevertheless they came, just as his sword did from the withered body of an old man that should not have been fighting either. First, a wild eyed woman fell to his feet when his sword slipped between her ribs. Then a man had his chest cavity illuminated by the world's light for the first time when his sword met his pecks. The man dropped his sword, but with his last strength tried holding onto Horkis' body, the only resistance he could muster against his foe in his dying state. Horkis rewarded him by shoving a fist in his open cavity, ripping his beating heart out from behind his ribs and taking a bite before tossing Mazoga the man's sword.

 

"You can join in any time you want, my little green Bosmer."

 

Mazoga caught the sword, her mouth still agape at the ferocity the old man displayed. Now that was a real orc. She nodded once at him, and said, "Thank you for your help. Now I've got to go. Those are my friends down there."

 

"Farewell then, young one. I'll be watching. Say hello to the scholar for me, and don't get shown up by these pale skins."

 

There was no time to be puzzled by the old orc's words. Mazoga knew she was in pain, but if she had learned anything the past weeks, it was to feed on pain like sustenance. She ran down the hill, shouting, and carved a path through Forsworn until she was at the Nord lines. Beyond the shield wall, she saw the bloodied faces of the Grim Ones, and wondered if they would allow her into their ranks. If they didn't, she really would be dead this time.

 

***

 

"Fall back!" Baldur cried. They were slowly but surely leading the other half of the Forsworn away, but now they were starting to circle around them again. Baldur would not let them have their lives so easily, but instead would slowly pick them off until they ran away to lick their wounds, or Rebec's forces came to clean up.

 

The Grim Ones all but disappeared in the world of ice and desolate trees. The sounds of battle could be heard in the distance, but beyond that, the Forsworn could hear nothing but the winds whispering in their ears. The Grim Ones ran in three different directions, causing the Forsworn to split up, now roaming the Nord territory scattered and disorganized, but too angry and pumping with too much adrenaline to back down now.

 

Their leader was clear as day, sporting a large headdress of six deer antlers and bits and pieces of Legion and Stormcloak armor attached to his attire like trophies. With his spear in hand and his muscles like thick coiled rope, this dark skinned man was easily the most threatening of the lot. He crouched as he stepped silently through the snow, even managing to avoid the crunch.

 

A scream suddenly came from somewhere close. It was from the forest, not the battlefield. The Forsworn were certain of that. Periodically a few more screams would echo around, carried by the winds to taunt them. The leader with the large headdress ignored them, but the men behind him was starting to lose their nerve.

 

"There was more resistance here than we planned. First we got these psycho Nords coming out of nowhere, then they got reinforcements from that bitch with the crossbow. Perhaps we should cut our losses and flee while we still have some numbers left? This is pointless."

 

"We're already committed. Our forces are split and locked into battle. They'll flee on their own if they know what's good for them. In the meantime, we can at least hunt these savages down. We outnumber them. It's only a matter of time. Got me? Well? Hey, where'd he go?"

 

The Forsworn to his right was no longer around. Only he and his other soldier remained. The man in question started spinning around, swinging his weapon at an imaginary enemy, thinking the Nords were using invisibility spells or something. Backed up to a dead tree half gone, he said, "Lets just get out of here and regroup with the others later! I'm cold, hungry... this is no way to die."

 

As if he spoke the password, a roar came from behind him followed by a large pale body covered in bear fur breaking through the dead wood and encompassing him. He had an axe through his neck before he even realized what happened. Before the other one could get involved, the Forsworn leader felt a tap on his shoulder, followed by a two note whistle. "Over here, pal." The last thing he saw was a red headed Nord's milky eye before his great sword cleaved through his neck like a hot knife through butter.

 

Baldur stood from his victim's body rubbing his sore shoulder, smirking. "That tree was harder than I thought."

 

Falgrum peered behind him at the hole Baldur made in the rotted tree from tackling it through the hole on the other side already present when they got there. "Hahaha, you should have seen his face. I saw the whole thing from where I was at. Now what?"

 

"We'll keep picking them off for a bit, then meet up with my wife. By now, her men should be pouring through this area soon. Should be easy pickings with the Forsworn split up like this. Lets go, there's still more scum to wipe off the face of Nirn."

 

Falgrum whipped his sword over the ground, making it hum as the blood flicked off into the snow. He followed Baldur close with his claymore over his shoulder, smirking like a Bosmer in a butcher's shop. "It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it."

 

The Forsworn's bodies littered the ground, but in one last ditch effort, the Reachmen pushed back hard against the Nord's front line by switching out their own front line with the men and women in the back itching for blood. Daric had to watch from his position under the dead woman in quiet panic as the Stormcloak old folk stomping around him suddenly became Forsworn old folk. For the moment, he wouldn't dare move from under his spot. Unfortunately, the gods made that decision for him when a man tripped over the stacked up bodies and knocked the woman from over him. When the man recovered, Daric prayed hard that he would not notice the little Stormcloak staring at him, horrified.

 

But he did. For a moment, it seemed as though who he was didn't register. Daric didn't realize the blood covering him made it hard to make out his blue sash. Unfortunately the blade going through the Reachwoman was a dead giveaway, literally. In a rage, the Forsworn came at Daric with the agility of a man and the killing instinct of one to match. His bone spiked weapons were in his face so quick, all he could manage to do was fall to avoid them. On the ground, he sent a swift kick to the man's groin, but he recovered and stopped Daric's axe swing with his primitive 'blade'. The man lifted Daric up by lifting his Forsworn sword, preparing to swing into Daric's ribs.

 

Only by Daric's lack of arm-strength, especially with his wound, and the blood that drenched his hand from the woman was he saved. Daric's grip slipped, making him fall and avoid the Forsworn's blow just barely. He couldn't reach his sword in time, so he grabbed the only thing he could, which was a half broken Forsworn weapon on the ground, half stomped on and covered in blood, mud and snow. Avoiding the prick in his hand from quickly yanking it up, Daric swung the thing up at the Forsworn's most vulnerable spot. His groin. The spikes on the weapon hooked and made a large line of splattered blood from under him as Daric dragged his weapon away along with his manhood. He couldn't help it. What he saw made him dropping it non negotiable. Daric's enemy fell to his knees screaming louder than anything Daric ever heard before, aside from the thu'um, as he tried in vain to scoop his mutilated genitals back in, only to bleed out shortly after the attempt.

 

Daric already felt as though he did something wrong, but when the other Forsworn started paying attention to them due to the man's screaming, Daric felt as if his stomach just dropped through Nirn. Placing his foot on the woman, he mustered all the strength he could to wrench his blade out, then he charged towards the Forsworn front line, stabbing a man through the back of his head and running over him to escape his pursuers, leaving his weapon imbedded in the enemy in haste. Being a Breton and covered in blood, Daric almost was killed by the Stormcloaks themselves when he came charging through the shield walls, but another blocked an axe swing with his own sword just before Daric was striked dead.

 

"Shit, my bad lad! I hardly recognized you!"

 

"Keep on fighting, soldier!" commanded the one who saved his life. It was a grey skin of all things, draped in the white furs of a snowbear. A Draugr Dunmer. Torik lifted the little Breton up and blasted him with a wave of restoration magic to patch him up again momentarily. Smiling at him and said, "Baldur would be proud. Here, take my sword and keep fighting."

 

"But how will you-"

 

Just then, a Forsworn man came hurtling over the shield wall at Torik, but was blinded with a wave of ice to his face. When he landed, a grey hand met his chest, keeping him from falling, only to have an ice spike protrude from his back shortly after. Letting him drop, Torik winked at Daric, then moved up to the front, where another Forsworn just pushed through, only to have Torik's hands move in a blur, filling the foe with a flurry of little spikes that made him jerk around until the human porcupine crumbled to the ground and died.

 

***

 

Rebec had looked up just in time to see Baldur and some of the Grim Ones heading for the trees, drawing off a portion of the Forsworn. "Gods damn it," she cursed. It was a good strategy, but that didn't mean she had to like Baldur being out of her sight. Meanwhile the Reach berserkers on the edge of the attack force kept charging at the village, and one of them got off a fireball that set a longhouse ablaze. It all started to make her mad. Really, really mad.

 

Spying a female quarry, a big Forsworn charged at her, braying. He stopped in shock as the Nord woman let out a bloodcurdling yell and leapt towards him with equal velocity. Their axes met, locked, slid away, then locked again.

 

Despite Rebec's charge and the fury she felt, she took no chances. The weapons sessions with Baldur had given her plenty of practice at countering big, strong dual wielders. She could counter him and might get a lucky swipe in, but so might he if she stayed in one place too long, and he had a strength advantage. Speed would be her friend. That, and surprise.

 

Abruptly she spun away and began to run as if trying to escape. The man came after her, not seeing that she was sheathing her axe as she ran. When she stopped and turned, he spied the rope in her hand and dodged. The rope sailed over his head, and the man gave a bloodthirsty grin. "Nice try, Nord bitch. I'm going to enjoy-" There was a crack, and the man looked up just in time to see a tree branch coming towards his face. Rebec was on him while he was still clawing at branches. Grabbing at his belts with her free hand, she half climbed the man's torso while her off hand brought her axe down, chopping through the branches and into his skull. Rebec rode the falling corpse and jumped clear just as it crashed to the ground.

 

Around her there was a boil of hacking, screaming, and dying men and women. Rebec was covered head to toe in blood. At one point she turned around and came face to face with a similarly drenched Mazoga.  She shouted happily, "Maz! You look like shit!"

 

"Nice to see you, too, Admiral."

 

"You seen Baldur?"

 

"No. You go on. We got this."

 

Rebec surveyed the scene. It was obvious that the naval forces were carrying things. No more Forsworn tried to charge the village. More were running the other way, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Turning back, she said, "Nah. Screw that. Let's sweep 'em back up the hillside and let Baldur's men help finish them off."

 

***

 

About an hour later, Baldur finally started making his way back to the village, sure that by now, the rest of the Forsworn were either dead or gone. His beard was caked in blood, as was the rest of him, and there was gore and bits of people stuck in the bear furs of his tunic's sleeve, and his bear cloak, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to.

 

Weary, Baldur stumbled his way home on the main road, still feeling jittery from the excitement coursing through his veins, and sporting a smile on his face, exposing his red tinted teeth.

 

Suddenly, Baldur saw five figures ahead of him and thought at first that it must've been Rebec with a group looking for him. The calls of "Forsworn!" put that thought out rather quick, however. They didn't attack him head on, though. In fact, they didn't attack him at all. They only stared as if waiting for him to speak.

 

Baldur looked from his left and right, then slowly took out an axe. "Put down your weapons or die. You're all my prisoners now."

 

Baldur expected them to laugh, but they actually looked like they were considering it, weighing their options. As they ran their eyes over the blood soaked Nord in front of them, one of them finally dropped their weapons, eventually making the others follow her lead.

 

"Wise decision," said Baldur as he signaled with his head towards the trees to their left. Falgrum came out with his greatsword pointing towards the group, snickering.

 

"Lets get moving, or we'll just cut you down where you stand. Behave, and we may let you live," said Falgrum. For once, they weren't lying. They'd need survivors to tell of what happened here today.

 

***

 

The mopping up took longer than Rebec expected. The Forsworn were a determined enemy, you had to give that to them. You also had to give them a bolt in the eye. Rebec had given over her crossbow to Mazoga when she noticed the orc's sword swings growing slower. At a lull in the battle, Mazoga suddenly teetered and fell sideways into a heap.

 

Rebec shouted for help and some of the Wisp's crew came running. When they were satisfied that Mazoga wasn't severely injured, one of them tossed her over his shoulder and loped off towards the fort.

 

Meanwhile Rebec took back her crossbow and followed the rest of the Stormcloaks who were pushing the last of the Forsworn back. She had a bolt drawn on the Reachmen facing Baldur, ready to start putting them down if they made a wrong move.

 

Baldur didn't bother trying to tell her to lower her crossbow, not at all trusting his new prisoners. The other Grim-Ones met up with he and Falgrum, so he had them take the prisoners off his hands to the cells of the fort while he ran up to Rebec. Seeing her equally bloodied, he put his arm over her shoulder as they walked, and said while grinning, "Good morning. You sleep well?"

 

"How's anyone supposed to sleep with all this shouting?" she answered, grinning. Caught by exuberance and not caring about the blood, she grabbed Baldur's shoulders and gave him a quick, hot kiss before walking on, crossbow still raised and brandishing towards the prisoners.

 

"Oh, I could use a soak in the sea, right about now," said Baldur to himself. A moment later, a small limp form came strolling over to them from the side until he was close enough to collapse before him. "Daric! Shit, you look like shit! You alright?"

 

"I'm good," he said, picking himself up. His face was pale as a ghost, however, and Baldur knew he wasn't.

 

"Like hell you are. You're going to see Menel, then you're spending the night in the fort after you get cleaned up." Baldur was exhausted, but he managed to muster enough strength to carry the little warrior on his shoulders.

 

(TBC)

Edited July 19, 2014 by ColonelKillaBee

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• Ambassador

Elders  8,050 11,750 posts

   

Posted July 18, 2014

(continued)

 

The prisoners were secured away for the day while the others took care of the Stormcloak and Forsworn bodies by the roads and near the town. Baldur in the meantime checked up on Ysana, who had a dagger in her hand and almost had to use it when she saw how filthy he and his soldiers were in the new uniforms she just made for them. She made them all soak in the sea until the gore was gone, then rolled around in the snow to rid themselves of the salt on their skin and in their hair, letting their uniforms air dry until they were ready to be swatted and beaten to get rid of the salt in them as well.

 

With his hair and beard brushed and freshly washed, Baldur made his way to the infirmary where Daric, Mazoga and Rebec were, along with Burla and Falgrum traveling behind him in matching fur kilts from their stormcloak officer uniforms. Burla was the first to walk in, curious to the state of the orc woman, but saying nothing at the moment.

 

Baldur however ran up to her and immediately greeted her with a hug. "You're back! Rebec thought you were dead. You smell like it though."

 

Mazoga kept her face straight, though the hug made her feel like her bones were cracking again. Menel wasn't there, something about an errand he needed to attend to, and there were only diluted cure disease potions around. It was bonebreak fever, the healers said, and an advanced case.

 

She gave a weak smile. "See you all were planning some fun while I was away. Glad I got back in time to join in."

 

Baldur said, "Yea, we prepared for a few raiders moving in on our town, but we didn't expect that many Forsworn. There must be a reason so many decided to leave the Reach. The townsfolk mentioned what we already know, which is the war. Maybe something happened in Markarth itself. We'll question the prisoners later."

 

"Where's your bear fur, Mazoga?" asked Burla from a corner, her voice booming. She sounded genuinely curious, rather than antagonistic. She walked over just a bit after her inquiry, stepping into the better lit part of the room and exposing the gruesome scars over her stomach like four deep trenches, likely from the bear she herself killed.

 

Mazoga looked up at her, suspicious about the sudden interest. "I dropped it to fight Forsworn. It might be still out there." Probably trampled or grabbed up by one of the Reachmen. Now she could tell Horkis gro Akthamal that she was a real orc. Only an orc could have such shit luck.

 

Baldur shared a glance with the other two, but ignored the accusation in it. "That's... unfortunate."

 

"What now? Is she one of us, or isn't she?" Falgrum asked.

 

"Well, she's not an officer, but she did pass the trials. So that means she's one of us," Baldur answered.

 

Burla sighed, sounding disappointed, though it wasn't clear if it was because she failed the final test, or because she managed to become one of them in the end. She didn't seem intent on elaborating either. "So, what do we call her? We've got Necro Nords, Draugr Dunmer, but an Orc? What's next, Abominable Altmer? Gods..."

 

"Hows about the Odious Orsimer?" asked Baldur. "Sounds about right... Looks about right, hehehe."

 

Rebec came up behind them and looked from one to the other. "What's going on?" When Mazoga explained, she said, "Well you're not all just going to give up, are you? I'm going out there to look for the pelt."

 

"I'll go with you." Baldur said, but Burla shook her head.

"No, I'll go. Just the three of us ladies."

"If it's just the three of you ladies, why are you going? Baldur already looks prettier than two of you..." Falgrum joked.

"What do you mean two?" said Baldur. He and Falgrum both shared a laugh until they saw Burla's look.

 

"Maz needs to stay here. Look at her. She's more grey than green."

 

The orc was already standing up, however, and would brook no protests.

 

Rebec looked around as they were leaving. "Where's Menel anyway, gods damn his greasy hide. We got other wounded and he's off lollygagging somewhere."

 

Burla picked her nose with her pinky, flicking something at the walls as they walked. "The cute little fat elf? That butter ball high tailed it to the Queen already with some devil magic. Had me suspicious, since he left just a few hours before the Forsworn came after checking on my wounds."

 

"Menel's no Forsworn spy," Rebec said, shaking her head. "That would be too much work for him. I'm surprised he stuck around as long as he did. Probably jealous of Ulfric." She glanced back. "Easy there, Maz. You're almost done with all this foolishness." She took the orc's arm to steady her.

 

Mazoga directed them towards where she remembered dropping the pelt. The civilians' broken cart was still there in the road. There was no pelt, however. They were just about to give up when two of the travelers came back up the road from the village with tools in hand to fix the cart. One of them recognized Mazoga and came over to thank her for helping them. When she told them about the pelt, one of the men said, "We found it! It's with our goods. I didn't want the savages to get it."

 

By the time the women got back to the village, Mazoga's heart was pounding. She didn't want to admit that she wanted to succeed in the trial, but she did. If the farmers had taken the bolt out...

 

There the pelt sat on the top of a pile of trade goods, the homemade crossbow bolt still protruding from the skull. Rebec let out a whoop and grabbed it up to go show Baldur.

 

Baldur and Falgrum sat around kicking their feet in boredom while they watched Daric slumber. Baldur wasn't worried before, but now with Menel missing and forced to deal with the other half rate Nordic healers, he was sweating as much as the little Breton was on the medic table.

 

Falgrum noticed this, mostly because watching Baldur sweat was the only interesting thing going on while the women made them wait. "So. The boy tasted real battle today. May as well declare him a Nord now. Give 'em a name and all. What do you think?"

 

"You mean a moniker? Heh, sure. I think he'll like that. How'd you get yours, by the way? You don't use a shield, so why are you Falgrum Blood-Rim?"

 

Falgrum's face suddenly went grave, which considering his bad eye, gave Baldur slight chills, though he'd never admit it. Falgrum looked at him directly and said, "There was a young boy, almost a man in Morthal, born with a glossy blind eye, who was said to be an orphan. The rumor was that he killed his entire family for no reason at all. Just a whim... like how you decide one day you'll wear a new pair of shoes. No one wanted to take in the boy even before they suspected that he did it. The air about him was all wrong. They had to do something with him though, but no one wanted to take up the responsibility. So, they decided to get rid of him, move him to another town. The boy heard the others talking and staring, and they knew they'd come for him. So, he came for them first. That night, there was a dead body in the street, then another the next, then another. Eventually they realized it was the child, because he stood at the edge of town with bloody hands, staring back with that awful glossy eye.

 

The townsfolk had enough, but they grew afraid, saying he was possessed by the spirit of Mephala or Boethia. So they did what Nords always did when there was someone they needed to kill, but couldn't. They got a giant. They forged a great blade with a forked tongue at the end, and painted it in swirls from cow's blood, then sat it in the middle of town and left. They waited three days until they heard the great steps of the giant coming to claim his prize. Thinking that they solved their problems, the townsfolk came rushing back to see the aftermath of the battle... and they all fell to their knees in awe and horror. What they saw, was the giant, shorter now, because his head was missing, and blood shot so high from his massive body's neck, that they could have sworn that the splatter touched the sky, or so that's how they'd always remember it. Since then, the demon boy with the bad eye was known as Blood-Rim. So the story goes. Could have been a giant, could have just been a really big Nord mercenary, but if you go to Morthal and ask about Blood-Rim, the guards will tell you they still have a bounty on his head for your weight in gold if you kill him."

 

Baldur hadn't said anything for the entirety of the story. Falgrum said it with such solemn sincerity, such grave earnest, that even before Baldur asked the question, Baldur knew the answer. "That true? You were that boy?"

 

Falgrum stood up, brow knit as if Baldur just asked was his wife really murdered. Meeting Baldur face to face so close that he could smell his breath, Falgrum said, "Na, I'm pulling your leg, general. I got that name because I like cutting heads off. Get it? Blood Rim is their bleeding open neck holes."

 

"You son of a bitch, I believed you!" Baldur said, disappointed. "That would have been a great story!"

 

"Ahahaha, it still is! That's why it's a story."

 

Rebec was about to burst in with the pelt in her hands, but stopped herself. Handing the bear fur to Mazoga, she said, "Here, Maz. Your kill, and your honor. I'd follow you into battle any day, but that was always so. Now the rest of these assholes will know what they're dealing with."

 

Burla scoffed in reflex, remembering that she was one of those assholes, doubting the Orc's strength. "I admit, you surprise me, Thorn-Orc. You didn't kill the bear up close, but I suppose cunning is nice. I'd rather fight with you than a grey-skin. It'll be nice not being the only female officer."

 

Mazoga shrugged her thanks. She'd had the sentimental beaten out of her. "Anyway, let's go. Then I'm going to sleep for a week." Inside the infirmary, she showed the pelt to Baldur with a blank expression, prepared for him to disqualify her anyway for some reason.

 

Baldur shared a glance with Falgrum, rubbing his beard as he inspected the pelt. "Hmm. Right Falgrum?"

 

"Hmmm... yea, I'm thinking the same thing. Hmmm..."

 

"Hmmm... Oh and-"

 

"Yea, yea. We should, right?"

 

"Uhuh, come here." Baldur and Falgrum left the others to whisper amongst themselves in a corner, occasionally looking back at Mazoga with concerned looks. Finally, Baldur and Falgrum wandered back over to the women to give the news.

 

"Well..." said Falgrum.

 

"We're in agreement," said Baldur. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to tell Ysana yourself to make a new uniform. Neither of us want to deal with her again today. Oh, and you're in."

 

Rebec was the one who shouted and jumped up and down at this, hanging on Mazoga's shoulder and then releasing her quickly as the orc groaned in pain.

 

Mazoga's expression remained blank at first, but gradually she cracked a smile. "Thanks boss." Without another word, she walked over to her cot and fell into it.

 

Hailing Menel's apprentice, Rebec said, "Give her the best potions you got. I know Menel's got his own stash somewhere. Find them and see that she gets what she needs, and come get me if anything changes with her."  The admiral's commanding tone brooked no opposition. Then she turned to Baldur. "I'm going to go help clean up the mess those gods blasted freaks left out there. I'll see you at home later."

 

Baldur hugged her quick and kissed her on the cheek, happy that she could finally stop worrying about her friend. "You have fun with that. I'll be waiting here for a while with Daric and celebrating Mazoga's success with a bottle of mead while you're gone. Get the boy some of that potion too. I'd say he needs it as well, maybe even more."

  Quote

---

 

 

• Blade

Allies  1,479 1,977 posts

   

Posted July 19, 2014

Lilly

Imperial City

Late morning

 

"******* rain." Said Lilly, annoyed at the rumbling thunder clouds. She puffed in anger, and adjusted her black long-coat.

 

Albecias walked behind her, writing utensils tucked safely in his coat's inside pocket. He frequently ducked beneath awnings, moving from one to another in an attempt to avoid the downpour. He knew the lesser nobles' apartments and houses weren't far off, so he shouldered the deluge and hopped over puddles to avoid ruining his new boots.

 

Lilly said in a rather monotone voice, "Have any of the murder cases you've studied involved the nobility?"

 

"Oh yes, the most recent one in fact. A poor Nordic girl, Friga Shatter-Shield, was brutally murdered by the Windhelm Butcher. It was an awful crime scene, blood and body bits everywhere," Albecias said, dodging out of the way as a cart passed by.

 

"Heard about that. Also recall something about the Shatter Spears were heavily involved in shady dealings, in an attempt to close down the east empire company in the Eastmarch region. Serves them right for all I care." She said, looking around.

 

"Oh, you condone senseless murder, and necromantic rituals performed by said killer, because the Shatter-Shields hired pirates to harass the East Empire Company? My my, you preside in a sick and twisted world, madam Spymaster. I'm afraid the general populace wouldn't share your sentiments, especially given the detailed descriptions I provided in my book. No, they would vilify you for wishing that upon anyone. Lucky for you, I prefer to keep such things to myself. Gossip has it's uses, but I think having you as a friend has more," the writer said with a suspicious smirk.

 

"A friend of mine went down with one of the hit ships. I have many friends in the navy, which the east empire company usually recruits from for navigators. Blood pay's with blood. I'm very sure the Nords would agree with me." She laughed dryly at his remark, "You would do well to remember that my 'friend'. As you said, I'm much more useful as an ally to you." 

 

"I'm sure you have a great many friends, in a great many places. What, with your charming personality and sharp-as-a-blade wits," Albecias playfully said, smiling at his own sarcastic joke.

 

"You know your sense of humor is baffling...with you entertaining yourself by telling really bad jokes..." She said sarcastically.

 

"It is, isn't it? Completely and utterly strange. But that is why I don't write humor," Albecias said.

 

"Murders and comedy really don't lend themselves to each other do they?" 

 

Suddenly Adrian, the suspect she had interrogated the previous day, came into sight as he walked towards them. He gave Lilly a spiteful glare. "Bitch." he also said with an equally spiteful voice as he passed by.

 

"From what I hear, your the one who likes to be bent over and treated like a bitch, boy." Lilly coughed, saying somthing out loud for the author to hear in a mischievous voice, "We shouldn't look down on him. There's nothing wrong with him pretending to be the female in bed."

 

"Oh, come now Colonel. Surely there is some better insult you could slap on the man than his sexuality. I would love to give you some pointers, but then I would offend Mr. Adrian here," Albecias bowed his head in greeting, then took a half step back to allow the lesser noble and spymaster continue their petty squabbling.

 

Adrian's face was now boiling with anger. "One day, you little bitch. One day, you slu-" he was then suddenly interrupted by a white goo hitting the top of his head from above. Adrian's face then suddenly changed to one of shock and disgust as he raised his hand and poked at the goo with two fingers and then held them up before his eyes to see what it was. He simply stood there silently while he looked at the goo, and the look from his face said he was about to explode from the embarrassment, frustration and anger.

 

She gave Adrian a wink and contuined on her way, "Lesser nobles. Tsk tsk. Thinking they're above it all."

 

Albecias hung back, pulling Adrian aside. "If I might have a word; it will only take but a few moments," he asked politely.

 

Lilly brushed her shoulder, doing a hidden signal.

Soon Karsh landed on Lilly's shoulder. "I know there's few people out in the street now, but couldn't you have found a subtler time to call me? Put an invisibility spell on me. And a spell to help keep me dry. Bloody rain ain't good for my feathers."

 

She did so, before saying, "Nice hit by the way. Go see what the author is doing with Adrian." 

 

"Practice makes perfect." he responded before flying off.

 

Adrian was still staring the white goo on his fingers with the same intensity as the author pulled him aside. Even as the rain sped the pace at which it began to slide down his face. "What?" he then managed to spit out in a rather unpleasant tone after a long moments of silence.

 

Albecias whipped out a handkerchief and quickly disposed of the white substance, folding the napkin and sliding it back in his pocket once done. "Why the animosity towards the Spymaster? Any particular reason?"

 

"She interrogated me yesterday. Or rather, mistreated me I would say."

 

"How so? Physical or emotional bullying?" the author and reporter had taken out a small scroll with a charcoal writing instrument, and was scribbling down notes up against the wall of a nearby building.

 

"Both. Mostly physically." he said with a bitter tone.

 

"Do you happen to have any marks or bruises to show?"

 

"Not really. I was slammed into the wall."

 

Albecias wrote something down, then tucked the parchment in his coat. He smiled and cordially said "I appreciate the information, and your time. Good day."

 

Adrian just mumbled something unidentifiable in response as he then continued his walk down the street.

 

"Asshole," Albecias said, long after the noble was out of earshot. He caught up with Lilly, huffing slightly as he came up behind her. "Well that was quite an interesting interview. Enlightening, almost," he said with a sneer.

 

"Well? Was he as personable as me?" she said sarcastically.

 

"I can't say I've ever met anyone with your...personality," the writer said, his word choice careful.

 

"Your really lucky I'm assuming that's a compliment...Oh by the way Sarge is a little rough. Don't get on his nerves."

 

"And who is this 'Sarge'? I assume it's short for sergeant, unless his parents were so dim-witted they named their child Sarge. Either way, I'm sure we will not clash. I'm perfectly likable."

 

"That's debatable..." She muttered under her breath. Walking at a brisk pace she went over to the crime scene, and asked a guard she met yesterday, "Were's the sarge?"

 

The guard saluted her. "Up in the mansion, talking with the noblewoman. He said he was going to get the guest list. Though that was a while ago. She's probably talking his ears off."

 

"Did he mention anything?"

 

"Well, he said that if he ain't back within a couple of minutes that we should pray to Stendarr to have mercy upon his ears."

 

Lilly turned around and headed into the mansion searching for the sergeant and the hostess of the party. It wasn't soon before she heard the familiar voice of Rosentia in the distance. As she headed in the direction of the chatter. And behind a half open door, she found Rosentia talking with a very distressed looking sergeant Amidius about some gossip on a merchant that had been arrested last week for tax evasion.

"My lady, may I borrow the sergeant from you?" She said in a deadpan tone.

 

"But I'm not done talking yet." she answered. 

 

"Just give me the gods damned list!" Amidius said in a rather annoyed and angry tone. 

 

"How rude." she responded and handed him a piece of paper. 

 

"Thank you, m'lady." Amidius managed to force himself to say before hurrying out of the room. "Lets go before she decides to inform us about how the grocery prices have risen." he said to Lilly in a low voice as he passed her.

