TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Avitus Agrippa Bruma, Near Skyrim-Cyrdoili Border Evening The cold brisk wind of Bruma chilled the assembled legionaries to the bone. Among a small clearing of dead trees, did the Imperial Soldiers make camp, beside the battered husks of once mighty tree trunks. Snow intertwined with the dead wood, both on the ground, and some in the air, hitting standing trees with vigour and fury. A mighty blizzard had fallen not two hours ago, and it continued all unto the evening, with the large gibbous moon blackened by the falling pure white snow. Wolves howled by the border of the tree line, scattering around the environment, stalking and eying the group, seeing if there was any chance of them getting an easy meal tonight. Compared to quiet Skindgard, Bruma seemed like an entirely different world. A dark, twisted reflection. Large pine tree’s sprouted above, hiding the camp from the eyes of the Stormcloak soldiers guarding the Cyrodili/Stormcloak border. Local imperial legion forces consisted of a few scattered fort garrisons, the bulk of the ninth, and a large concentration of imperial rangers that patrolled the many airpline forests that dotted around Bruma’s countryside. Any surprise Stormcloak advance would be halted by dozens of imperial forged arrows hitting their ranks in volleys. Some would call Bruma lightly manned in comparison to other counties, but most didn’t take into account that the local county guards were veterans of Count Balgruaf’s paramilitary group, The Sons of Whiterun. Any invasion force from Skyrim would face fierce, almost fanatic resistance from the pro-imperial Nord population, The well-trained, and almost legionary disciplined county guard, the imperial forces already stationed in Bruma, and the elite Imperial Hawk Rangers, all specialist-ranked veterans of the now defucent 4th legion. Bruma bred the strongest groups of imperial irregulars, and it’s lack of official imperial legion forces didn’t mean that it couldn’t withstand an invasion by any means, especially since those “official imperial reinforments†could arrive in little over a week, not to mention the ninths presence in the region, soldiers known for their resistance to hardship and the cold. The roaring snow and wind would conquer lesser men, but it would do little to stop the famed “Blue Dragon Legionaries†of the prestigious twenty second cohort. They both served as the rearguard and vanguard of the Imperial army’s second legion. Each legionary was clad head to toe in old-fashioned second era styled imperial plate armour, wearing long, billowing blue capes. For two eras the Dragon Legionaries had served as the second legions elite heavy infantry, an already gifted and , for the quality of their soldiers, famed legion Due to the wintry climate of Bruma, they had swapped there capes with heavy fur coats to stave off the bitter cold at an imperial fort they had passed by several days ago. They made sure to maintain and keep their equipment at perfect condition, partially out of ingrained habit, and partially from the fact the cold had a habit of causing more strain. Three members of the cohort sat beside the roaring fire in the center of the camp, each sharpening their steel-silver imperial longswords. All members of the 22nd cohort carried an imperial gladius, a shortblade, at their side just in-case they were disarmed. Their trademark, however was the massive tower shields they carried, perfect for forming a Tsuedo and crushing enemy combatants The rest of the force sent out by General Martullus were in their tents, sleeping, or on guard duty. One of the three resting soldiers, a Nord let out a grumble. Under his armour he was covered in tatoo’s and warpaint, and had his hair down in long, brown braids. Nestled underneath his mouth and nose was a huge, rather twisted beard. Besides his Gladius and longsword, he had a two-handed steel battle axe which he carried on his back. He spoke in a thick Nordic accent, “What in Shor’s name is the General thinking?! Sending sixteen of the legions most mighty warriors to the middle of nowhere!!! Right beside some milk-drinking Stormcloaks, whom I can’t even smash with my axe!!!†He scooped up a handful of fallen snow from the ground, and threw it into the raging fire. The legionary to the right of him, a smirking Redguard whose cheeks were dotted with light freckles, let out a small chuckle. He had short blonde hair, styled like a bob-cut, and his skin was light enough that someone could mistake him for an imperial. Oddly, he was less armoured then the rest of the group, abandoning the plate shoulder pads, leginings, and gauntlets for leather pauldrons, boots and gloves. Normally, legionaries were required to wear there regiments full uniform on duty, but exceptions were made, especially for an elite outfit like the Blue Dragon Cohort. Across his chest was a leather strap, holding dozens of steel throwing daggers, as well as possessing a wooden hand crossbow, keeping his quiver near his leg. His voice was polite, but underneath, was a hidden sense of mocking, “I thought “Milk-drinker†was a term they used for us, Hroar?†Prefect Hroar Bear-Breath snorted. A veteran of countless conflicts, including the Great War, Hroar had made a name for himself when he killed a grey bear the size of a wagon, which was attacking his village for weeks. Apparently it could break through a wooden palisade in seconds, Hroar strangled it to death using a metal chain belonging to the local blacksmith. By now, his great brown beard was tinged with grey spots, but nobody dared ask his age, knowing he had refused countless promotions because he wanted to stay a non-commissioned officer so he could kill more stuff. He pointed one of his fingers at the redguard, “I’ve killed more men than any of those stinking traitors! What right do they have calling me names reserved for rot-brained…rebels!!!†Hroar pounded his chest with his fist “I could outdrink them all! Outfuck them all, I could plow a dozen bar maids without tiring!!!†The nord let out a huge, hammy laugh. The redguard shook his head, maintaining his self-entertained grin “I don’t know Hoar…I hear quite a few Stormcloak soldiers are legion vets. I’m afraid, in most likely hood, there’s at least a few hundred stronger then you.†Hoar’s face became red with anger, as he got up from his sitting position and angiry reached for the redguard, “A FEW HUNDRED?! RICKET, YOU REDGUARD BASDTARD, Iâ€LL RING YOU’RE SKINNY NICK!!!!†Prefect Ricket Judae lept him his position, nimbly rolling through the snow, and away from Hroar, laughing out loud. Ricket’s favourite past time was annoying and antagonising the nord, and getting him angry. He was one of the youngest members of the cohort, a lad no older than twenty five. His skills in acrobatics, and him being the “Jack of All-Tradesâ€, good at everything excelling at nothing, of the group made him a valuable member of the unit. Still, his child-like attitude left a lot to be desired. “Gentlemen. Please behave yourselves; you’ll wake the others up.†Sighing at his companion’s lack of maturity, Tribune Juib Telerate shook his head, taking a sip from his jug of a nirnroot tea, warming his belly with the hot liquid, and the rest of his body by being close to the raging fire. It was a horrible, bitter taste to all but a select few, with the rare tolerance being “acquired†most of the time. Wearing simple blue robes over his suit of heavy imperial plate armour, the Tribune grey head was completely bald, and the only hair he possessed on his face were his eyebrows, and his black goatee. Although he looked like he was in his mid-thirties, he was over a hundred, and had served in the legion most of his life. He was a member of a well to do merchant family from the great city Blacklight, and was named after the famous dumner saint, Jiub the Eradicator. Unlike the rest of his family, Juib wasn’t anti-imperial. He grew up on the stories of the once mighty Septim dynasty, and Jiub had sworn to do his best in restoring the empire to its glory. Alas, to the Tribune’s dismay, the empire’s situation had only deteriorated. Still, serving as second in command to the second legions most important legate had many perks. Hroar who had corned the Redguard, and looked like he was going to keep his word, angrily responded with, “But sir, this little rat started it!!!†“I don’t care who started it.†At the sound of Legate Avitus Agrippa, there commanding officer, the trio of legionaries straightened their backs, and sharply saluted. At the same time, the three of them muttered, “Sir.†Avitus barked, looking angry. Well, angrier then usual… “At ease.†***** The snow fall slightly dampened the trio of legionaries field of vision, but they could still see the wooden palisade that separated Pale Pass from Cyrodili. The Legate, holding his full-face Steel helmet under his left arm, put his hand up, telling his companions, "There's at least two hundred heavily armed Nords beyond the gate. Most likely drunk, pissed off Nords." Tribune Telerate raised his hand, asking, "Sir, but don't we have a treaty with the Stormcloaks?" Avitus shook his head, "That doesn't matter. Don't expect to find any friends in that camp. Remember, we just get the information we need, and get out." Taking a gulp of air, the Imperial officer approached the wooden gate, making sure his hand was away from his Gladius,Remeber the General's instructions. Be respectful, and dont cause a national incident. Being only a few steps away from the Palisade, Avitus called out as loud as he could, "Greetings!" No answer came immediately, though the sounds of laughter and light chatter could be heard as it was carried in the wind.Those dip-shits are laughing at me-okay. Remember, don’t get angry. Avitus took a deep breath, he shouted even louder, "Hello? Can anyone hear me?!" Some of the laughter subsided then, and a large fur and steel clad man with shaggy red hair came lumbering over, looking confused. Evidently he wasn't aware of their presence, suggesting the laughter earlier wasn't in the Imperial's expense. The confused look faded in place of a smile then, and he said, "....Hello!" "Avtius scratched the back of his head akwardly, "Ummmm...are you the ranking Stormcloak Officer?" "You see this armor, son?" The imperial officer scratched his chin, before saying, " My apologies if I offended. I am Legate Avitus Agrippa, second legion." Avitus studied the man, he seemed personable and friendly enough. Then again, Nords could have pretty eratic mood swings, he said, "Whom am I speaking too?" "Whom?" The Nord started to snicker, which was followed soon by more laughs coming from behind him. Clearing his throat, he said, "You, my good sir, are speaking with he whom is in command of this illustrious bunch of Nordic rabble, my good chum! Can't you tell from my outrageous accent?" "It's not like I couldn't tell you were rabble..." The imperial officer muttered under his breath, before saying, "I have business and questions for you, then. Good sir. If you wouldn't mind opening this gate." "You'll get through this gate when Ulfric Stormcloak shaves his ass and when Summer finds Skyrim! Anything you want to ask, you can ask right from where you are! Unless...." "Unless?" The imperial officer had the urge to strangle the Stormcloak Officer. How dare he show so much disrespect?" "Unless you got some mead on ya, for me and the boys?" the Stormcloak yelled. "Aren't you on duty?"Of course he is. He's a ******* Nord, he needs to be drinking 24-7. "One mead's not gonna throw me under, do I look Cyrodiilic to you? Ha! Show me a little good will, and I'll trust you to come up with me and the lads! That seems fair to me, from where I stand!" Prefect Juda to Avitus's right whispered, "Boss, don't we have a barrel or two of mead back at camp?" Avitus whispered in annoyance, "You can’t seriously think of giving in to their idiotic demands?!" The Reduard nodded his head, "The general specifically ordered us to deal with the Stormcloaks diplomatically, and not to cause any incident. Besides, you weren't planning on letting us drink those anyway...' The Prefect does have a point. Unknown to the Legate, the Prefect was smiling and struggling to hold in a laugh. A thought occured to the Tribune. A horrible thought. He whispered to the Prefect, "That mead belongs to Hroar dosen't it?" The giggling Prefect nodded his head. Before the Tribune could say anything, Avitus yelled Sighing, Avitus cleared his throat, calling out, "We have two barrels of Icefrost mead brewed in Bruma, is that...acceptable?" "Aye!" yelled the Nord from up above. "We'll let you lot in and we can talk over some tankards of free mead!" More yells in celebration came from behind the Necro Nord. "Lets see how you lot handle yer drinks!" Oh brother... Avitus turned to face the Tribune, "Get Hroar over here, and gather up the barrels of mead." The tribune saluted sharpy, before heading back to the camp. He returned carrying a barrel of the beverage, and the nord in tow, whom was carrying two barrels over his shoulders. He looked pissed. Giving an accusing glance aimed towards Juda, the Nord grumbled something under his breath, before turning to face Avitus, "Sir, why do I have to give up my supply, to these flea brain gits?" The legate cleared his throat, "I have no doubt you could drink all of that by yourself Hroar. Alas, you need to share today." Avitus gave a sly grin, " It does without saying, but don't do anything stupid, okay? Your all representing the second on forgein soil. I expect you all to be worthy of that honor. Understood?" The assembled legionaries said in cohesion, "Aye sir." Avitus nodded his head, heading for the wooden gate, and motioning for his troops to follow him. "Were coming in." He shouted, " Do you have the mead?" said a Nord from the other side. "Yes we have the mead." Said Avitus impatiently Suddenly, the gates burst open and a dozen Nords came pouring out, embracing their new comrads and patting their backs. "Heey! Welcome friends, come in come in!" said the redheaded Necro Nord. "Come and eat with us! Go on, go on! Don't worry about those, we got the mead, hehe." Avitus's face betrayed shock, as he couldn't formulate a response properly, instead letting a huge bald nord with a mustache the size of his sword embrace him in a bear hug, What in Oblivion, Ricket the smallest of the group energetically shouted, "Food? Come