 

She took the hostesses hand, kissed it gently and said rather rudely, "Stick to tormenting your usual victims okay?" She gave her a cat like smile.

 

A disgruntled "Hmph." was all she got from Rosentia as she clearly felt insulted by the statement.

 

"Don't look so gloomy. If you want, you can stop by the mansion and have dinner with me and Helen."

 

"Fine." she said, trying to look like she was reluctant to accept, while there was a clear glimt of eagerness in her eyes.

 

"Come at eight. Helen has a day off today so you can pester her with questions." And with that she turned around and followed the sergeant.

 

Albecias greeted Rosentia with a smile, and quietly followed Lilly and Amidius. He could've asked her some questions, but he wouldn't get away for at least an hour.

The sergeant walked with a quick pace out of the the mansion, totally ignoring the author and everything else till he got outside. Where he stopped looked up at the clouds in the sky as the rain began to subside. And drew a heavy sigh of relief. 

 

"The mighty righteous imperial guardsmen. Fear not the bandit, serial killer, rapist, and vampire. But you're afraid of gossiper?" She said with a sly smile.

 

"I know how to fight those things. With her all I can do is stand there and try to listen with the occasional nodding." he replied.

 

"She's harmless."

 

"Not to my ears."

 

"You need to get out more sarge."

 

"If that means listening to more people like her, no thanks. Anyway, we should get going. We were to question that rival of yesterday's suspect. What was his name again?"

 

"What we want is Maro then."

 

"Right. He lives in the house opposite of Maro if I remember correct." the sergeant was about to turn around and head as he now noticed the writer following Lilly. "And who are you?"

 

"Albecias Plebo. Author and reporter, quite famous and skilled in both. I'm here covering this murder for the Black Horse Courier, if you don't mind," he said in his usual pompous and pretentious manner.

 

"Famous? Never heard of ya. Just keep out of my way and you wont have to suffer the view of the inside of the dungeon." he then turned to Lilly. "Shall we go?"

 

"I assume that along with fearing talkative noblewomen, you must also be afraid of reading, if you haven't heard of me. Hmph, and what might I see the dungeon for? Gross misuse of sarcasm, perhaps?" Albecias once again facetiously remarked.

 

"Interfering with a lawman's work. That's what." he replied while giving the writer a strict look, before turning back to Lilly once again. "Now shall we go?"

 

"Just let the big boys do there job, and we'll let you write okay?" She turned to the sergeant, "Roger."

 

"Oh yes ma'am. I'll be sure to keep out of your way," Albecias said dryly. "You realize my talking is in no way interfering. Unless you're easily distracted, in which case I'll have this Maro remove all shiny objects, lest you forget why you're here."

 

"Just zip it." She said in a joking tone.

 

Albecias smirked but said nothing. He could antagonize the two for days, but in the end, without their cooperation, he would have nowhere close the access he did now, so he followed the Spymaster's advice.

Amidius muttered something inaudible under his breath as he with quick steps headed out onto the street. 

And as soon as they were out in the open on the street, Karsh (who was still invisible) silently swooped down and landed on Lilly's shoulder. 

 

Lilly whispered, "By the way, are you the one whose been putting the idea that I'm a incestuous pedophile in Helen's head?"

 

"Well aren't you? The way you've been going through her underwear." the raven replied.

 

"That girl has enough problems as it is. Don't cause her more stress. She already has a dozen phobias."

 

"What's wrong with having a phobia of pedophiles?"

 

"If she's thinks I'm one it'll cause her to feel uncomfortable at home. Which is a place she should feel safe."

 

"And how is it my fault you're going through her underwear?"

 

She looked away, embarrassed, "You know teens these days....moon sugar and skooma. I needed to make sure she wasn't hiding anything."

 

"In her underwear?"

 

"Does it look I go around town looking for little girls to molest? What am I? A dirty old man?"

 

"Fine. I wont talk with her about your plans to molest her.

 

"Shut up." She said rather quiet.

 

"Why are you muttering with yourself?" Amidius asked.

 

"Should have cast a muffle spell." Karsh said into her ear with a smug tone.

 

"Allows me to gather my thoughts sarge." She said with a smile.

 

"Oh, okay." the sergeant said with a shrug. 

 

"And I almost forgot. They talked about your interrogation you had yesterday." Karsh said.

 

Casting a muffle spell, Lilly asked, "The details?"

 

"That guy following us asked what happened and that guy with shit on his head said you mistreated him and slammed him into a wall. And that's it. Boring conversation."

 

"Boring is good."

 

"No, it's not. I prefer when people say things that'll get them killed. That way I'll have some nice eyeballs to shew on."

 

"Man I need a holiday. " She started to think deeply, "Maybe a trip to Chorrol. Visit the old harpie herself. Take Helen shopping. Go to the hotsprings. Yeah that would be nice."

 

"After the assassination attempts you should be happy to be able to leave the city without the little blonde thing."

 

"Then your hearing is slightly off. And I'm going to keep calling her little as that makes me feel bigger."

 

"But your tiny." She said in a deadpan tone, "Why don't you ask your master to turn you into a giant fire breathing raven?"

 

"Like if he ain't happy with amount of food I already eat."

 

"Unlike you however, while small, Dales is adorably cute."

 

"At least I'm charming. And handsome." he said with a slightly gruff tone.

 

"Jealous of her majesty? Jealous that your master favors her over yourself?" She said slyly.

 

"Jealous? Favors? I'm the one who does all the important hard work. All she does is sits on a throne and tries to look competent while sometimes taking a sausage up her private quarters."

 

"Dales does all of the 'boring' stuff. Focusing on the social issues, economics, and of course, the paper work of the empire. She wakes up at 5 AM and goes to sleep at 2 AM the next day. While your stuffing your face in meat and sleeping. She does far more then you." She said smugly.

 

"Keep telling yourself that. I am important. And a bit peckish."

 

"The messanger raven is more important then the empress. You're a nice pet."

 

"I'm not a pet! I'm a companion."

 

"Hehehehehe. Want a dog biscuit for dinner? I'm sure Helen would love to dress you up in frilly princess clothing as well."

 

"Like if my feathers weren't warm enough in this climate. Keep your clothes to yourself."

 

"A little baby bib and some little socks. Helen will give you a bottle of milk and make you say 'mama' over again as she rocks you in a manger." She said smiling.

 

"Bah. You humans are freaks."

 

Albecias looked on with awe, first noticing the whispering, then watching Lilly as she cast a spell. He only noticed because he was already watching her strange movements. Then, she began to speak, her lips moving but no words coming out. Occasionally, she glanced at her shoulder, talking as she did. The whole behavior was perplexing, and he had never seen anything like it before. Albecias didn't say a word about it, but noted that the Spymaster might be unstable, or even insane.

 

She dispelled the muffle and said out loud, "So sarge do you think this guy is the killer?"

 

"How should I know? Never met the man." he answered.

 

"I don't know. Last case like this I worked was the black rose killer back in Chorrol." She shuddered at the memory.

 

"The Black Rose case was quite ugly. People can be monsters, that much I've seen firsthand," Albecias piped from behind Lilly.

 

"Yeah, but this seems more like a killing made on impulse under the effect of alcohol. I doubt there's any kind of thought put into the deed." said Amidius.

 

"Worst part about that was we never found out who he or she was. Just letter after letter talking about how it eviscerated and tortured those poor girls." She took a huge mouth full of air. Lilly didn't want to go back to those dark days, "Your right though sergeant. Those murders were calculated and well executed. The black rose killer would stalk it's victim for days before making its move. This one seems to have been in the moment due to how sloppy it was."

 

"Anyway, here we are." said Amidius and stopped in front of the house opposite of the one they had visited yesterday. Both houses looked quite alike. "Hopefully he'll be more receiving of me. Though I doubt he'll take kindly to letting in the writer. I don't think anyone would like his kind watching and taking notes on how your treated as a suspect in such a gruesome murder. Especially nobles."

 

"On the contrary, I think he would want me there. As your first interviewee told me, his treatment at your hands was rather rough. I'm sure Mr. Maro knows this, and would want a witness to report such foul mistreatment," Albecias had dealt with this situation before, and for the most part the person being interviewed wanted someone there that wasn't biased against them.

 

"I agree. The author can come if he wants." Lilly said.

 

"Whatever you say. But in my experience, most nobles prefer a bruised body over a bruised reputation." he said with a shrug and went up to the door and knocked.

 

"And most would want their side of the stories heard rather than be labeled by the general populace as a murderer and rapist." Albecias said with his trademark smug smile.

 

"I don't know what people you've worked with, but I don't go around announcing who's a suspect."

 

The door opened and middle aged woman in simple servant clothing stood there. "Yes? How can I help you?"

 

Albecias took out his noted and scribbled something down, the quickly slipped it back in this pocket. "I've worked with your colleague here, and she kindly told me who the suspects were. Still, it isn't hard to deduce by those who knew the victim. People will assume Maro is involved, because of his relationship with her."

 

Lilly ignoring the two's small squabble, approached the woman and said, "Colonel Lillin Quentas. Were here to speak with your master on Oculatus, and Imperial watch business."

 

"Which one?" she asked.

 

"Maro." 

 

"He's in the dining room. Eating breakfast. Is it urgent?"

 

"Very." She said with a simple nod.

 

"This way then. And don't touch anything." she stepped aside and gestured for everyone to enter.

 

Lilly entered the door first, not bothering to take off her long-coat.

Albecias followed, whipping out his parchment and charcoal so as to write notes more quickly than with ink and quill.

Amidius just followed quietly and kept his strict look on his face. 

 

The servant led them through the entrance hall to a door at the far left on which she knocked. "Mr Maro? The Oculatus wants to see you."

 

"Is it that important? I'm eating!" shouted a grumpy voice from the other side of the door.

 

"They say it is." replied the servant woman. 

 

"Fine. Send them in!" Maro yelled back and the servant opened the door for the three to enter.

 

Lilly entered into the room and bowed her head, "Colonel Lillin Quentas. This will only take a little of your time."

 

Maro who looked like a rather average imperial with short brown hair and a clean shave, except he had somewhat broad jaw. He sat the left side of the table, eating sandwiches made of fluffy white bread and slices of smoked venison from a plate. And delicate glass filled with clear water next to him. Other than that the table was quite barren. On right wall hanged a couple of paintings of what could be assumed was prominent member of Maro's family. A small and relatively simple chandelier hanged in the roof. It was unlit as the sunlight that managed to pass through both the clouds and the windows was still enough to lighten up the place so there were no dark corners. 

Maro straightened his back and looked at Lilly and her little entourage that followed. "Well I do hope you have a good excuse to interrupt a man's breakfast." he said a in a calm yet slightly annoyed tone. Then taking another shew of his sandwich. 

 

"Its about a party you were at recently."

 

"What about it?" he asked with his mouth still shewing on the sandwich.

 

"Were aware that you have an intense rivalry with a noble named Adrian correct?"

 

Maro waited a second to swallow before he replied. "Depends on what you consider intense. I would consider it long-lasting. And given our past disputes, I dare say that things are relatively calm between us right now."

 

"Hmmm. Are you also aware of the murder that happened at that party?"

 

"Murder?" he said with surprise.

 

"She was raped as well. A daughter of an elder councilor. You and Adrian were fighting over her the night of the party."

 

"Maressa? She's dead?" he said and then grew silent and just stared.

 

"Death by strangulation."

 

"Well if it's not Adrian I don't know who it could have been."

 

"May I be blunt?" She said calmly.

 

"Ehm, sure. Go ahead." he said, sounding a bit confused.

 

"You're a suspect."

 

"Why?" he sounded a little shocked at the notion.

 

"You were piss drunk. Angry. And made hopeless passes at the girl."

 

"Who told you that? Adrian?"

 

"A large amount of sources."

 

"Well I can admit I was a little more than just tipsy from the drink. And yes, I had an interest in the girl. And I wasn't angrier than usual when it comes to being close around Adrian."

 

"You understand? If there's anything you can tell us to clear your name it would help."

 

"I mingled. Drank some. Had a brief talk with Adrian inside the mansion. Then I mingled and drank some more. Then I heard from someone that Adrian had been accusing me necrophilia at the party, to some of the guests. When I asked where he was someone said that he had headed into the garden with Maressa. I headed to the garden and we meet just outside. I told him a few things and where he could stick it. Then I headed back to the party and mingled some more. Then drank some more till I could barely walk straight. And then I headed home."

 

"I heard it was a very heated argument that nearly came to blows."

 

"That sounds like pretty much every conversations me and Adrian has ever had."

 

"You both wanted the victim?"

 

"Wanted the victim? I can admit I fancied her. But I wouldn't beat Adrian because of her. If I would beat him it would be because of his smug and arrogant demeanor and not for that he managed to woo a girl and I did not."

 

"He was successful in his attempts?"

 

"Well he managed to get her into garden for some private time. How well it went after that you'll have to ask him."

 

"What was Maressa's mental state at the time?"

 

"A bit tipsy when I spoke with her. Maybe she'd had some more to drink after I spoke with her and before she went with Maro. And she seemed to be enjoying the party and the alcohol."

 

"Was there any... illegal substances going around?"

 

"Not as far as I was aware of."

 

"Besides Adrian was anyone acting strange?"

 

"Strange? I would say that Adrian was his usual unpleasant self. Other than that I would say that everyone acted like people usually do when they have had some to drink."

 

Albecias wrote things down as he listened, hovering behind the two officers of the law, so as to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

 

"Do you think Adrian would have the balls to commit the deed?"

 

"In general; no. Though he had had some to drink. And he becomes a bit unpredictable when he's had his drink."

 

She stretched out, "Has Adrian ever gotten really violent?"

 

"Not in public. Heard he beat one his servants really bad a few years ago though."

 

"Beat his servants? Who was the unlucky victim?" She nudged the author, "Take notes."

 

Albecias rolled his eyes after Lilly had turned around, as he was already writing down the abbreviated words of everyone in the room.

 

"Some young girl or boy. Don't remember. I don't keep track of his servants. It was a rumor I heard a few years back." Maro replied.

 

"Shame. We could have asked him or her about Adrian's sanity."

 

"If being a smug and spoiled brat is insanity. He's really insane."

 

"Hmmmmm. From what I read, Adrian has a small criminal record. He didn't do any time, just for being loud and harassing other nobles. I also read a file on him, he doesn't seem like the person to take something so far.

 

"Well if he didn't do it. Then who did?"

 

"That's what were trying to figure out. Was there any other known 'deviants' at the party my lord?"

 

"Not as far as I could see."

 

"Could someone have sneaked into the party? Was there any guards?"

 

"No real guards as I could see. And I bet that after the reception was over and the drinks started flowing, that someone could have sneaked in. It would then just be a matter of looking like you fit in."

 

"So it must have been somone from the party..." She turned to the sergeant, "Sarge, you have the guest list right?"

 

"Yeah, I got it." the sergeant said and patted his pocked.

 

"Hand it over to Maro over there." She asked him, "Would you look over it and see if any person on the list besides our mutual friend catches your eye?"

 

"Okay." said and fished up the folded piece of paper, which he then handed over to to Maro. 

 

"I doubt I will actually be of some help. If you want suspects you'd be better of asking the hostess." said Maro with a light shrug. He unfolded the paper and looked it over for a good minute. Shaking his head lightly he looked back at Lilly. "I know quite a lot of these people, either friends or barely acquainted. But I don't know anything that would make them suspects in this case."

 

"I think that's about it. We'll contact you if we have any other questions." She bowed her head, "Thank you for your time."

 

"You're welcome. Now I'd like to finish my breakfast in peace." he handed back the list to Amidius and took a sip from his glass.

 

Albecias was the first to leave, deciding he could garner no new information by personally questioning Adrian. He slipped out the door quietly, and exited the front door onto the still drizzly day.

 

Lilly followed him out, she quietly said, "Think he's telling the truth?"

 

"You think I was given a lie detector function when boss infused me with magic?" said Karsh with an annoyed tone. "Honestly, I don't know. He seemed confident enough in what he said. Which indicates that he's either telling the truth or that he's a good liar."

 

"True." She turned to the author and said, "You think he's lying?"

 

"I've dealt with nobles often enough to know that many fancy themselves excellent liars. Whether he is one or not, I couldn't tell. As another member of the party, though, I can tell you that the amount of alcohol flowing through our veins makes discerning lies from confusion or inability to remember difficult. He could have killed her but not remembered, because of his inebriation," Albecias walked as he spoke, brushing past peddlers and vagabonds alike.

 

"You sure know your physiological profiles" She said, praising the author.

 

"I've spent time studying the criminals in our prisons, as well as those of the provinces I have visited. Not to mention tailing law offices in other provinces, such as I am doing now. For a book to be well written, appropriate research must be done. I cannot just make up drivel like some authors. Even my fictional novels have accurate representations of the criminals and guards portrayed," Albecias smiled, the praise warming him like a lizard on a hot day.

 

"Do you know why someone would be compelled to do something this horrific?"

 

"Lust, anger, frustration. Those are my bets." Amidius briefly interrupted. 

 

"Insanity. Drunkenness. Jealousy, or any other strong emotion. Why people do things like this will never make sense to those with sane minds," the author said, before stopping and turning to the Spymaster. "Where are we going, again?"

 

"Whose next sarge on your little list?"

 

"Let me see." he said while fishing up the list again and reading the names and addresses. "Well the closest one on the list lives a bit further down the street. A jewelry merchant. I know that because he's been bothering me about supposed thefts that seem to happen in broad daylight."

 

"Have any kind of record?"

 

"Record on thefts? Not really. We only keep records on thefts if its' really valuable things that is owned by high nobility."

 

"I think she meant does this merchant have any kind of criminal record himself," Albecias said.

 

"What the author said." Lilly said.

 

"No. Not as far I'm aware of." the sergeant replied.

 

"So he's squeaky clean? Middle or high class?"

 

"Something in between. Not nobility but he's isn't lacking in gold."

 

"Can we roughen him up?"

 

"Unless he does something to really warrant it, I would say it's ill advised."

 

"****. All right, lead the way sarge."

  Quote

---

"Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun."

• Blade

Allies  1,479 1,977 posts

   

Posted July 19, 2014

"Aye, sir." he replied and started walking down the street. And before soon they could see a sign with a green emerald on it and the text which read The Sharp Emerald. 

 

"I know this place." Karsh said. "That fool likes to leave his window on the third floor open."

 

Ignoring the bird Lilly said, "What kind of silly name is that?!"

 

"All shops have weird names. Have you seen the inn named after a Laughing Fox? Humph, some people have no imagination," Albecias said, mostly to himself.

 

"Though I think the butchery in the market district called the 'Mooing Beef' is sillier." said Amidius.

 

"Gods dammit. So unoriginal." She knocked on the door.

 

"We're open!" A man's voice was heard yelling from the inside.

 

She stepped inside and glanced at her surroundings. 

 

It was a nice shop with locked display boxes of glass lining the walls of the room and the counter. Each holding at least a few pieces of jewelry, just enough to give each piece good room to show off and not blend in with each other. Behind the counter was a young imperial man with dark brown hair and he looked slightly Nibenese. 

 

"May I help you?" he said in a rather humble tone. 

 

"That's the assistant. It's his master Caius who owns this shop." Amidius whispered to Lilly.

 

"Spymaster Lillin Quentas. We have a few questions for your master."

 

"Okay." the assistant then shouted through a door behind him and the counter. "Caius! You've got important visitors! The spymaster!" however there was no response. The assistant turned back to Lilly. "He's probably busy with something. I can go get him. I hope I can trust you to stay where you are not touch anything. And make sure anyone else walking into the ship don't touch anything?"

 

"Of course."

 

"Good." he said a bit nervously before he slunk into the doorway and disappeared from sight. 

 

"Look at all these shinies." Karsh said with an almost bewitched voice after having twisted and turned around on Lilly's shoulder. 

 

"Don't touch anything."

 

"Come on. Lets 'borrow' some."

 

"No you magpie."

 

But before Karsh could continue Caius came out through the doorway and placed himself behind the counter as if to help a customer. He was a imperial man in his forties, bald and with a big brown mustache. He had very simple clothes with some dirty spots here and there. "Yes what is it?" he raid with a somewhat rough voice. 

 

Lilly bowed her head, "Lillin Quentas. At your service sir. We just have a few questions related to a party you recently attended."

 

"What about it? Did a snooty nobleman report his drink missing?"

 

"No. A woman was murdered." 

 

"Oh." he said and changed his attitude to a bit more humble. "I'll answer what I can, but I don't see how I can be of any help."

 

"You remember Maressa? Was anyone showing her unwanted attention, besides a certain Maro and Adrian."

 

"There was this suitor. Arlowe Goldwine. I remember him mostly because he bought the ring he would use to propose here. My memory is a bit hazy but I think he was glancing at her a lot during the party." 

 

"Sarge is this man on the list?"

 

"Let me see." said Amidius while he fished the list out of his pocket and began reading. "Yeah, here's the name."

 

"So what's this guys general personality?" She asked the merchant.

 

"Don't know. He seemed like a nice guy when he bought that ring. You'll be better off asking someone who actually knows him."

 

"Do you know anyone who knows him well?"

 

"Not really. Only one I can think of is Rosentia. She practically knows everyone, for good or ill."

 

"Hmmm. All right. I truely thank you for your time." Lilly bowed her head.

 

"No problem. Now if you can excuse me." Caius then turned around. "Boy! Come down here and get back to the counter!" he yelled in a stern tone. To which the assistant came running and placed himself by the counter next to Caius. He looked like a little scared but was also at attention for any new customer. "Good day." said Caius, now with a nice tone, and left the room.

 

"Hmm seems we have to visit the hag again."

 

"If I may offer my services," Albecias chimed in, "I could ask Rosentia about this man's friends, while you go and talk to him personally."

 

"Fine."

 

"I'll go with you then." said Amidius. "So you're not left completely at the mercy of her unending shit-chat."

 

Albecias smiled, nodded, and said to the guard captian, "You can lead the way."

 

"Sure. This way." Amidius did a simple hand wave for him to follow as he left out through the door. With the author quick on his feet following in tow.

 

"Now it's just you and me. And that stupid assistant." said Karsh into Lilly's ear. "Lets knock him out and take some shinies."

 

Lilly said, "No. Enough with your lust for gems." 

 

"You can never have enough shinies."

 

"Yeah, yeah. For that we'll have to get out of the shop. And leave all those beautiful shinies behind. And that weirdo assistant who looks at you like you are crazy, all mumbling to yourself."

 

"We're all a little crazy. I'm a witch after all."

 

"Do all witches mumble to themselves in public?"

 

"Only me." She said playfully.

 

"May I help you ma'am?" the assistant said after, what was for him, a long moment of awkward silence.

 

"Nah I'll be good." She left the building.

 

"Aww." said Karsh with a disappointed tone, like a child who had been denied some candy. "Anyway, renew the invisibility spell before I leave?"

 

She cast the spell, "Stay frosty magpie."

 

"Raven. Raven. Raven! Say it!"

 

"Yeah, raven..."

 

"That's right." and then he flew off. Only the wing flaps to be heard as he left.

 

Lilly took a cigar from her jacket pocket, placed it in her mouth and lit it. Well, at least were getting somewhere. Still...I have a gut feeling somethings not right. She thought as she smoked the cigar and waited for Karsh to return.

 

Some minutes passed before Karsh swooped down and landed on Lilly's shoulder. Nothing but the increased weight on her shoulder to signal his arrival. "Well that was a waste of time. They went  to the hostess as they said. And I can't really follow indoors."

 

"Well ****." She said in a sarcastic voice, "Maybe for your failure I should lessen your dinner tonight?"

 

"Come on. There were no windows or doors open. What am I supposed to do? Build a huge, black tower with a giant, fiery eye on top that can see through walls?"

 

"That sounds like somthing I read from a novel before." She stopped for a second, before shaking her head. "Somthing about rings. Meh, whatever." She said, "Who do you think murdered the bitch?"

 

"So far? My shiny is on Adrian. Uncomplicated murder and his personality and lack of wit fits."

 

"I agree." Lilly walked slowly towards the house she was supposed to visit. The mansion itself was pretty, but quite small. Another minor noble. Poor man, must have been laughed at by the bitch when he proposed. She knocked on the door.

 

Soon the door was opened by a young servant, a female Bosmer. "Yes?" she asked with a tired voice. 

 

"Lillin Quentas. Spymaster of the Empire. I'm doing an investigation, I need to speak with your master."

 

"Which one?"

 

"Hmmm? You have more then one employer?"

 

"I work for the family Goldwine. In this house lives Ariela Goldwine. And her two children: Arlowe Goldwine and Arnora Goldwine."

 

"I would like to speak with Arlowe please." Lilly always choose to speak to servants politely and kindly.

 

"He's probably in the kitchen. Do you want to wait in the hallway while I get him?"

 

"Sure."

 

The servant stepped to the side and gestured for Lilly to enter.

Lilly walked inside, she winked at her, "My. The Goldwines are lucky they have such a pretty servant like yourself."

 

The Bosmer gave Lilly at first a slightly confused look before it turned to one with some disgust as she closed the door. Then she quickly headed through a door on the left. 

Lilly gave a smirk, she flirted with anyone who tickled her fancy, as she waited crossed armed.

A minute passed before Arlowe showed up through the same door the servant had left through. He was a relatively handsome young man, if wasn't for his roughed up hair, uneven stubble and fancy clothes, all wrinkled and dirtied as if he had worn them non-stop since the party. In one hand he held a bottle of ale and in the other roasted chicken leg which he took a big shew from. "What is it?" he said in a weary voice and the mouth full of chicken.

 

Oh god. It's Tullius' mirror image She gave him a warm smile, before saying, "I assume your servant told you who I was. I just have a handful questions about a party you attended last night. I'll only take up at the most twenty minutes of your time."

 

He gulped down the chicken quite loudly. "It's about Maressa's death, isn't it?" he said as if he'd expected Lilly's arrival. His eyes becoming sad as he turned his gaze down to the floor.

 

"I'm afraid so."

 

"Well I tried to keep an eye on her during the party. I know I should not do that and just let her go, but... Anyway, I saw her enter the garden with that Adrian. A bit later Maro followed and Adrian came out soon after."

 

"I was told you were going to propose to her?"

 

"And you weren't told that I already had and were rejected?"

 

"No. I came to that conclusion myself, knowing what kind of woman she was."

 

"Hmm." he just mumbled. Still staring into the floor. 

 

"Arlowe!" yelled a woman. It came from what looked to be Arnora Goldwine, as she shared a lot of features with Arlowe. Probably his little sister as she looked  quite a bit younger than him (though that wasn't hard given the state Arlowe was in right now). "How can you present yourself to strangers like that." she then rushed down pushed him back. Grabbed his chicken leg and bottle of ale while yelling for the servant. Soon the Bosmer woman appeared to which she handed over the food drink, holding the things like they contained the plague. Then she turned her attention to Lilly. "I'm so sorry Miss...?"

 

"Quentas. Countess of Chorrol, and Colonel of the Penitus Occultus." She bowed her head, "How do you do milady?"

 

"Ah." was all Arnora could say at first. She looked a little displeased at hearing who Lilly was for second, but she nonetheless put up a friendly appearance. "I would do better if my brother here would pull himself up from the gutter."

 

"It's fine milady. It's his right to grieve of course."

 

"Grieve; yes. Make a mess of himself and the house; no."

 

Hmmm nice body. She gave the girl a warm smile, before saying, "Did you know Merassa?"

 

"Not really, no. But I know she wasn't much of a proper noble lady."

 

"No she wasn't, but that still dosen't mean she deserved to die in such a horrible manner." Lilly eyed the girl, before saying, "Are you a proper lady, milady?"

 

"I am. And what's that supposed to mean?"

 

"Nothing." She bated her eye lashes before turning around to face the man, "You know Maro and Adrian?" 

 

"I know who they are. But I don't really know them." he said.

 

"Were you jealous they got Maressa's attention all the time?"

 

"All the time? Not a chance. Adrian just got lucky at the party."

 

"So you were close to her?"

 

"I thought I was. But I was wrong."

 

"How did she react when you proposed? Not very pleasent?" She gave him a sympathetic smile.

 

"She looked surprised. But not in the good way. She said: 'I don't think so.'"

 

"Well, her father holds a seat on the Elder Council. You should have known what the outcome would have been."

 

"Yeah, I should have."

 

She turned to the sister, before asking, "I assume you warned your brother what was going to happen?"

 

"I did." she replied.

 

"You understand why I would be investigating you, yes?"

 

"Yes." he said lowly.

 

"To the people investigating, it doesn't look good for you." She paused before saying, and spoke is she was quoting, "Man in jealous rage murders woman under the influence of alcohol."

 

"I did not murder her. All I did was glance at her a couple of times. I never even went near her."

 

"Do you have any witnesses to back your claim up?"

 

"I was at the party as well." Arnora interrupted. "Trying to introduce him to other women he would have a better chance with. And even though I wasn't at his side all the time, I did keep an eye on him. So he wouldn't hit the drink too hard or sit down in a corner and start weeping."

 

"And was he drinking hard? Alcohol is a poison that affects and addles the mind."

 

"He was trying. Managed to keep him sober enough throughout most of the party. But before he got too intoxicated I decided it was time for us to go home."

 

"What time was the exactly?"

 

"You aware she was killed by strangulation, had her underwear torn, and there was little blood?"

 

"No I was not." she said, sounding slightly shocked. "All I heard was that she did die a horrible death."

 

"While comparing it to other deaths, it's not that horrible." She coughed akwardly before asking the man, "Do you know anyone who was out to get Maressa? It was most likely not planned, but it's a possibility."

 

"No." he shook his head slowly. "I don't see why anyone would want to hurt her."

 

"What do you mean by that? Her father was a very high ranking official."

 

"He can't talk rationally about Maressa." said Arnora. "And I doubt he would know. All he could see was her, and nothing else. If you want to talk to someone who would know Maressa's enemies, it would be her sister."