here comrade." He gave an exaggerated face mired with seriousness, as he patted the back of a Stormcloak regular. Tribune Jiub just gave an awkward smile, while Hroar had a grumpy look. The Nords took care of the mead, while the Commander escorted the Imperial men to a table up top where he was taunting them not too long ago. Four tankards of mead came, all of which was placed by the Captain's side, rather than the guests, who were offered some salted meats and goat cheese. First drink, second, third, and finally the last all went down in big gulps tankard by tankard before the Nord finally spoke, gasping for air in satisfaction and signalling for more. "Whoo! That's the stuff. Tastes much better when it's free. Some elven supply soldier back in Skyrim got the bright idea that we might appreciate spiced wine instead of mead to warm our bones. BAH! I'd offer you some hooch, but like you said, on the job boys. There's cow out back if you lads get thirsty." "Yeer calling me a milk-drinker boy?!" Shouted Hroar as he got up from his chair in anger, slamming his gauntleted hands on the table, "I've been killing, drinking, and ******* before you were sucking your mothers teat." Avitus just started to rub his sculp in annoyance, while Ricket grabbed him by the arm, saying with a sly grin, "Calm down Hroar. I'm sure mister Stormcloak didn't mean to offend." Why did Martullus need to send me... Avitus, taking a page from his CO, said in a cool voice, "Alcohol is a poison. It makes a soldier weak. If the others want, they can have a mug." Ricket asked, in his usual deadpan tone, "If it wouldn't be trouble to ask, may I have a mug good sir?" Hraor added, "And me ya git." The Commander simply smirked and took another drink to hide his snickering. "Bah!" he proclaimed again, burping while pounding on his chest. "Mead puts hair on yer balls and the spirit of old heroes in your 'eart! I bet your lad there knows it. The excitable one. What's your name, kinsman?" "Hroar. Hroar Bear-Breath of Riverwood." The nord said proudly, with his large brown beard sat comfortably on his face, and his long brown hair down in braids. "Ah, Bear-Breath huh? I see why! Riverwood, eh? Long ways from home, aren't ya? Beautiful spot of land, that. Ever miss is?" asked the Red-Headed Commander, still smiling. "Sometimes. Though all my family is long dead, besides my cousin Alvor, a mighty fine blacksmith. Rest eaten by bears." He said with a nod, choosing to ignore his comment about his breath, "I'd take an imperial fortification as my home any day. " He gave him a questioning look, And were ya from you git? Some backwater settlement like Rorkistead I assume?" He said with a grin "Something like that," he said, sharing the grin. "In any case, it's a good thing you're happy here with the Cyrodiilics. Since we own the pass now, it's not very likely you'll be seeing your home any time soon..." The other Nords close by started snickering until the Commander raised his hand. "But, enough with the unpleasantries. I'm in good spirits, so, why don't you tell me why you lot are here, eh? What brings you to my lovely abode?" Before the nordic legionary could retort in anger, Avitus raised his arm, reaching for the leather pack over his shoulder. He took a large musty paper of Bruma from it, and placed it on the table so the Stormcloak commander could see. He placed his gauntleted finger at the northernmost region, and said, "During the very late stages of the Siege of Falkreath, we lost communications and contact with one our furthest and remote forts." Avitus was as blunt and straight to the point as ever, "I want to know if you Stormcloaks had any hand in it." The Nord Commander lost his smirk, apparently thinking about the question, though whether it was genuine consideration or trying to figure how much to tell was unclear. Finally, he said, "I suppose it's possible... But unlikely. If our boys got rid of some imperial controlled fort, I'd have heard about it. Though it's possible. We had war parties out and about, ready to ambush and cause trouble prior to the siege. Though if a small war party took one of your forts alone, they'd never let anyone hear the end of it, heh. And neither would I. Where was this so called fort of yours?" He went beside the nordic commander, and pointed to a specific part of the map. An area close to a very isolates lake, without a single settlement near it, " Dont flatter yourself. It was manned by a skeleton crew. Here." "Ha, you damn Imperials must really not have a clue if you think we somehow took a fort in Cyrodiil then with yer boys all camped on the Pass like a mother hen protecting her young. Nevermind the avalanche," said the Commander. "Surely we weren't your best lead?" "With the mobilizations, training, reequipping, and general reforms were applying to the legion to make it at top efficiency once again, we haven't had the time to check on a small, almost worthless fort at the border of our territory." The legate said sharply, "To be frank with you commander, I think deploying a Decanus of legionaries is a waste of valuable resources." Avitus said with bitterness, "Regardless, I have my orders. And I have treated you with courtesy, dont you agree? If you do , I implore you, do you have the fainest idea of perhaps a Stormcloak raiding party entering into Cyrodili, If I cant bring those boys home, at least let me give the families clarity?" The Commander sighed, his face growing uncharacteristically serious. "Look, I get it. Bullshit assignments are the worst. But I can't help you. It's like I said, if anyone ever pulled off what you're suggesting, all of Tamriel would know about it. Think of all our military feats during the war. All are well documented. If there were any Stormcloaks involved, they never came back to Skyrim." "Never came back...?" Tribune Jiub started to stroke his black goatee, nibbling on a piece of salted pork, "Commander. Do you by any chance keep operational records in any one of the many Akavari forts littering the pass, or some other outpost?" "Aye, I do, and that's why I know you can expect no involvement from us. Certainly not with our knowledge anyway." Leaning forward, he said, "The High General's been having us catalogue and record everything we can find on the Akaviri from the forts. Nothing important, just scholarly shit. Says it'll do us some good and keep the men sharp 'While we sit on ass all day', as he put it. I have to keep up with their activity around here regularly, and it hasn't always been uneventful, with the beasts that lurk this place and sometimes even unnatural things. Either way, I know for a fact we had no knowledge of your fort's fate, and nothing official was done. If it was unofficial, obviously I couldn't comment on it. You wouldn't even be sitting in this place if that were the case." "Well then." Avitus got up from his chair, motioning for his troops to follow him "I thank you for your cooperation in this investigation, commander. I'll make sure to to make a mention of you in my report." He said in an almost robotic tone of voice. Juda finished a large chunch of salted pork by shoving it in his mouth, and speaking with his mouth still full, "Thanks for the food." Jiub went beside Avitus, giving the Stormcloak a quick nod of his head, "And thank you for the mead," said the Nord. "Maybe when the war starts, we can return the favor." Hroar gave a muffled laugh, saying "I expect you lads on the front with us real men." "We'll see," said the Commander. "You seem to have something to prove, kinsman. To yourself or others, I don't know but when we storm on the elves, we just might let you." Smirking again, he stood and said, "Alright be off with ya. I've got to make my own report now." ***** From the entrance of Pale Pass, to the missing fort would take a day and a half of traveling. Bruma seemed like an endless expanse of decrepit forests filled with dead trees, and harrowing tundra’s covered in layer upon layers of think snow. If you starred at the expansive tundra’s for too long, people claimed you could see twisted illusions dancing around in the freshly fallen snow. This was rock bottom. The middle of nowhere, as far and as remote as possible in Cyrodili. No signs of civilisation could be seen, with buildings as scare as people. Regardless, tonight the moon was casting sinister, unwholesome rays of sickly white light across the snowy tundra. The eighteen legionaries marched in grim silence, the only sounds besides the faint wind was metal boots trampling over the ice and snow. Despite the constant, unearthly changes the landscape was experiencing as the soldiers went deeper and deeper into the darkness, Avitus was wracked in thought, If the Stormcloaks weren't involved…then what happened to that fort? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Theodore Adrard Camlorn Noon The king’s flotilla glided across the sapphire waters of Camlorn’s bay. The sun hung high in the sky, like a glittering jewel of its own, casting unreasonably warm winter light upon the walled city. A crowd of people was gathered at the docks, their hushed, anticipative voices barely audible above the crisp breeze and slowly breaking waves of the harbor. Although most of the warriors from the Pretender’s War were home, Theodore’s return would mark the true end of Breton civil war. Internal peace seemed not only attainable, but in hand. Queen Elayne Adrard, Prince Roland Adrard, and Princess Lyenna Adrard stood foremost among the murmuring masses, flanked by brown caped, glistening white armored guards, the Knights of the Bull. They too awaited the return of their commander, though Maric only ever wore his ebony armor. He had traded his usual black cape for a brown one, though it didn’t quite match. Theodore himself stood at the bow, one hand gripping the lapel of his fur lined verdant cloak, the other resting on the carved bull’s head sword pommel. As the boats slid in, the crowd erupted in a raucous cheer of “Pell bevan ar Roue!†which was Old Bretic for “Long live the King.†It was the only phrase or words the common folk knew of the old language, and even the nobility knew little more. Each city did have a handful of scholars still learned in Old Bretic, but there were few uses for knowing it other than the deciphering of old texts, and even that didn’t require speaking it. As it was the language was nearly extinct. Still, Theodore smiled when he heard the cheer. Though the days of Old Bretic were arguably the darkest period of any in High Rock, there seemed to be something about old traditions that warmed the heart and help keep a sense of nationality alive and thriving. The “Roue†stepped off the ship, and strolled up to his wife. They embraced, though due to her baby bump, and his own belly, it was not very tight. Next he hugged his son, a rough, strong hug with both men playfully trying to see who could squeeze whom the tightest. When Theodore conceded defeated and yielded, he moved to Lyenna, and as they touched, he could feel the slightest protuberance of her stomach. It was then he remembered she was also pregnant, though it hardly showed, whereas the queen appeared to have a boulder shoved beneath her ruby dress. “It feels good to be done with this war. How were things here?†he asked Elayne. “Wonderful. No issues, though a few merchants tried to use the war as an excuse to increase prices, no doubt betting on us women being easier to persuade. Mother and I set them straight rather quickly. She’s at the castle, to old to walk up and down the city she says.†Theodore chuckled. “I meant your health. Everything fine with you and the baby?†For a moment, a flash of irritation crossed Elayne’s, but then she smiled. “Perfect. He or she should be due any day now. They were obviously waiting for their father.†Theo noticed the change in attitude, but dismissed it. They’d address it later. “And how was the return trip, son?†“It went as expected. Traven wrote and said they returned safely to Northpoint, Estermont engaged the remaining Orcs and slew many, so the Wrothgarians should be clear. And we made it back without incident. I’ve already paid and disbanded the auxiliaries as well. Lady Birian’s daughter will be coming along soon, once they get things situated there.†“Good. We’re running like well oiled Dwemer machine. And Lyenna, how are you?†“Fine, your majesty.†Theodore smiled a wide grin. “I’m Theodore. We’re family now, so titles go out the window. And what of your brothers in Daggerfall?†Out of the corner of his eye, Theo thought he saw Elayne flinch, but when he looked again she was merely supporting her belly with both hands. No one else seemed to take notice. “They like it very much. Northpoint is so bleak, even in the summer, so Daggerfall was quite an adventure for them. Lady Gaerhart brought them in last week. And I expect they will get along with young Vanessa when she comes, as they are around the same age.†“Quite right. It will be a regular playhouse around the palace with all the youngsters about. Though they better get their tomfoolery out of the way, since Lord Traven will be here soon.†She looked up from her pregnant belly to see Madeleine standing with Sir Maric, both talking excitedly and pointing at the city. She asked, “Who’s that woman, dear?†“Sir Maric’s…well, love interest, I suppose. You recall how he got that ridiculous nickname of his? Well that is the woman he left in Skyrim, the reason he wouldn’t marry. Seems they have a son together, about sixteen years old, and he was in the employ of the High General. A sort of squire, if you will.†“And where is his son?†Roland asked. “He chose to stay. He’s quite fond of Skyrim, it seems, and was even in the Stormcloak army. If they can accept him, not being a Nord, then I garner he must be highly respected. I can see why he wouldn’t leave that behind.†The royals moved through the crowd, with the Knights of the Bull forming protection on either side. Halfway through the city, once the crowd was long gone, Theodore and his family came upon another crowd, numbering two dozen or so men and women, forming a line across the road. “What’s the meaning of this?†Sir Maric shouted, his hand instinctively moving to his longsword. One man out of the street blockage stepped forward. He was old, hunched over a cane, back bent and twisted. His left arm was gone at the shoulder, and someone had taken the sleeve up and sewed it shut there. He addressed Theo, those eyes strangely focused for such an old man. “You go off to war, a foolish war, for nothing. You nobles play at war, play with our lives, and my grandson pays the price. I fought with your father and grandfather in the Great War, marched across the sand of the Alik’r with them. Gave my left arm to stop the golden elves. War is not something to be taken lightly, young man.†Theodore stepped forward. He knew there would be some people upset, but he’d forgotten about them after the warm reception at the docks. “I know. I squired for my father, and though I never saw battle myself, I saw the impacts of war, impacts you still bear. My grandfather died in that conflict, and I’ll never forget that. Tell me, who was your grandson?†Theodore’s kindness didn’t sate the man’s vitriol. “Jerian Aurillie. He carried your banner at Wayrest. Made the whole family proud. Yet now he’s buried across the Iliac on some forgotten field, because some nobles had a petty dispute.†Theo didn’t recognize the name, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. Pretending to know the man’s grandson would only add insult to injury. “I wish your boy would have survived. You’re right, the war was petty. I was distraught when Lielle Rolston started it. But there is no place for insurrection, not with the golden elves waiting to sack Cyrodiil at a moments notice. Just now I returned from Skyrim, working out an alliance that will unite all nations of man under one cause, to defeat the Thalmor. That is why your grandson died. Had he and so many others not sacrificed their lives, we would be marred in civil war, unable to join the noble crusade against the Thalmor. Or, worse, under the leadership of a harlot Queen who would keep us out. That was why Lielle Rolston had to be defeated, and why we had to go to war.†The old man’s resolve seemed to break down at that, and several others in the line seemed to be nodding their heads in agreement. “Y-you’re right, my liege. I apologize, its just, his mother’s grief is beyond compare, her boy being gone.†“Say no more. You are free people of Camlorn, of High Rock, and you have a right to demand of your leaders justice and fair treatment. That is why I ended Imperial rule, because some Empress hundreds of miles away cannot hear your voices, shouting for answers. But I can. And when my court opens, I promise answers for all that seek them. Under my family, High Rock will be forged anew, to better serve its citizens, and to protect them. Thank you all for allowing me to share with you my vision of a better High Rock. Now please, go be with your families, as I am going to be with mine.†The members of the now defunct protest bowed or kneeled or simply walked away, while the old man gave a passing nod as the royal procession moved towards the palace. Once there, the guard dispersed, and so did Roland and Lyenna, who went to eat. Elayne and Theo went off to their private living chambers, as Theo knew she had something to say to him. Once the door closed, her hand met his cheek in a stinging blow that surprised him, though given the earlier clues, probably shouldn’t have. “How dare you. How dare you spout off about wanting High Rock to be a better place, how we want freedom and justice, when you are nothing but a cruel monster,†she said. He knew what she was referring to. He’d known ever since the moment it happened. “She had to be killed, Elayne. She was trying to destroy everything we’d hoped to build, and causing insurrection while she did.†“She was my sister, gods dammit. You and my mother may be callous and heartless, but I’m not. We agreed to give her a trial, a clean execution if the vote went that way, not to be…. I can’t stand to even look at you right now.†She turned her back, looking out the window towards the city below. “I did what I did because she was a threat. She threatened our lives and the lives of our children. Do you think there would be any hesitation from her to kill you?†“No, she wouldn’t have hesitated, because she was cruel, and so was her husband, and that’s why we killed him. But we’re supposed to be better than them, not stoop down to their cruelty. We’ve done some things I’m not proud of, robbed them of having kids, killed his brother, framed him for attempting to murder you, but always with a purpose. There was no purpose to what you did. That kind of brutality is senseless and evil, and though we might be conniving and ruthless at times, we are not evil.†“You may not see it, but there is a clear goal. The Silver Brigade would never had agreed to go to the Deep Reach had those three men not died, and I couldn’t justify executing them and then hiring their outfit. I needed a new leader there, someone stupid enough to take them into the Deep Reach and save my men from doing so, and I needed a crime to indict them but not the entire group. And whether you see it or not, Lielle was and always would have been a threat. Your mother saw that, and I hoped you would’ve too.†“My mother has seen nothing but visions of the throne since she was born. You may preach your noble ambitions and justified acts, but she has none. All she wants is her blood, my blood, running through the veins of Breton kings, now and in the future. The only reason she sided with you is because she hated Lielle, and knew Aleron couldn’t hold the throne.†“It was cruel. But Lielle deserved it. It was no less than she would have done to us, no less than she would have done to our children. There is no place in this world for kindness. You have to be rational, and logic dictated threats to our family be silenced. Quickly, quietly, efficiently. Just as we’ve always done.†They stood in silence for several minutes, before Elayne slowly turned back around. Her eyes were red, and a few tears littered her cheeks. Theo hadn’t known she’d been crying, so quiet was the sadness. Or was it anger, fury, hatred? “I just have to know our children won’t be raised by a monster. Roland is fine, perfect, but is it because of you, or in spite of you?†The question hung like a swaying, lynched corpse, gloomy and menacing. Elayne broke the fragile silence once again. “If you have a goal, fine. I understand methods like that when dealing with threats to us. But torturing strangers is not the same as torturing family. What’s done is done, though. We’ve always put on the pretense of happiness and love, so that won’t stop. And I’ll pray to the gods that I can find it in my heart to forgive you. I just hope you pray for your own forgiveness.†She wiped her eyes, straightened her hair, then put on the genial look she always wore and walked out. Theodore thought about what she’d said. Cruel. Was I needlessly cruel? She would’ve been executed in trial, no doubt, but dead either way. Why does it matter if it was by fall or axe? And nothing would have enticed those animals except a pound of flesh for the *******. And if I let them for a moment, why should I feel bad? She would have flayed the skin from my body and rubbed salt on the wounds, given the chance. Theodore left the room in a huff, Sir Maric following close behind. He stopped and knocked on the door of Nireli Seles, the Dunmer who had taught Roland manners and speech and politics, though that was mostly a cursory education, since he had Theodore as the master teacher. She opened, her green gown cut low, hugging the curves of her body. From her ears dangled a pair of emerald earrings, large as grapes. A necklace found a place nestled in the cleave of her breasts, and without looking Theodore knew it to be a spider pendant, with a snake wrapped around. But look he did, his eyes lingering a moment longer than when merely inspecting someone or something. It was her personal symbol for her patrons, Mephala and Boethia. “My lord. What brings you by? I understand you just returned from Skyrim. Looking for some…warmth?†she cooed, eyes scanning his for any sign of acceptance. He didn’t think he’d given anything away, yet one side of her mouth curled in an impish grin. It reminded Theodore of Alef, and he began wondering why he stayed loyal to Elayne when, even in the best of times, there was more admiration and respect than love. But the thought of his child out there, not unlike Sir Maric’s, quickly pushed those thoughts out of mind. It also helped that the sobering presence of Sir Maric hovered behind, and though Theodore knew the man would keep any secret, the king still wished to have his respect, and not just allegiance. And this was the man rumored to be celibate since Madeleine left him, though Theo doubted that had any truth. “No. My cloak keeps me plenty warm. Sir Maric, wait here. I will not be more than a few moments.†Stepping in, Theo scanned the room for the table that held his endgame: two idols, one of a multi-armed woman wearing a shawl and string of skulls, the other a warrior wielding an axe with a serpent wrapped around his leg. Before he began praying, though, he turned to Nireli. She was naturally flirtatious, always attempting to seduce someone, man or woman. Though they notoriously and publicly disliked each other, Theo knew she and Cruttus Mido, Roland’s tactics and swordsmanship tutor, had been lovers for most of their employment here. And with Roland’s bedroom notoriety a fact, Theo couldn’t help but wonder if Nireli had instructed him on other matters as well. That could explain the days when Cruttus was especially rough on the boy. “You shouldn’t do that. To Roland or I or anyone else. We’re married, and any sort of relationship would only end poorly. For you,†he said, more sternly than he’d anticipated. Nireli pretended to pout as she sauntered over to her bed, sitting on the end. “Don’t be such a prude, Your Majesty. Even if you accepted, I wouldn’t let you go through with it. The money is too good. And your boy has only eyes for the Traven girl now.†“Well, I don’t want people getting the wrong impression. So keep your own eyes trained on Cruttus and not me.†Theo then walked over and knelt before the two statues, starting first with Boethia. Give me power to enact my plots, let lies stand firm as truth, and grant me the will to deceive and destroy those who stand against me. He shuffled over to Mephala, and began again. Let those whose plots seek to end me become tangled in their own web, strangled by the threads of their ill-conceived plans. Webspinner, let my own threads stay firm and true, manipulated by the master hands of one worthy to worship you. May you find eternal amusement in my craft, and that it pleases you to allow my own webs to remain spun in perfection. He rose, his mind clear of both the lust and anger he felt earlier. But he did not get far, before a violent fit of coughing sent him staggering to a knee. He pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped away the phlegm from his mustache. He had only one mere moment to wonder why it was so green, before in rushed Sir Maric, surprised, or maybe glad, to see everyone still clothed. “Your majesty, Queen Adrard has sent for you. It appears she’s having the babies,†Sir Maric said, his eyes widening as he came to the realization that ‘babies’ was plural. “You’re having twins, King Adrard.†Theodore pushed himself up, rushing out of the room. All thoughts of the fight and even the prayers were forgotten, his single purpose getting to his wife and unborn children. Roland, Lyenna and Joslin were already there, standing outside the room. “Did someone get the priests? And the healers? And the apothecaries?†he asked, looking mostly to Joslin for answers. “They’re already here. We’ve kept them here the past few weeks in anticipation,†she answered, glancing towards the door as she heard screaming. A head popped out, a priestess by the look of her robes. “Her majesty wants his majesty.†Theodore entered, immediately going to Elayne’s side. She gripped his hand, squeezing it tightly as another contraction hit. “How much longer?†he asked another priestess, who seemed to be in charge. “I’m not sure. We didn’t even know there were twins, and now they seem to be coming much sooner than any birth I’ve ever seen.†Another contraction hit, followed by instructions to push, and out came the first child. The priestess quickly handed it off another, as the next child was already coming as well. Pushing, the next child came, followed by hushed murmuring from the healers and priestesses. “What’s wrong?†Elayne asked, trying to push herself up to see the babies. It was then Theodore realized there was no crying, and he too began worrying. One priestess frantically ran a healing spell over the children, while another tried to administer a potion to the other. This desperate operation continued for several minutes, the parents looking on, powerless and afraid. “Your majesty, I’m afraid…I’m afraid they are not well,†the head clergywoman said. Flanking her were two others, each holding a child. They gave them to mother and father before quickly retreating. The babies were yellow eyed, with dark shading surrounding them. Their skin was translucent and pale, with a sickly green tint. They were puking green bile, more than their body weight in all likelihood. They didn’t make a sound except for their gagging as they puked. It was unnatural, surreal, as if Theodore was in some inescapable realm in which Vaermina’s nightmares mixed with Sheogorath’s lunacy. “Heal them!†Elayne shouted. “Do something!†“We’ve tried. They rejected all the potions we used, and the magic has no effect. I’m sorry, your majesty, there’s nothing to be done.†“Get out. All of you. Tell those outside the children died, but nothing else. Nothing else,†Theodore said, and the women rushed to obey. Elayne was crying her backed wracked with sobs that shook her to the bone. Theodore scooped up a child in each hand, then took them over to the cradle that would have been there bed. Instead, it was to be their coffin. He placed them there, one boy and one girl, looking over their traumatized, bloated faces. He’d never felt such a strong sense of pity before. After a few more moments of choking, both children fell silent. Theodore struggled to hold back the tears, but eventually relented as he moved to Elayne’s side. All thoughts of their previous fight were gone, and they just held each other, wallowing in sadness. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Theodore Adrard Kurallian Mountains, between Camlorn and Shornhelm Evening The Kurallian Mountains formed the western branch of the mountain chain usually referred to as the Wrothgarians. Whereas the Wrothgarians were towering spires of rock reaching towards the sky, the Kurallians in comparison seemed no more than hills. Still, they were the highest point of the Glenumbra Moors, which stretched from Camlorn to nearly Shornhelm. While on the southern tip of the Breton peninsula, the Moors grew less and less rugged, turning into the flowing Ilessan Hills of Daggerfall. But here, the going was treacherous. Deep crevices and gaping caves marred the landscape, and loose pebbles littered the few mountain trails. The first thing Theodore and Sir Maric did was find a guide. Most of the people who lived in the small mountain villages were either sheep or goat herders, so they all knew the terrain well. At the sight of the coin purse, everyone in the village volunteered, though Theo eventually decided on a young lad who seemed up to the task. The trip was only a day’s hike from the village, but it was a steep and tiresome trek. “What do you know of this man?†Theodore asked, once the village was well behind them. The guide rubbed his chin, which had a layer of fuzz on it. Theo supposed it was the young man’s attempt at a beard. “He helps us out from time to time. Healing mostly. Only ever asks for payment in return.†“How long has he been there? In that valley?†“As long as anyone in the village can remember.†Sir Maric asked, “It doesn’t bother you that you know almost nothing about him?†The shepherd shook his head. “No. He’s never hurt anyone I know of, and only ever helped us. Gives the kids books to learn from and such. He’s the reason we’re literate. He’s real particular about getting his payment though. Won’t work for free.†“Do people visit him often?†Theodore asked. “You two are the first I know of. Though like I said, he’s been around a while. He does take an apprentice every so often, whenever he finds a particularly skilled kid. The family nearly always lets him, since it’s better than herding sheep. He has one now. The one before that one left for Skyrim, I think.†They walked on in silence most of the day, only stopping briefly to eat a lunch of salted beef and hard bread. It was by no means regal food, but Theodore did not want it getting out the king was going off and hiking into mysterious valleys. The less these peasants knew of him, the better. ** Theodore glanced at the fading violet sky. He regretted leaving Elayne so soon after the birth. It was important he find this man, but his family was broken, and they all needed each other in this time. Sighing, he turned his gaze over his shoulder, where Sir Maric followed dutifully. Theo was glad to have him along, though knew the knight likely wanted to be with Madeleine. He couldn’t blame him. The only one who seemed at home was their guide. “How much further, did you say?†Theodore asked the shepherd. “Not far. Up and over the crest then back down into the valley. But my parts over. We know better than to go in there. His orders,†the shepherd said with a shrug, dusting a light layer of snow off a rock and sitting down on it. Even though the shepherd’s pockets jingled with Theodore’s coin, Theo didn’t think paying any more would persuade him to continue. And suddenly revealing his royal identity would only be met with a scoff. Theo knew the rumors of this place, and had already considered its denizen for the job before the birth. After it, though, there seemed no other choice. Theodore needed this man, no matter the cost. But he could find the valley without a guiding shepherd. He and Sir Maric continued on the path for another half-hour, slowly, carefully making their way down the hillside toward a wooded valley. Though the sky was darkening, he could just make out the clearing through the mixed rows of trees. Thick, broad oaks, squat sugar maples, silver and smooth beeches, gray, slender birches, thin and tall spruces, irregular shaped pines, scaly barked firs, all made up the motley valley forest. The closer they got to the bottom, the warmer it became, and strangely, it seemed easier to see as well, as if some artificial light source was dispelling the shadows of the night. Wind rustled the tops of the towering oaks and pines and spruces, ushering in sounds like childlike giggling and fervent whispers told beneath the covers, long after the time for bed had come and gone. Eyes peered from the low shrubbery and fern undergrowth that covered the ground. Foxes, porcupines, badgers, quail, game hen, deer, and ground squirrels peered at the new arrivals, either unafraid or uncaring. Behind them, deeper in the crowd of trees, more fantastic beasts appeared. A unicorn’s snow-white form was just visible in a break between two oak branches. A nymph and spriggan both seemed to watch, melding in and out of trees as they moved parallel to Theo and Sir Maric. A mountain lion prowled, its form low to the ground but making nary a sound as it brushed the grasses and shrubs. A boar, with sow and litter in tow, rooted around a pine, crushing the cones and eating the sweet pine nuts within. Above the heads of all, a red-tailed hawk sat, its keen eyes scrutinizing every movement. An eagle did the same, from its perch higher, up on the cliff face. In the threadbare branches of an ashen pine, a colony of bats hung upside down, mothers and fathers brushing awake the children as the sun finally finished its daylong journey. A giant bat from a separate tree dismounted, did a tight turn to unfurl its leathery wings, which seemed to almost glimmer in this light, then snapped away into the pitch colored sky. Owls hooted, then took to the air, quieter than a shadow. A wolf howled somewhere, the pack echoing it even as the first call still rebounded off the mountain walls that separated this pristine forest from the grotesque outside world. Even with all that weighed on Theodore’s mind, the serene refuge he’d entered left him more at peace than any other time in his life. He glanced over his shoulder, and thought he caught Sir Maric staring, mouth agape. Theodore himself was in awe of this place, and how it could remain so untouched, so perfect in its isolation. Even the path they followed was worn from the tracks of the aforementioned animals, and not from any man or mer. As they reached the pond, they discovered the source of the uncanny light. The surface was so smooth, it was glass, and just beneath it small creatures seemingly composed completely of light darted this way and that. They glowed a pale blue, individually giving off less light than a single ember, but together enough to cast their glow all around the valley. Tendrils of shining steam floated into the air, lit up from the glowing moons above and the fluorescent beings below. In the middle of the pond sat a small island, just large enough to hold the square tower that rested on it like a crown atop a king’s head. It was old stone, pulled from the cliffs and rocks surrounding the picturesque forest. Moss and creeping vine wound their way through cracks in the bricks and mortar. Though it was a tower, complete with crenellations and small slit windows, it was only one story, rendering it useless as a fortification. Theo doubted, however, that it would ever be needed as such. Sir Maric cleared his throat, catching Theodore again locked in a trance, bewitched by the natural beauty. “How should be get out there? We could swim, but…†Neither wanted to disturb the glowing things, nor the pond, however illogical it was. “No,†commanded the man who had suddenly appeared behind them. His voice was soothing and grandfatherly, but with an edge like volcanic obsidian, that would cut to the bone if it was so much as trifled with. Despite themselves, both Theodore and Thomas jumped. This was the man they were looking for, yet didn’t expect to find him outside his home. Knowing the man’s nature, and hearing the voice that was both enticing and harsh, Theo couldn’t help but shiver a little. The man brushed between the knight and king, his dark green robes causing him to blend in with the foliage surrounding them. His staff was twisted and knotted, made of a hard, dark maple, the top branching off to surround a dark ebony sphere before reforming, making a wooden cage around the ball. His beard was trimmed to perfection, not a hair out of place, with the point coming off his chin a short ways, the end held together by a small golden ring. His hair and beard were pure white, like the mane of the unicorn. It was pulled back tight from his sharp widow’s peak, another golden ring keeping the ponytail in place. On his head he wore a thin gold circlet, inlaid with emeralds as dark green as his eyes. His hands were twisted like the staff, crooked and varicose veined. His face was lean, wrinkled and craggy, like the cliff walls that bordered the mountain glade. He tapped the bottom of the staff on the water, and instead of ripples forming, the surface smoothed over, and he took a step on to the water. Tentatively, Theodore followed, with Sir Maric hesitating a little longer before stepping out as well. Once he reached the island, the wizard didn’t wait upon Theodore and Thomas, instead stepping right into the small square tower. The old man stood inside, and then silently led the duo down a spiral staircase into a long, but relatively thin rectangular room. The cavern was below the pond, but clearly had been man made. It looked more like a nobleman’s library than a cave, lacking only windows to complete the illusion. Shelving covered the two long walls. One side was only books, the other various experiments, specimen, mechanical contraptions, and magical instruments. Large stone tables ran along the middle of the room. They seemed to be pulled up from the stone floor itself, just slab shaped outcroppings from the ground. A corpse lay on the nearest table, the skin of its chest pulled back to reveal the organs and bones beneath. At the far end were several cages, though Theo couldn’t make out what was in them. By the staircase they had just descended was a bed, a huge chest, and two large cabinets. A form ambled out from behind a table, but it was only an old dog, which came over to the sorcerer’s side and nudged his head toward his master’s hand. The dog was huge, easily weighing over a hundred pounds, with shaggy white fur. Around its muzzle, there a tinge of gray, almost steel in color. Its back paws, Theodore noticed, had a set of dew claws. He recognized them from his days as a boy, visiting his father’s hunting dogs. Once, one of the new pups had a set, and the kennel master had cut them off, just in case they ever became a hindrance later in life. The mage scratched the dog between the ears, and then said, “Ki, esedah.†The dog sat down immediately, its tongue hanging out of his gaping mouth. Theodore judged by the tone of voice that ‘Ki’ was the dog’s name, with ‘esedah’ being the command to sit. He assumed it was Old Bretic. Turning to Theodore, the wizard looked him up and down, those dark green eyes scrutinizing everything. Suddenly Theo wished he’d dressed more regally, instead of the drab clothing he wore now. “What do you want?†the mage asked. Theodore swallowed, and said, “I need a royal wizard for my court.†“You’re Adrard then. Right. No.†“No? No what?†“I won’t be your mage servant. What can you offer me I don’t have?†Theodore thought for a moment. A cold sweat was forming on his bald head. He needed this man, but hated feeling vulnerable. But Theo knew his vulnerability might be the only way to convince the sorcerer to join him. And sooner or later, he’d have to tell the wizard anyway, especially if he was going to get him to cure it. “I’m sick. I’ve had a cold for a while now, and its lasted months, longer than any cold should. No manner of potion or healing will rid me of it, though they do seem to mask the symptoms. Then my wife gave birth to our children. Twins, but both were horribly distorted, vomiting green bile and pale beyond all reason. And before I took the throne, my father-in-law died with similar symptoms, vomiting bile, his skin cold and white like snow. I think my family is cursed.†The wizard stared off down the rectangular room, his gaze distant and unresponsive. Theo was unsure if he’d even heard, until the sorcerer moved toward Theo faster than the he’d expected. Sir Maric made a move to stop him, but suddenly crumbled to the floor. Theodore’s muscles became rigid, and the thaumaturge pushed the king’s paralyzed body up against the wall. One bony, arthritic hand moved over Theodore’s mouth, the fingers splaying out until the hand covered Theo’s face. The wizard’s other hand moved over the king’s heart, while those dark green eyes closed tight. Theo’s own eyes flicked about, unsure what to make of the situation. He noticed Sir Maric was alive, just lying in a heap on the stone floor. Ki was licking the knight’s forehead, while the twisted maple staff was standing perfectly still where the mage left it. Theodore felt a power surging through him. He wondered if this was how he died. Even with the rumored dangers of coming here, Theo hadn’t expected it to end in his death. Though, given the man’s vampirism, he wondered why he hadn’t sucked him dry yet. Unless he kept his quarry in those cages. Maybe the man on the table was the previous victim, ready to be raised as an undead slave. Theo thought back to the villagers. Were they in on the ploy? Maybe they were vampires as well. Theodore was not usually afraid, but within the last week, he could count the two most fearful times of his life: his children’s birth and subsequent death, and now this. The wizard released him so suddenly Theo almost crashed to the floor. The mage backed away from Theo, muttering to himself. The staff flew back to his hand, and he leaned on it, seeming weary. Sir Maric rose to his feet, his right hand reaching across to his sword hilt, which hung on his left. “What’s the meaning of this? What did you just do to me? And to Sir Maric?†Theodore asked. “Him? A simple alteration. I made his armor weigh several hundred pounds, to keep him from attacking me. You, however, are sick. Worse than I’ve ever seen. Your Daedric affiliations are likely the cause,†the wizard said. “Daedric? What? No-I…†Should I tell him about Mephala and Boethiah? What would happen if someone heard, I’d be disgraced…but I’d rather be disgraced than die. “I-I may pray to Mephala and Boethiah from time to time. But never openly, nor have I ever sought to actually converse with them.