 

"Hmmmm. She might know something." She turned to face the man and then to the woman. "I thank you for your time. If something comes to mind, please inform the Imperial watch." Lilly bowed her head.

 

"No problem my lady. And if you don't mind; can you please not tell anyone about Arlowe's state? We want him to appear presentable and not soil the family name."

 

"I wont tell a word."

 

"Thank you." she said humbly while bowing her head. Then she lead her brother up the stairs. He had silently begun to weep.

 

What a wuss. She went outisde, winking at the bosmer servant one last time. Her sister... Pella. Good girl. She whispered, "I need you for recon."

 

"Do I get a snack for it? That chicken leg the fool held got me all hungry."

 

"I'll throw in some mashed potatoes and gravy."

 

"And a big juicy steak?"

 

"Fine. Just watch the wuss for me."

 

"How long? I don't expect him to do more than cry in a corner all day."

 

"Just do it."

 

"Fine. But if he doesn't stop crying or falls asleep, I'm coming back to you. By the way; where are you going?"

 

"Some mansion by the Revrus pond in the elven garden district. The victims sister, Pelena lives there."

 

"Got it." and with that Karsh took off. 

[TheCzarsHussar]

She walked a good while. When she arrived at the masion, she glanced at the large looking pond, and the abundance of vegetation around the masion. Reminded Lilly of the masions in Chorrol. She cleared her throat, and knocked at the door. 

 

A young Breton girl opened the door, a servant judging by the simple clothes. "Yes? How may I help you?" she asked.

 

"I have buisness with the lady of the house hold. Imperial Watch and Penitus Oculatus business."

 

"And you are?"

 

"Colonel Lillin Quentas."

 

"Will you please wait here while I go ask Pelena." and she shut the door before Lilly could respond. A minute later the servant opened the door. "You may come in."

 

Lilly walked in, and gently waved her long silver hair to get rid of the rain. She took off her coat, and handed it to the servant, she asked, "How is milady taking the death of her sister?"

 

"Not well. She's in the lounge. Up the stairs one floor. Then head left and the second door on the right." she pointed to the stairs on the opposite side of the entrance hall.

 

She thanked the servant, and followed her instructions. The lounge was medium sized but was still rather nicely decorated with a few painting on the walls, and detailed furniture. Pelena was a sitting on a chair near the window. Just staring blankly out on the streets, even as Lilly entered the room. She was young, with dark brown long hair and soft features. And all she wore was a simple black dress. 

Lilly coughed, "Excuse me, Pelena?"

 

She looked at Lilly, though her eyes were still slightly blank. "Sorry, I was deep in thought."

 

"It's fine." She eyed her. She was wearing mourning clothing. "How...are you?"

 

"I'm surviving."

 

"When did you receive the news?"

 

"Before noon. The day directly after the party."

 

"I have a few questions if you don't mind."

 

"Oh, go right ahead. I don't mind." she said in her plain tone.

 

She's... oddly relaxed. Lilly wrinkled her eyebrow, before saying, "Do you know anyone who had an intent to murder your sister?" She decided to do a much more thorough investigation with the sister, and started with a basic question.

 

"No. She'd had her disputes with others. But they never lasted or escalated really. And I remember that the crime was about her body, and not really about past grievances." 

 

"She was lovely wasn't she?"

 

"Yes. She was."

 

"So, I've interviewed her many suitors who were at the party. An Adrian, and a Mario. You think they could have done it?"

 

"Those two guys that flirted with her? Probably. They didn't seem like the kind who buy you flowers first."

 

"Hmmm was she flirted with a lot?"

 

"Yes. Most men payed her compliments."

 

"Any women?" She said with a sly smile.

 

"She's not like you, Lilly." Pella said, sounding a little annoyed. "Though I think Maressa once told me the empress had once flirted a little with her. She was both a little proud and disgusted by it."

 

Lilly let out a chuckle, "That's my majesty." She continued, "Have you thought that maybe someone did it to get to your father?"

 

"No, not really. No one has made any threats to him as far as I know."

 

"Are you sure?" She paused before continuing, "I know for a fact an Elder Councilor would make a lot of enemies."

 

"No, I'm not sure. And the only rivals of him I know of live in Anvil."

 

"Hmmmm. Was your sister...'provocative' or 'teasing'?"

 

"She dressed like a proper lady. And behaved like one. Most of the time. But she did like to tease now and then."

 

"Okay." Lilly scratched her chin. "Did she owe anyone money?"

 

Pella chuckled, a short hollow and sad chuckle. "No. If she needed money she just put on her puppy eyes and asked father for some."

 

"She was spoiled then?"

 

"Aren't we all?"

 

"My mother if I was misbehaving, let me spend a night alone in the Chorrol woods." Lilly said in her usual deadpan tone.

 

"Wouldn't that have been dangerous?" she said surprised and quite shocked.

 

"She gave me a knife."

 

Pella just stared at Lilly in disbelief.

 

"She sent Milly with me once. We skinned and gutted a deer together."

 

"Right." Pella then paused for a moment, which only made the situation more awkward. "So how are things back home?"

 

"Well my sister has been disowned, my father wants more power, me and my mohter are not in speaking terms, and my brother is mourning the death of his wife."

 

"But you're still doing good up in the palace?"

 

"Of course. As her majesties physician, and spymaster, I have plenty of work."

 

"And you're still trying to ensnare that mage?"

 

"He's very handsome and powerful. Ensnare is a harsh word."

 

"Though it's fitting. I know a few who even believes you're trying to ensnare the empress as well. One even even went so far as to claim you've ensnared them both and that you're behind their marriage. So that you may rule the Empire from behind the scenes. Ah, Augurius is always one for conspiracy theories."

 

"Eehh, I've never screwed the Empress. Dales has way to much on her mind for me to interfere with her life. Besides, when I rarely do go for a woman, I like them tall, tough, and big breasted. Dales only fits one of those criteria." 

 

"Well I wouldn't take Augurius' theories too seriously. A couple of years ago he had this idea that the dragons were out to get him."

 

"And he thought that the cliffracers were going to swarm Cyrodiil and kill everyone. Well, we live in troubled times. Cant blame him."

 

"We got to make the best of what we have."

 

"So, hows your father taking his precious little daughter's death?"

 

"Not good. I think he might have hit the bottle. Or is going to."

 

"Maybe you should be with him?" She glanced around the room, "Not in your isolated mansion. There's a reason why your a social outcast."

 

"Yeah, I probably should."

 

"I could send Helen to keep you company if you want."

 

"If she's not busy, that could be nice."

 

"She loves the garden district. I'll send her over at eight."

 

"Great. Now, you didn't come here for pleasantries right?"

 

"Just checking up on you. I know it's hard to loose a sister." She paused before saying, "I also need to know about a man who had proposed to your sister recently."

 

"Which one?"

 

"Arlowe Goldwine."

 

"Ah, him. He glanced at my sister a lot. But kept his distance. Looked quite sad."

 

"Was he under the influence?"

 

"Of alcohol? Not really as I could see. More like a broken heart."

 

"Did your sister do that often?"

 

"She did so whenever there was someone foolish enough to fall for her."

 

"So she wasn't interested in marrying?"

 

"She was. Though I think she wanted a bit of 'fun' while searching for a good candidate. She always thought she deserved better."

 

"She was a very high class lady."

 

"Yes. But sometimes I thought she wouldn't settle for anything less than empress."

 

"Hah. If she wanted Amaund, she would have been slowly tortured for months. If she wanted Titus, she would have had to listen to him talk about military strategy all day."

 

"I doubt she would have cared if her husband was boring, just that he had power and wealth aplenty. Though I think she would have reconsidered her other options if it was someone like Amaund."

 

"Power and Wealth are dangerous. I didn't want to end up like my mother, which is why I gave up my inheritance and joined up with the military. I ended up acquiring my wealth, my power, through my own hard work."

 

"Right. You and your sarcasm." she mumbled. "Back to the right topic now?"

 

"So, do you think anyone in the party had the guts to kill and rape your sister?"

 

"Guts to do it? No. Though if it's not Adrian or Maro, there's one guy who seemed to lack any sense to make up for the lack of gut. I think he was drinking more than the alcohol."

 

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "What do you mean more than alcohol?" 

 

"You know how someone becomes more sluggish when under the affect of alcohol? Well he was certainly drunk, but he was also more energetic than he should have been."

 

"Illegal drugs then."

 

"Probably."

 

"You know how he would've acquired any?"

 

"Connections. That's my guess."

 

"Who was the 'lucky' man?"

 

"I think his name is Zedrick. Don't really know his last name though. Don't think he was invited either."

 

"So some low-life moocher?"

 

"I think he actually was some nobleman. Dressed like one anyway."

 

"Who did he chat with?"

 

"I bit of everyone I think. I tried to stay clear of him and left the room when he came in."

 

"Have any specific names?"

 

"Well I do remember he tried 'chat up' Maria and Lucina."

 

"Lucina you say? She's a good friend of mine."

 

"Well that's all I know, or can remember, of this man."

 

"Was he making unwanted advances on your sister as well?"

 

"Not as far as I could see. Though I wasn't around her all, or even most of the time at the party. So it's possible."

 

"Hmmm. Is there anything else that would help?"

 

"Not that I can think of right now."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yeah. Though if I remember something new I'll let you know."

 

"Alright." she got out of her chair. And headed towards the door. Lilly said "Take care of yourself. Helen will be over so hold the depression at bay till then."

 

Pelena looked down as she remained quiet for second before then looking up at Lilly. "Thank you for coming by. I really needed the company."

 

She then turned around went towards Pella and playfully gave her a peck on the lips.

 

Pella pushed Lilly away and started to wipe away at her mouth with her sleeve. "We may be friends but even that has it's limits."

 

Lilly cackled like she usually did, "Was just showing some Chorrol friendliness."

 

"Keep that friendliness to that mage up in the tower. I can do without it. Thank you very much."

 

"You need to find a man, girl. You can't be holed up here all day."

 

"I know I need to find a husband. But mourning comes first."

 

"Men. Women. Cats and lizards if your into that sort of thing. You're like Helen hold up in your house reading all the time."

 

"I'll see if I can't get dad to introduce me to some suitable suitors." Pella paused for a moment. "Some time after Maressa's funeral."

 

"Just don't touch Helen in any strange ways." she said as she went towards the door again.

 

"You don't need to worry. If I wont to lie down with you. Why would I desire Helen?"

 

"Can't be too careful."

 

"You worry too much. Take care."

 

Lilly found the author and the sarge just outside Rosentia's mansion as they were leaving, and asked them, "Found out anything?"

 

"Prizes on tunips has gone up. And nothing about Arlowe's friends. He doesn't really have any. Though Rosentia mentioned that the spare key for the gate to the garden seems to be missing." Amidius said in his formal tone.

 

"That's odd."

 

"It is. Though it might just have been misplaced somewhere this huge mansion. Best to keep an eye for it anyway."

 

"I got a new lead from the victim's sister. Some man was intoxicated with drugs and he chatted with a friend."

 

"Who was this drugged man?"

 

"Zedrick. Never got the last name though. An old friend chatted with him; Lucina."

 

"Is this Zedrick Horatius you're talking about?"

 

"Don't know. Tell me about him."

 

"He's a bit of what we call a regular among the guards. We take him in at least once a month for assault, sexual harassment or molesting. One of his parents then comes, pays the fine and takes him back home. He's a noble. Of which rank I do not know. But his family is wealthy."

 

"So he's scum?"

 

"Pretty much."

 

"Can we roughen him up?"

 

"If we find him doing nothing, I would advice against it. Though my gut says that the chances for that happening are small."

 

"Alright. Where would the man be?"

 

"Apart from his home I know of two places he usually has to be dragged out of. A local pub and a brothel. I say we try his home first. And if he's not there then there will surely be a servant or someone else to tell us where he is."

 

"Lead the way sarge."

 

"It's just down a couple of streets." he said and started walking. Soon they were standing in front of a quite decorated house. It wasn't near as big as a mansion but it must have certainly been expensive. Amidius walked up to the door and knocked.

 

The one who opened the door was a young looking female Dunmer. "Hello, Amidius. Has Zedrick done something bad again?" she asked with a slightly weary tone.

 

"That's what we're here to find out. Is he in?"

 

"Yes. But he's in the study and cannot be disturbed at the moment. You can come back tomorrow." she said and closed the door.

 

"If you ask me, it sounds like someone is trying to avoid you two," Albeciad said.

 

Amidius turned to Lilly. "Well what do you think?"

 

Lilly slammed the door with her fist and shouted "This is Penitus Oculatus business. If you don't open up I'll incinerate the door."

 

The Dunmer was quick to open the door, she looked scared. "What business?"

 

"We're investigating a murder."

 

"And can't it wait till tomorrow?" the Dunmer now started to look quite anxious.

 

"No."

 

"Can you wait right here while I go get him then?"

 

"No." with one swift move she grabbed the woman and cast a paralyzing spell and pushed her aside as she entered the masnion with the her two companions on tow.

 

"So, where's the study? And don't you mages have spells to detect other people or something?" asked Amidius. 

 

She cast a detect life spell, "There's two figures in the west wing. One is slumped over while the other is standing up."

 

"Lead the way then."

 

"We're doing this by the book. Sarge prepare your weapon. Author stay behind us."

 

"I really don' think that'll be necessary. Zedrick's never been one for daggers or anything. He got a mean lefty, but that's about it."

 

"Fine. You secure the other person, I got Zedrick."

 

"Lets find out what he's hiding before we do any arrest."

 

Lilly lead them to a doorway, she stealthily snuck to one side of the door and motioned for the sergeant to take positions beside her.

Amidius followed and tried to move silently, even though it became clear he had quite limited skill with sneaking.

Albecias stood a little ways off, back down the hallway, so as to stay safe from any violence that might take place.

 

Lilly suddenly kicked open the doorway, with her lapis coated throwing knives in hand.

 

Inside was the two people, a woman and a man. The woman was a half naked Altmer with hair as golden as her skin. She jumped around and like paralyzed she stared with frightened eyes at the intrusion. The man was an imperial, only noticeable feature was his overly squire jaw and unkept dark brown hair. He was however totally naked and sitting in a large armchair, not caring who saw what of him. Besides him was a small round table with an half empty bottle of wine, an empty bottle of ale and a green jar. 

And it was apparent that this was the study as bookshelves cover half of the walls with books. And further to the side of the room was a desk with lots of drawers and an unlit candle sitting on it. 

The man that was obviously Zedric, who's only study he seemed to care for was that of the female Altmer. He had a dull look and stupid smile covering his face. And not even with Lilly bursting into the room took did he manage to take his eyes from half naked woman. "Hey! Don't stop!" he shouted in a very annoyed manner.

 

"I would stop if I were you." Said Lilly half amused, "Sarge. Restrain this brute."

 

"But he hasn't really done anything yet." Amidius protested.

 

"He's high." She motioned to the Skooma bottle, she raised her voice a little, "Do it sarge. Drugs can make a shy and timid man vicious and blood thirsty."

 

The sergeant, who had apparently little experience with skooma as he looked with slightly confused eyes at the green bottle before moving into arresting Zedrick. The nobleman did not seem to react till Amidius got between him and half naked woman. Then he started shouting and when Amidius was just upon him, Zedrick flew out of chair and sent his left fist straight for the sergeant's head. But Amidius dodged it as if he had expected that move and tackled Zedrick down on the ground where he quickly managed to subdue him. Holding both of Zedrick's arms behind his back while pressing him down with a knee.

 

"I told you." She approached the woman, she gently put her hand up, "It's alright. Were not going to hurt you."

 

The woman just stared at Lilly at first with wide open eyes, that on closer inspection was dilated. "Who are you?" she then said in a scared tone.

 

Lilly gently opened her eyes, noticing the strange orange tinged, " Dont worry. I'm from the Pentiulas Occultus." Lilly said kindly. She told the sergeant, "The woman over here is showing Symptoms of Gold leaf, a highly potent herb. I think she was drugged."

 

"I came here to work." she apologetically.

 

"Did he put anything into you?" She asked, "I'm a physician."

 

"Ehm... No."

 

"Of course." She said in her deadpan tone, as she placed her hand on her hand, and cast a sleep spell on her. She fell asleep onto the floor. Lilly got up, and approached the man, who the sergeant had in an armlock. She said in a rather spiteful voice, "No use talking to you when your in this state. What shall we put him in? An imperial watch cell, or an Oculatus sarge?"

 

"Well we got a cell in dungeons he'd feel at home in. Though you'll have to explain to his parents when they come to bail him out."

 

"I'll handle that."

 

"And we need to get something to cover up his private parts. His family would be furious if we paraded him out on the streets like this. Not to mention the distress of the poor onlookers."

 

She called out to the author, "You!! Make yourself useful and find us some clothes for this scoundrel!!"

 

Albecias nodded, scrambling around the nearby rooms, which included a kitchen and living area, before finally finding a coat closet that held a long robe, which he grabbed. Then he rushed up the stairs and pulled the draws open in a bedroom, finally finding a pair of pants. He hastily brought them back down stairs, where he tossed the fur cloak and trousers to the colonel.
"Here's what I could find. Should work well enough. There are also some boots by the door he can wear. Now, if I'm done being an errand boy, I need to write this down," Albecias took out his pen and paper and began jotting down notes in shorthand, occasionally glancing up to look at Zedrick, as well as the room itself.

 

"Describing this in full detail I see?"

 

"Well partial detail wouldn't do me any good," Albecias said. "Shouldn't you be dressing your captive?"

 

"Getting a noble lady to dress a skooma addict? How ungentlemanly." She said coyly.

 

"Getting an esteemed author to run errand? How disrespectful," Mr. Plebo saltily replied.

 

"I can dress him if none of you are going to. But I need someone to hold him." Amidius interrupted. 

 

Lilly punched on Zedrick as she restrained him, "Alright Sarge."

 

"All right Zedrick, just try to stay still." he said in calm tone. Some time and a few wild kicks later the sergeant had managed to get Zedrick dressed enough that he wouldn't cause too much outcry out on the streets.

 

"Alright let's take him away."

 

"Okay Zedrick. Get up. Easy now." said Amidius as he gently helped the nobleman onto his feet but still holding him in a firm grasp. "Want to follow to the dungeons or shall we meet up somewhere?"

 

"Meet me at the dungeon." She took a cigar out of her pocket, "I've got business back at Oculatus HQ. I'll be there in two hours."

 

"I'll tag along with the sergeant, if he doesn't mind," Albecias said, tucking his paper into his coat pocket.

 

"I don't mind. As long as you're ready to help if he tries to make a run for it." said Amidius as he began to lead Zedrick out the room, even though the nobleman's twitches (which probably more came from the drugs than any attempt at escape) made it a bit hard to keep him walking in a straight line.

 

"Of course. But, given his state, I doubt he can walk on his own, let alone run," the author said.

 

"Better safe than sorry." and with that he led Zedrick out of the room with the author in tow.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Black Horse Courier

 

**

 

Elder Council convenes, Discusses Several Items Put Forth by High General

 

By Shelur gra-Borbug

 

High General Gracchus Ceno appeared before the Elder Council's monthly session yesterday to discuss numerous bills and legislature he was proposing.

 

The battlemage started off the session by proposing a lowered draft age, from seventeen to fifteen. There was some an hour's worth of arguing that the age was too low, but eventually it was put to a vote, where it narrowly passed.

 

The next item discussed was the establishment of a new Orcish homeland. Emissaries had been sent to Blacklight, and spoke to the Dunmer's acceptance of the idea, if only to possibly draw Argonian raiding parties away from themselves. The High Chief of Orsinium also liked the idea, the other emissary reported. Finally, it was taken to the floor, where members debated briefly before an overwhelming majority passed the bill.

 

Ceno next requisitioned funding to reinstate the Fourth Legion, which was destroyed in the Skyrim Civil War, but it was decidedly defeated after it was determined there were no funds left to employ another general and officers.

 

When asked about how the session went, the High General had this to say.

 

"I was pleased. My biggest worry was that the draft age wouldn't be lowered, but it was, if barely. I understand many people worry fifteen is too young, but we aren't going to immediately press them into active duty. Those drafted under the new bill will be trained here during the war, to act as auxiliaries and reinforcements should we need them. Best case scenario, they are trained but never have to fight."

 

The rest of the session included representatives of both the Synod and College of Whispers, seeking clearance for conjurings that will accompany the mage tournament they are putting on.

 

High Chancellor Doron Zethus had this to say in his address to the Elder Council.

 

"I would also like to thank Lord Snow-Strider for solving the recent issues in the south. You have my thanks, as well as that of all Nibenese. Now, we can regain the respect so many fail to give us, and refocus on returning the Niben Valley to its former glory."

 

And with that concluded the annual meeting of the Elder Council. The only member not able to attend was Maretheon Tridus, who is mourning the death of his daughter.

 

**

 

Skooma Addict Arrested in Connection to Murder of Councilman's Daughter

 

By Albecias Plebo

 

Yesterday brought about a most surprising revelation in the murder and rape Maressa Tridus, daughter of Elder Councilman Martheon Tridus. Zedrick Horatius, a nobleman, was arrested and taken into question by Sergeant Amidius of the city guard, and Colonel Lilly Quentas, the Royal Spymaster.

 

The suspect was discovered high, naked, with a bottle of skooma sitting next to him and a prostitute lying on the floor, also intoxicated. He proved violent when confronted, swinging at the officers until he was finally restrained. The escort was subdued with a sleeping spell, like the maid who wouldn't allow admittance to the home.

 

Several others were questioned as well, although no arrests were made. Rosentia Vinicius, the noblewoman who hosted the party, was able to provide a guest list, and Horatius was apparently an uninvited attendee. Adrian Ador, one of the many suitors Maressa had, was questioned as well. He and fellow nobleman Maro Salvius were frequently seen fighting, usually because of Maressa. Arlowe Goldwine also fancied her, although his offer of marriage was rejected at the party. Merchantman Caius was questioned, although he seemed to be a fringe suspect at best.

 

Many other were questioned, but they either lacked motive or means to commit the crime, and weren't taken in for further questioning.

 

It seems at this point the investigators are focusing on Mrs. Tridus' acquaintances, as opposed to her father's political enemies, who may have had her killed to send the councilman a message, or in retribution for some wrong doing. No leads have appeared on that front, however.

 

The officers plan to interrogate Zedrick Horatius, in hopes of determining why he snuck into the party, and if he had any cause to kill Maressa Tridus.

 

**

 

Pro-Imperials Forces Win the Day at Wayrest, Jehanna

 

By Claude Vautrine

 

King Theodore Adrard's forces, aided by Imperial troops led by Legate Montrose, defeated the Lielle Rolston's at Wayrest. The Breton king employed a skillful maneuvering of his forces, drawing the enemy army away from the city, whereupon they were attacked from behind by a naval landing force from the Iliac Bay.

 

In Farrun, the siege was lifted by Lord Traven of Northpoint, and then Jehanna, allied to the "Pretended", was besieged. While the actual events are hard to track down, it appears that someone inside Jehanna let Traven's forces in, and so the city was easily captured.

 

Only Evermor still remains under Lielle Rolston's control, who tried to usurp the throne away from King Adrard after he executed her husband. The late Lord Rolston was convicted on charges of attempted assassination and attempted kinslaying, after being only king for one day following the death of King Gaerhart.

 

King Adrard, then a Lord, attended the Empress' coronation, as the ambassador to Cyrodiil. Now his cousin Manis Adrard fills that role, and said "We believe the end of the war is now in our grasp. These traitors will soon be brought to justice and dealt with, so that High Rock may return to peace."

 

**

 

Lillin Quentas: A look at our Royal Spymaster

 

By Albecias Plebo

 

Underhanded, deceitful, low, all describe the way in which I've gone about studying Colonel Quentas. While it's true I have been following her and Sergeant Amidius around to write about Marrssa Tridus' murder, I've also been taking notes, so as to write my first of several essays on our leaders and decision makers. I decided the only way to get an unadulterated, open look into the Countess of Chorrol was to do so secretly, something she no doubt admires.

 

Lillin Quentas is a stunning person, hair nearly white it is so blonde, with a slender, wiry physique to match, and well endowed chest. But, her attitude is not one of a prissy noblewoman, but a soldier who just got of the front lines. You could see the two parts of her clashing as she entered the room upon our first meeting. She grunted like an Orcish brute, but her lips were drawn in a beautiful, perfect smile. She dressed in black Oculatus armor, alway with a sword on her hip.

 

When we sat down to talk about her case, even more of her enigmatic personality revealed itself. She smiled, seeming to enjoy the details of the murder. She is blunt and brusque too, calling the victim an unpleasant name, as well as referring to Magdela Bathory as a "harlot." But her overall demeanor is of a truth seeker, fighter for justice, if she is a bit rude.

 

Once we left her manor, we made small talk, where I learned that she doesn't read, but has an air for the dramatics, donning a long coat and lighting a cigar as we exited through the garden. She admonished her cousins for spoiling their child, Helen, who lives with Lilly. Her parents made sure to instill in their children no sense of entitlement, which was easily observable in her manner of addressing everyone in her gruff way of speaking.

 

Once we arrived at the first suspects house, her demeanor changed entirely. She was polite and courteous, bowing and addressing the minor noble as "my lord." Had I met her just then, I would have had no indication she was even remotely the same person. It was the same way when questioning the next suspect. I began to question my sanity, when I say her talking to herself as we traveled around. It seems she may have multiple personalities, a curious condition indeed.

 

She was back to the woman I met originally, when we came upon a skooma addicted suspect who resisted arrest. She barked out orders, subduing the maid and prostitute while another officer took the druggie down.

 

Besides her strange behavior at times, many of you are probably wondering about her rumored relationship with the court mage, Lord Snow-Strider. I briefly touched upon the subject, but she deflected any question. Though, it would appear that her dislike of Mrs. Bathory stems from both their supposed fancying of the Nordic Emperor-to-be.

 

So, I discovered our Spymaster fits the role well, sneaky and sly, but also a little strange and unorthodox at times. Only time will tell, but I would be she sticks around longer than the last one.

 

**

 

News in Brief

 

By Iszara Nasser

 

-A party hosted by Colonel Quentas was interrupted by a supposed trespasser in the garden. Major Infernus assured us it was nothing, however.

 

"The Penitus Oculatus is investigating. Nothing more to talk about. People at the event overreacted greatly, including myself. Rest assured, the privileged few can sleep easy, and do not have to worry about a shadow someone thought they saw. I on the other hand, would look to the dark alleyways in the waterfront when your inspecting your factories and docks. I've informed Captain Imperius of the Palace Guard, Captain Amiruis of the Imperial Watch, and Legate Avitus of the legion to instruct there men to be more dilligent. I can't do anything else."

 

-An explosion and strange beacon appeared at the Imperial Palace, while a Dunmer mage fell from the sky, stopping just short of the ground. Rumors persist it was an assassination attempt, although sources inside the palace have told the Black Horse it was merely a kitchen accident. No injuries were reported.

 

-Skyrim has begun building a new city, on the far western coast near High Rock. It will go by the name Kyne's Watch. Overseeing the building are the High General and High Admiral.

 

-Reports of a sea monster spotted near Rihad came in, with the beast having, according to one onlooker, "a whale in its mouth." This is the third sighting since the High Admiral was attacked by a sea serpent, and it seems the monsters are coming out of the depths for one reason or another.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Farni Fair-Face

Evening,

Valenwood,

 

"Got any twos?" Asked the obviously bored Farni Fair-Face. She was wearing the standard issue dark-green leather armor of her unit, with some personnel adjustments that benefited her position of chief interrogator. Running down the leather was strips of black and red paint, with the sleaves of the leather armor removed. Instead of the two small pauldrons of the regular outfit, she had one medium sized one on her right shoulder, which held the howling wolf symbol of the Blood Woves. Having removed the bandoilers, Farni instead had straps which she had attached leather sheaves too, using those sheaves to hold a dozen knives which she used both on the battlefield and in the dungeon. As her 'father' had taught her, torture devices were for rookies. A true pro only needed a simple stone knife to cause a veteran soldier to regret the day they joined the millitary. Farni made the exception for thumb screws, which she loved to put on the small, tiny hands of little girls, and her second all-time favorite thing beside her precious knives, the iron pearl. The screams and thrashing it made her bound victims endure,  always caused Farni to get a little excited. While certainly not as appealing, Farni hated Gender in-equality, which caused her to develop some...male only interrogation tactics.

 

This frankly had not appeal to her at all. She only targeted females for fun, Males were just boring.

 

Girls, on the other hand, were always interesting, begging her to spare their lives for a massive variety of reasons. Farni recalled with happiness the time when a young looking imperial girl, who couldn't have been over seventeen in Chorrol told Farni that her fiancée had just proposed to her, and told Farni that he had bought her a diamond enjoyment ring, which caused Farni to cut off that finger. She had her fun with her for a good three hours more, before finishing with her trademark face mutilation. It never got old to Farni, carving up there oh so pretty little faces.

 

She loved them young, pretty, with blonde hair. Occasionally, she would apply makeup for them as they cried. Some of them ruined part of the fun though. Screaming so loud. How was Farni supposed to make them look pretty? Screaming was like lullabies to her ears. So she hated shoving dirty old rags into their mouths to gag them. But she had little choice, and it gave her the silence needed to work properly. Hearing them beg and plead for respite. Farni made a game of making them believe they were going to live, and that she was going to release them, for as long as possible. Her current record was four hours. 

 

Farni's scarred face was covered in red warpaint. Again inheriting the information from her 'father', Farni was taught to make the warpaint from her victims, Forsworn style. Which meant making it when they were alive, and offering the blood up to the Old Gods. Unfortunately for her, after catching wind of how she made her paint, Colonel Fury-Eye had restricted her to only retrieving the blood when the lucky guy or gal was dead. Took the fun out of the entire process of making it. To make matters worse, he had also found her precious iron pearl during a surprise inspection of her room. Confinscated it on the grounds of it being "Too cruel".

 

******* bastard.

 

 It was her private business; he had no business to what she used to have fun in her spare time

 

Unlike most of the soldiers on base, she didn't wear any gloves, on or off duty. They dampened the feeling of holding a blade and cutting flesh. Beside her naked hand, was her black leather balacava. A useful item, used by Bosmer Snipers and Dominion Shadow Corps agents, it concealed the face and helped the user blend in darkness. As an officer, she was expected to customise her with a drawing. She had painted, with vibrant blue, purple, and orange paints a child-like drawing of a girls face covered in realisticly drawn, red, cuts and marks. It certainly got rid of the stealth factor, but Farni was rarely used for stealth operations, primarily remaining at base as her main job entailed, expect when the operation called for an interogation on sight. Colonel Fury-Eye rarely used her for that sort of thing, but Captain Wraith would ask her to come with him on a few occasions. Despite this, the captain would usually eye me with disgust, similar to how the colonel would.

 

******* asshole, they have no right to judge me. All i'm doing is making girls look pretty again, right?

 

And a few annoying men, of course. She was paid after all, to be a torture technician for the Blood Wolves. The pay was good, and it provided quite a few people to play with already in a nice package of chains. Farni had just visited a Bosmer village on leave a few days ago, following Blood Wolf regulation, she wasn't allowed to show her identity as a Blood Wolf Commando, so she went to the village in civilian clothing. As of last week, she's had her eyes on this little Bosmer girl. Couldn't be older than six or seven. Almost managed to lure her into a secluded area of forest with promises of meat, apparently to dirty cannibals, it was like candy, and considering the hard times around Valenwood, it was a very rare treat to a little child. The sweet girl must have been taught by her parents that taking things from strangers was wrong, so it took a good deal to convince her. Farni had in her bag all of her knives, rope, and some finger screws. She almost had her, until Captain Valerius had shown up.

 

That bastard getting into my buisness again.

 

Wraith had instructed the little girl to go back home, and that her momma wanted to see her.

 

Gosh that dark look he gave me looked at me like I was some kind of Pedophilla.  Jeesh the nerve of that man.

 

Farni glanced in front of her, holding out her hand of cards, though careful not to show it to the man sitting across from her. He was a redguard, in his early forties, with large, brown, dreadlocks,

 

He shook his head, "Nope Go Slaughterfish-“

 

Suddenly, the door bursted open. Leaning on Two Unknown Bloodwolf commando’s, Colonel Saladin himself entered into the room. Just by giving a general glance, you could tell he was grievously injured. His dark plate mail, was blackened like a crisp, and his leather balacva was malformed, with its white paint being disorted and peeled off.  Farni calmly said, as she backed away from the table,

 

“What the **** happened to you?â€

 

Igorning her, the colonel instructed one of the commando’s to clear the table, which her or she did. Farni noticed the commando had Saladin’s greatblade, Azidnok, strapped to his back, with a much smaller two and a half sword. Saladin limped to the table, and threw off his Leather balaclava, which revealed his face.  Which didn’t show much, as the places that weren’t covered in blackened skin, were layered with massive scars.  His left eye, which was usually covered by his leather eye patch, was shining bright red, adding to his general pissed off look.

 

Oh so that’s why they call him “fury-eyeâ€.

 

To be truthful, Farni had never seen the colonel without his balaclava on. She noticed his teeth were abnormally large, and instead of looking like normal human ones, the colonel’s bared a closer resemblance to fangs.

 

The commando on his right, the one carrying his greatblade, took off his leather balaclava, revealing a young man in his early twenties. He had slightly tanned skin, vibrant green eyes, and slightly messed up, short, blonde hair. His rank insignia and unit patch identified him as a Sergeant, of Second Company, under the personnel command of Captain Valerius. The Commando to the left of the colonel, spoke up, in a surprisingly feminine voice,

 

“Sir, you need proper medical attention.† On her back was a quiver of arrow’s, and a yew longbow. On her belt was a strange looking dagger, made out of what appeared to be bark. She threw off her Balacava, which revealed pointy ears. She had pale skin, and very long golden hair. Unlike the other man, she had some green war paint on.

 

A bosmer? Her skin is unusually pale…

 

The colonel responded in a deep, growl that didn’t sound remotely human. Farni had heard him speak like this once before, when he was laying a beatdown on a hapless recruit who stole from a fellow soldier.  Yep, he was pissed,

 

“Negative Sergeant-Major.   Miss Fair-Face is one of the best at carving people up, I assume she’s equally as good patching them.â€

 

The man to his right, who was busying taking bandages out of his pack, said worried,

 

“Derilas is right sir.I can see parts of your ******* inner muscle. Those burns are third degree-“

 

The colonel barked,

 

“That’s enough Sergeant†He turned to face Farni, “Help me get out of this.†Farni noticed that the sergeant was right. On the occasional spot, you could see some of the muscle. 

 

The upper layer of the skin was completely burnt off on a few locations.

 

She nodded, as she went closer and began to gently take off the blackened plate mail. The colonel said deadpanly,

 

“Care about my well-being Warrant Officer?â€

 

She gave him a sinister smile,

 

“Nope. Only pay day sir.â€

 

He returned it. When she finished, she motioned for the bangages, as well as the bottle of Whiskey to her left, which he redguard companion brought. He said in a rather worried tone,

 

“Oh **** man. Does that hurt?â€

 

Saladin laughed,

 

“What do you think?†Farni grabbed the bottle, opened it, and carefully began to pour it on the parts of the skin were the muscles were exposed, which caused the colonel to scream out in pain. It brought some pleasure to Farni, seeing the old **** to be in pain. The colonel yelled out,

 

“What the **** was the for?â€

 

I like seeing you scream. Nah, I do, but that’s not the reason.

 

“Normally, pouring Alcohol on a burn wound is a bad idea. For one as bad as these, however, we need to sterilize it.†After pouring the Alcohol, she told the Bosmer woman,

 

“Go to the infirmary, and ask the commando on desk for Teapovosh oil. It’s good for treating burns. Make sure to bring a lot.â€

 

The bosmer nodded her head,

 

“Yes ma’am.â€

 

She left the room

 

Farni put her hands together,

 

“Alright, it looks I’ll have to play doctor today.â€

[TheCzarsHussar]

Baldur, Rebec

Kyne's Watch

Morning

 

"Ahh, I love this town. What a beautiful morning!" Baldur yelled, attracting attention from a few passing Stormcloaks who did not seem to agree with him. They all too clearly remembered Baldur putting them on nightshift right after they were done burning Forsworn bodies and preparing their comrade's bodies for departure on ship. But Baldur didn't let their sour mood ruin his.

 

He woke up with a slight ache in the vein in his temple, likely from too much mead, but the wonderful thing about living so far up North was the marvelous effect the cool air had on his aching head after a night of drinking spirits.

 

With another bottle of mead and a nice fat piece of horker steak freshly roasted, Baldur walked the coast on his way to the fort like a happy drunk, skipping and spinning, pivoting on one foot as the sea rolled in over his boot like spilled grog.

 

"The wind twirls and twirls, the tide rushes in, the tickling snow flakes on cheek make me grin," Baldur took a long swig, then went back to singing. "Magnus moves slowly over morning sky, and mead flows down my throat until this man dies!" This time Baldur took a bite of the horker which steamed heavily in the morning's cold breeze. He opened his mouth to sing another note, but suddenly a flash of purple burst out from a rush of dark clouds and the general smacked directly into something in it's midst, knocking both the mead and the horker from his hands.

 

Face in the snow, he said, "What... the...Molag's balls!?"

 

Two figures went tumbling into the cold sand of the beach. The queen, sprawled flat on her bum, sat up slowly. "Remote, you said! I thought you said it was remote!"

 

"It IS remote!" The latter was a muffled sound coming from underneath Menel's big fur cloak, which had flown up over his head. Spitting out fur, he dragged it off his face and glared up at Baldur. "Don't you know a recall rune when you see it?"

 

Veleda looked around, still on her rump and resting back on her hands. "Menel. You put a rune. On a beach. Does the concept of morning and evening tide mean anything to you? We could have drowned!"

 

"Oh, don't take that lecturing tone with me. It's high tide now, and it's perfectly fine apart from blundering Nords. Help a Bosmer up, general, don't just stand there." Menel lifted a chubby hand up to Baldur expectantly.

 

Baldur lifted his face up from the patch of snow, face contorted, and his temple aching with fresh waves of pain once more. Before yanking the elf up, Baldur said, "Menel. Get your big, round, carnivorous, tree hugging ass off of my horker, or I'm going to roast and eat it instead."

 

Veleda picked herself up and started brushing off sand. "Good morning, High General. Sorry about the rude meeting. Knocking into passers-by is a risk of the mark-recall spell, I'm afraid."

 

"Not as bad as getting lost in the Void on your way," Menel offered. He had retrieved Baldur's horker and was picking sand off it, apparently prepared to eat it.

 

Apparently unconcerned with the queen, Baldur said, "I swear to all the gods I know, and believe me, that's a considerable amount... I will eat your limbs if you so much as lick that meat, Menel. I'm starving." Before Menel could answer, a furry bundle hopped from a pile of snow and snatched the meat from Menel's fingers.

 

Stammering, and considering murdering Stuhnir, but ultimately failing to stay mad at the adorable creature, Baldur sighed in frustration and said, "Good morning to you too, Queen Fire-Hand. What brings you here to these parts and my meal?"

 

"I thought it high time to inspect our new naval base. How are things? Menel, stop sputtering. It was just a fox. Though I've never seen one so bold before."

 

"He's mine. His name's Stuhnir. Long story really. I was going to send you and Ulfric a report, but now that you're here, I can just tell you directly. Things are going fine enough, if you don't mind a Forsworn rush and refugees coming from Markarth."

 

"Menel said you'd found some scouts. There were more?"

 

Baldur spotted his honey mead rolling away to the sea, and put his big boot on it before it got too far. "A lot more, yes. Not an army, but enough to challenge us and take the town. We're going to need reinforcements along with the next shipment of Grim Ones to continue the trials."

 

Veleda appeared shocked. "So many? I had no idea they would consider this place a prime target, with the fort here. They must have waited until the naval exercises were done and your numbers down again. I'll speak to Ulfric about it right away. But now I'd like a tour. I'm eager to see the town."

 

"Alright, might as well swing by and pick up Rebec afterwards. As for the Forsworn, the new townsfolk said that they were retreating out here from all the fighting in the Reach. I haven't yet gotten word from Galmar or Brund, but things must have picked up even more."

 

Baldur lead the Queen past the docks and the village to the center of town to where the new tavern was being built, mostly complete besides the roof which would be completed once they retrieved some of the wood from the Howling Harpy. Besides their new tavern, there wasn't much else to see besides the ships and new docks in the distance. Baldur lead Veleda back to his home, occasionally having a Stormcloak bow their heads when they realized the Queen was passing by their humble, yet increasingly large town, still mostly empty for the time being besides families of the Stormcloaks themselves and the refugees that were lucky enough to flee with enough coin to purchase new homes there.

 

One of them was a rather thick Nord woman with quite the heaving bosom and generously sized hips, as well as an impressive unibrow. Brinja Bear-Born had enough to purchase things from the sailors and start a general goods store, selling goods to the less fortunate refugees at half price temporarily.

 

Veleda was amazed with the progress. It was still more the outlines of a town than a real town, but it was fast becoming such. "If you suffered such an attack, it just shows how much we need this anchor to really subdue the Reach. I had expected you to be calling for more supplies?"

 

Rebec had joined them by then. "We could use them, but we got a trading ship stop in from High Rock, and I sent the boys back to Solitude to re-stock. What ship you come in on, your majesty?"

 

Baldur slowly turned his head in her direction as if she just insulted his mother, holding a maniacal open mouthed grin before hopping in front of her and holding that same expression. Holding her arms, he said, "Ship? Did you say... ship? Hahaha, are you daft? The Queen and her lovely second don't use ships, you plebian! No, instead, they use magic to pop out in the middle of nowhere, knock the mead out of your hands and sit his big Bosmer booty on my meat!"

 

Rebec looked from one to the other and back. "I have no idea what you just said, but I think you said Menel needs to meet Kyne's Talon. No one's booty but mine gets Baldur's meat, elf. I thought we covered that."

 

"What? No, no!" Menel put his hands up. "It was an accident. How should I know the general takes long morning walks on the beach."

 

This reply sounded even worse.  At Rebec's glare, Veleda laughed and explained, "A little teleportation accident. We'll work on our recall rune placement. I'd like to set up beacons and a teleport station like I had with the College. Not that we could help you in another attack, but it would improve communication. Ulfric isn't certain yet. This was a little experiment."

 

Baldur stood there with an empty expression, eyebrow arched. When Baldur finally got it, he said, "Oh. Ohh! Gods, no, I meant my breakfast, Rebby. Gods. Anyway, I'm not one to be suspicious of magic usually, but considering we'll be living here and I don't want a repeat of the Great Collapse, I'll have to ask is there any risk of accidents? I know nothing of what this kind of magic entails. I've heard of it, but I've only seen it done once in Fort Neugrad."

 

"If I had the power to cause a Great Collapse, we'd have far fewer worries about the Dominion. The main thing is that it will need to be a safe place, so that it can't be tampered with or misused. For now I thought about putting a rune in your house..."

 

Rebec looked up sharply and was about to say something when she realized that telling the queen her idea was ludicrous was not the best career choice. Trying something milder, she said, "Uh... our house is just one room right now. You appear with no warning and you might get an eyeful more than you bargained for."

 

"Oh. Oh yes, I see. Perhaps in the fort, then. Let's go have a look."

 

Before the Nords and their Elven friend could reach the fort, a long, sorrowful, deep horn sounded from the docks. A brightly painted ship, moved by equally colorful sails cut through the morning fog. The flags it flew, in descending order, were a black bull's head on brown, a white owl on green, and a ship split in half on blue. It slid into the dock with grace unexpected from a carrack of its size. Three men, two well dressed in nobles clothing, the other in a chain and leather seagoing armor, were waiting by the railing to dismount. Dock lines tied the ship to the horn cleats, and a gangplank thumped onto the large ship's deck. The three Bretons exited, followed by several mages, who wore the same chain and leather armor as one of the leaders. A few soldiers also dismounted, their armor plated and heavier than the mages.

 

"Speaking of High Rock," Baldur said as he picked Stuhnir up to his shoulders. Jogging ahead after noticing the soldiers, Baldur blew his warhorn to get the attention of nearby Stormcloaks to meet the entourage at the docks before they wandered in too far without seeing what they wanted first.

 

Rebec eyed the ship and its passengers. "Bretons. They do like to make an entrance. Best not tell them who you are yet, Your Majesty. Not til we see what we got here." She and Veleda trailed along after Baldur.

 

"Stand aside," Baldur commanded as he approached his men blocking off the docks. Placing on his snowbear head, he stepped forward, fur covered arms crossed. "I am High General Red-Snow of Kyne's Watch. To whom am I addressing and what brings you here?"

 

The lean, pointy nosed man stepped forward to speak, but nary a sound exited his mouth before the armor clad man stepped forward. His wooden leg thumped on the similarly wooden deck. The man took a tattooed hand off the axe that hung at his side, then placed both hands behind his back to show he didn't mean any harm.

"I'm Sir Lewin Theirry. He's Duke Mon," he motioned to the skinny man whose mouth still hung open, affronted he had been interrupted. "And this is Sir Gaspar Charien," the man he indicated smiled, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. He was mostly bald, with only a rim of graying hair left on his dome.

"We've come to meet with you and the High Admiral about trading and naval exercises. Sir Charien heads the Merchants Guild of Farrun, and Duke Mon is the King's emissary. I'm here on behalf of the navy."

 

Smirking at the reaction of the dandy little Duke, Baldur said, "Trade and naval exercises, huh? That's my wife's territory." Baldur stood aside so Rebec and the Queen could step forward. "This is High Admiral Red-Snow of Kyne's Watch, and this is the High Queen of Skyrim, Veleda Fire-Hand."

 

"A pleasure to meet you both," Sir Theirry said, with a bow to the queen. "And I've looked forward to meeting you, High Admiral. Your tail-kicking of the Imps last year was something to behold, even for us. Not many run a blockade like you, I hear."

 

Rebec looked the men over skeptically, hands on her hips. "Duke? Duke of what? Never mind. Well this is the queen, she can speak to the trade agreement we made with... whatever that guy's name was. I suppose you're here to tell us it's just not possible and so forth. As for your navy, I didn't know you had one. I guess we ought to go inside and talk about it."

 

Baldur said, "Since you all will be dealing with that, I've got some trash to take care of down in the dungeons. If anyone needs me, I'll be with the cells in the back."

 

"It's...a work in progress. King Adrard has commandeered a few dozen shipping carracks, and our mages will make them heavily armed, if slow," Sir Theirry said.

"Actually, dear admiral," Duke Mon said, rubbing his hand together, "we will honor the agreement. Henry Leland, who you may have heard of, has agreed to reduce taxes forty percent. Sir Charien has also agreed to the forty percent, as have several families of Wayrest and Camlorn. It may not be the forty five percent agreed upon, but surely it is generous enough."

 

"Leland. That's the fellow we got our rings from." Rebec didn't volunteer to show hers to the Bretons. She turned to walk towards the fort, gesturing for the men to follow. "King Adrard, is it? That should last long." Her tone implied she thought the opposite was true.

 

Veleda piped up, "I think what our admiral means is that the Bretons are not known for uniting under one banner even at the best of times. Perhaps it is the worst of times that has made it so. Or are you using that term optimistically?"

 

"We've been...united in name for the past few decades. By that I mean we've had a king, but it was more a figurehead, so the Imperials would have someone to deal with," Sir Theirry said, as he swung his peg leg in a strange gait resembling a newborn deer.

"As of now, only Evermor still opposes King Adrard's rule. But this will be a true kingdom. Adrard will not sit by and be a figurehead."

 

"We'll see about that," Rebec said skeptically. They had reached the fort's mess hall. She kicked a lounging Stormcloak's leg off the table and sent others grumbling back to their duties in order to make room, then called for the steward to bring mead for the visitors.

 

Veleda took a seat at one of the long tables. "What are your king's intentions as regards the empire?"

 

The Bretons filed around, sitting all in a row opposite the female Nords. Sir Theirry slouched in his chair, while Duke Mon and Sir Charien looked like scarecrows, wooden crossbars keeping them upright and uptight like the snooty nobles they were.

Sir Theirry, much to Mon's chagrin, again spoke up. "I can't speak as to his intentions, but him asking you to drop those contracts shows he won't be put under their thumb. He does have good enough relations with them, though, that he can deal with them as closer to equals than kings of the past."

 

"Good luck with that, too." Rebec turned a chair around and straddled it, eyeing the mead the steward was pouring longingly. She refused a mug herself, however. "Look, we can sit here and jaw all day, but if the past couple centuries has shown anything, it's that talk doesn't mean a damn. We'll trade with you. We'd be stupid not to, you being the closest ports except for Morrowind which hasn't got a pot to piss in. If you want to build your navy, send them out to deal with the pirates in your waters and do us all a favor. I brought in some slaver pirates myself when we met your king Adrard, so they'll get the practice. Then we'll see if they're worth anything against the Dominion. If not, I'm not going to risk my own ships by putting any faith in merchants looking for a bit of royal favor."

 

"Our ships are not manned by merchants," Sir Theirry said, leaning on the table. "We have a regular navy, presently tied up with a war. I apologize that pirates use this opportunity to stalk our waters. Do not demean us by presuming we can't hold our own."

"But of course, of course we accept your trading, and welcome your business," Duke Mon said hurriedly, hoping the offer wouldn't be rescinded by the brash talk of Theirry.

 

"I'll believe you can hold your own when I see it," Rebec answered.

 

Veleda said, "We're keeping our end of the bargain. I've already told the EEC office in Windhelm to seek grain supplies from the Iliac Bay since we don't intend to renew our trading contracts with the Colovian wheat guilds. They want a premium anyway for shipping it such a great distance, now that the EEC isn't subsidized."

 

"And the stuff arrives here half sprouted and moldy anyway," the admiral added. "Only reason we bought so much Cyrodiil grain before the war is because the empire made it mandatory."

 

"Right," Veleda nodded. "And the days of Skyrim bowing to Cyrodiil's interests are over. But tell me, gentlemen, have the Thalmor been active in your lands at all?"

 

"You'll find our wheat and grain more than satisfactory, I assure you," Duke Mon said with a smile.

"I'm sure they have spies there, like everywhere else. The only thing I can recall seems to be the persistent rumors of Direnni support for the gold skins. Whether that's true or not, I couldn't say. They've been pretty well isolated as of late," Sir Theirry said.

 

"I told your new king to mind his elves and he acted all insulted," Rebec said sharply.

 

Veleda appeared thoughtful. "I had heard the Direnni took in Altmer refugees when the Thalmor seized power. Then there were assassinations of mixed race individuals in Balfiera some time ago, before the Thalmor got involved in open war. I can't imagine the Direnni are cooperating openly with them. There may have been infiltrators in the refugee community, however. If agents have access to Adamantine Tower, who knows what they could do with its power." She thought about her examination of the sunbird diagrams, and of how little they still knew of Altmer capabilities.

 

"I don't believe you ever spoke to King Adrard. That was his father-in-law, King Gaerhart. He died of sickness a while back," Theirry said.

Addressing the queen's statements, he said, "As for the Direnni, I was just repeating what I heard. They probably aren't allied with the Dominion, but racism is prevalent against elves seems to crop up everywhere these days."

 

"Gaerhart, Adrard." Rebec waved a hand. "The point is, if you don't know, you better assume the worst until you do."

 

"At the very least, the Direnni could make a potent ally," Veleda said. "It is likely that no one outside the Dominion would have more insight into the Thalmor mindset or capabilities."

 

"I'll relay that idea to King Adrard. No doubt he plans to meet with them once our civil war is over, but it won't hurt to mention the High Queen of Skyrim stands behind the idea. Although, I think I'll leave out the High Admiral's distrust of the elves," Theirry said, smiling.

"I've heard you have a division of your best troops specifically for the Dark Elves. Does Morrowind plan to commit any troops?" Sir Charien said.

 

"As best I can tell, they will remain neutral," Veleda replied. "They have no quarrel with the Dominion, though no love for them either. The Dunmer in our forces were volunteers."

 

"Most of those died in the stupid imperials' war," Rebec added bitterly. "And you can tell your king if he doesn't mistrust a secretive group of Altmer hiding in a tower so close to his lands, he's a damned fool. Now, since you say you want to trade, what've you got in that pretty ship of yours?"

 

"King Adrard is more prudent than my words can relay, but I know your appraisal of words is low, so I won't try and persuade you to that fact. Just believe me when I say he will explore all avenues, whether that means killing them or allying with them," Sir Theirry said, his eyes and face bored looking. He was tired of trying to deal with this hard headed woman, and decided nodding and saying would be the best means of negotiation here on out.

Sir Charien spoke a little too quickly, his face beaming like a child's. "Oh, I think you'll enjoy this. Meats, liquor, cloths, books and tomes, a wide variety. Our hold is stocked to the brim with both luxury items and essentials."

 

"Alright. I can't guarantee you'll sell everything here. We're just getting started around here and there isn't a lot of coin flowing, but I'll see what I can do. Once we get Reach silver going through, you won't need to go on to Solitude at all. You tell that to Leland and his buddies. Let's go inspect your wares. If Your Majesty doesn't have anything against it, that is?"

 

Veleda stood. "It was only by chance I was here at all, but let me take the opportunity to say that I hope to meet your King Adrard soon, and we trust that there will be more cooperation with him than when Ulfric called for aid from his predecessor and got silence as a reply. Now I should go visit our wounded. There was a battle here yesterday."

 

"Some of your people," Rebec explained, her expression hard.

 

Duke Mon's smile dropped, and his gaze hardened. "We offered help to your king and queen, and they rejected it. The Forsworn are a plague that needs to be destroyed, and we want their deaths as much as you. But you denied our help, so now they're your problem. Otherwise, there would be Breton soldiers here even now."

Sir Charien looked frantically between the two women, sputtering out, "But yes, yes we will definitely go look at our products."

Theirry smirked at Mon not brown-nosing any longer, and said, "I'll let the king know. He hopes to improve the relationship between our countries. The offer of help for the purging of the Reachmen reflects that."

 

The admiral hadn't known of this offer, but shrugged. "We sorted it."

 

Veleda replied, "I spoke of Ulfric's request during our war with the imperials, but the Forsworn we will indeed handle ourselves. We've not had good experience with foreign intervention in the Reach. The situation there is too delicate. I bid you good day, my lords, and a safe journey home."

 

Rebec waited until the high and mighty were done talking, then gestured for the men to follow her back to the docks. As she passed the dungeon door, she glanced down the stair, wondering what Baldur was up to with the prisoners.

 

Near the entrance, Menel fell in beside them. "Good sirs. Did you say you had meats aboard your ship? What sort, may I ask?" At a sudden hard jab in his back, the Bosmer jumped straight in the air. "AHH! What was that for?"

 

"You're supposed to be in the infirmary healing Daric and Mazoga," the admiral said. "Get there or you'll be missing some cuts of meat you already got."

 

"But..." At Rebec's glare, he backtracked, hands held up. "Oh, very well. If you see any blood sausage... Right. I'm going."

 

As the Bretons left, one of Mon's guarsd waiting outside the room fell back from the main group, until everyone was out of sight. His wide eyes glanced suspiciously in every direction, retracing the groups steps until he found a guard.

"Where's the High General at? I have a letter to deliver," he said, running a sweaty hand over his scraggly facial hair. He then fumbled in his armor, procuring a slightly wrinkled letter with a wax seal, showing it to the guard as if to prove he wasn't lying.

 

The guard looked at the man, irritated at his suspicious behavior interrupting his peaceful standing around and doing nothing.

 

Fortunately, the sight behind the guard made him relax again and ignore the Breton all together. "Ehem," came a voice behind the skulking Breton guard. When he turned, a Nord with fiery hair and a milky left eye stood just behind him, bear claw covered arms crossed in annoyance. "If you wanted to deliver a letter to the High General, try doing so when his wife is present next time instead of skulking around our fort. Hand it here."

 

The Breton turned the letter over in his hands a few times, before finally giving it over. Then, he looked from guard to one eyes man, before finally shuffling off after his group. He glanced back over his shoulder a few times, but never stopped or uttered a word.

 

Falgrum watched the little man scurry off like the skeever he was. He was a worm, all of them were. Sneaking about like things amongst the gutter. Falgrum hated that their general now had to play whatever game they were playing, but that was the way of things, now that they dealt with the Manmer of High Rock. Knocking on the dungeon door, Falgrum called down urgently. "Baldur? General sir. I have something that may require your immediate attention."

 

(TBC)

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

(Continued from earlier)

 

***

 

"Here, boy. You don't need to see this. Go on, go find some rabbit or something. You need to start fending for yourself before you get fat and lazy off of our food." Baldur cast Stuhnir to the ground, where the fox landed skillfully before running off towards the longhouses. "Good boy. Got no time for spoiled freeloaders. Ooh, hope he doesn't go after Vigge's chickens..."

 

Baldur made his way to the fort's dungeons as promised, trying not to remember past memories with the Thalmor's torture chamber, or the beating he got during the trials. He ultimately failed, but that was fine. Those memories would feed his anger now and steel his resolve.

 

The sounds of the prison's iron door was heard through the cell hall, accompanied with the sounds of a chair being dragged across the stone floor. Baldur watched as the Forsworn captives all looked up at him expectantly, one by one until he finally stood in front of the one to the farthest side of the prison.

The man's face, half painted in intricate black designs, was untouched by battle, and at the moment, he looked completely unhurt. The hateful, defiant look in his eyes was all the confirmation Baldur needed to know that this one was not looking to talk.

 

Baldur positioned his chair in front of the cell, smirking to himself at the man's look. Sitting now, he said, "What are you so angry at? Did you forget my promise? Or do you not remember who I am?"

 

"I remember you." the man responded in his funny Reachman accent. "You said to behave."

 

"And you have, I'm happy to say. And I'm a man of my word, so I will let you go." Baldur leaned forward then, memories of the dream he had last night still going through his mind. "See, the problem is, I said I'd let you go. But I didn't say I'd let all of you go. Get me? I need you to do something for me. Something that will prove to me that you won't try and get your buddies from the Reach to come back here for revenge."

 

They all remained silent, save for one, who couldn't have seen more than seventeen winters. "What is it?" the boy asked, immediately earning disdainful looks from his four comrades.

 

Baldur scratched at his beard, thinking how best to go about handling things from here. "Perhaps this is a conversation best handled in private. You, the defiant one. Step forward." Baldur drew an axe from his belt as he opened the cell enough for one to walk through and said, "You surrendered out in the open for a reason. You know what I can do. Try anything, and I will kill all of you, no problem."

 

The Reachman hesitated for a moment, probably because he didn't want to be recognized as the 'defiant one' but there was no point in pretending like Baldur had been referring to anyone else, so he finally frowned and consented, walking through the door with his head held high. Leading him far away from the others to a single cell with a table, Baldur closed the door behind them, using a torch from outside the room to light the ones within.

 

"Okay, this is going to be a rather simple request. I need one of you to relay what happened here in thorough detail, and I need that person to tell as many people about it as possible. Reachmen, Nords, anyone that will listen. Tell of the warriors in the white bear pelts, tell of how they fought. Tell everything. Promise to do that, and you will live. Easy, right?"

 

The Reachman seemed a little surprised by the request, but he quickly hid the surprise behind the same hateful look he'd been wearing before. "That's it? Why?"