†“Mephala you say? Yes, it all makes sense,†the wizard said, speaking to himself again rather than Theodore or Sir Maric. He cupped a hand to the ebony orb in his staff, then peered into it for several moments. Theodore thought it must be a scrying stone of some sort. Snapping away, he said, “You are infected with a curse. Lord Peryite’s. I believe the entirety of High Rock’s ruling family is infected, actually.†My whole family… Theodore did crash to the floor this time, sitting like a child, his arms wrapped around his knees. “Why? What did we do?†“Nothing, in all likelihood. I assume instead of cursing the whole of High Rock, he instead just curses its rulers. But who can say, really? The Princes do as they please. Though, you worshipping a rival of his likely doesn’t help. Now this has been all well and good but I have work to do so if you would leave-†“A rival? What do you mean?†“You seem to have no limit to your questions, do you? I mean that Peryite and Mephala are rivals. Gods know why, they just are. So you worshipping her makes the curse stronger.†“What can I do stop it, or slow it down?†The mage’s hand tightened around the staff. He seemed to be growing more and more agitated. “You fancy yourself a wise king, do you?†Tentatively, Theodore answered, “Yes.†“All rulers do. They’re much too egotistical to see just how stupid they really are. You can consider yourself wise and intelligent, but obviously you don’t have all the answers. And I for one do not feel obliged to answer your unimportant inquiries. As I said before, I do not want to be your royal mage, or what have you. So be gone with you.†Theodore’s face scrunched together. He was unsure what he was hearing. After trekking all this way, and then to be diagnosed, only to be turned away was unforeseeable. He felt like the idiot the wizard clearly thought he was. “This man, and his family, are dying, and you won’t help them? The villagers said you were kind, yet they were evidently mistaken,†Sir Maric said, defiant. “Oh forgive me for not bowing and scraping to the almighty gracious king. You want to know why I won’t help him, and why I help the villagers? Fine, knight, you shall see.†The wizard went over to the cabinet next to the bed, throwing it open to reveal the entire thing was filled with jars of blood. “You see, they help me, so I help them. I’m no more excited about my vampirism than any reasonable person, but it is still the only option I have. Gods know I don’t help them because I enjoy it. You want my assistance, then you will have to compensate me.†If there was one thing Theodore knew, it was negotiating, politicking. He’d heard the vampiric rumors, so wasn’t shocked to see what was in the cabinet. He rose, pushing himself first to a knee then all the way up, being sure to stand tall and proud. He would not show any more weakness before this curmudgeonly, bitter old man. “What is it you want? Money, power, knowledge, all I can give you. Just name your price, mage.†The sorcerer’s lip twitched, and by the loosest definition of the word, it could have been a smile. “Anything, you say? Well then, I first want enough money to fund whatever experiments I conduct. And a private place in which to conduct them. Second, I will not be fighting for you or anyone. If someone usurps you or assassinate you, I will be just as inclined to help them, which is to say, not at all. I am not and will never be your friend. Third, I want books. Several of them, which I lack for various projects. They will not be easy to acquire, as the School of Julianos, tight pricks that they are, refuse to let anyone have them. But I will have them, and you will see it done. That is all I can think of now, but if something else comes to mind, you will be asked to fulfill it, within reason.†Theodore nearly jumped to accept, but Sir Maric proved to be more prudent. “Before his majesty agrees to anything, we need to know who exactly you are. We don’t even know your name, now that I think of it.†The wizard glared at Thomas momentarily, but then began to introduce himself. “I am Dryston Winvale. I trained under Myrddin Ambrosius, long before either of you existed. That was long ago, before even the Septims came. Ambrosius was obsessed with immortality, and it did not take long for me to become so as well. We searched for potions, spells, anything that would grant us eternal life. He died long before any real ground could be gained. I however sought the avenue of Alteration. It proved futile, and as I grew older I had no choice but to become a vampire. I made sure to choose the right strain, the Anthotis strain. It is old, from the Sentinel region, and grants superior intellect. I made sure to get the old blood, so I may walk in the sun like the living. After that I continued my research into Alteration. I learned how to alter the shape of my body through polymorphing, a skill those Wyrd witches stole. The giant bat you saw in the forest was I. I’ve published books on shadow magic, under a pseudonym. My finest achievement, however, was paralysis. Before, it was purely illusion, making someone believe they were paralyzed. I made it physical, so that someone under the affect is not merely tricked, but is truly frozen. Besides that I study the numerous half creatures in High Rock. That,†he pointed at the body on the table, “is a harpy I was dissecting. Now, does that satisfy you? Or do I need to inform you what my favorite wine is?†Theodore said, “That will be all, thank you. Now, how do you cure this curse?†Dryston scoffed, shaking his head. “That is like asking how do you cure having pale skin. You can’t, it is something that is not in you, but is you. Though I suppose if you were no longer king, that could stop it. Maybe.†“That isn’t an option. And neither is vampirism, before you suggest it. I will not have my body be slave to bloodlust. So if you can’t break the curse, then who can?†Theodore asked. Dryston stroked the point of his beard. “I suppose there a number of people who could help you. That number being greater than zero, less than ten. The Psijic Order likely has someone skilled enough. Some Altmer mage too, though I doubt that is an option. The Telvanni are certainly known for their Daedric dealings. A Greybeard? Might they be able to shout it out of you? No, not likely. Maybe some hedge shaman in the Reach, though good luck getting their help. And who knows what may lie in the lizards’ swampland.†Telvanni. Theodore knew someone who could help, or at the very least point him in the right direction. But Master Wizard Drenim was in Cyrodiil, and he couldn’t go back there. With time being very much of the essence, he’d have to find someway to contact the Dunmer. “I know someone who can help. But say he was too far away or unable to actually break the curse himself, but knew how to, could you do it?†Dryston chuckled dryly. “Could I? Of course I can. Following a spell or steps to a ritual is like baking a pie, so long as you have the ingredients, or magicka to do so. And I am clearly powerful enough. The problem is actually figuring out what spell to cast or ritual to perform. Since I don’t consort with Daedra, your friend will have to figure that out.†Theodore smiled. “So that’s it then. Do we need to help you pack your things, or will your assistant be enough help?†This time, Dryston did not contain his laughter. “Elyn? That woman is the laziest apprentice I’ve ever had. Sybille would have been of some help, but she’s long gone. No, I can manage. Though, tell me, where will my quarters in your castle be?†Theodore’s brow scrunched, as he tried to deduce the wizard’s reasoning. Failing, he said, “I suppose the old court mage’s tower. He didn’t stay long, fell from it not long after arrival. Good thing, too, because he had some unsavory opinions about my moral character.†It was Dryston’s turn to be confused, but he quickly understood. “Do not suppose you can push me out of tower windows. Though from what I understand, you may have a penchant for it. I will have my things moved in before you return, but for the sake of not scaring your household, I myself will not arrive until you have returned.†“Your shadow magic. You can teleport places, can’t you?†Sir Maric said. “Your dog may yet be as bright as mine. Yes, in layman’s terms, I can ‘teleport’ places, though it is far more complicated and far more useful than simply teleporting. Now, since it doesn’t seem likely you two will leave here, it being after dark, you may stay in the guest room. I hope Elyn’s snoring doesn’t keep you too awake. Magnus forbid His Majesty is uncomfortable.†With those snide parting remarks, Dryston Winvale and his dog left up the tower steps and out into the woods. Theodore sighed. He was happy he had this man, even if Dryston personally could not cure his family. But the news his entire family was cursed stabbed at his heart like an assassin’s dagger. He would need to keep this a secret, no doubt, but eventually everyone would begin to show signs, as he already was. Those would have to be covered up as well. And then there was the logistics of getting to Endar. He didn’t trust sending a letter to Manis, so he would have to send a person instead. Who, though? Between Elyn’s snoring and the uneasiness he felt, Theodore slept little that night. But when he awoke he did have one question answered. And it meant he had a wedding to attend. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Akamon "Hawkeye" One Week Ago Hall of the Virtues of War Watching Lashana fight was a sight to behold. She was extremely fast and agile, and her footwork was almost flawless, compared to the other Ansei in the temple. Akamon smiled with amusement as Lashana was fighting with a man from one of the knightly orders in Hammerfell. Apparently the man wanted to challenge one of the Ansei with a duel to show off his skill, though it looks his plan is crumbling very fast. Lashana danced around around the man as if he was still and would land three consecutive strikes before backing off and letting the Knight catch his breath. This sort of thing happened a lot. Some arrogant swordsman or Knight from one of the many Knightly orders in Hammerfell, would challenge an Ansei to a duel, and every single time they lost. Akamon remembered when he fought in one such duel. It was with a man from the Order of the Lily. The man's name was Astius Crex an Imperial Knight who used to be a Centurion in the Legion. On the day of the duel Akamon defeated the Knight in less than ten seconds by using the famed "Ephimeral Feint" a sword technique created by none other than Frandar Hunding himself. Let alone considering the fact that the technique is very difficult to pull off in the first place and the fact that at the time, Akamon was only 23, put a dent in the knight's pride as a warrior. The Astius vowed that he would have a rematch, but it has been 7 years since then and no such word has reached Akamon yet. It was over. Lashana stood over the man who was lying flat on his back, her sword blade up against the man's neck. Rashadon, Grandmaster Ansei, raised his hand. The old Redguard spoke in his soothing voice. "The match has been decided, Lashana is victor in this duel. Farion LaRouche, you fought honorably, but the duel was not yours to be won. When you go back to your order, tell them to cease the amount of duel requests. Good day." Getting up, Rashadon walked out of the sparring floor. Seeing this as his moment, Akamon sneaked up behind Lashana and picked her up and tickled her in the stomach before being slapped in the face teasingly by his former mentor. Putting her down Akamon smiled at her and said,"Glad to know my former mentor is still sharp as ever. Here I thought you were getting rusty." Scowling playfully, Lashana rested her silver eyes on Akamon, and mockingly retorted,"Oh is that so? Well I'll gladly accept a challenge from you any time liitle bro. Leki only knows you could use it, we haven't dueled in over a year." Giving Akamon a wink, Lashana saw that Akamon was wearing comfortable clothes which suggested he just got up from sleeping. "Sleeping in lately Akamon?" Akamon jokingly puffed out his in playful defiance, but he knew he couldn't outdo his old mentor. Sighing and bringing his head back up to meet hers, Akamon grabbed a hold of both her shoulders and said in a serious voice,"I've been having those dreams again; and this last one was more vivid and real than the others", pausing for bit, Akamon was wondering if he should tell Lashana about seeing the the dream through Elqwinwe's eyes. Thinking on it, he decided not to. He didn't want her to think that he was going crazy. "Akamon!" Hearing his name being yelled, Akamon was brought back to reality. Letting go of Lashana's shoulders, he asked a very important question. "Will you come with me to visit my village? There is something I must confirm there. Only then will the nightmares stop." Lashana crossed her arms and pursed her lips. She knew Akamon had dreams about the massacre of his village. He didn't have them every night, but he experienced them frequent enough for him to confide in her about them. Which was understandable because Lashana thought of Akamon like a younger brother, and he thought of her as an older sister. Rubbing the side of her head, Lashana finally broke the silence, and answered,"Yes I will come with you. I know how much... that experienced has traumatized you. When will we be leaving?" Akamon breathed a sigh of relief and and replied."As soon as possible. Remember to pack for two weeks. It takes about a week to get there on horseback and then there is the journey back." For you Lashana. Only for you. One Week Later "It hasn't changed much, if at all." Akamon gazed over his once proud village, which was now in ruins thanks to Old Mary. Snapping the reigns of Leki, his horse, Aakmon trotted towards the village. In most Hammerfell villages, huts were constructed out of dried mud and import lumber from the eastern part of Hammerfell. Despite the crude materials used, the craftmanship was apparent. Though was left was in shambles and ruins. Half burned buildings and ashes were everywhere. "What are you looking for exactly?" Lashana asked as she trotted right beside Akamon. Her gaze was questioning but honest. Looking at her from under his straw hat which concealed his eyes, Akamon responded with,"Anything that