 

Baldur chuckled to himself, thinking the answer was obvious. "Why indeed. Well first, I want the word of what we are doing here to spread through Skyrim to attract more talent for what I'm calling my Grim Trials. I want the best Skyrim can offer, both already in the Stormcloaks, and warriors who have not yet joined. Spreading word of our ferocity in battle will be just the thing I need. And besides that, but also most importantly, it'll dissuade your kind and any bandit scum from trying to come here and screw with us ever again. I want them to know exactly what fate awaits them if they find stones big enough to try it."

 

"You think that my people would be frightened by your message?" asked the Forsworn. "We will only return with more, and even your Bear People will not be enough."

 

"I doubt that. Not with General Brund barking at your heels. I'll also have more men here, but if they do try, I'll give you extra incentive to persuade them otherwise. But before we get to that, I have to be persuaded that you'll even do as I ask. Will you? And are you willing to prove it?"

 

The man looked unsure for a moment, and then finally, his expression hardened. "I will not serve your kind again, Nord. Not even in this."

 

Baldur's eyes narrowed while his face moved closer to the Forsworn man's. "Then why do you waste my time? Why surrender? Had you simply lost your nerve back on the battlefield? Do you need a reminder of what kind of death you'll face?"

 

"What I did was cowardly." said the Forsworn. "I fell in line with the others, but being one coward of many is no better than being one alone. That is why I will not help you."

 

Baldur fell back in his seat, sighing in frustration. "Looks like I've miscalculated. My mistake it seems was not understanding the mindset of cowards. If you don't want to be the lone coward of the group, then I guess I'll have to give the others more incentive to be cowards. Lest they follow your example."

 

Baldur stood from his seat then and opened the cell door. Tossing his axes aside to the ground outside, he said, "There. For renewing your honor, I'll grant you a chance at freedom. Get through me, and you can free your friends and leave this place."

 

The Reachman looked like he couldn't believe what Baldur was doing. He spent a good fifteen seconds frozen in place, waiting for whatever trick he suspected Baldur had in store. Finally, his frown faded, and he immediately darted from his seat towards the doorway. "For the Forsworn!" the man shouted as he barreled toward the door.

 

The remaining Forsworn in their cell all flinched as a powerful sound thundered from where their comrade had been taken. It was immediately followed by a terrible shriek that only lasted a second before being cut short.

 

"What the- What just happened?!" cried out Perlach, the youngest of them. He was terrified, and unlike the others, he wasn't quite so good at hiding it.

 

"It's nothing." answered Frella. Though Perlach didn't think she sounded all that reassuring. "They're just trying to scare us."

 

If that was the goal, they were doing a good job. Perlach was thoroughly frightened. He didn't believe for a second that the Nords would let them go. If what he'd seen in his final days in the Reach was any indication, mercy was not something they could count on.

 

"Do you smell that?" she asked, sniffing. Frella hid her fear well. Probably because she felt responsible for being the first of them to surrender. "Something's burning."

 

"Probably Crendal." said Tall Thraind. "Old gods keep him."

 

"We don't know that." said Frella. "This place is huge. It could be anything."

 

As Perlach began to pick up the scent himself, a slow pair of footsteps approached their cell. They all went silent, and before long, the Nordic general was in front of them again, with the burnt smell at his back.

 

Baldur dropped his chair back in the same spot from before, taking off his Necro Nord leather tunic and placing it over the back of his seat after airing it out. "If you're wondering, I'm taking this off so I don't end up having to clean this again. My mother almost killed me when she saw the mess I made the last time." Sighing as he laid back in his seat, Baldur closed his eyes and said, "The good news is you all have a better shot at leaving this place, now that your friend is... well. The bad news is I'm losing my patience. Who wants their shot at leaving next?"

 

"I do." said Brelan, who had so far remained silent. Perlach had almost forgotten the older man had been among them. He hadn't said much even when they had been free.

 

"Alright, then," said Baldur, making his way to the cell door once more. A few jingles of the keys, and the door was open. "Alright, you know the drill."

 

As the Reachman made his way out of the cell, Perlach noticed that he was muttering under his breath. Not a second after he was on the other side of the bars, Brelan's right fist was covered in lightning, "Come on!" the man shouted as he released his spell at Baldur. Perlach was frozen in place, but Tall Thraind didn't waste a moment. The larger man had been ready for this, and had already been moving to help Brelan as soon as the spell left his and.

 

Baldur kept his wits about him, but a lightning spell he was not prepared for. He only missed the lightning bolt by a hair's breadth, barely avoiding its shock. Acting quickly, Baldur booted the man back into the cell, knocking back the big one behind him. Before the old man fell back too, Baldur grabbed his arm and slammed the cell door shut on it, putting all his weight on it until he heard a snap.

 

"I told you not to **** with me old man! Die!" He yelled, before chomping viciously at the Forsworn's outstretched fingers.

 

Brelan shrieked, and whether consciously or not, he sent a second lightning bolt from his free hand, but it went nowhere near Baldur. Thraind recovered and attempted to pull his friend free, but Baldur had him trapped tightly. Perlach and Frella didn't move, seeing that the attempt had already failed. Thraind however, was at the bars, trying to free his Brelan from the ferocious Nord.

 

Baldur finally let the old man's arm slip away. He was likely to die, anyway with his fingers missing and his arm broken. Baldur was in a mood again, indicated by how the anger in his face disappeared, as if he didn't just mutilate an old man with his teeth. He spat the man's fingers at the cell, two of them bouncing off the bars and one going through.

 

"What did I tell you?" he said, chuckling as he wiped the blood from his chin. "I knew it. I just knew it. So. Who wants their shot at freedom next? I hope you fair better than this one. And don't even think about raising your hand, big guy. You and I have a date with Dagon. Because I'm sending your ass straight to Oblivion."

 

"Voids take you!" the Reachman spat. Not at Baldur, but at his comrades. He went to the far corner and took a seat, all the while glaring hard at them.

Perlach realized that the moment Frella went back with the Nord, he would be left alone in here with Thraind. A prospect that pleased him not. Behave, and we may let you live. That's what the man had said. It didn't sound so difficult. He saw Frella take a breath, and quickly went to speak first. "I'll go with you."

 

He cautiously lifted his hands so the Nord could see that he had no intention of putting up a fight. Baldur's eyes went to the boy, sizing him up curiously. He reminded him of Daric. "How many winters have you seen, lad?"

 

"Seventeen." replied Perlach anxiously. He could feel Thraind's eyes burning into his skull.

 

Baldur opened the now blood stained cage, giving him a genuine smile as he stepped out, though not really at him. "Follow me." Baldur dragged the burned man out from the cell and gestured for him to step inside. The smell was strong, but that's what Baldur wanted. It was a constant reminder. Taking a seat opposite of the boy, he said "So, tell me. What's your name? Why are you a Forsworn, boy?"

 

He hesitated, "Perlach... I am Perlach... I'm a Forsworn because..." The scent of his burned ally filled the Reachman's nostrils, and made his eyes water. Not wanting to look as craven as he felt, he blinked the moisture away. What if he doesn't like my answer? Will I get burned too? What if he asks me to betray the others? They are all stronger than I am. Better.

"I'm Forsworn because the Rea-" Perlach halted his answer again. They were a long way from the Reach. It could anger the Nord if he used it as justification for attacking his town. He fumbled in his brain for a better answer, but found none. "I- I just am. They are my people."

 

"There's Reachmen who don't fight with the Forsworn. Reachmen that despise them, in fact. What about them?" Baldur asked, genuinely interested. "Did your mother make you join? Your father?"

 

Perlach thought a moment, and then decided that he had a better chance of living if he was honest. "They're dead. I joined by choice. Like I said, they are my people."

 

"So, if I were to give you a second chance. A second chance to live and start over. You wouldn't take it? Say that I let you live, then after you performed a little task for me successfully for about a year, you come back here. Then I make you a Stormcloak. Would you do it?"

 

Cooperating as a Stormcloak prisoner was one thing, but joining them? "No." Prelach answered. Never. Even he was not so cowardly as to turn cloaks and fight for those who had killed his brethren. I would die first. he told himself. Like Brelan and Crendal.

 

Baldur smirked and said, "Good. Without a genuinely good reason, I wouldn't have taken someone who'd so easily switch sides like that anyway. So, here's the deal. I need two things from you if I'm going to let you go. First, I need you to agree to something for me. You like stories, right? I love them. Stories have the power to teach and inspire. It's for both of these reasons that I want you to travel around the Reach and tell your people, both Forsworn and not Forsworn what you saw yesterday. Tell them about the battle and how they were defeated. Let everyone know what will happen if they come back here."

 

"That's... That's it?" asked Prelach. Surely there was more. Surely this Nord wanted to squeeze some sort of information he probably didn't even have from him. Crendal was prideful, but even he couldn't have rebelled against a demand like this. Could he?

 

"That's it. Simple, isn't it? Of course, I do have to be assured that you won't just go off and live your life without doing what I said. Which brings me to the second thing. Follow me." Baldur lead the boy past the burned body again, back to the cell to speak with the others. "Now tell the others what I told you. Then pick one of them to accompany you."

 

Perlach looked at each of his brethren, and they were looking back. Thraind with anger but curiosity as well, and Frella with only the latter. Brelan laid unmoving, probably unconscious. "The Nord says that I am to go back to the Reach..." he paused for a moment to gauge the reactions that they never ended up showing. "I- uhh... I'm to tell our brethren of the battle, and our loss."

 

"Sing of the Nordic victory like a damn bard, you mean?" asked Thraind, who knew he was dead and now feared no repercussion. "Try to make our people fear them? Dagon take you, Boy! You're no brother of mine."

 

It had been his hope against hope that Thraind would act more forgiving upon hearing Baldur's words. The man had acted in a way that doomed himself, but the Nord had given Perlach a chance to save him and make amends. Frella is smart, and would've known to behave enough to keep from being executed. As it was though, Perlach could not choose Thraind and expect to make it home alive. He would have to pick Frella, and doom this man. And so, ignoring the insults from Thraind, and fighting not to look the man's way, he softly made his choice. "Fr- Frella." He nodded to the woman. "I choose Frella."

 

"Heh, always choose the poon, boy. That's a rule. Alright, you're almost home free. Back in the cell, boy." When the boy was in with the other two, he left them momentarily, unconcerned with the fact that they were alone with a dead man who had nothing to lose. When Baldur returned, he came back with something wrapped in cloth, then handed it to the woman through the cell.

 

"To prove to me that you two will do as I say, I need only one thing from you, and then you will taste freedom. Believe me, it is necessary, considering you are enemies of Skyrim." Baldur waited for the woman to open the cloth, revealing a rusty dagger inside. "Give me the man's tongue from his neck. Cut it from his throat. Then throw it and the dagger out of the cell."

 

Perlach and Frella both looked appalled. The woman was already shaking her head, but Perlach could see a look of extreme guilt breaking through her typically stoney expression. "No," she said, looking up at Baldur. "I was the one to surrender, but I can't do this."

 

Perlach agreed. He couldn't believe that the Nord would expect this to work right after he'd just told the man that he would not take up arms against his people.

 

"Why not?" Asked Thraind, standing. Straightened, he was a full head taller than either of them. More resembling a Nord than a Reachman. "I'm dead anyway. Why are you afraid of hurting me?"

He took a step towards them, opening his arms wide. "Do it, you cowardly bitch. Do it so you two can go free like you so desperately want. The Nord won't let me stop you anyway."

 

Perlach could see Fella's fingers nervously working at the dagger hilt. She was considering doing it. He took it from her, to no resistance. "We won't do it."

Even as the words left his mouth, the large Reachman lunged out and grabbed Frella, dragging her to the ground and squeezing at her neck. Perlach didn't hesitate then, he went low and plunged the dagger into Thraind's chest. Right where his heart was. The larger man released Frella, who needlessly kicked him hard in the nethers as she shoved him off.

Thraind gave Perlach a look that had no anger in it. In fact, it appeared to be approval, and then his eyes went still and he was dead.

 

"Still want his tongue, Nord?!" Frella asked vehemently.

 

Baldur watched the scene, looking almost uninterested. "That is what I asked for, isn't it? You said you wouldn't do it, but what you and the boy fail to realize is you already did the minute you chose your life over his. He knew it, which is why he did what he did. I want you to remember that as you're cutting his tongue from his throat. Remember that as thoughts of revenge enter your mind, taking up arms against this town again. Figuratively and literally, it was you that killed him. So yes, I want the man's tongue."

 

Perlach didn't speak or move. He let Frella dislodge the dagger and go to work cutting into their fallen brother's mouth. Did he want us to do that? He wondered. It would explain why Thraind had attacked when he had, and the final look he'd given him. The Nord is right. I did kill him...

 

"Old gods keep him." he muttered while Frella finished with the tongue and tossed it and the knife through the bars to their captor.

 

Baldur let the items fall before kicking them aside. "Good. I'd tell you why I'm being so cruel, but I'm sure neither of you really care right now. And really, I don't care to explain. You have your reasons for coming here, brandishing weapons to slaughter my family. And I have reasons to play with your lives like livestock. So."

 

Baldur bent down and picked up a metal rod with what looked almost like the number 8, but thinner. "This is a lemniscate. Left behind by the Thalmor. Why they have one of these, I don't know. To us, the lemniscate represents the timedragon eating its tail, which represents the endless coils of time that anchor this world. To the Thalmor, maybe it represents eternity of spirit. Either way, I will be branding the both of you with this." Baldur looked away from the two momentarily, then launched his thu'um at the tip, making it glow a bright white instantly. "My men will come tonight and release the both of you with moderate supplies. Do as I say, and this mark will simply be a reminder of your second chance at life. Don't do as I say, and I will spread the word of what happened here, both to my people and yours. They'll see this mark and hunt you down. You will know no solace in Skyrim ever again for the rest of your lives. Stick out your arms."

 

The Forsworn looked at each other, and then both stepped forward. Prelach wasn't going to make Thraind's death for nothing, and in a strange way, he felt that he deserved some sort of backlash for what they'd just done, as if this made it better. He knew that it didn't, but what did it matter? It was to be punished with this or death. He stuck his arm through the bars, content at least in the knowledge that he would soon be free. Frella did the same.

 

"If it makes you feel better, I've taken one of these before, so I know the pain I'm making you go through. It'll go away in a few days." Baldur grabbed the boy's arm first, pressing the heated metal in quick and hard, so the burn would be deep and they couldn't cut the mark out. He did the same for the woman as well before leaving them both to themselves.

 

Prelach bit on his tongue all the way back to the wall, where the pair of them slid down to the floor and sat. Frella knew some weak magic, and he wondered why she didn't try some sort of healing spell to see if it would ease her pain. But he didn't ask, for fear of looking like an idiot who knew nothing of magic. Besides, his own seared arm was enough to keep his mind occupied. It hurt, a lot, and it would be a constant reminder of what had happened. He would go free, and he knew that besides the guilt this brought with him, he would have no choice but to heed the command his captor had given them. They would live, which on its own was shocking, but it was bittersweet, as every breath would be a gift from the enemy, and a reminder of how thoroughly the Nords had won.

 

***

 

Baldur walked out of the prison with his tunic in hand, free from the blood that found its way to his beard and chest. Walking whilst looking at the stone floor, he made his way up to the second floor of the dungeon to the holding tables re-purposed for a medical room. Daric and Mazoga still slept on stone slabs with furs under them and covered in sheets.

 

Baldur washed himself off in one of the washbuckets, making sure that all trace of blood was gone from him before he walked over to his friends. They both seemed to be running fevers, sweating profusely. Baldur ran a hand over Mazoga's forehead, smiling at the tough orc that looked almost peaceful in her slumber. For a time he sat there, washing their hair before drying them with furs nearby and combing their hair. Mazoga's felt as though she'd never combed hers a day in her life.

 

While Baldur was doing the same for Daric, he noticed a faint mark on his cheek that was barely there... but there none the less. He didn't notice before, because he was covered in so much gore, but now that Daric had been cleaned off, he could see that Daric had slight blue marks on his right cheek that resembled swirls. Even after being wounded and yanking an arrow from his own back, the boy still took the time to find Baldur's paint and mark himself in the same way he did.

 

Seeing that made a tear fall from Baldur's eyes, then another. Taking a seat next to him, Baldur looked down at the boy, out cold, then said, "Heh. Menel must have you two on some strong stuff. You're such a fool to be following me, you know. It's only going to get you killed."

 

Baldur wiped his face and calmed himself down. "You look at me like a father. I know it. Rebec probably knows it. I deflect your affection and treat you like a little brother though, because the responsibility scares me. Rebec said I wasn't responsible for your actions, so I listened to her. It made things easier. But even with her saying that, I only agreed because I can't be your father. Look at you, you're already half dead!"

 

Baldur stood from the table with his hands behind his head. "I thought I was done with this, thought I was finished being afraid. But then, then I had this dream... and- and in the dream, I was waiting for mother to come back from Rebec in the other room with the baby. And she did. But Rebec didn't come with her. I walked home with you next to me with a blank look, and I didn't know what was wrong. When we got home, I stripped to my skivvies, and I'd just drink and drink and drink with you giving me this stupid ******* look." Baldur violently brushed some medical tools off of another table in a loud crash.

 

He calmed himself again, and sat back down before Daric. "Then I woke up. Except when I did, Rebec wasn't sleeping next to me. And then I knew. I knew. She was gone. She was dead. Died in childbirth. I knew what I had to do, I knew what it meant. A dagger appeared in my hands, and I smiled because it was my ticket to being at her side again. But then... the crying. The child. The child stayed my hand. And I knew that I'd have to suffer the pain for the rest of my life. Alone with this child, looking to me for everything. I knew I'd end up like Vigge. Wife dead, then losing the girl that looks so much like my love to womanhood and curs that only want to-.."

 

Baldur's thought was cut off with a sudden outburst of sobbing. "It was so real. It was so real. Even when I awoke, I was still crying like a milkdrinker. I had to leave the house, lest I woke up Rebec. I had to drink, like in the dream. It helped. It lead me smack into Menel and the Queen, but it helped. Why are the gods tormenting me with this? Why? Is this of Shor or is this of Vaermina? Is this just a dream or is it a prediction?! I can't lose her. I can't... I-I can't raise this child alone. I can't wake up one day after years of loneliness next to some strange woman, driving me to hate myself for the rest of my days. I know I'll say it will never happen, but it always does. I can't... And it would have been my fault. I drove her to this... I just had to have a child... I had to have something over Toki, and all the others she'd been with. I had to have that connection. Then when she told me she already had a child, it was like I died inside. I was so disappointed, in myself more than anything. Like I had somehow failed. There I was, thinking about myself when Rebec had just shared her pain with me. Selfish. And now that selfishness will have killed her. Because of me."

 

"That is why... I took these steps. I can't have these curs endangering my home. My wife. I can't lose her. I know it's what I deserve, but I can't. I can't I can't, I can't, I can't...." Baldur buried his head in Daric's chest as he wept, continuing to say the same thing over and over. "I'm sorry Daric. I'm so sorry. But a part of me hopes that you don't wake up, just so that dream will never come true. But I love you, boy. Like you were my own, I do. Forgive me, please."

 

Baldur's head shot up nervously from Daric's tunic, his body as still as the stone slab it laid on. Quickly washing his face in the washbucket nearby, Baldur wiped his eyes and took a moment to settle down yet again. When Falgrum knocked again, Baldur's foul mood got the best of him. "Hold on a godsdamned minute!"

 

The dungeon door flew open then, almost striking Falgrum as Baldur's head came poking out. "What is it?"

 

Falgrum hesitated, taken aback momentarily by Baldur's uncharacteristically foul disposition. Baldur snatched the letter from his hands, growing impatient with his second. Menel came by then, sidestepping the two Nords and making his way to Mazoga and Daric now that he had something to eat. Falgrum watched as Baldur's puffy reddened eyes darted over the document:

 

The existence of this letter, and it's contents,
has to be kept our little secret, from everyone,
especially from the Imps. You will therefore
obviously not find a sigil-seal, likely already
dutifully noted by yourself, because that then
offers up information that could be, and will be,
readily used against us. Say nothing, to anyone,
even burn the letter when you finish.

What do you know of Skjari Snow-Strider? I have reason to believe that he is controlling the Empress of Cyrodiil, possibly through nefarious means, which I will not discuss over letter, but could spell serious trouble for us if true.

I know the cloak and dagger doesn't suit most Nords, but most Nords don't kill their fathers, write books of poetry, or barely escape assassination in Hammerfell.

If you choose not to reply immediately, keep your reply for a fortnight, when a merchant ship will arrive at your new town. Then, give your reply to the captain.

Remember, do not mention this to anyone. Save your wife, if you believe she may be of help. You may not like the anonymity of this letter, but I assure you, a smart fellow such as yourself can figure it out. Thank you, General.

 

"Falgrum, who gave this letter to you? The Bretons?"

 

"Aye, one of the little weasels was sneaking about, trying to find you. I had my eyes on them since they got here since they were by the Queen. Then I noticed him fall away from the group."

 

Baldur seemed to be reading the letter over again, faster this time. A few minutes passed as Baldur ran his eyes over it again to memorize what was there, then he said, "Heh, whoever sent it is a flatterer. They also are very well informed... They mention a sigil-seal, so whoever sent it must be important. Say, you didn't happen to catch the name of their king, did you?"

 

"I did. It was... Gaerheart?"

 

"No, that was their last king. You remember the new one?" asked Baldur.

 

"Umm... Adrard I think. Theodore Adrard."

 

At that, Baldur's eyes widened and a smile crept on his face. "That it is, Falgrum. Good work." Baldur balled up the letter, then threw it in the air where it was consumed in the fires of his thu'um. "Lets go see the Bretons before they leave."

 

***

 

"And this rug is woven from the purest silk of the Gauvadon caterpillar, which can only be found in the center most glade of the Gauvadon forest, making it extremely rare," Sir Charien said, altogether oblivious to how much the Nords didn't care.

"The going rate is three thousand septims, but I could be persuaded to offload it for two thousand. If not here, a buyer may be found in Solitude, when we return in two weeks. Oh, and if you look in this crate, these vases and urns are carved from the volcanic stone of an inactive volcano high in the Wrothgarians. Nearly indestructible, and as beautiful as a black pearl."

Duke Mon looked uninterested as well, while Sir Theirry had altogether left for the ship, overseeing some minor maintenance, even though it was Sir Charien's cog they had sailed on.

 

A long sharp whistle came from the other side of the dock as Baldur and Falgrum made their way through the crowd of townsfolk eying the Breton's wares. "Which one was it that brought you the letter, Falgrum?"

 

"That one, but I think they're all in on it. I can't tell though."

 

"I guess we'll see soon," Baldur said.

 

The guard saw the Nordic officers approaching, stopping then before they got in sight of Mon or Charien. He barely resisted the urge to salute as they stood in front of him, so nervous was he.

"I take it you got the letter?" he asked.

 

"That I did. Give your king this," Baldur said as he handed the man his letter. It read:

 

I am a lover of letters and I thank you,

Charitable men for the literature you've brought,

At this, I wish to gift you words too,

Now, so I can give what it is that you've sought,

Tears fill my eyes, for my wish is too great.

Come not has a publisher for this bit of writing,

One could still steal it, I do not want that fate,

My, but the thought of you reading it's exciting!

Every day's a great day to read with a friend,

Hindering that opportunity is surely a crime,

Every man of literature is welcome here in the end,

Rear your head up as I beckon with rhymes,

Endless delight awaits, as I have what you seek.

 

"He should be able to understand my meaning, considering his own letter. But if not, tell him to look in the direction the sun sets."

 

"I will. Thank you, and I apologize for the secretiveness. I wasn't supposed to let the others know. Don't know why, but when the coin is good enough I don't question why, haha," the man said, flashing a nervous smile.

 

Baldur said, "Yes, well, if you want to keep receiving coin for jobs like this, I suggest you try not to look so obvious. And sweat less. This is Skyrim. Sweating so heavily here makes you stand out like a Butterscotch Elf's hind quarters."

 

"Yes sir. I think I dressed to warmly too, heh," he said.

 

Falgrum tapped Baldur on the shoulder, making him look up. "Right, well you better get your act together and get moving. I see your companions wandering over now. Here's a little gold for your trouble."

 

Sir Charien was indeed approaching, his grin stretched from eye to eye. The guard pocketed the money quickly, sliding it into his pants pocket.

"You gentlemen looking to buy some goods? Maybe luxury items for the High General? We even have some items for children too, as I hear your wife is pregnant. Congratulations!"

 

Baldur lowere his guard at that, admittedly excited to see what the Bretons had. "As it happens, I've recently come into a little more coin than normal, so I'd be happy to see what you have for children. I hear the Bretons even have some Nordic looking clothing, us being relatives and all."

 

"Fur unites us all. It's both decorative and functional!" Charien said with a laugh, leading the High General towards the edge of the dock, where the goods sat.

Charien reached into a crate, pulling our several toys. One was a tiny horn, taken from a baby minotaur, filled with beads and rocks so that it rattled. He handed it to Falgrum, before reaching back in and pulling out a tiny boat, carved from wood and painted similarly to Charien's. He handed that to Baldur, then reached in and pulled out a wooden horse and cart, with real rolling wheels.

"Those are the best we have, in my humble opinion," the Breton said.

 

Falgrum looked at the rattle with an eyebrow raised, embarrassed at his current task. When he shook the horn and heard it's fun noises, however, a little smile escaped the big man's vigil of surliness.

 

Baldur was about to turn down the rattle since Vigge was already working on a special rattle, but the memory of his dream was still fresh on his mind. The fear of Rebec dying in childbirth made Baldur want to be able to distract the child as much as possible. "I'll take them all," he said.

 

"Ah, but that's not all. Here, I have something special," Charien said, moving along. He opened a crate, saw it was the wrong one, then moved to the next. He pried that one open, shifted the hay around until he found the item, then hefted out a huge battle horn.

"Made from a Bjoulase bull, whose horns have been known to span seven feet. The largest of their kind, and the sound they make, well, I'll let you try it yourself," he said, giving it to Baldur.

 

Baldur looked astounded as the man pulled a horn out, and it just kept coming. It was so large, that it came with a belt buckle for the user to wear around his or her chest. "I've seen these before in taverns for drinking out of, but never one for a battle horn." Smiling in childish delight, Baldur put as much air into blowing the horn as he could. The sound was deafening, and attracted the attention of almost everyone on the docks and even beyond, clearly being heard throughout the town.

 

"This is perfect! If it's one thing you Bretons know how to do, it's sell. I'll take it." he said. By now, Baldur's demonstration and his buying of their wares was beginning to attract more customers for the Bretons while Baldur continued to shop.

 

Charien smiled at the crowd, and motioned for the rest of the wares to be brought ashore.

"Just wait until you see what we have over here," the salesman said leading the much now lightened pocketed Nord along the dock.

A curtain hung, hiding whatever was behind it. With practiced movement, Charien slid it aside, revealing a green leather and chain armor, which flowed down to the wearers ankles. A belt hung beside it, with several loops for axes and such. It was the same outfit worn by Sir Theirry, although his was blue.

 

Falgrum shook his head and said, "Oh no, they're gonna take all his coin..."

 

"Oh hush, Falgrum. One more thing, then we'll leave." Baldur walked up, very interested now in the outfit and said, "You boys sure know your customers. This is very Nordic indeed. I gotta wear something else besides my officer uniforms every now and then, don't you think Falgrum? You think you'll have something like this in my size?"

 

"It's a favorite of some of the Northern Bretons, although Sir Theirry took a liking to it as well when he and Duke Mon stopped in Farrun," Charien explained, turning the clothing around to show it off.

"We have many sizes, and the clothe comes in every color imaginable. We carry other armors and clothing, but I believe these are the most Nordic you'll find."

 

"How much?" Falgrum said with narrow eyes before Baldur could say he'd buy.

 

"Ah, the price can be negotiated. Give me your best offer, Mr. Red-Snow," Charien said, rubbing his hands together.

 

"Fifty," Falgrum yelled.

 

"What are you, my wife? Seventy gold coins. This is clothing and armor, and it's nicer than the stuff they got at the Radient Raiment. I'll give a fair price for the outfit. I imagine it's worth a bit more, but surely you can cut me a deal for bringing in more business? I imagine more will buy, especially if you let me change behind the curtains and let the townsfolk see their High General walk out in the new attire."

 

Rebec had come up from belowdecks when the horn sounded. Muttering, she said, "What in Oblivion is going on here. Baldur's not even drunk." She stepped to his side and eyed the garment suspiciously.

 

"You have a deal, High General. Would your friend here like one as well? Maybe some of the other officers?" Charien asked, revealing a white styled one, a red one, and a black one, hoping the new colors might persuade the second.

"We also have slimmer variations for the women," the Manmer added, looking at the new arrival.

 

"Rebec, look what I'm about to buy!" To the Breton, he said, "I don't think I'll be spending anymore coin. I need something left for mead. Falgrum?"

 

"No. My Necro Nord gear your mother made us is more than enough."

 

"Suit yourself, then," said Baldur. "What do you think, Rebby?"

 

"What are you offering for it?" At hearing the answer, Rebec's eyes widened. "Dagon's balls! It better be enchanted with money-making power or our baby'll have to get a job in the tavern." In truth she liked the outfit, but the first rule of negotiation was to act disinterested. "Buy it if you want it, love. I'm going to go get the queen. They've got some alchemy stuff and spell books she might be interested in."

 

"Wait, I'll come with you. Let me change first," he said. By the time Baldur came back from behind the curtains, more people had come by to see what all the fuss was about. Baldur was all smiles, as were the people nearby as some of the more wealthy townsfolk planned on getting their husbands similar clothes so they could dress like the High General. One of the women not noticing Rebec nearby even gave a catcall.

 

"Well, that's it for me I think. I hope to see you all back soon, my friend."

 

Rebec waited, and couldn't suppress a smile as Baldur emerged looking like a king of old. The smile vanished at the woman's catcall, but seeing that it was one of the newly arrived settlers, she decided not to load the crossbow yet. Next time. She directed some of the Wisp crew to retrieve the goods she had tagged down below, then took Baldur's hand and walked off with him.

 

"One of the boys said the Bretons gave you a note. What was that all about?"

 

Baldur took the little minotaur horn out of his pouch, shaking it with a happy grin now that his mind was distracted. It faded some when the note being brought up reminded him of what he was doing, though.

 

"Tell him not to mention it to anyone else. We're going to be having a visitor some time in the future, probably some months from now since he's busy with the war. King Adrard wants to know about the mage. He says he knows something about his controlling of the Empress. If so, then he knows something I don't. Normally, I wouldn't bother telling anyone a damn thing, but this can work in my favor."

 

"Don't get involved in the Bretons' schemes, Baldur. It never ends well. What do we care who controls Cyrodiil as long as they're fighting the Thalmor."

 

Baldur said, "That isn't the point. What is, is their credibility, and who they hold loyalty with. We're already agreeing to this trade agreement. I need the Bretons to trust me and distrust the Empire in the future when I'm commanding the allied armies. It'll help in the future. It's not the Breton's schemes you should be worrying about, but mine. I want the mage to rule now. It helps me out a great deal."

 

Rebec shrugged. "Fine. You should probably tell the queen. Ulfric might not like you corresponding with the Breton king, supposing he really is in charge over there."

 

Baldur stopped walking and put away the baby toy. "No, don't tell Veleda anything about the note or the mage. They know nothing about this, and I'd prefer it stays that way. It's for their own good. Ulfric has an idea, but he doesn't know the whole picture, and that's the way I like to keep it."

 

"What? That's kind of... treason, isn't it?" she said, keeping her voice low now.

 

Baldur made a look that said he obviously hadn't thought about it like that. "Look, Ulfric wouldn't have given me this position if he didn't trust me. What I'm doing is for his benefit. It keeps any falling out from he and Veleda, and in the end I'm doing this for Skyrim. Ulfric's never been one to ask me too many questions, as long as I got the job done. Ulfric and Veleda knowing will just complicate things. So, when the King comes, I'll just tell him he was concerned about strategy or something, and wanted to talk numbers for the war."

 

"Because Ulfric is always patient and reasonable about everything," Rebec said, a little worried smile on her face. Changing the subject, she gestured at his new outfit. "You're a sight. Admit it, you got a bit of Dibellan in you, going after the finery and jewels."

 

"I'll admit it if you admit that you love it," said Baldur poking his tongue at her. "And that's not all I got either." Baldur showed her the horse with the wagon attached and the spinning wheels. "Now the dragon and the troll have something to attack, hehe."

 

Rebec laughed. "If Stuhnir doesn't tear it apart first. Where is he? Hiding from the Bretons, I expect." She stopped mid-stride, realizing how carefree she had felt, just for a minute, despite the fact that their home was attacked the previous day. Brushing her hand over the rich cloth, she said, "I do like it. Shor bless those Bretons. Just this once."

 

Baldur put an arm over her shoulder so she could continue playing at the soft fabric. "I'm glad you like it," he said, smiling deeply again at the way she looked at him in the new attire. "What do you say I roast us up some food and we watch the ships go by while the sun sets? We can sit at the other docks away from everyone else. Then we can go and see how Mazoga and Daric are doing."

 

"Roast up some of that bear with the mead baste you made before," she agreed. "I'm starving. Axe work is hungry work."

 

Grinning again, with his glands salivating, Baldur cheerily walked on with Rebec beside him, forgetting for a time about his worries of the child and Daric. "Haha, consider it done."

[TheCzarsHussar]

Corio Adorin

Dawn's Shadow, off the coast of Valenwood

11 a.m.

 

"Come back to bed m'lord. I'm not done with you yet."

 

Corio looked back at his mistress, rocking in the back of his cabin along with the sway of the ship. "Well I'm done with you for the time being. We're an hour away from our destination and I want to relax before the fun begins.

 

The woman, a tall girl for a human, walked over with her blonde hair bouncing along with the rest of her before crouching in front of the Thalmor Royal General's seat, looking up at him with hungry eyes, her red lips sliding between her teeth. Corio had known this girl since she was in her early teens. She was going to be executed along with the rest of her family in Cyrodiil for accusations of working against the Thalmor and endangering the WGC, but Corio managed to 'save' her. Now she was in her mid twenties, and she'd known nothing but a life of luxury. And all she had to do was love her caretaker.

 

"Come now, you know you can't ignore me for long," she said as she stood, taking Corio's wine cup from his hands. She drained it all, then let the red liquid pass from her mouth to his before sticking her tongue down his throat. Breaking off, she said, "Now, you just sit there, and let me take care of you. Go back to reading, don't you mind me."

 

"Ophelia, you are a godsend," he said as he opened his book as the girl crouched before him once again. Flipping through the pages, Corio ran over several dossiers to pass the time.

 

Thalmor Dossiers of Tamriel

Cyrodiil:

 

Empress Dales Motierre

Status: Asset, Traitor

Description: Breton, early 20's, Empress of Cyrodiil

 

Princess Dales, Now Empress Dales started off as an effective Thalmor servant, working in our employ at the behest of her father as a 'High Inquisitor', a title that did not officially exist. The girl was talented, having learned from the Synod and becoming skilled in illusion and alteration magics, by human standards. Something happened to her, however in Skyrim when she left to deal with the Stormcloaks under the watchful eyes of our Thalmor operatives. The intention was for her to be assassinated so that we could force even more cooperation from the Imperials to fight with Skyrim, but unfortunately that never happened. In fact, after the war was lost due to a series of unfortunate events, Dales Motierre with the help of legion allies and a mysterious mage, killed her father and took his place on the throne. Afterwards, she made sure that the legion slayed any of our operatives they could reach in Cyrodiil and unofficially declared war on the Dominion.

 

Since her rule, however, Dales Motierre has proven to be considerably less serious about seeing to our demise. While the increase of anti Dominion policies has been somewhat troublesome, the fair Empress has been more concerned with her many female mistresses, rather than ruling her one of two provinces of the Empire. There were two assassination attempts on her life, but all have since been called off. The Thalmor believe that Dales' ruling will be more beneficial to us in the long run, especially if things like rebellious Imperial generals like Jon and riots continue. The execution of failed General Tullius was most unexpected, but a delight none the less. We've taken measures to prevent any other assassination attempts on her life from outside sources as well as within.

 

Skjari Snow-Strider

Status: Active (Kill)

Description: Male, Nord, Age: (?) Perhaps late twenties. Descriptions vary, Court Mage of the White Gold Tower

 

Not much is known about this person, which is alarming to say the least. Some reports say he was with the Empress when she was in Skyrim, and that he was a member of the Synod, but that is all that we know. Rumors circle around him constantly, such as one that says he is somehow behind Empress Dales' rule. He was the one that slayed General Tullius, but if this is the case, this news is actually comforting due to her recent failings. However, when this mysterious court mage stepped out of the shadows to declare himself the future husband of the Empress, he immediately went to work quelling some of the fires around Cyrodiil, such as yet another supposedly rebellious individual. A count, no less.

 

Whether or not the rumors of him leading the Empress was true before, there is no doubt that they are true now. If he is allowed to become Emperor of Cyrodiil, then perhaps more of his secrets will be revealed. His involvement could interfere with our desire to see Dales rule, and thus make her apparent incompetence inconsequential. It is preferred that he be removed from the picture at any costs. Politically, or violently. He is said to be a rather powerful wizard, having demonstrated some of his skill to students in the imperial city, one of which was an operative of ours. Judging from the reports here and also what has been seen of him in recent conflicts around Cyrodiil, we've concluded that he is not to be taken lightly, and must be dealt with by only the most professional of magical assassins.

 

High General Gracchus Quintus Ceno

Status: Active (Kill), Traitor

Description: High General of the entire Imperial Legion, Male, Imperial, Age: 56

 

Born into peasant stock, General Ceno made his talent known when he joined the legion in the Great War. He fought well and bravely, showing skill with the sword and magic, as well as the leadership skills required to lead his people in warfare, something the legion sorely needed after their huge losses at our hands. Graccus Quintus Ceno, soon a Legate, went to prove himself again when he finally, and unfortunately, brought an end to the Howling Harpy of the Stormcloaks, ending at least momentarily, the raping of legion ships at the hands of the Nords. He went on to do battle with the Stormcloaks as a general when General Marius was somehow captured and converted to the savage Nord's side. He prevented what would have been an embarrassing defeat and kept his men organized enough to hold their own and push the Stormcloaks back, despite the bigger losses that the legion took.

 

General Gracchus Quintus Ceno did the best he could in a desperate situation, when his legion was trapped behind the avalanche of Pale Pass, supposedly caused by the Nords and Redguards using black powder from Hammerfell. His men were starving and running on limited supplies, but luckily, we managed to capture the Stormcloak general, which should have been enough to win, if not at least pause the fighting long enough to clear the Pass, but unfortunately, General Marius, who defected to the Stormcloaks, and General Tullius managed to help him escape. The war was on once again, and General Ceno kept the pressure on the fortified Nord town of Falkreath, utilizing siege weapons with string from horse hair to make a dent in their defenses, once again demonstrating his intelligence and ingenuity. The Nords even had to go as far as sacrificing their Redguard military leader to sabotage the siege machines to buy themselves time.

 

Unfortunately, with limited supplies and support, it was only a matter of time before the legion in Skyrim was again defeated. The blockade was all but gone in the seas, and with the avalanche, the only choice they had was surrender, or to try and take the fortified town, which was now converted mostly to militia. It is in our expert opinion that knowing this, Gracchus Ceno was more easily persuaded to betray us. We are unsure how it happened, but we believe that given the assassination of Motierre afterwards, the Empress possibly persuaded him to do it, seeing her chance to gain favor with someone popular in the legion. Whatever the case was, the Stormcloaks and the legion allied with one another and defeated our forces, setting in motion events that would lead to the allied human nations against the Dominion.

 

Now this man is the High General of the entire legion, replacing the intelligent, but failed General Tullius. We've concluded that no one else is well suited for the task of running the legion as a whole, and that the Empire is running low on talent. Because of this, killing or capturing General Gracchus Ceno is the highest priority in Cyrodiil. Killing is preferred, as trying to capture him will likely lead to failure, as the general is skilled in the ways of destruction magic, which makes up for his growing age. We do not want his talent to be utilized in the upcoming war. He has a wife and an elderly mother, both of which could be used against him in the upcoming war. Killing or capturing them should be trivial.

 

Ophelia stopped what she was doing and interrupted Corio's reading, much to the Altmer's displeasure. "Can I take off this wig? It's really uncomfortable, an-"

 

"Put... the wig... back on," Said Corio with intense malice in his voice. Ophelia knew better than to argue with him when he spoke that way and did as she was told before going back to what she was doing. "Now, where was I? Ah yes, the Nords."

 

Skyrim:

 

High Admiral Rebec Red-Snow

Status: Active (Kill or Capture, preferably capture)

Description: High Admiral of the Stormcloak Navy, Female, Nord, Age: 32

 

Being in Skyrim, not much is really known about the admiral's beginnings. We know that she started off as a sailor, lost one of her ships from drunken incompetence, and as a merchant, she has connections along the coasts of High Rock and Hammerfell. We know that rumors say she was little better than the pirates she dealt with, and that she had conflict with the Reavers of Solstheim, which she dealt with in a surprisingly brutal fashion not expected of a woman her age. But then, we are talking about the savage Nords.

 

But this brutality seems to have served her well, and explains somewhat how a young woman such as herself could possibly cripple and embarrass the Imperial Legion's navy. After she made contact with the Stormcloaks in Fort Neugrad, the Captain there who had connections with the High King Ulfric Stormcloak not only got her out of her charges for associating with Erikur, a man who was working for us, but the King was also even convinced by this captain, one Baldur Red-Snow to let her command a ship for his navy. We do not believe that their marriage later was a coincidence, as it seemed the young woman had a promiscuous nature typical of Nords.

 

What seemed to have been a foolish move turned out to be a lucky one, as the woman soon proved that she could sail circles around the large and slow ships of the legion. This was great news for us, as when she was made High Admiral due to her effectiveness, we took advantage and made sure Motierre sent more ships to deal with the upstart Admiral. As we predicted, this only lead to a graveyard of Imperial ships, until General Ceno caught the Admiral's ship on fire and she was forced to retreat.

 

After the events of what is called the War of the Sundered Dragon, the High Admiral and now High General made their way to Hammerfell, where they interfered in our plans to start a civil war in the heart of the region. After this, the woman managed to negotiate an agreement with the Admiral of Stros M'kai, finally sealing an allied naval force between Skyrim and Hammerfell. This woman is to be killed, but preferably captured. She is obviously of great importance to the High General and High King of Skyrim. Even if the High King won't, her husband is almost sure to listen to any demands we give if we were to come into possession of his promiscuous admiral. She is clever and dangerous, but has no magical ability. Capturing or killing her shouldn't be any more complicated than reaching her alone. Of course, with Skyrim, that is easier said than done. If one cannot capture her, then kill her, and do so thoroughly. She knows how to command, and has already proven her talent with ships. Something that we surely don't want to see utilized in the future.

 

High General Baldur Red-Snow

Status: Active (Kill or Capture, Preferably Capture)

Description: High General of Skyrim's forces, Nord, Age: 39

 

Baldur Red-Snow started his career against us early, when he interfered with our first attempts to lower legion numbers. After discovering this plot, the Nord got our bandits to fight each other off, then used the legion to dispose of them all. The Thalmor Justiciars in disguise got away, only to be tricked while tracking him, then hunted down one by one. Only Corio Adorin, High Emissary at the time escaped with his recall spell. This failure and the failure with one Blades Grandmaster Esbern caused the Thalmor operative to lose his position in disgrace.

 

The Nord went into hiding, and it is unclear what he did with this information, or why the info was never used against us. The Nord was later spotted again working with the Stormcloaks and captured by General Tullius along with Ulfric Stormcloak. After the dragon rumored to be 'Alduin' attacked, Baldur Red-Snow managed to save the King's life, which is believed to be the reason for his unusually quick rise in rank, though with the limited talent in the upstart Stormcloak army, it isn't that surprising. Later, one Boldir Iron-Brow managed to capture the legion Legate, and Baldur was rumored to have used methods akin to Thalmor torturers themselves on civilians to acquire the location of the Legate's camp, though whether that is true or not is unknown. Either way, the Legate's forces were wiped out completely. 

 

Soon after, Baldur Red-Snow lead the battle of Pale Pass, utilizing the 'Grim Ones' he commanded to hold back the legion and Thalmor forces while their back ranks traded arrows with Cyrodiil's forces. Just before the general decided to retreat, he ordered the Dunmer up front, where they activated their ancestral wraith abilities, and charged the front lines of the legion. Baldur was later captured and tortured by our men, but managed to escape with Tullius' help, and Marius, who he managed to recruit to his side. After he escaped, he was said to use the marks from his torture left behind to persuade unusual amounts of civilians to become militia.

 

It later was discovered that the Nord took his torturer with him and brutally executed him in some barbaric manner unique to Nords, drawing credibility to the rumors of his torturing of civilians in front of Legate Grim-Maw. After a brutal display when the legion betrayed the Thalmor, the general had his Grim Ones take over the Pale Pass, effectively controlling the entire Southern border of Skyrim to Cyrodiil. The General, now High General later left to Hammerfell with his new wife, the Admiral and together ruined our plans to start a civil war in the heart of the region. We know for a fact that the Redguard leader who tried to assassinate them had no magical talent whatsoever, but somehow he managed to summon a sword according to the reports. We suspect foul play, but are unable to prove anything to turn the Redguards against the Nords.

 

The High General is rumored to become the general of the human alliance that is unfortunately now inevitable now that Hammerfell is effectively unified. Like the High General of the legion, he is smart, cunning and dangerous. Like him, the Nord general leading anyone in the war is to be prevented at any costs. Though like his wife, he has no magical ability and thus, should not be too difficult to capture once again. If we manage to capture him, we can gain much knowledge. He is a close friend to the High King, and even if Ulfric does not listen to our demands, the Admiral surely will. Like her, if you cannot capture him, kill him thoroughly. The next in line to replace him is General Brund and Galmar Stone-Fist. The former is a failed Imperial Legate and a brute, and his rise to High-General would be very useful to us. A close friend of his is one Boldir Iron-Brow, another brutish Nord, but competent. He is credited with collapsing Pale Pass, but lucky for us, is retired. It should be considerably easier to capture him during the upcoming war, which could lead to a valuable bargaining chip against Baldur Red-Snow, though his current whereabouts are unknown.

 

Morrowind:

 

Mystery Mage, Possibly a Telvanni:

Status: Active (Kill with extreme prejudice)

Description: Dunmer, Male, Age Unknown

 

Unfortunately, this entry is not complete. All we know is that the Empress has come into possession of a mage rumored to be Telvanni. That news alone is already disturbing, but now we've received reports that a beam of light was seen shooting from the Imperial City, and that a Dunmer mage in red robes fell from the sky. This is eerily similar to the machinations of our Sunbirds. If this Dunmer knows how they work, he must be killed immediately. After more information is gathered, this mage may be a higher priority in Cyrodiil than High General Gracchus Ceno. If he is Telvanni, then steps against Morrowind may be made in an attempt to scare the Telvanni back home, but threats on the Dark Elves may backfire, and we do not wish to see them in this war as well. Caution must be taken.

 

The entry about the newest Admiral, Tacitus Silus Meridius was not yet complete, and seeing as how he had direct contact with the Admiral, it would be up to him to complete it for the Thalmor Justiciars to read. Ophelia finally finished, and Corio even smiled at her when she was done. Evidently, the old handsome fart was in a good mood. Closing the dossier collection, Corio stood to his feet, tying back his trousers and making himself decent. "Today, is a glorious day, my girl. Today, we stop the human's brutish attacks on our ships, and hopefully, I'll get to end this Admiral today and avoid having to write that dossier."

 

Ophelia stood as well, laying her head on her master's chest. "If the Admiral proved to be this troublesome, why did you let him go in the first place?"

 

"Troublesome? Oh my dear girl, you misunderstand. This is exactly the sort of thing I wanted from him. The Imperials may have had fun with our ladies of the sea, but now it is our time to ravage a few ships. And when I'm done, the Empire's morale will sink along with them. Today, we show the world just how mighty we are. A little prelude, if you will, to the next great war. So smile, my girl. And hold on to something. Things might get a little bumpy for a bit."

 

Corio turned from the girl with a big grin on his face to take point at the bow of his ship. "Ta ta! I'll be back soon, my dear. The fun begins at noon, when the sun is at its highest."

 

***

Tacitus Meridius
Rancor, open water, sailing south towards Valenwood coast
12 pm

Tacitus twisted the brass fist to the right, screwing it into place on his gauntlet. It was high time he broke out the enchanted attachment, and what better time than the largest raid undertaken by the Imperial navy. He ran a wet cloth over the exterior, shining it up so that it gleamed in the soft light barely entering the cabin through the windows on either side. High noon made his cabin darker than usual, and the glass covered lamps gave of little light.

He rose, slipping his scabbard and belt on over his pants, so that it hung at a cockeyed angle towards his left hip. He grabbed a pair of shears from his desk, snipping off half his beard in one go, it now hanging to chest level instead of abdomen. It was choppy and uneven, but he didn't care. His facial hair would be soaked with blood by the time the battle ended, anyway. He would get Silana to trim it properly when he returned to port.

He brushed the extra hair off his black trousers and white shirt, before slipping on his black vest which he left unbuttoned. The admiral exited his cabin, into the searing light of the noonday sun, hanging overhead like conjured mage light of the harshest kind. The thumping of the war drums surge along with the boat, as the rowed pushed and pulled the dromon forward towards the east. He had taken the ships out to sea, then swung around back towards land so they intercepted the Thalmor convoy from the side, and not head on. Climbing the stairs to the aft castle and tiller, he noticed his first mate was already there.

"Vulpin. Quartermaster get the arms handed out?" he asked.

 

Vulpin saluted the Admiral. "He's handed them out to the assigned boarders. He also has some extra weapons out in case we need to call the rowers to arms."

 

Tacitus returned with a sloppy salute, then moved to stand by the first mate.

"Good. Will you be boarding with us?" Tacitus asked, as he pulled out his spyglass and brought it to his eye, peering at the horizon with practiced intensity.

 

"No. I'll stay back and make sure we're not caught off guard."

 

Tacitus grumbled but didn't reply. More elves for me was his thinking. They sailed along in silence, nothing but the beating of the war drum and crashing of the waves making a noise. The admiral eventually took over the tiller when the lookout cried "Ships ahead!" His broken visage cracked with a smile, and the tune of a sea shanty hummed from his throat. It rose and fell, like the ship gliding across the waves. Finally, when he was happy with their angle of intercept, he have the rudder back to the tillersman.

"Right. Let's signal Abecean Bull and Swarthy Maiden to cut the ships off from the north. Head-hunter and Jack-of-All-Trades will go to the south, cutting off the retreat. Black Moon and Monstrosity will go with us. Get those oars moving!" Tacitus barked out, men scrambling to fulfill the orders. He raised the spyglass again, scanning the two ships. They sailed with another two ship escort, but besides that seemed to be alone, with not another sail visible in any direction. It seemed suspicious, but maybe the Thalmor had counted on them sneaking by and not needing a larger escort.

 

"Oh my... they've brought quite a bit of ships, haven't they?" said Corio, standing beneath silken sheets held up above his head by dominion soldiers to protect him from the sun. Looking through his spyglass, Corio watched the ships moving in, seeking his pet project, High Admiral Tacitus. "Where are you, my Admiral? Where... ahh... I see you." Corio was uncertain if Tacitus could make him out, but he waved a hand at him anyway.

 

Tacitus was scanning the aft castles of each ship, his gaze stopping on the strange formation of soldiers holding up what looked to be a sail, until he realized it was meant to block the sun's rays. Beneath it stood a figure who also bore a spyglass, his off hand moving frantically. Tacitus looked up from his glass, rubbing his right eye before refocusing on the target. The elf was waving at him, or the ships, but why he hadn't a clue.

What in the hell... he thought, until he realized who the Altmer was. Same thin white hair, same arrogantly perfect beard. He spat off to his side, a disgusted grimace forming as he looked at his former torturer. Why are you here? How did you know I'd be coming?

Tacitus turned to Amadus, gritting his teeth in hopes the anger and fear in his voice wouldn't show. "We need to be careful. I think...I think we may be sailing into a trap."

 

***

"Sir, what are we going to do? It's still not noon yet. Not for another ten minutes. In order for us to have the destructive power we need to counter all these ships, it must be noon!"

 

Corio backhanded the wood-elf barking facts at him, and said, "Lower your voice, coward. We are the dominion. We can outrun their ships long enough for us to counter. Retreat west. Slip through them. Signal the Precipice. Let them know what we're doing. If the humans try to cut us off, have the Precipice ram them. There will be no failure today. They reached us sooner than expected, but I have planned for all scenarios. All end in our victory."

 

***

Tacitus watched as the Dominion ships turned towards his vessel, stopping just short of straight at him, their prows aimed at the spot vacated by Abecean Bull and Swarthy Maiden. They meant to slip through the net he was casting, but why he didn't know. All that would do is assure they got caught, of by them a short window of time. But why forsake safety of the shore for a diminutive period of time?

"Call back the ships, and move us into intercept position. We will not let them slip through."

 

***

 

Corio was indeed confident, but he couldn't keep his hands from shaking. Was it fear? Maybe. He knew what would happen if they screwed up and were caught by the humans. Tacitus would do horrible things to him. His death would not come swiftly. But more than likely, it was excitement. Being out in the field again, commanding ships. And of course, his first military victory as the Royal General. For too long, he'd suffered defeat by the hands of men. Today would be his day. Though he was cutting things close....

 

Placing a finger to his throat, Corio cast an alteration spell to carry his voice around the deck. "Battlestations, everyone! Archers, Battlemages, be ready to fight when they come in range!"

 

***

Tacitus watched elves like ants scramble aboard the ships, the figures growing larger and larger as they neared each other. The group he'd sent north was now heading southwest, Tacitus heading northeast, and the third group swinging around to come up behind the Thalmor ships.

"Arm yourselves men! Archers and mages at the ready, boarders near the ram. I want boots on their ship the second we collide!" Tacitus watched his own men scramble around, wondering what it was the general had in mind.

The ships grew closer and closer, the net closing around like an expert fisherman. But Tacitus couldn't shake the uneasiness he felt, the butterflies extra active in his stomach. Old Tacitus might have back off the ships, seen what their play was. Not this one, though. What better way to discover the trap then to spring it.

 

Arrows began to fly, and lighting began to arc as the ships finally reached killing distance. Arrows riddled the Dawn's Shadow, as the Dominion troops, surrounded on several sides, did their best simply to avoid injury, let alone fire back. An Imperial ship came almost close enough to ramming the tip of the Dawn's Shadow, but as Corio ordered, the Precipice made a hard turn to its left, slamming directly into the Imperial boat's middle.

 

Corio sidestepped an arrow that struck one of his sheet holders instead of him as he watched the crew of the Precipice prepare to defend themselves. "Oh dear. I guess I better contact the First Dawn now. The Imperial ships are far enough in the open now. Hold down the fort while I'm gone, men." As Corio left, his men barely heard what he said amongst all the panicked shouting and death screams. By now, most had thought their Royal General mad, and merely brought them here to die.

 

Back in his quarters, Corio said, "Ophelia? Ophelia, wake up! How in the gods' name do you sleep with all this noise?"

 

"Mmm, like a khajiit on a lazy afternoon, m'lord. What is it?"

 

"Bring me the Dreamsleeve transcriptions. It's time I contact the First Dawn." After Ophelia brought him a scroll, Corio unraveled it, revealing a glowing rune in its center with words constantly scrolling over them. Sitting in the center of his Cabin, Corio cast a spell upon himself, then closed his eyes as if sleeping, or meditating.

 

By secret glyph: dreamsleeve transmission
Dreamsleeve: urgent, security protocols granted
Security protocols: Aldmeri Ancestral Phoenix Wards

 

Dawn's Shadow to First Dawn. It is Noon on Nirn and time for you to descend. Incoming co-ordinance....

 

Lat: 31° 13' 24.402"
Long: -52° 12' 25.3116"

 

........

........

 

First Dawn to Dawn's Shadow.... transcription received.... downloading.... accessing.... locked. First Dawn's landing incoming....

 

***

 

Monstrosity surged forward, it's ram embedding itself deep into the Thalmor ship Corio commanded. Imperial soldiers leapt from deck onto the enemy vessel, storming aboard and engaging the enemy in brutal close quarters combat. Black Moon rammed another enemy boat, but another came alongside it and was raining arrows and fire upon it. Swarthy Maiden, meanwhile, was nearly split in half by a Dominion ship, but it seemed the Imperials were abandoning her and swarming aboard the ship that attacked them, in hopes of taking it over.

Everywhere, men died and arrows fell and fireballs and lightning bolts and icicles exploded, crackled, and impaled sailors. But Tacitus' ship was stopped, nearly dead in the water. He hadn't realized it, but his hand was up, signaling to stop. His gut feeling something was wrong had intensified, and he had subconsciously ordered his men to cease their rowing.

 

***

 

"Ahhh!"

 

"I told you to hold on to something, didn't I?"

 

"The Imperials! They're on the ship!" Ophelia yelled, circling around the cabin, wondering where she could hide.

 

Corio snickered to himself, watching the poor brainwashed girl fearful for her life for absolutely no reason. If the Imperials did succeed, she'd be free. Problem was, she didn't even realize she was in captivity. Closing his eyes, Corio said, "Don't worry, First Dawn will be here soon."

 

"But when? We're already being taken over!"

 

"Wait for it..." Suddenly a charge filled the air, like static, along with a low hum coming from nowhere in particular. At first, Ophelia thought she was imagining it, until the hairs at the back of her neck stood as well.

 

Corio felt his hairs stand up also. That was when he stood and said, "Now."

 

Outside, the battlefield at sea took a drastic change. The sun seemed to grow even brighter until a beam of light shot down from it into the sea. Suddenly, a great formation of light lay before them. It's only indication of it being a ship was the stupidly large rectangular sails it had, stretching far with thousands of names written in the blazing white fabric. The 'ship' gave off an almost infuriating mind numbing sound that radiated with power. If the ship's light was not so luminous, one could see the waters around it moving away, as the entire ship shook with the energy it contained. Even the crew of the Dominion was disoriented as it descended from the skies almost instantly. 

 

Before the other ships had time to respond, the crew aboard the Sunbird First dawn began repositioning the mirrors that sat at their top deck, until a great beam of magical energy shot from their vessel into the Imperial ship Monstrosity to remove the enemy from the vessel of the Royal General.

 

Tacitus watched as the Monstrosity fragmented into thousands of splinters, the poor souls still onboard cooked from the intense rays, until they exploded like sausages left too long over a fire. A fine mist of blood and wood particles rained down aboard the Rancor, and Tacitus watched his ship run red with the blood of the Monstrosity'ssailors.

"Get us out of here now! Take up oars, full reverse, then turn us around. Signal the other ships to back off, and head back to Anvil. Full retreat, full retreat!" Tacitus yelled, trying to hide the panic from his voice.

Amadus grabbed his war horn, letting out a quick and loud blast, followed by another, signaling the retreat.

The sunbird turned is deadly gaze next to the Abecean Bull, which was bravely heading straight for the magical ship.