confirms she is dead." Lashana let a, "hmph" escape her lips in annoyance, but said nothing else. Once they reached the middle of what remained of the village, Akamon pulled the reigns on Leki and brought her to a halt. Dismounting quickly, Akamon scanned the scene. Besides from the half burned buildings and skeletons of dead animals, nothing had changed from he last time visited over 2 years ago. Wanting to get right down to business, Akamon entered the remains of Elquinwe's parent's store. Broken bottles littered the ground, torn pieces of rugs and linen hung on the walls that weren't completely burned down, and a couple of mice skittered across the wooden floor. Walking behind the counter, Akamon searched the inside of the counter for any clues whatsoever. Honestly he didn't know what he was looking for, but whatever it was when he would come to find it, he find answers. Moving old burned books from the shelves inside of the counter, something caught Akamon's eye. It was a thin journal, surprisingly well preserved, admist all of burned books. Grabbing a hold of it, Akamon opened it, and all of a sudden a blue light flashed from the book and immediately vanished. Magic. Akamon put two and two together and it all made sense, one of Elqwinwe's parents must have placed a protective spell on the journal to keep from getting damaged. Reading through the journal entries most of them had to do with the financial and marital circumstances between Armion and Elenya, Elqwinwe's parents. Coming to the last journal entry, Akamon couldn't believe it. 12th of Last Seed, 4E -- (year scratched off) I pen this journal entry with the utmost haste. Elqwinwe just returned from talking to some travelers, when she saw a golden sparkles in the distant. All of my instincts and foresight leave only one answer, the Dominion is coming to Divad's Calling. I quickly packed two extra dresses for Elqwinwe and some bread, cheese, wine, and a spell tome for a simple fire spell. I gave her a note on where to go to. She has to leave town immediately. The note I gave her will lead her to the city of Skaven. She will be safe there. They're coming! If only Akamon were---- (rest unreadable) Closing the journal, Akamon felt something he hadn't in a long time... hope. Hope that Elqwinwe was alive. Hope that she was still in the city of Skaven. Though he was prepared for the worst. He had to find her. He had to track her down and beg for her forgiveness for not being in at the village when it needed him the most. "12th of Last Seed... only two days before I arrived at the village." He knew what he had to do. Taking Elenya's journal with him, Akamon walked back outside where Lashana leaned against a wooden post. Seeing him, Lashana walked over to Akamon, and asked,"Did you find anything?" Still in a state of revelation, Akamon spoke absent mindedly,"Yes. Thank you for coming along with me Lashana. You can make your way back to the Hall." Taking off his cloak which concealed his armor very well, Akamon, unhooked his steel shield from behind his back and taking the silver shortsword from inside and hooking it onto his belt on his lower back, handed his shield to her and said,"I want you to have this. It would be cumbersome for me for such a long journey." "Wait your leaving?" Lashana asked in a surprised voice. (music to set the mood) Looking at her with his piercing amber eyes, Akamon smiled slightly and hugged her fiercely. He didn't want to leave, but he had no choice. While embracing her, Akamon whispered in her ear,"I know you don't me to leave, but this something I have to do for myself. If your wondering why I'm doing this, then all I have to say is this: the heart moves where the heart wills. I'll miss you, and don't let your skills falter." Letting go of Lashana, Akamon mounted Leki and threw on his cloak. Lowering the straw hat so his eyes and nose were concealed, Akamon looked down on her and finally said,"Goodbye Lashana." Snapping the reigns, Leki trotted forward eastward towards Skaven. Towards Elqwinwe. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Akamon "Hawkeye" a.k.a Hawk of Leki Skaven, Hammerfell Evening "There you go girl. You stay here and keep the other horses company." Akamon patted Leki's nose with his hand and smiled at his stallion. Giving her a kiss on the forehead, Akamon backed out of the stall and through the barn. The stables of Skaven were some of the biggest in Hammerfell. The owner of the stables, a kind Dunmer woman, greeted Akamon outside of the barn as he about leave. "Sera, that would be 20 gold." The Dunmer pursed her lips and while doing so reached for her pouch of coins and waited to be paid. Looking at her from underneath his straw hat, Akamon smiled to her and replied simply with,"Ansei horses stay at stables for free." Upon realizing this, the Dunmer women apologized quickly and returned to her house. Walking towards the gate to Skaven, it's tall stone walls loomed over Akamon. Skaven has survived numerous sieges from Imperial Legions, to Old Mary war machines. The guard to Akamon's left crossed his spear with the guard of the right side of the gate. The guard on the left addressed Akamon formally. "What business do you have in Skaven traveler?" Lifting his head level to that of the guard, so the lamp overhead would catch Akamon's face, he nonchalantly said,"And what might you gain from meddling in the affairs of an Ansei?" Eyes widening, the guard let,"The Hawk of Leki", escape his lips before shouting to the upper ramparts, "Open the gates! The Hawk of Leki is entering the city!" Uncrossing their spears, the guard on right apologized to Akamon swiftly,"Forgive me milord." Ignoring the guard, Akamon walked through the gates and as he did so, a pitched chime sounded off into the night of the city. One chime meant that an Ansei was entering a city, two meant that a Crown was entering a city, and three chimes meant the King of Hammerfell was entering a city. The gates closing behind him, Akamon calmly walked through the streets of Skaven. Within ten minutes, Akamon entered the Leisure District of Skaven. Most of the businesses in this district were brothels, hooka dens, and bathhouses. Coming to one such bathhouse called Flowing Spirits, Akamon opened the wooden door and entered. Aroumas of tamas, rolled beef with cheese inside filled Aakmons nostrils. A beautiful Redguard woman in simple, but revealing robes, greeted Akamon. "Good evening Ansei. It has been a while since one of your order has come to our humble bathhouse. Would you like to rent our best room? At a discount of course", smiling playfully the hostess batted her eyelashes at Akamon. Yawning, and smiling back at the lovely hostess, Akamon pulled out his pouch and handed her 10 gold coins. Walking past her towards his room, he whispered in her ear,"Bring me some tamas to the bath if you will, sema." Sliding the cloth and wooden door, Akamon was greeted by a plush bedroll with two linen pillows and a neat back space to store his armor and such. Undressing down to his bare skin, Akamon left his necklace of Leki on, and only brought his scimitar with to the adjoining part of the bathhouse. Sliding the door shut behind him, Akamon saw the plate of tamas by the edge of the bath. Taking off his towel, and resting his scimitar beside in such an angle so that he could quickly draw the blade and attack in one fluid motion, Akamon dipped into the bath and started to relax. As the steam parted, Falion LaRouche spotted Akamon. Nothing but the Breton's head floated above the water. When he rose, the water ran through the coarse hair that covered his burly chest, though a spot on his left peck lay bare. On it, a large black bear was tattooed. He waded through the water over to Akamon, then slumped back down in the water directly across from the Ansei. "You were there at the duel. The one where that b-that woman beat me," Falion said, his eyes narrowed as they flicked to the sword, then back to Akamon. Savoring the flavor of the tamas, Akamon heard a splash of water from the far of the bath. Turning his head in the direction of the sound, Akamon was surprised to see the Breton knight who lost to Lashana a week ago. The Breton had a black bear tattooed on his left peck. Akamon pretended he didn't hear the near insult of Lashana. His eyes never missed a beat. The man's eyes flicked to Akamon's scimitar before resting back to Akamon. Plopping another tamas in his mouth, Akamon took another one and handed it to the Breton. Swallowing the last of the meat, Akamon spoke. "She's fast. Not many even in the Hall can match her tempo and rhythm with the blade. I'm surprised you were able last as long as you did. You were simply unlucky, that's all. If my memory serves me correctly your name is Falion? My name is Akamon, though people throughout Hammerfell refer to me either as The Hawk of Leki or simply, Hawk. It's not hard to figure out why. With these eyes, you attract a lot of attention." The knight scoffed, then tossed the tamas back. "Humble of you, oh great, all seeing Hawk. You're damn right I was unlucky. If I'd've pulled any other runt they would've been flat on their backs. Your friend was quicker than a sabertooth tiger. It's unnatural." Taking the tamas, Akamon scoffed it down. Looking back at the Breton, Akamon chuckled at his comment. "All Ansei are unnatural. The question is, who is more unnatural than the next one? As the saying goes, there's always a bigger fish. If you faced me.... well lets not get into that topic. Let's just say if you thought Lashana was unnatural, I'm an anomaly." Just then, one of the hostesses came into the bath area with two small cups and some wine. Setting them down, she winked Falion and then left the two warriors to themselves again. Uncorking the bottle of wine, Akamon poured himself a cup and poured another cup for Falion. "Want some wine? If you have any questions at all feel free to ask." Akamon held out the cup to Falion hoping he would accept it. Falion took it, and gulped it down quickly. It wasn't the first drink he'd had today, nor the strongest. He held it back out for a refill. "Unnatural at boasting, maybe. Bugger it all, what do I care, I got kicked out of my order anyway. I got my ass put on the floor, and it won't be the last time. Fine, what brings you here?" Pouring more into Falion's cup, Akamon swigged his quickly and answered the knight's question. "Well I'm looking for somebody who I thought was dead for eight years. I won't get into the details, but the first clue led me here. Hopefully I'll find her. I left the order, so I'm not an Ansei anymore", sighing, Akamon poured another cup of wine and quickly consumed it. "I apologize if I came off arrogant earlier. Honestly I suck at prideful boasting. Heh, your the one who told me, haha. Even Lashana agrees. She'll just say 'just shut up', hahaha. I miss her already." Laying back more, and resting both arms on the edge of the bath, Akamon said,"You were kicked out of your order huh? It happens all the time. Tell me what brings you to Hammerfell Falion?" Falion massaged his temple, closing his eyes and thinking deep. "Where do I begin...well, my brother is a noble in Farrun. We never got along though. Once my parents died, there wasn't anything tying me down. I've been adventuring ever since. Made my way to Dragonstar after a time, joined the order there. Figured I'd teach you prancing Redguards a thing or two about swordplay. You saw how that went. Now I'm here. Figure I'll drink for a while, find some bounties and get back to work. Maybe try Cyrodiil, or Skyrim. "What's that saying? 'Go where the wind takes you?' Well I guess I'm waiting for the wind to blow, then." "Ah a noble. I've met a couple in my time... all I have to say is Crowns; they're bunch of assholes honestly. Ah yes Dragonstar I've been there a few times. Not the most exciting city, but you do get a nice mix of cultures from your province and Skyrim. Well hopefully the wind doesn't take you to a dead end." Sitting up, Akamon wanted to get a taste of the man's fighting style. "Where did you learn your particular style of rhythm with the sword? I'm always eager to share techniques with a fellow swordsman.'' Akamon uncorked the wine bottle again and gestured to Falion if he wanted more. Falion eagerly stuck his cup out. Once refilled, he said, "I suppose my father and our master-at-arms. Trained the way most knights do, in heavy armor, blocking, and the longsword. How about yourself?" Smiling Akamon was actually enjoying himself. It was refreshing to talk about swordsmanship with somebody who was not an Ansei. "Like you, I was taught by my father, though he was farmer. He started teaching me in the way of the sword at the age of 5. One of the things he stressed the most was stamina conservation and patience. He had a copy of the Book of Circles, written by Frandar Hunding. That's how I actually learned to read and write was from the teaching of Hunding. It is full of many, many different defensive stances, thousands of different sword cuts, and thirty four different grips. It can be overwhelming at times. Anyway, I was taught to use a shield, but only when I absolutely couldn't dodge or counter a blow. I wear an armor referred to as "metal skin" it's frasseted steel that hugs the body, and allows me to weave and dodge, and use my agility to its advantage." Taking a swig, Akamon continued,"One thing you have to keep in mind about my people is, we are all expected to at least be adept in some form weapon skill, most preferably swordsmanship." Falion rubbed the black stubble on his chin. "Heh, farmers in High Rock wouldn't know the first thing about using a sword. Just to stick'em with the sharp end. I guess the closest thing we have to the Book of Circles is The Mirror, though very few revere it the way you folk revere your book. The only people with an obligation to know how to fight are the nobles." "Ah I see. That's somewhat disappointing but High Rock is a totally different land. Well my friend it looks like I'll be heading to bed. It was good sharing wine, and swordplay with you; and if I might add, don't let you losing to Lashana keep you down, I've lost to her plenty of times." Getting up out of the bath, Akamon wrapped his towel around his waist. He had his back turned so he assumed Falion would get a good look at his tattoo also. Picking up his sword, Akamon walked over to the sliding door and was about to open it when he turned around to face Falion, and added,"The hostess who brought our drinks, she's waiting for you. Go to the end of the living quarters, last door on your right, knock and she will ask,'What do you want?' Answer her with,'latomba'. You'll thank me tomorrow. Good night." Akamon shut the door behind him and headed to his room. It would the first night were he would never remember his dreams. Falion's brow scrunched, but it didn't take him long to figure out whatever a "latomba" was, he'd enjoy it. He wrapped his towel around his waist, then moved at a quick walk to the last door on the right. He knocked, nervous with anticipation. It was eerily quiet in the hallway and Falion was about to retire to his room when a soft, sultry voice made its way to the door. "What do you desire?" His heart beating faster, Falion simply answered,"latomba." The voice spoke once again. "You may enter." Anxiously sliding the door open, Falion was met with a very erotic sight. Laying before him was a voluptuous dark skinned Redguard woman who's robes were tied loosely so that they hung below her shoulder revealing her smooth skin and her entire breasts. Gulping, Falion slide the door shut behind him and walked forward. The woman sat up a little more and with her outstretched hand, used her index finger to gesture him to come to her. Falion said to himself softly, "this wind is blowing in the best direction", then set himself upon the exotic dark skinned beauty. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Witchie, Helen Quentas, Dales Moitre Imperial City Evening Helen Quentas offered the spoonful of food to the Empress, make childish noises as she said, "Here comes the ship." Dales, whom looked Forlorn, didn't make a move. Her usual bright blue eyes were dead and lifeless. Her expression was no better, and as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. The young teenager sighed, briefly glancing at the two Occultus guarding the door into the royal bed chamber. She gently took the Empresses hand and said, "Your majesty you need to eat something. Dales didn't make a sound, nor did she move a muscle, staring into the blackness of the void. The door opened and Skjari dragged himself in and sat down in a chair without even giving the a glance. He remained there in silence, resting his forehead on his hand with closed eyes. It was as if he was waiting for them to finish up. Helen cleared her throat, getting up and placing the food on the nightstand. "My lord Snow-Strider. If you would the Empress isn't feeling well, could you visit another time?" "I live here too you know." he answered. "Well her majesty needs her rest..." "She'll get to sleep in tomorrow. Now if you could excuse us." Helen glanced at the Empress with extreme worry, while the Occultus guards saluted and left. With there black armor, and short gladius, they appeared to be Lilly's men, not members of Grey wolf. Helen feebishly said, "Maybe I should stay, I am her hand-maiden after all..." "What's so bad that you should stay?" Nodding her head, and with regret, Helen muttered somthing under her breath, as she left. Unkown to both, the young girl summoned a muffled spell, as well as a spell of confusion around, as she closed the door, and stood there, ear to the door. Dales simply muttered, "Master." Skjari frowned a little in annoyance at the spells, but the attempt made him uneasy enough to cast his own muffle spell over the room. "Yes?" The young girl, uncharacteristically swore. But remembered, she had one more option. She ran as fast as she could down the hallway to her right, her steps muffled by a spell. Empress Moitre muttered, "Why are you here?" "It's evening and this is the bedroom." "I see you sleep." She said with no emotion, "You go before I wake. Nothing more" "Yes, though you're here early." She said no answer, Skjari also remained silent for a moment. "Did you ever try to contact the so called 'false queen'?" he then finally said. "What do you mean? Dales said quietly "Did you know if she rebelled against us or Theodore?" "The Breton ursuper? I was told it was against the rule of the Empire." "You were told. Did you verify it?" "No. I had meet Theodore previously, and knew him slightly from before. I didn't know he had any ill intent." "You rarely do. You'd think an oath would be enough to keep people from stabbing you in the back. Haven't you learnt anything from me?" "I learned nothing!" She said, with her voice suddenly becoming forceful, getting out of her bed Dales pointed a finger at Witchie, "The only thing I learned from you is how many whores to sleep with, a few spells, and the price of arrogance. I am a puppet, you control my strings. Why did you cancel my engagement with Roland? None of this would have happened if you stuck with the plan, instead of your own lust for power!" Skjari quickly stood up from the chair, grabbed Dales by the jaw and pulled her close to him so he could whisper in her ear: "Ever wondered why I know how to bind people's will? Ever wondered why the roof is covered with spirits bound in ice? Ever wondered why I never really pick a side? Ever paid attention to the details? I had hoped you'd learnt caution. I thought you were smarter than this. You disappoint me." he then slowly let go of Dales. "And never speak to me like that again." "I wish you'd never found me." Dales spoke in a low voice, more speaking aloud to herself than anyone. "You'd wish you'd be left with the Thalmor and your father? Without me you'd still be whoring yourself out to those duraan fahliille on your father's command. Without me you'd be dead and forgotten. Your own family didn't even care if you lived or died. I was the one who took you in. I was the one who gave you chance. Without me you'd be nothing. Without me you are nothing." Dales wanted to yell at him, she wanted to disobey. Her body began to resist her mind and she began to feel a strong compulsion to obey. Resisting that compulsion, that twisted desire to obey was at first very uncomfortable but then it quickly became increasingly painful. She felt as her energy was draining and her knees began to shake till she finally fell down onto them. Skjari only looked on the display with only a slight look of disapproval. The hidden entrance into the royal bed chamber opened with a creak. Helen Quentas briskly ran to the pair, throwing herself in front of the Empress and acting as a human, spreading her arms out. Her Lapis Lazuli eyes shone with surprising force, not hindered by her silver spectacles. Speaking in a cold, but very forceful tone, she told Lord Snow-Strider: "Enough. Don't lay another finger on her." Skjari looked at Helen first with a mild look of surprise but as his face returned to its neutral expression, he quickly cast a spell with a green flare on Helen, causing the small girl freeze like a statue. "Dales, we got a problem." he said with a slight annoyance. "Master, Helen has nothing to do with this..." She said with a low tone of voice staying on her knees "Well the problem is she might have overheard a bit too much." A look of horror stretched out on her face when she relized what Witchie was suggesting. Dales tried a different tactic "You can't be serious. Helen she's nothing, only a girl, just a low ranking noble and maid. She's also Lilly's beloved niece, and if she finds out that you offed her, her vengeance would know no bounds." "That is also part of the problem. But the secret must be kept." he stroked his beard as he grew silent for a second. "I got an idea. You will find out exactly what she knows. If she knows of our secret you will discretely kill her and dispose of the body. If she doesn't, persuade her that we were just having a little argument and that she should forget about it all. You understand?" "Yes, yes. Of course." "Good. Now I'll let her out of the spell. Lets hear what she has to say. Just remain where you are and she wont notice that we've talked or anything. And lets hope for all our sakes that she doesn't say anything we will regret." he said and with a slight movement of his fingers the stiffness disappeared from Helen's body. Helen blinked twice. She looked uneasy, but still held the same expression. Though, for some her reason, her usual shy voice was...sluggish and diluted. Her skin was growning anormally pale as well "Abuse her majesty again, with magic or your hands and i'll...tell General Ceno and Lilly." The young girl said firmly. "Leave now." "I think you're misunderstanding. But I'll leave." he turned to Dales. "Please talk some sense into your maid." he then walked away from them at a calm pace and left the room through the secret passageway. Helen barely had a chance to glance back at Dales, before her face went stone cold and nearly lifeless as she tumbled to the floor, with a crash, her brilliant blue eyes shutting tight. Dales let out a scream, as she rushed forward, "HELEN!!!" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Albecias Plebo West Weald Midday Albecias watched as the West Weald countryside unfolded before him. Vineyards and tomato farms covered most of the ground, the rich soil yielding Cyrodiil's finest produce. But, just across the Strid River, the greatest danger to mankind lurked. The writer wondered how these farmers and plantation workers could stand being so close to the front lines of the next Great War, but his question was soon answered. The carriage rumbled down a dirt road, and as it rounded a bend, through the window Albecias saw Fort Istirus. The central drum tower gave imposing views of the surrounding land, and likely into Valenwood as well. Its walls had been rebuilt, and it now served as the 9th legion headquarters. Past the fort were the defenses right on the river. Catapults lined the shore, like animals gone to sate their thirst. They were protected by abatis, or sharpened wooden stakes driven into the ground. Guards stood by them, ready to launch the first barrage should the war suddenly begin. Albecias' blood chilled, as the thought of being here when the war started sent shivers down his spine. He'd been sure to pay the fee to avoid the draft, and would readily do so again. The carriage drove into the fort's courtyard, where soldiers sparred, a blacksmith hammered out sword and horseshoes, and archers practiced at straw dummies. An officer of some kind was waiting for Albecias. The writer swept the bangs of his auburn hair from his fair face, and the soldier greeted him as he dismounted the carriage. "Mr. Plebo. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to the General's quarters," the thirty something Imperial said. He was clad in studded leather armor, his helmet tucked beneath one arm, the other gripping his sword's pommel. "Lead the way," Albecias said, straightening out his blue collared shirt. They set off into the keep, which was a rectangular hall attached to the central tower. The stairs were immediately to the left, so Albecias didn't get a chance to inspect the lower floor, nor did he see anything else beside the winding staircase that finally halted at the top floor. There, the officer opened a heavy wooden door, and Albecias walked in alone. "I was surprised at your response, General Retrius. I expected some vehemence towards Snow-Strider, but you surpassed even that. I am glad you agreed to meet in person, I have a great many questions for you," Albecias said. "Yes, well," Standing up from his desk, his arms behind his back, Retrius stood forward to greet Albecias, though he didn't offer his hand. Retrius was in surprisingly simple attire for a general. Basic chainmail and wool like that of a messenger. From his smell, it was evident that he was riding on horseback for quite some time. Eyes on Albecias with a look that could have been either anger or his natural look, he said, "The idea that my stance is surprising... that is troubling, to me. I will have your questions, and I will answer them to the extent of what I am able. Then I must have you on your way, I have more inspections to make along the border." Albecias took a seat, though none was offered. It wasn't reasonable to write standing up, he thought. He brought out a wooden slab, set it on his legs, and produced his paper and pen. Beginning, he said, "That you dislike the court mage is evident. I would like to know why." "That's simple. What do you know of this Skjari?" asked Retrius. Albecias looked up from the paper, and cleared his throat before he began. "He mentored the Empress in Skyrim after teaching or studying at the Synod. Some rumors I've heard say he helped with the alliance. Then he came back with her, was court mage for a short time, and now they are to be married. He also solved the problems plaguing the Niben." "And does that sound like a man with the credentials to be an Emperor to you? A Nord mage with rumors and heresay covering his origins? A man who supposedly mentored our Empress and is now marrying her? It's all too convenient. And so is the timing. At the time. Before, my complaint was that all he did was talk and screw, but I can't deny the good he's finally done to show some worth... but, why are we settling for this, court mage? We have someone proven capable already, who is actually familiar with how things work around here, someone who is loved and respected by the people and the council. And even this Nord general in Skyrim. And speaking of Nords, it doesn't exactly sit well with me that this Skjari seemed to come into our attention in the land of the Nords, speaking of ancient Nord royal blood coursing through him, as if that means anything to us." Albecias scribbled a few things. "You speak of General Ceno, of course. Lord Snow-Strider did take an unusual path the the throne, and the questions of his competence were well founded, until recently. Still, as you said, the question of his blood should be a non-factor. His land isn't a part of the Empire, though I've heard he does have family in Bruma. But distant royal relations do not an emperor make." "No they don't, but the people won't care about that. And that's the point. They don't care, so long as someone is in charge. But this is dangerous. The Empire... or... the Kingdom of Cyrodiil..." Retrius' expression hardened for a moment, then faded once more. "We are vulnerable in so many ways. We should not let ourselves be lead off by some foreigner like that..." Stopping himself from saying whatever he was about to say, Retrius