"No," Tacitus mouthed, as two magical beams plowed through the decks of the ship, again cooking the men and again throwing up that bloody rain. Men that weren't cooked entirely screamed from the burns, the salt water of the ocean multiplying their agony tenfold. Jack-of-All-Trades and Head-Hunter, which had not yet caught up with the main battle, hastily turned around, forsaking their brethren just as Tacitus was doing. It was all they could do, against this threat which disintegrated ships and fried men like meat.

 

The sounds of battle lingered, as the Imperial soldiers who boarded their ship still remained and fought desperately to take as many Dominion forces as they could out with them. There were men lost at sea, drifting on wood or desperately trying to swim away, but even they were not safe. The First Dawn quickly aimed their massive mirrors down towards the sea and watched as the sea was eventually brought to a boil, cooking everything in it alive.

 

Corio did not leave his cabin to see any of it, however. Instead, he quickly cast another spell upon himself, glowing in dark blue magics as he sat back down in his position from before.

 

By secret glyph: dreamsleeve transmission
Dreamsleeve: urgent, security protocols granted
Security protocols: Aldmeri Ancestral Phoenix Wards

 

Dawn's Shadow to First Dawn. You have a small window of which First Dawn can hold such immense destructive power to hold a decisive inevitable win. Quickly, star jump again and cut off what ships you can. Kill them all, if possible.

 

Outside, the Sunbird later disappeared into the sky as quickly as it had arrived. It took some time to do so, however. A moment later, the Sunbird descended again amongst the retreating Imperial ships, Jack-of-All-Trades and Head-Hunter.

 

Both ships were immediately shot with the magical energy beams, but they seemed to be at less strength than before. Men still screamed from the painful heat of the weapons, but there was no cooking or exploding ships. But, with hole punched all the way through to the ocean, the end result was the same. Lost, will all hands on deck. Swarthy Maiden, rammed earlier, was sinking as well, and Black Moon was being boarded, it's sailors still fighting but up against odds in which they couldn't win. That left only Rancor, which turned as hard as she could, heading due north, away from the eastbound wrecks of Hunter and Jack.

"If it disappears again, I want us to bank hard starboard, back to the east. Hopefully it can't maneuver while it teleports," Tacitus said, turning and aiming his spyglass at the glowing, magical ship, that looked to be made out of wards, in the shape of a ship. Stunning, deadly, powerful beyond reckoning.

Tacitus knew then there would be no more raiding. Not while the Thalmor willingly deployed that thing. But, to draw out their most powerful weapon meant they were scared, frightened by what Tacitus had done. And that made it all worth it.

 

Unfortunately for the Thalmor, two jumps in quick succession was all the ship's crystal-engine could manage in a short period of time. Any more and the First Dawn could be stranded in Aetherius, or simply disintegrate under the massive energy it exposed itself to altogether. But the destruction it caused was enough for now already.

 

Corio finally stepped out of his cabin with his mistress behind him, spyglass out and scanning the horizon. The First Dawn's shine made it difficult, but he could just barely make out Tacitus' vessel. "Hmph, looks like I'll have to write that dossier after all...."

 

Tacitus turned his spyglass at Altmer ships, but they were one. He then turned and spat, and looked at his first mate.

"We need to get back to the capital. I think our raiding days are over, and there's a mage there that needs to hear about this attack. I'll let you take us home," he said, unscrewing his Dwarven brass fist as he descended the stairs. It was all over now. Until the real war started, it was all over.

 

"Aye, Captain." Amadus said and having a look mixed of surprise, fright and bewilderment. "How do you think they will take the news?"

 

"I don't know, and frankly don't care. For us to escape with our lives is fortunate enough, and I'll take my chances with an angry Empress over death any day," Tacitus said as he looked out over his blood covered deck.

"Get those lazy sea rats to swap the deck. I'll not have us come into port looking like a butcher's shop."

 

"Aye, sir. But I'd wager there goes our extra funding." he said before barking out orders to those left on the ship, and not manning the oars, to start swabbing away the blood and gore.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Stalks-Deep-Waters

 

They found the shaman (or tree-minders as they were also sometimes called in Black Marsh) just outside the village. Hidden behind some trees with the branches, lush with leafs, hanged like veins. Making them look like green curtains. There behind the curtains was the largest tree in the area. The tribe's Hist tree. It wasn't that much taller than the other trees. But the trunk was thick, so to a degree it looked bloated. Especially at the bottom. Making the tree trunk take on an almost cone shaped form. It's roots thick and strong. So much so that the roots even held up the body of the tree from the ground. Just enough to walk if one crouched down low enough, but plenty of room if one instead decided to crawl on all fours. There in the middle under the Hist were a couple of eggs. Lying on a mattress of thick, soft moss. And from the ceiling (or the bottom of the tree trunk) slowly dropped a golden, thick liquid down on the moss that soaked it up like a sponge. And because of this the moss had a more golden than green color. 

Sitting by one of the tree's roots was Sleeps-With-Trees. The shaman had the top of half of a crocodile skull on the top of his head. Almost like a helmet. With the eye sockets of the skull sitting right over his eyes. And the nose was also gone so the skull was just as long the shaman's head. The rest of his body was dressed in a leather armor made from the scales that Stalks presumed to be from the same crocodile who's skull adorned the shaman's head. As well as various teeth tightly strapped to his arms and chest. And with a good couple of inches between each tooth as to not make any noise when he moved. In the lap was a also a spear. Slightly longer and quite sturdier than Stalks' spear. With only having a tip at one end of the spear (instead of one at both ends as Stalks'). As well as a large barbed blade sticking out in an almost hook like fashion just below the tip. 

As Stalks and his father approached the shaman, they could see that the shaman had his eyes closed and gave off a light snore. Which in a way wasn't so surprising given the shaman's name. Stalks had always wondered if the snore was just an act. As he had once in his young childhood tried to sneak past the shaman, when he had been sitting up against a root and snoring just like he did now. Stalks had just wanted to look at the eggs. But as soon as he had let the shaman out of sight, the snoring had stopped and before he knew it he was dangling upside down with the shaman holding him up by the tail with only one hand.

That was also the first time he had really spoken with the shaman in person. Sleeps-With-Trees proved to be much less harsher than Stalks had expected. Instead of scolding him, the shaman had spoken in calm tone and explained that the eggs was not to be disturbed. He also answered any questions Stalks had about the eggs and the Hist. Albeit after he had put down Stalks back on the ground. Stalks and Sleeps had kept up a rather friendly relationship ever since then. 

 

Now as they stood before the snoring shaman, they both waited to see if the shaman would wake up on his own or if they would have to say something to wake him up. 

"Are you going to leave a crippled man waiting?" Stalks' father said after a long moment of awkward silence. 

 

"Yes." the shaman mumbled sleepily. And continued to snore.

 

"Can you at least wake up to examine my son."

 

The snoring stopped and the eyes opened. "For what? As I have told you before. He was hatched here. Drank the sap from this very tree. He's not going to lose the connection for being far, far away for a couple of years. And even then he still has his little keepsake of Hist sap. Or had. As he have probably tried to commune with the trees in whatever faraway land he was in. If I'm not mistaken."

 

"How?" was all Stalks could say in great surprise. 

 

"The Hist, boy." the shaman raised his left hand and patted the root behind him. "Oh, and I can also see that the pouch I gave you is empty." he then pointed at the shriveled flat pouch at Stalks belt. 

 

"Well can you refill it?" Stalks loosened the pouch from his belt and threw it to the shaman. 

 

"I can, but that will take time." the shaman replied as he caught the little sack. "Now if you excuse me, I want to get back to my nap."

 

"Come on. Lets go father." Stalks said as he was about to turn around and leave. Though he stopped when he saw that his father just stood there, disappointed and slightly frustrated as he stared at the shaman. Then up at the Hist tree. 

 

"Guess he's right then. Alright lets go." he said and began turning around (which went a little slowly with only one leg and a crutch) and walk with Stalks back to the village. "And why don't you tell me a little of your adventures." 

 

"Well the first few years was rather slim. Those elves and humans are not prone to hire us people of the root. Cyrodiil was a bit more interesting this time around. But with the Thalmor it was a nightmare getting a job. Most mercenary work was given out by them and they preferred hiring their own pointy eared kind. 

 

Only passed through Hammerfell this time around." Stalks didn't need to tell his father where these provinces lied as he had given his father and mother a map of Tamriel last time he had visited. "Took a job as a caravan guard for some merchant on their way to High Rock.

 

High Rock was a rather cold place. But the constant feuding of the nobles made it a ripe place for someone of my profession. Though most of the jobs were either bounty hunting, which often wasn't that exciting, or just guarding something. Be it a mining storehouse or a small caravan. Best jobs were when I was tasked with attacking some other noble's hired swords. Though those jobs were few. I was once even part of a raiding party. We were told to steal back some cattle that some other neighboring noble supposedly had stolen. I don't know who stole those cows first. And truth be told; I don't care."

 

"What's a cow?" Stalks father interrupted. 

 

"Like some weird bloated horse. Your remember I what I told you about horses?" at which his father just nodded. "And they got a big bladder sticking out of their stomach. Apparently that is the milk breast. And it has four nipples that stick out like sticks. They are domestic and the humans use them as a source of food."

 

"Odd creatures. Anyway, continue with your story."

 

"So the raid went almost perfectly. We went in and killed a couple of guards. But when we were on our way back with the cattle. We walked right into an ambush. They were waiting on the road back. And had a couple of archer up on a cliff by the road. Apparently they had expected us. The leader of the ambush party wanted us to lay down our arms and come with them quietly. Apparently they wanted us to testify against our employer. I didn't want to lose my weapons or the pay. And the other didn't really want to either. So while our leader and their leader argued back and forth of why and why not we should surrender, and seeing as I no one minded me; I turned invisible. With a potion. So don't give me that look.

Anyway, I sneaked behind the enemy and up the cliff. There I managed to push one of the archers down and then stab the other before he could react to my presence. And with the archers gone we actually had a fighting chance of getting out of there. Not that I had given us much choice by taking out the archers. Soon the enemy routed and we managed to return with the cattle. Although we had lost almost half our numbers. And the others were a bit angry at me for just taking out the archers without a warning. Though they were also happy enough that they could get the job done. So I think it evened out. 

 

And later when I traveled to Skyrim in hope to find any good jobs due to any instability the wars would have left in it's wake. That land was really cold. High Rock may have been cold but Skyrim is even worse. So there I was in the wake of a war torn land. Bandits and bounties aplenty. But then as the northerners began to recuperate and patrols began to increase, the jobs also began to steadily decrease. Headed east to maybe try my luck at joining an Argonian raiding party In Morrowind. Though on the way when I stopped to check for jobs in Skyrim's new capital, I got a bounty on some Dunmer woman. And that proved to be the biggest adventure I've had so far." Stalks then told about how he had found the Dunmer woman and how she proved that the stories they had heard as young weren't that exaggerated. About the chase west and Companions. The werewolf in The Reach and how the Companions had sold him out as a spy. His escape and how he eventually caught up with the mercenaries and then how he in the end managed to slay the wicked dark elf. And the strange armor he had looted off her. "Then after having sold what I didn't want and what I could of her belongings, I cashed in on the bounty and headed straight back home. Only notable thing on the way being a spooky town off the road, with a ridiculous amount of fog."

 

"I'm sure the others will want to hear about some of your adventures as well. Though you might want to tone down some of the more life threatening parts when your mother is around."

 

"Yeah, you're probably right about that."

 

When they reached the beach, they were about to sit down and fish with the elders, when they saw that Shocky was up and about and with Stalks' cousin standing next the wamasu. She was attaching leather straps around his stomach, which would work as a primitive saddle. And a large quiver filled with four javelins at the front left leg. Stalks never seized to be amazed that she could get all that onto Shocky, even less ride the great lightning drake. He had himself tried riding Shocky once. He only came up on the great lizard after many failed attempts. Where he was getting shocked as soon as he tried putting one leg over the wamasu's back. Then when he finally managed to get into position (without getting electrocuted off), Shocky gave him a quick ride that ended when Shocky made a sharp turn; throwing Stalks right into a tree. And ever since then he (and everyone else) had let his cousin take care of any riding of Shocky. 

After she had mounted Shocky and the two began to walk past the line of fishermen on the beach, all staring at the sight of the Argonian riding the lightning drake, she stopped when she saw that Stalks sat there next to his father at the end of the beach. 

"Look who's here?" she said half sarcastically and half joyfully.

 

"Hello to you too." Stalks replied. "So where are you two off to?"

 

"To the marshes to the east. One of our hunters said they saw something big in the distance near there. We think it might be a young swamp leviathan. I'm going to take Shocky here to investigate. We don't want anything like that encroaching on our hunting and fishing grounds, now do we?" 

 

"No we don't." was all Stalks said. She had always had a bit of an attitude. But Stalks knew better than to argue. It would be better to talk with her later when she wasn't busy. 

 

"Good. I'll probably be back before nightfall. Don't wait up if I don't. Bye." she said and she Shocky set off to the east.

 

"Well I'm going to see if I can't have some peace and quite instead. Now did you people loot all the new fishing rods from the pile?" 

 

*******

 

Stalks stayed for two and a half weeks in the village. Sharing stories and catching up with old friends and relatives. It was mostly a quiet time. As quiet as it could be in Black Marsh that is. There were still the occasional predator. But dealing with those things were routine for the Argonians. 

And when Stalks set off back into lands beyond the swamps and marshes he knew, he felt both a little bit sad to leave. But the call of the road and what might await around the next corner was for him irresistible. 

Once he was out of Black Marsh and back on the same paved path of the Yellow Road. He turned south. Towards Leyawiin. He still had that odd note with the coordinates for his next job. But the only thing he had was a simple map over Tamriel on a durable piece of cloth. He'd have to get a more advanced map in Leyawiin. And some supplies. Though there was the problem that he was broke now that he had spent every coin on the things he had brought back to his tribe. But he still had those two amulets that he could sell. He had his doubts that the iron amulet from the crazy Dunmer would sell. But the delicate one in silver was something he was assured could get him a hefty sum of Septims. 

 

Leyawiin proved to be somewhat peaceful as a whole, but rather tense in the corners. Something about a mass execution that had taken place some time ago, painting the streets red with Khajiit blood. Stalks tried to not pay it any mind. What happened to the cats wasn't his business, not that he cared for any them anyway. 

He managed to sell the silver amulet to a traveling merchant in the market for a good sum of coin. Which he then used to buy himself a proper map and some food and alchemical supplies. And still have a some change left. But he still couldn't find anyone who wanted to buy the weird iron amulet. 

 

He left through the east gate and headed north. He considered heading through Eslweyr, but he had little to no information on how things were there. And he didn't really trust the cat people. So his plan was to make it up north and stay in Cyrodiil for the time being, pass the Imperial City and to Skingrad. There he would head southwest towards the Strid River. Once there he would swim over in the cover of dark. And from there he would have a relatively short travel distance towards these coordinates. If the map he had bought was correct. 

 

The trip seemed to go smoothly till he passed the town of Water's Edge. He was just passing through when he heard an imperial woman he had just passed by scream behind him.

"That lizard stole my coin pouch!"

 

Stalks just turned calmly around to face the woman, a brown haired imperial in a simple blue dress and soft facial features. "No, I did not steal your coin pouch. I'm mercenary, not a thief." he said in a calm and polite manner.

 

"Liar!" she yelled. By now she had also caused a scene a group muscular men arrived. 

 

"Have you stolen this woman's coin?" the biggest one at the front of the group, a Nord with light brown hair and a big furry mustache, said in a rough voice. 

 

Helping the "pretty" woman from the filthy, scaly beast man I see. Stalks thought. "No I did not. And I said I am not a thief."

 

"You're a liar." the woman shouted again. "That is my money pouch you have at your belt." she said and pointed at Stalks pouch that had the leftover coin from Leyawiin. 

 

"No, this is my pouch." he said, his patience slowly wearing and the politeness in his voice with it.

 

"Just give the woman back her pouch and there wont be any trouble." the big man said. 

 

"This is my money. I earned it myself."

 

"By stealing it." the woman spat out in disdain. 

 

"Listen here, lizard. Just the give the woman back her money and me and the boys wont have to get rough with you."

 

It was obvious that talking wasn't going to get him anywhere. It was either give the woman his own money, or pull his weapon and try to fight, or simply hightail it out of there and run. There were no guards in sight. But Stalks didn't think they would even doubt the woman's accusations as well. Fighting was a possible option, but he was severely outnumbered even if the opposition only had their fists to fight with. And any bloodshed was sure to call on the guards. And giving over the money was not something he would do if possible. So that left only one really viable option. 

Stalks quickly turned around and darted through the small crowd that had gather around the scene. "Stop the lizard!" and "Stop the thief!" he heard the men and woman shouting behind him. But Stalks didn't pay them any mind and just focused on getting out of town. He followed the main street of the Green Road. The edge of town was within sight and the townspeople around him just stared in surprise when they saw the lizard being chased by the group of men. 

He got out of town and soon he would be free. The road was quite clear except for a few people with carts moving goods in and out of the city. 

"Haldir! Stop the thief!" the big Nord shouted behind Stalks. 

 

And before Stalks could really a react, a brown haired Nord moving a small cart filled with firewood tackled him. Stalks fell to ground and before he even got a chance regain his composure and the man that had tackled him locked his arms around Stalks' throat from behind. Stalks suddenly got hard to breathe and he could see in far corner of his eye that the group of men were getting closer. He knew that if they got their hands on him, it wouldn't be pleasant. He tried to wrestle out of the hold the Nord had on him. But the Nord proved a lot stronger than expected. And the more he struggled the less he could breathe. Then Stalks made a split second decision. He pulled his dagger and drove it deep into the side of the man behind him. The Nord let go of Stalks neck as he felt the dagger go deep inside of him. Stalks got up on his feet and tried to pull out the dagger. But it didn't really move. Then he remembered that this wasn't his old dagger and that this dagger had barbs on one side of the blade. He tried again with more force and this time it came out. Along with the flesh and innards the barbs had sunk it's teeth into. Leaving a big gaping hole in the side of the man. 

The group of men and everyone else on the road just stared at the display. All paralyzed like statues as they saw Stalks shake off the meat slabs from his dagger and the man on the ground; bleeding from his large wound and forming an ever increasing larger red puddle. 

Stalks didn't feel like waiting around for the people to regain their composure. So he ran. Behind him he heard a great cry of anguish and fury. It was the Nord leader. Apparently the man Stalks had just killed been a relative or close friend to him judging by his reaction. Stalks only gave a quick look over his shoulder to see that the group had taken up the chase once more. The big Nord was picking up pace and ran even faster than before. Stalks kept running with the men in tow. They ran and they ran. And whenever Stalks thought he was going to lose them, they managed to pick up pace just enough to stay on his heels. It seemed like it would be a competition of endurance rather than speed. 

 

Then some time later; further up along the road Stalks saw a small patrol of legionaries marching in his direction. And when the big Nord behind him saw them too he began to shout at the top of his lungs: "Stop the murderer! Stop the lizard! Stop the murder!"

 

This day wasn't going Stalks' favor. And he still had the bloody dagger in hand. But he had at least a little luck as the patrol was still too far away to really hear what the man chasing Stalks was shouting. Stalks then steered left, into the woods, before the legionaries could make out what was shouted. But soon after he had gotten into the forest, he could hear the the heavy footsteps of the legionaries far behind him. 

And so the chase continued from the paved road and into green woods. The sky was growing darker and the shadows longer as the sun was reaching the horizon. The lungs began to hurt and the legs felt tender and weak. Stalks didn't know if the big Nord was still on his trail but he knew the legionaries were. And they were catching up on him. He could see glimpses of them in the distance among the trees and he was sure they could do the same with him as they headed straight for him.

Stalks knew that he wouldn't be able to keep up the chase for long. He had to hide. Soon he came a to small clearing. And in the clearing was a large statue of some man with in pompous clothing, a big goatee and holding a cane. Behind the statue was just a tall and steep cliff. Stalks looked over his shoulder but couldn't see the legionaries. But he could hear them. He could keep running but his legs felt like they would collapse at any second. So he mustered what little energy he could and ran towards the statue. He ran around it and past a big rock next to the pedestal, then fell more than sat down, with his back up against the pedestal. Now behind the statue and the rock he could hear, but not see, the legionnaires enter the clearing. They argued a little over where he had gone. Then he heard them split up. One group heading north while another heading south. Stalks listened to the footsteps as they disappeared in the distance with a great relief. He was so tired. And he suddenly also felt quite sleepy. The eyelids grew heavier and heavier. With the legionnaires gone he felt he could afford himself at least a little nap before he continued. So he closed his eyes and let sleep take him. 

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Gracchus Ceno
Imperial City
Morning

Gracchus approached the head librarian of the office of records, smiling as he did.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but can you explain to me the process for revising a record?" he asked.

"Someone approaches us requesting a revision, and we verify it through two primary sources. If none exist, we go to secondary sources. Then, our scribes insert the revised passage," the bookish Nord woman said.

"Can anyone request the change, or do they have to be of a certain rank?" Gracchus asked.

"The rank doesn't matter, as long as the sources back up the claim. But we rarely have someone outside the palace request revisions," she said.

"Okay, thank you. Can you pull up the most recently updated report on myself?" he asked.

Thirty minutes passed since Gracchus requested his record, and still he stood waiting. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the counter of the palace's records office, the librarian turning around from the wall of scrolls, her expression chiding him for the annoying sound.

"I understand you're in a hurry, High General, but I can only search so quickly. But I've found them, so you can cease that obnoxious tapping," she said, handing him the scroll.

Gracchus unfurled it, and sure enough there was mention of events that hadn't happened, just as Skjari said.

"May I ask who wrote this passage hear?" he asked.

The woman turned the scroll back towards her, peering down through aged, but spotless spectacles at the handwriting.

"Ah, that would be Procyon Truptor. The swell on his lowercase "h's" gives it away. You may speak to him, if you wish. Just follow the hall, and it's the final door on the right," she said, pointing with a bony finger at the hallway, eager to have his passive aggressive impatience gone.

Procyon was at a desk in the corner, scribbling away at the parchment. Gracchus was standing over the long haired Colovian, but the man didn't seem care as to what went on around him. Finally, Gracchus had to tap him on the shoulder, after several attempts at gaining his attention via throat clearing failed.

"Can I help you?" Procyon asked, aghast his work was being interrupted.

"You wrote this passage, correct?" Gracchus handed him the scroll, pointing to the revised part at the bottom. "Who requested you edit it?"

"I don't know. He didn't seem important, just a regular man," the scribe said, turning back to his work and starting again.

Gracchus placed his hand on the man's shoulder, slowly turning him back around.

"No, you don't get to go back to work. Not until you've answered my question. Who was the man who requested the change?" the general said.

"Tappius, I think. I don't know the last name, I swear," Procyon said.

"Who were his sources?" Gracchus asked, letting go of the man's shoulder now that he had his full attention.

"Two soldiers, Cobus Liore and Stlubo Saccus. Here in the city, I think. Maybe, seventh legion? Or was it sixth?" the man offered, hoping the general would leave.

"Thank you. I apologize for the interruption but I don't like my time being wasted."

Gracchus left, shaking his head. He disliked this whole endeavor, hated it in his bones. He'd put off trying to find who altered his record for as long as he could, because he didn't want this person to distract him from his real work. But, he knew he had to address it sometime, and two cancelled meetings and rain caused flooding preventing Valvius' trebuchet test later he had a free afternoon. So, he had trudged up to the Office of Records and started his inquiry, one that was going surprisingly well so far.

Now he walked down those selfsame steps, this time headed back to his office. He smiled and nodded greeting to the Breton ambassador as they passed in the hallway, but otherwise his trip was a lonely one. Gracchus reached his office and went straight to digging for a book which held the names of all the soldiers in the sixth legion.

The large leather bound tome plopped on his desk as he set it down, and he used a rag to clean off the dust. It smelled of mothballs and again leather, but it was sturdy and the pages not yet fraying. He flipped it open, searching for the last names of the two sources. Surprisingly, he couldn't find them. They either didn't exist, or weren't in the Sixth Legion. Gracchus sat down, stroking his beard and thinking.

His initial thought was they used fake names, but the record keepers were thorough in identifying the sources, always double and triple checking them. So that also ruled out them not being soldiers at all. He grabbed the tome and slid it back in its place on the shelf, knocking off a few papers as he did. He set them back on his desk, but kept the copy of the Black Horse Courier that had fallen. The first article was about his meeting with the Elder Council. He chuckled when he read how easily defeated his motion was to bring Tullius' former legion, the Fourth, back into existence. Talk about a failure.

It was then he realized just who those men where. Tullius' former men, assimilated into the Sixth Legion. That's why they hadn't been in the book, because it hadn't been updated. Clearly whoever was behind this had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure Gracchus would be hard pressed finding any leads. He spun around and opened up the closet in his office, shuffling through things left behind when Tullius died. Buried beneath old shot glass and a decorative knife/letter opener, was the Fourth Legion's own enlistment book.

Gracchus flipped through its dirty pages, until he found the two men he was looking for. Sure enough, they were part of the Fourth Legion, but now must be in the Sixth. He closed it and left it on his desk, not even bothering to close the closet door in his rush to leave.

Forsaking his coat because of the rush, he stepped out into the rain and set out for western gate, outside which his men were camped. He mounted Lil Ceno at the stables near the gate, although the horse didn't seem pleased at being ridden in the rain, and he loafed along so as to make sure Gracchus got wet, apt punishment for taking his horse out in miserable weather.

The land around the camp was soaked, the exposed dirt morphing into a Black Marsh bog from the downpour. His mount flung up mud with each step, men clearing out of the way to avoid getting clods slung in their faces. A legate can running up to greet him, smiling and going on about the marching exercises and weapons training, which would regularly please the High General, but currently he didn't care about anything the man said.

Cutting him off, he asked, "Where are Cobus Liore and Stlubo Saccus?"

The legate seemed confused, before realizing what the general was asking. "Uh, I'll lead you to them, sir. They share a tent, over here."

The legate trudged through the mud, his boots making a sucking sound with each step, as the earth seemed to try and eat them before finally spitting them up. Gracchus smiled and saluted the soldiers he passed, but his usually cheery mood was drained out of him, washed away by the torrential rain. The tent they reached looked like all the others, although several voices could be heard inside. Gracchus dismounted and handed the reins to the officer, who also held the tent flap open for the High General. Inside, a card game was going on, the pot in the middle quite large.

The soldiers looked up with mild disgust, wondering who it was that could be letting in the rain. The sight of the gleaming gold and red armor, however, snapped their attention away from the cards, as they all tripped and stomped over each other in effort to stand and salute.

"Which two of you are Cobus Liore and Stlubo Saccus?" he asked, voice assertive and commanding.

Two men stepped forward, one of them hastily dropping the cards he hadn't realize were still in the clutches of his saluting hand. Both looked pale and nervous, which they had every right to be. He looked them over, but showed outward disgust or contempt.

"Follow me," he said, then left and remounted, riding off towards the legate's tent with the legate himself and the two soldiers in tow. The marched quietly, the whole procession looking like a funeral train.

Gracchus jumped of his horse with dexterity missing in most men his age, then walked into the legate's tent. It looked like Gracchus' had in Skyrim, the memories flooding back to him like the rain outside flooded the ground.

"Who paid you to lie to the Office of Record's scribe?" he asked.

The two soldiers almost certainly knew why they had been pulled out of their tent for, but it didn't stop them from lying.

"I don't know what yo-" Cobus started, until Gracchus harshly snapped, "If I hear another lie come from your mouth I will burn you where you stand, on grounds of treason and accepting bribes. Who paid you."

Stlubo, clearly the smarter of the two, said, "Tappius Duronia. He approached us at the Laughing Fox a month ago, saying all we had to do was lie to the scribe and there wasn't a chance at being caught. The coin was so good, and-"

Cobus socked his friend in the gut, cutting his words off as a rush of air replaced them. Gracchus flicked his wrist, the telekinesis spell sending the paperweight straight into the attacker's forehead. The first thump was the iron weight colliding with his face, the next was his face colliding with the floorboards, blood seeping out in a puddle where his nose mostly assuredly broke.

"Legate, have these men given two hundred lashes. And then, have them thank the gods I'm generous. What you did was heinous, and men have been locked up for less. But we need soldiers, and hopefully this will be a lesson to all the soldiers here that no coin ever comes without a price, no matter how good the deal sounds," Gracchus said, walking past the two conscious men and the body and back out into the rain, which was beginning to subside.

A quick appraisal of the clouds with a scrutinizing glare, and he surmised that it would probably rain all day, even if the worst was over. Hopefully his investigation would follow the same route, the worst being over.

He mounted up quickly, then sent his heels into Lil Ceno and they took off, sprinting towards the tavern Gracchus knew so well. Apparently, whoever was doing this had a sense of humor, that or this was an outstanding coincidence. He suspected the former, which made him even more perturbed that he was traipsing around all over the city for the perpetrator. Now he knew how Lilly felt looking for that murderer. His arrival at the Fox saw the improvement of his mood, if only slightly. It had stopped raining, but not before he was thoroughly soaked to the bone. He was about to cast off his approximation it would at least drizzle all day, until a droplet hit his shoulder as he swung the door open.

The inside was nice and warm, a good reprieve from the dampness of the clothes beneath his armor. Patrons glanced up from their conversations, many regulars that greeted the general with friendly smiles and neighborly waves. He returned them, although his weren't near as genuine. This whole business still soured his mood, just like his underclothes would sour if he didn't change soon. But he wanted it over by today, so he didn't have much choice but to stay wet.

Ena greeted him, saying "Stables by the main gate," in reference to his decidedly horse-y smell and long face.

"Actually, I need to ask you, do you know a man by the name of Tappius Duronia? Is he a regular?"

"Yeah, I guess so. He comes by bout twice a week, usually with a revolving set of drinking mates," she replied.

"Do you know where I can find him?" he asked.

"He just left, right after you walked in. He's tall, a skinny fellow with knappy black hair and yellow teeth that'll curl your toes," she said, but Gracchus was already sprinting towards the door.

Outside, the misting continued, so the streets were uncharacteristically empty. Gracchus spotted Tappius, who was snaking in and out of the crowd at a jog. The General approached two guards, gave them the man's description, before they took off at a run after him. Once them realized he was being chased, he too upped his pace, but he'd either had too much to drink, was tripped, or slipped on the wet stone, because he fell into a food vendor's stall, sending vegetables and fruits flying in the air. He tried to get up, but his hand had penetrated a melon, and he slipped again. The guards gripped him by either arm, hauling him to his feet and dragging him into a nearby alley.

"Why did you lay those soldier to lie to the records office? Why did you ask for the revision?" he asked, as the man sat sulking on the wet, cold stone.

"Don't know why yer talkin' bout," he said in an uneducated voice.

Gracchus looked at a guard, who nodded and promptly kicked the man's rib, sending the vagrant gasping for air. After a few seconds, he regained his composure and the wheezing stopped.

"Who are you working for?" Gracchus asked again.

"Look, he paid me five hundred septims! My job at the docks doesn't pay that much in half a year!"

Another boot greeted his excuse, this time leaving him clutching his side and coughing for several minutes. Likely, a rib or two was broken, but the High General felt no remorse. Whoever was doing this, or even just doing it for the money, was a traitor, and could have caused enormous amounts of damage to the Empire. Because if Gracchus wasn't High General, one of the other generals would have been, and none of them were near the general he was. That might have been arrogant, but it was true. Now was not the time for humility. Now was the time for action, for leading men. Softness and niceness would only get him so far.

Rasping, Tappius said, "It was an Elder Councilman, Baron or Lord or Duke something. Paur Dielle, yeah, that was it. I swear that all I knows."

Gracchus turned around, asking the guards if they would accompany him to the Talos Plaza District. The both agreed, of course, and Gracchus knew these two wouldn't slow him down like the large guard detail he generally had. It was hell convincing them to let him do this alone, but he preferred the solitude. Now, however, that he knew an Elder Councilman was behind this, he figured the added muscle couldn't hurt.

They arrived at the Baron's, as it turned out, manor, and were quickly allowed admittance. Perks of being High General, it seemed. The steward was adamant they not interrupt the Baron in his study, but the was brushed off and the three men climbed the stairs with steely resolve. Banging on the door proved fruitless, as the Baron either wouldn't open it was or was hiding, so Gracchus gripped the door knob and cast a flame spell, the metal melting away until the door swung open quietly.

Inside, the Baron was tied to a chair facing the door, thrashing about and frantically grunting. His eyes looked above the door, filled with primal fear that only threat of death can bring.

"Baron!" cried the guards, seeing him in his undignified state. They didn't notice the direction the man was looking, too shocked by the image of him tied up. The guards stepped past Gracchus, ignoring the increasingly desperate shaking of the Baron's head.

After entering the room, the first guard finally noticed something when the Baron ignored them and continued looking at the door. "What are you..." Too late.

Before they could even register what they were looking at, a blur of white exploded, and the guards, as well as the Baron, were filled with ice spikes like a volley of arrows upon an open field.

Gracchus cursed under his breath, moving towards the three men with healing spell in hand. He checked the two guards first, but found they were both dead. The Baron was as well, but Gracchus was less concerned about him than the guards, if in fact he turned out to be the perpetrator of the deception. The High General inspected the room, running through dresser and drawer and desk, finding nothing but the usual notes associated with an Elder Council member.

He was nearly done when the notion to search the body struck him, and he berated himself for not doing so sooner. The outer pockets of the pants he had held nothing, but the inside pocket of his cloak held a letter, written on weathered paper and signed only with the letter 'S'. It said for the Baron to meet the writer in the Waterfront District, to receive payment for something, at an abandoned shack near the docks.

Gracchus folded the letter and tucked it in a pouch that hung at his belt, where it found a resting place in between his house key and a few septims. He then used the Baron's cloak to clean the blood that leaked from the three men off his boots. He wouldn't normally be so rude to the deceased, but this man was almost clearly the one who framed him, even if done at the direction of the mysterious 'S'. The steward was already heading up the stairs to look into why no one had returned from the study yet, and Gracchus told him of the three men in the room. Mouth agape, the man nodded his pale head when the general told him to fetch more guards.

Gracchus left, back into the rain that leaked from sky as if the clouds were the hull of a sinking ship. The lightning was the cracks in the wood, the thunder the roar of the waves. It was towards a very real body of water that Gracchus walked, the Waterfront District on Lake Rumare his destination. Before he did, he slipped inside a shop near the dock gate, spending the septims he had on a thick woolen robe, hooded, that he slipped on over his armor. Better that as few people as possible see the High General wandering around the slums.

So it was he wandered around those slums, until it was he found the shack he suspected the letter indicated. It was a dilapidated wooden structure, the roof caving in in the far corner, rags covering the windows, and a blanket acting as the door. He swept it aside, noticing it was similar to his coat in both texture and dampness. The general cast a candlelight spell, the orb of bright bluish light hovering above him like a pale winter sun.

"Hello?" he asked.

***
"Finally... the High-General has come sniffing around our pantaloons."

"Yes, finally indeed. Humans are slow to pick up on things, but I expected better from General Gracchus Ceno."

"Don't take him lightly. Remember the dossier. We should contact the Royal General before we move into the house to kill him."

"You're right. We don't want to screw this up. Killing him will be a big win for the dominion."

***

"Well, lets get these over with, so I may rest. What's the first on the list. Ahh, yes. My pupil."

Tacitus Silus Meridius
Status: Possible Asset. Asset status dormant. Kill unless proven to be detrimental to the alliance
Description: Imperial, Age: 38, High Admiral of the Imperial Fleet

Tacitus was born in the rundown shack city of Bravil, where he was practically raised around and grew up near the water. He joined the Imperial navy after seeing approximately eighteen summers, where his father payed for him to receive the position of Master-At-Arms. This lead to his eventual rise to captain ten years later, which while not necessarily an unusual amount of time for one who performs well enough for the position in the legion, was unusual in that Tacitus was the youngest captain amongst the rest. When the war came around, Tacitus continued this pattern of quick rising of rank. Because of our insistence on sending plenty of combatants the Nord's way, Tacitus saw his promotion from Captain of his original ship to a larger ship and more responsibilities in the war after the War of the Sundered Dragon lead to the deaths of so many Imperial seamen. 

This ship was the one responsible for carrying General Gracchus' battlemages, who eventually managed to set fire to the Howling Harpy, slowing down the Nords, and our attempts at lowering Imperial capabilities. This was when the Imperial Tacitus first came to our attention. Whether for the deed of sinking High Admiral Rebec's ship, or simply because there weren't many choices left to choose from, the Imperials were once again forced to promote someone with little experience to high ranking positions, making Captain Tacitus, High Admiral Tacitus. 

This most certainly proved that despite the sinking of the Howling Harpy, our efforts indeed did bear fruit, and our campaign to make the incompetent Imperial leadership even more incompetent continued to be successful.

After the Empire unofficially declared war on the Dominion, the Admiral began leading raids on Dominion ships, which eventually lead to the attraction of a sea serpent, which destroyed the Admiral's ship and killed his crew. For a time, it was thought that the Admiral had died, until fate saw to it that he'd wind up in Elsweyr, and in our care. High Admiral Tacitus was then held in Valenwood, where he awaited the arrival of the Royal General, Corio Adorin. General Corio interrogated the prisoner, removing his arm even to finally get a name from the Admiral, which was when Corio finally realized who he had for sure. Corio, remembering the campaign to sabotage Imperial leadership released the Admiral, hoping to either create distrust amongst the navy and the White Gold Tower, or force the Imperials to once again employ a broken man, much like the unfortunate (for the Empire) results of the torture of the former Spymaster, by Baldur Red-Snow.

Since then, the Admiral began leading a campaign against Dominion ships once more, this time with more focus and ferocity rivaling even the barbaric Northmen of Skyrim. It seemed for a time that the Royal General's plan backfired. That was, until General Corio lead the Imperials into a trap with our blessed Sunbirds, bathing the Imperial ships in wondrous holy fire and light of the ancestors on high. It is General Corio's estimations that the raids will be called off, as the brutal and decisive win at sea should be more than enough to dissuade the Empire from attacking by sea any time soon. The Admiral survived the attack, but this is just as well. Now, the Empire will be even more demoralized, and faith in their High Admiral should lower even further, though not to the point of removing him altogether. 

Because of the Admiral's past torture and his failings, it is unlikely that the Empire would be willing to listen to any demands for his return. Because of this, it is not a high priority to go after this man. In fact, as things stand, we would prefer that no Justiciars or other assassins waste time pursuing him. The Royal General likes him just where he is. It is for his unique history with the Dominion that we consider him a possible dormant asset. We hope that given enough time, the Admiral will become as detrimental to the Imperial leadership as their spymaster was. 

He is not to be taken lightly, however. His dormant asset status does nothing to avoid the fact that the man Tacitus is indeed dangerous. It was because of this fact that the Royal General had to deploy a Sunbird to stop his advancing in the first place. It is because of this that while we don't want assassins seeking him out, we do still want all operatives to kill the man if they so happen to see him. He is a ruthless and inventive foe, taking advantage of his lost appendage to use crude 'attachments' for weapons. Most of them are merely blunt weapons and sharp metal sticks, but there's rumor that he might be in possession of a magical enchanted weapon as well from sources unknown. So essentially, the target is always armed and dangerous, and should be handled with caution in case he does indeed possess magical means of attack.


Theodore Adrard
Status: Asset. Asset status fickle, likely to change and should be monitored.
Description: Fat. Breton, Age: 48, King of High Rock

Theodore Adrard, the Chubby Thundercloud of Camlorn. Theodore Adrard is the most interesting figure to arise from High Rock, probably since the days of the Deceiver and Trickster, Tiber Septim. Born to Lord and Lady Adrard of Camlorn, Theodore learned his political mastery from his noble father, who used his skills to gain favor. Being of noble stock, unlike most of our latest targets... Theodore of course received the best tutors High Rock had to offer in all things tasteful, including the language arts, political machinations, swordplay and battle tactics. He ruled his father's land until his death, and eventually married the Daggerfall King's daughter after receiving the title of Lord, and gained the title of Lord General after proving his worth in campaigns against pirate lords and bandits within High Rock and off its coasts.

Theodore since then went from a uninteresting and unimportant bore, by our standards, to turning into a most wonderful little war hungry and power hungry King, after newly appointed King and his Queen supposedly tried assassinating him. It was true the two were at odds, but from our observations, the chances of the new King trying to assassinate the Lord General for this reason was no higher than eight percent. It is our belief that the General orchestrated the entire thing in a bid to become the new King. However, there is no need to interfere. For one, we have no proof of this, but proof may be fabricated in the future if need be. But also, in order to secure his new rule, King Theodore executed his brother, then made his wife the face of treason when she fled with an army at her command. This set High Rock into yet another civil war, like Skyrim, except the Empire was smart enough to support him this time, unfortunately.

The fact that he so ruthlessly and efficiently took down his opposition both politically and militarily is why we believe strongly that he indeed fabricated his own assassination attempt. If he didn't, then he is most clever and conniving indeed. If he did, then he is most clever and conniving indeed. While he hasn't yet won, we suspect that his victory will be inevitable. We will try to prevent that from happening to keep Theodore in asset status as long as possible. Until then, do NOT kill this man. If he is victorious anyway, then steps to bring his treachery, true or not, into the light for our purposes will be taken. 

Magdela Bathory....

"Hmm..." Corio sat still, his pen unmoving. Thoughts went flashing through his mind. Some fantasy, some memory. A handsome Altmer man laid in a bed under the figure of a luscious temptress on her knees. Tongue running over her red lips. Fine wine, grossly extravagant wine dripping down over her decadently sweet pink nipples. So sweet, that simply imagining oneself to taste them would send a recovering moon sugar addict spiraling into relapse.

They were bouncing, oh how they bounced. Set to the beat of her thighs slapping into his as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Soaking the sheets in perspiration. It was this scene that Corio watched attentively. The Altmer in his bed, another Justiciar at his command. He had the main event. But he had to watch as Corio took hold of those pink human nipples with his mouth. The jealousy strangely fed his desire, and soon the Altmer could no longer hold in his essence, even with the help of stamina magic coursing through his veins. This woman took all of him in, but she was in control, standing unsatisfied before the Justiciar while he lay there tired and sated. And now it was Corio's turn.

Corio shoved her down, pointing her in the direction of the mirror in the room. Made her watch as the Thalmor lay into her from behind after being freshly fucked. She squirmed and squealed. Made him think he was in control. But he knew. As his hands gripped her blonde hair, and as she made even he finish earlier than he wanted, he knew secretly, she was laughing at him. How dare she? That whore! I am the Dominion, you are the Empire. I am your master. I will make your display genuine! I-I....

Corio snapped out of his memory suddenly... or fantasy? Why... why can't I remember clearly... Being with the courtesan was like having every fantasy become reality, and after over-indulging, the two eventually started blending together until he could no longer remember which were real and which were only imagined. "Ophelia! Ophelia!"

***

Later now, Corio came back with a clear mind, scotch glass in hand. Wiping the perspiration from his forehead, Corio picked up the pen once more.

Magdela Bathory
Status: Kill

...

Magdela Bathory
Status: Traitor, Capture. Bring to Royal General for Interrogation. Kill as last resort.
Description: Female, Imperial, Age: 24-26, High-Classed Courtesan

Magdela Bathory, daughter of the Count of Skingrad. She is best known for her dirty low classed literature, entertainment best suited for the squalor of the Empire, but none the less finds itself secretly in the hands of many of her betters. She found her way into our borders with her unique skill of mingling with high end society and intriguing all who gazed upon her. She was a deviant little minx to find herself among the chosen few to cross into the heart of Dominion territory. She made many connections with her skill. Connections she maintained and helped feed her fame and notoriety, gaining popularity for her books. Eventually, she became nothing short of a celebrity in the Imperial City. Even the late Emperor Motierre had eyes for her, the spineless weasel. 

After the Emperor was killed, it didn't take even a second for the courtesan of all courtesans to switch allegiances like that. She began giving up names and information to the new Empress and her mystery mage, revealing just how well the unholy daedra of a whore could wrestle out sensitive information from those that she courted. Soon, she was courting the Empress' court mage, and once again she was the center of more hushed conversation amongst the circles of Imperial nobility.

Do not kill this woman. Unfortunately, she is a treasure trove of valuable information just waiting to be picked. Her current whereabouts after the death of her father in a sudden housefire accident are unknown, but she is married to the new count of Skingrad, and must pop up eventually at some time.

Do not bed her. Her services are a disease. She purposefully fulfills the secret desires of her clients, creating an addictive vice around their mind, and making them dependent on her skill for sexual satisfaction. It's an insidious method for information gathering fitting for lowly humans, who never seem to learn to close their legs. Keep your sword sheathed, and capturing the bitch shouldn't be difficult, if you can find her.


Lorgar Grim-Maw
Status: Asset/Kill, Asset status dependent on location, Kill status active
Description: Nord, Age: 56, former Spymaster, traitor of the Empire

Lorgar Grim-Maw is an odd individual. He started off as one of the deadliest soldiers the legion had to offer, quickly climbing in rank from body count alone. As Legate, he commanded the only surviving outfit of legionnaires in Skyrim, the elite force known as the Wolf pack, fittingly named. What was once a rumor is now confirmed, as reports of the Imperial's leader being caught after transforming into an actual wolf spread rather quickly. This is where the legate's impressive skill became overshadowed by his unfortunate failings. Whether he was confident that he could escape the Stormcloak forces within their walls, and his wolf blood activated at a most ill opportune time, or he was simply overconfident and incompetent, we're not sure, but either way the legate ended up in the loving care of Boldir Iron-Brow and eventually Baldur Red-Snow.

After a most savage and brutal interrogation, Captain Red-Snow managed to acquire the location of the elite Wolf Pack, and they were quickly overwhelmed and wiped out, creating a fresh new graveyard of their exposed unburied bones. Considering Legate Lorgar Grim-Maw managed to escape, it is unlikely that the Captain, now High-General, intended for his interrogation method to psychologically break the Legate to further harm the legion, but that is what happened. After the events of the War of the Sundered Dragon, the Legate, strangely enough, was promoted to Spymaster of the legion despite the torture he received along with the loss of his men. He did receive a demotion beforehand, but they should have given him a psychiatric evaluation as well.

It is because of this mistake that the legion suffered security and sensitive information fumbles, while the Spymaster distracted the court mage with some rivalry over reasons unknown. Eventually, the Spymaster started working on something called "Blood Wolf", and began hiding his own assets in preparation of disappearing. After a while, the Spymaster's movements became sporadic. Appearing in Skyrim to attack both General Red-Snow, as well as General Hammer-Fang, and also having sightings of him killing Imperial soldiers, assassinating other individuals, and attacking the court mage. We're not sure what his motives are, but we are sure that as long as he stays in the Empire, he is of great use to us, and a fantastic distraction.

If Lorgar Grim-Maw appears in the Dominion, however, kill him. But do not try to do so alone. Recommended methods are with poisons, silver, the arcane arts, or arrows. Why the Empire didn't seem to mind that he was a mutt of Hircine, we are not sure. The going theory is that they took the Nord claims as superstition, or believing them to tell tall tales of him because of his association with the Wolf Pack. The unusual appearance of his wolf side in human form in the form of his teeth seem to be a dead giveaway, but the WGC propaganda passed says that they were artificially created in Solstheim, which the humans believed because of the Nord's savage reputation.


Brund Hammer-Fang
Status: Possible Asset, more information needed. Capture but do not kill
Description: Nord, Age: 52, Stormcloak General

There's not much that is fascinating about this Nord. He was a very young Legate in the Great War, at the absurd age of 22, thanks to his father's connections. During the Great War, he brutally tortured and executed our people, and admittedly killed a great many of them with the legion soldiers at his command, but that's where the fascination ends. He had a reported rivalry with Captain Ulrin Red-Snow, a man with great potential that unfortunately was never acknowledged, likely at his request. The rivalry carried on until Ulrin was surprisingly beaten and killed by his own son, Baldur Red-Snow. Now, thanks to our friend in Solitude's court, we know that this rivalry lives on between the failed Legate, now General and Ulrin Red-Snow's prodigy, High-General Baldur Red-Snow, despite the fact that it was he that promoted General Brund in the first place. They were even said to have fought viciously over the table of the High-King, all over a simple insult aimed at Baldur's wife, the High-Admiral, and a disagreement over who would be the High-General.

A very... Nordic... occurrence.

However, the current status of this rivalry is unknown, as shortly after, the two were said to have fought together effectively enough to counter the werewolf Lorgar Grim-Maw, and even almost kill him, causing us to question the accuracy of the information given, which shouldn't be a surprise, given the informant is known for incompetence. We assume that the High-General did not know of his father's rivalry with General Hammer-Fang, due to him being promoted. Currently, the General's mundane and simple, yet morbidly effective tactics are being utilized to quell the Forsworn in the Reach. Whether or not he manages to push the Forsworn out, we are confident that his efforts will be in vain in the long run. The Forsworn are too adept at hiding amongst Skyrim's residences and within the Reach itself to ever truly be stomped out without the full attention of Skyrim's army. Without that, we are sure the Forsworn will be around to cause trouble during the next Great War, and we should remain hands off.

The General isn't likely a valuable hostage to the Nords, but he could be broken to fit our purposes, much like Admiral Tacitus and Ex Spymaster Lorgar. The information of his rivalry could be fueled to bite the Nords in the arse if one were to successfully feed the General's desire for revenge against his old adversary, Ulrin Red-Snow. He has no magic, and while skilled, is an ordinary, if barbaric fighter. Capturing him should be trivial, especially with his brain capacity. Which is to say, very Nordic.


Corio dropped his pen, finally being done with the dossiers assigned to him for the moment. Massaging his wrists and cracking his fingers, the Royal General leaned back in his chair, intent on napping there before falling into Ophelia's embrace for the night. Before that could happen, however, the scroll at his belt began glowing, lighting up the dark cabin that was lit only with a glowing orb of his creation. Corio tiredly sprawled the scroll across the floor, sitting cross legged, eyes closed just like before.


By secret glyph: dreamsleeve transmission
Dreamsleeve: urgent, security protocols bypassed
Security protocols: Aldmeri Ancestral Phoenix Wards

JS: Justiciar Sylthern to Royal General Corio Adorin. We-

(transmission interrupted)

RGCA: This better be DAMN good, or you're both dead. How dare you bypass the Dominion's security protocols! If the humans were to obtain our transcription channels... (edited 1 min ago)

JS: It is good, sir. General Gracchus has taken the bait. We wanted to get your orders to make sure the target dies.

RGCA: I see. Burn the house down. Do not wait for him to activate the traps. If he makes it outside, fill him with arcane energy until nothing remains but dust, then cast it to the winds. Let the Legion stew in their juices wondering where he is, before they finally declare him dead. But before you attempt to kill him, make sure you burn your transmission scrolls. Just in case.

JS: Understood, sir. For the Dominion.

(Transmission terminated)

***

Gracchus' words hung in the air for what felt like hours, the only answer in return the creak of the old shanty. He stood there, long enough that his magical candle went out, leaving him in momentary darkness. Then, flames sprouted from the rags covering the windows, and within seconds the walls were coated in flames. The general stepped back from the walls, into the center of the room, where the lightning rune lay hidden neath a rug. His boot clipped the edge, however, as the blue-white bolts danced harmlessly mere inches from his face. The hair standing on his body and the growth of the fire snapped his attention to his situation, and he formed an ice shield spell in his palms, where the sweat quickly froze into icicles that melted as they dropped to the floor. Knowing that this was now a trap, he ran straight for the window on the right, using the icy spell to keep the flames at bay, and to put out the burning blanket covering the window.

The spell dissipated as he jumped, tucking his head and shoulders while his arms reached out so catch him. Evidently whoever set the trap hadn't expected his exit to be from the windows, because nothing assailed him for a few seconds as he came out of his roll. He turned to face the shack, where smoke hung like fog, obscuring the immediate area like a mourner's face at a funeral. Gracchus leapt to his feet, wards at the ready in both hands.


Their magic showed themselves first in the darkness of the area before the hooded figures themselves did. Waves of lightning came crashing into Gracchus' shields like the front lines of a shield wall colliding with the enemy. The magicka flowing from their fingers lit the area momentarily, revealing their yellow faces beneath their mundane dark brown robes.

Seeing their spells outmatched, they quickly switched to more powerful lightning spells, aiming at the ground near the General's feet to arc up behind his ward.

When the High Elves switched, so did Gracchus, rearranging the wards so they overlapped in the middle, one covering his head, the other his legs. He eyed them warily, waiting for them to make their move.

The Altmer looked to one another, then nodded. Having practiced and prepared for this battle for months now, coordinating strategies on a whim was nothing to them. The Altmer to the left continued with his assault, hoping to blind Gracchus to what the other was doing. Suddenly, a dark purple cloud burst forth from nowhere, then in its place, a Storm Atronach appeared, joining in on the barrage of storm lights. The other Altmer having cover fire summoned forth his own Atronach as well, and all relentlessly hammered spell after spell at Gracchus.

Slowly, the atronachs began to move around the sides, where they could fire around the wards and end the fight. He didn't have long, so Gracchus dropped to a knee and lowered his top ward, adjusting the second so it covered his crouched body. His right hand, now free, began cooling with the icy frost spell that now sat on his fingertips. With one swift move, he brought the ice wall from across his body to his right, lowering the ward as he did. The wall formed between he and the enemies, while he formed a fire bolt with the left hand. Gracchus aimed the explosive blast at the one enemy that wasn't hidden behind the frost wall, the storm atronach to his right, which exploded into the purple dust from whence it came.

The wall wouldn't last long, so the High General scanned the area for any means of retreat. The dock ended a few steps away, and with the raining the water was cold enough to kill, especially now that the sun had set. Now alleys or paths revealed themselves, so Gracchus prepared to fight his way out.

While he was scheming, the surviving atronach began to move forward within melee distance, while the Altmer prepared to pepper the area with chain lightning, since the Atronach would be unaffected.

Seeing the atronach appear from around the corner of the wall, Gracchus hit it with a simple frost spell, slowing it down to he could unsheath he sabre. A ward caught the few bolts it flung, while metal met atronach as he sliced at the floating rocks of the summoned beast. He made quick work, as the daedra had no melee attacks to speak of, and the ward blocked all its lightning bolts.

Backing away from the dissipating storm golem, Gracchus was sent to his knees by two bolts of lightning, both sapping his magicka and life. They came from the slowly dissolving atronach, it's body the conduit for the chain lightning. His muscles rigid with the electrical energy, his face contorted with spasmodic convulsion, he struggled to stand, fighting both his own rebellious muscles and the spells of the Thalmor. The chain lightning stopped just as his eyes began to flicker with black splotches, and he stood tentatively while gripping his sword, the point stabbing the wooden dock as a makeshift crutch.

His spare hand glowed orange in healing magic, but Gracchus thought better of it. With his magic drained from the lightning, he'd need every ounce left. He flipped the sword back into the upright position and charged from around the wall, diving behind a stack of barrels as the lightning spells lashed out.

Ice spells slammed into the barrels, which were thankfully stacked two thick, otherwise Gracchus would be a icicle pincushion. Gathering his breath, the general rose to his feet and sprinted out from cover. Using a quick, weak ward to deflect one icy spear, he charged the two Thalmor with sword at the ready. The first one came in range, and he sliced across his belly, the tip sinking barely in before an ice spike slammed into his left shoulder, the armor only marginally stopping it. He retreated, but not before blocking another spear with a lesser ward and cutting the thigh of the other mage. It was then he abandoned his sword, throwing another ward behind him as he dove back behind the barrels.

The Thalmor, angry now that they were caught off guard by such a simple tactic as charging them with a weapon, switched to fire spells, both to preserve their magicka stores and also to blast this ******* primitive to ash and piss the remains into the mud. Gathering the flame within their hands, the Thalmor inched closer, wanting to be dead on balls accurate with their shots and to be very certain that Gracchus suffered the full impact of their magic explosions.

Gracchus closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, focusing on the redhot power forming in his hands. He blocked out the fire bolts that were blowing his cover to pieces, instead recalling the intricate had motions needed for the master level spell. His hands moved like dancers at a party, whirling and twirling while his palms filled with flames.

He caught his breath, now only waiting to release the spell. But he didn't want to do it from cover, no, he wanted the Thalmor to see he had bested them at their own magical game. So he stepped out, the rain still pouring down and sizzling as it evaporated from the heat surrounding Gracchus.

Then, the world turned red and exploded, fragments of wood from the dock, the barrels, the shacks filling the air like an angry swarm of wasps, reaching out and stinging the burning bodies of the Thalmor. The Elven mages flew backwards, their robes aflame. Gracchus was left standing in a burning ruin of half a block of derelict shacks and old warehouses, the rain sizzling as it hit the flames.

Gracchus' chest rose and fell with the heavy breaths, and his shoulder ached with each throb of his veins. He was bleeding again, the blood that was frozen from the icicle now thawing. His magicka reserves were depleted, so healing was out of the question. He just ignored the pain and stumbled over to the elves, hoping to find some useful information on their bodies.

The Thalmor's charred remains sizzled in steam as the rain fell on what was left of them, their once golden bodies now an ugly dark brown and thick black. As Gracchus came to the first, a burst of steam came forth from the Altmer's chest, splitting it open like an over cooked sausage just before the rest of him collapsed into a pile of black wet ash.

The next was in a similar state, but instead of the dramatic display of the first, this one's chest rose as his mouth suddenly gasped in a ghastly struggle to bring life sustaining air to his lungs. One of which was collapsed by the heat and shockwave.

The sound of his intense wheezing was mostly drowned out in the rain that assaulted his skin. He turned to his stomach, desperately trying to crawl away, leaving the skin from his back behind, like meat clinging to a frying pan.

Gracchus put a boot on his back, the leather sticking to man's skin and slightly exposed bones. He then formed a brief healing hands spell, just enough to keep the mage alive. In truth that was all he could manage, and even that was lacking. He then rolled him back over, so his half charred face was looking up at him.

"Where is you hideout? Who are your agents in the city?" he asked, standing over the man so that rain dripped from his hair onto the elf.

"I'll... t-tell you... every... everything. Just... don't... k-k," The Thalmor's breathing grew more labored as he tried to speak, and his hand wandered to the General's boot, signifying it was too hard to breath with its weight.


Gracchus lifted it, but sat the tip of his blade just below the mans chin.

"Now talk."


The Thalmor amazingly seemed to be smiling then, though it was hard to tell. With short raspy breaths that seemed to be his best attempt at laughter, he said, "Our... hideout. Is your home... our numbers... are your numbers. We're everywhere... and nowhere... we... are... Thalmor."

Suddenly, the half burned mer's hand glowed with the power of lightning just before he slammed it in the puddle of water that now gathered beneath his body and the General's feet. He deliberately rasped out his words slowly so that he could gather the magicka needed, and so that the puddle could grow. His last desperate attempt at killing his target.

Unfortunately, he would die before the spell could have a chance to even touch the puddle.

Gracchus leapt in the air, noticing the blue-white lightning crackling from the elves fingertips. He stabbed once with his sword, sliding the tip through the crusty black skin.

He slid it out, wiping it off on his woolen cloak before looking around. The magical fire was subsiding, the great deal of rain falling helping tremendously. Voices could be heard in the distance, someone barking out commands. Guards, most likely, or a local slumlord directing his men to clean up the mess. Either way, Gracchus cared not, as he sheathed his blade before trudging off into the black of night, his clothes smelling of blood and sweat and smoke. He shook off the tattered cloak he wore and left it on the ground behind him.