paused and said, "Now more than ever we need to take caution. Snow-Strider could be anyone, and all we know is that he was somehow tied with our.. young Empress before the war's end." Albecias nodded. He set aside the pen and looked at the general, whose clenched jaw and wooden manner suggested he really was as upset as he said. "Some would say having a Nord shows that, while we aren't truly an Empire, we still embody the accepting nature. But there does seem to be a growing sense that Cyrodiil, free of the provinces, should now look after its own interests. And you don't believe Snow-Strider will do that, do you?" "Accepting nature..." Retrius snickered to himself, deciding to refrain from commenting on what he thought about their acceptance. "No, I do not. This is a man that was willing to manipulate a young woman and take advantage of his relationship as teacher to seize power in this land. Preying on her like a deer in the lion's den. He'll continue that pattern, mark my words. He does not have Cyrodiil's interests in mind, or he wouldn't have waited this long to help her. He intervened out of necessity." Albecias cracked a sly grin. "And yet he's only helped the Empire so far, squashing insurrection and maintaining some semblance of stability. What could his larger goal possibly be? Power perhaps, or maybe establishing a dynasty?" "Clearly," said Retrius. "You may be enjoying the ride now, but generally, power is saught for a purpose. I don't know what, I certainly wouldn't suggest he's working for Thalmor, and I can't see the Stormcloaks having a hand here. All I can say is keep watching. If not soon, then just when we've gotten used to the beast long enough to feel safe. Then, it'll bite you in the arse and hump your mother. The only candidate for Emperor whose intentions would be pure is Ceno. You don't just take strange magelings off the street with questionable origins and throw them on the throne! At least in our good days, Jagar Tharn had to disguise himself! Oh how we have fallen..." "What would you suggest, usurping him?" Albecias put away the paper, pen, and wooden slab. "Is civil war really the best option, in such a fragile time? Could he really be sat aside, and would Ceno be willing to?" Retrius for the first time then wore an expression of defeat. "No. We can't afford another internal struggle... Maybe something could have been done before, but now it is much too late. Our only option would be to convince the people, the Council... Someone has to come forward with information on our 'Lord Skjari'. Someone must know something, perhaps in Skyrim." A spark, a flash of an idea nearly caused Albecias to burst out. But he stayed calm, albeit he did smugly grin. He knew he wouldn't need to write this down, because he would undoubtedly remember it as the moment in which he became truly cognizant. Concealing his epiphany, he asked, "If you wouldn't mind I change the subject, I was wondering what you could tell me of General Lithin. I seem to recall he shares your suspicions and qualms. Would he be willing to talk?" "Lithin? He may. For all the good it'll do. He doesn't know any more than I do, but by all means. The more people speaking against Skjari, especially generals, the better. And we'll do it no matter how popular he gets and no matter the consequences." "You sound confident in your ability to keep your power. Is it because you have friends in high places, or because your men? Just how loyal are they, to you, and to their respective generals?" "What makes you think that?" asked Retrius. "I would say that, generally, people that speak out against the Emperor have shorter life spans than those that stay in line. So with your willingness to speak out, you must feel safe from any harm." "No, not really," said Retrius. "If the White Gold Tower wishes me gone, I will resign. If they want me dead, so be it. If they can afford to keep killing off their generals for speaking up, then fine. I am not actively rebelling. Let it come, and let the people see Skjari truly. But when history retells of these days, they'll have it on record that not every last Imperial rolled over and let the Empire be picked away like a rotting carcass amongst a pack of wolves." "That is very noble of you. Not many would willingly step down, nor accept death were it to come." Albecias paused and thought where he wanted to go with this, finally deciding on a topic likely to induce some strong opinion, one way or the other. "What're your thoughts on the loss of High Rock? I'm sure you know of King Adrard citing the broken marriage pact as one of his grievances. Is that another fault you attribute to Snow-Strider, or is it King Adrard who is at fault here?" Retrius smiled and gave his interviewer a polite laugh. "I'm sure it's no surprise to you that I of course attest their leaving to the Empress choosing her mage friend over a truly beneficial pairing for one reason or another. But I do not know the king well, it could have been an excuse. But tell me, do you think it'd make sense for the Breton king to separate if his son sat on the throne?" Albecias shook his head. "Not in any case I can think of. To secede while your son is on the throne would leave him without his biggest ally." "Now," Albecias crossed one leg over the other, and placed his hands on a knee, "most of the Colovians in the Elder Council argued for retaking or enacting retribution against High Rock. Do you agree with them, and if so, why?" His finger tapping impatiently upon his desk, Retrius sighed and said, "The King did give recompense for the dead. And to be honest, I do not blame the man. I'd like to see some recompense as much as the next man, and normally I'd even support it. If we had other provinces... As it stands now though, it seems trite and unecessary, though there is wisdom in reminding the other provinces who still holds the most military might on this side of Tamriel, lest they grow too complacent with slights against Cyrodiil. But in all honesty, we've lost little in their leaving. Not even the name Empire has left us. They all need us. Without us, the Thalmor will march in on their doorsteps and their shores. They are who we should be worrying about now, and is the only reason I tolerate those Nords of Skyrim, Ulfric Stormcloak, Veleda Fire-Hand and their silly High couple, the admiral and general." "Let's stay on the subject of the Nords. I take it you dislike them. Would you care to expand on why?" "Not really, but I'll keep it brief. Ulfric has no experience in Valenwood. Veleda has no experience in Valenwood. Rebec Red-Snow from what I've read has never even been to Cyrodiil and her minstrel husband has only gone as far as Bruma. These are the people leading us in the next Great War? The only real history Skyrim has with Valenwood was when their idiot High King got himself killed by the Wild Hunt, throwing their own Empire into chaos over a petty squabble of who would rule next! Pathetic. But, they are who will be leading us in the war all the same. Luckily for us, who leads is irrelevant, so long as they heed the council of those who know better." Albecias rose, and stretched out a hand. "I apologize if I took up too much of your time, General, but I do truly appreciate the conversation. It is always refreshing to gain insight into how our leaders think. I will let you go and inspect the border, and hopefully keep us all safe." Scooting from atop his desk, Retrius nodded as he took his hand. "It was no bother, I appreciate being given an audience to speak through. Good day to you. Long live Cyrodiil." "Long live Cyrodiil," Albecias echoed. "Actually, I have one more question. Would the other legions support High General Ceno for Emperor if Snow-Strider was ousted?" Retrius answered quickly and without hesitation. "Of course, why wouldn't they? I confess, there may be those who'd seek the throne for themselves, but none of them, including myself, have the love that General Ceno has. Most would likely support him, seeking favor of the new Emperor." Albecias rubbed his chin. "Hmm. Well, thank you again, General. And now I shall be off." The writer left the fort, retracing his steps until was in the courtyard again, wherein he climbed back in the carriage and set off. Though he'd told Retrius this was to be an article, it was a lie. Yes he would mention that there was growing discord between the military and the Emperor, and he might cite Retrius by name, but that was never his purpose. This was an information gathering session, and a particularly successful one at that. Albecias then made his way to Dasek Moor, where General Lithin gave many of the same answers, albeit with more mindfulness in his choice of words, as befitted a man of noble birth. He too advocated for a change of leadership, and though he was originally against Ceno's appointment to High General, he's grown to respect him and would readily support him over Snow-Strider. Though he didn't know anything new about the Emperor, Albecias now had suspicions about just who had sent him on this quest. And that would have monumental implications indeed. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Tacitus Meridius Imperial Palace Afternoon The High Admiral’s day of ignoring his paperwork and shirking duties came to a grinding halt when someone knocked loudly at his door. Tacitus ignored it for several minutes. He’d already dismissed his assistant for the day as well, but now he wished the soft, pushover of a young man was still here. Tacitus knew he could scare him into shutting up whoever was still banging on the door. Instead he rose, his face twisting into a scowl of annoyance. As the door swung open, the gaudily dressed Colovian stepped in without an invitation. His robe was the color of carrot, with a sash of yellow across the red tunic. The man’s dress looked like a blind man’s painting of a sunset, described to him by a lackwit. His hair was a pale yellow, like wet straw, and it swooped over on one side of his head while the other was nearly shaved. His trimmed, thin beard did nothing to hide his weak chin, and his sunken eyes looked like the empty sockets of a skeleton, his skin an equally pale complexion. Two seconds look told Tacitus the man was likely a drug addict of some kind, or an extreme shut in. His swagger and off-putting manner lent itself more towards the drugs than simply staying indoors. He seemed to type to talk incessantly and party constantly. “Who’re you?†Tacitus said, his face scrunching into an even more irritated visage. The man flashed a smile and bowed. “Elder Councilor Lerexus Censoria, at your service High Admiral.†“Why are you here?†Tacitus gave the man his back, going and sitting back behind his desk, on which he propped his knee-high black leather boots. Councilor Censoria ignored the question, and took his own seat, his smile fading as he did. “I understand you supported retribution against High Rock.†“So.†“Precisely the point. The Bretons and Nibenese both oppose intervention, and you upset a few members by advocating for it. We support it, and your idea for secret raiding.†“You should, because those dandies need a little ass kicking.†“Right, well, you made some enemies. Watch your back, High Admiral, because they seek to sink you.†Tacitus glared at the man. “You damn, smug politicians. Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I don’t need your advice, and don’t want it either. Go **** yourself.†Censoria made a disappointed sound. “Mr. High Admiral, is that any way to speak to a friend? All we want is to help you, to further our mutual goals. But I warn you, we don’t take kindly to insults.†“How’s this for an insult: take that a sword and shove it up your ass. If I want your help, I’ll ask. Until then, unless its work related, get out. You know where the door is.†Tacitus watched the man shake his head, in such a pompous manner it made the sailor want to punch the man. Instead, once the man left, the admiral slugged the wall with his Dwarven metal fist. He didn’t expect the explosion, which sent him crashing into the opposite wall. A few guards came rushing in, swords drawn and looking for what they assumed was a mage assassin. “Put your weapons away. It was just an accident,†Tacitus said, shoving past them and marching out into the hall. There he climbed down the stairs a ways, then went into a different tower and climbed those steps. He found the door he was looking for, and didn’t hesitate to open it. Endar would just have to set some time aside to fix whatever had just happened to the enchanted fist. He was immediately met by a sight that would've been out of the ordinary for any other room in the palace. Endar's assistant stood across from a table at the far end of the room. On it were what appeared to be a clean elven skull, and a multitude of tools and stones sprawled out amidst some dead foliage. She was currently holding some sort of black rod into the skull's eye socket, and was carefully rotating it. Elara looked up when Tacitus closed the door. "Mr. Drenim, guest!" She gestured at the rod with her left hand as if to say that she couldn't stop, and then smiled at him. "Hello, Admiral." Caught off guard by the strange expirement, Tacitus at first wasn't aware someone had spoken to him. It took him a moment to come to terms with the scene, but he did eventually.Looking around the room, he said, "Uh, yes, hello Elara. Where is Drenim? My fist seems broken. The metal one." A door to the left of Elara opened, and Endar appeared. As usual, he wore his red and gold robes that apparently were of the Telvanni or something. They were so faded and travel-worn that whatever exquisiteness they were intended to display was lost. "Did you say that it was broken?" The Dunmer rushed over to Tacitius's side and took the fist in his hand without bothering to ask permission, holding it up for inspection. "I had feared this. It's a wonder you survived, really. A good wonder, of course. Your death would be most inconvenient- Elara!" "What?" He let Tacitus's hand drop and turned to look at her. "I need you to fetch me a Dwemer seal breaker and a black soul gem." She frowned and waved her left hand at the work in front of her. "You told me no stopping until it wouldn't turn anymore.""And you're doing it by hand? You'll be standing there all day! Why aren't you using the telekinesis spell I taught you?" "You never taught me a telekinesis spell." "Are you certain? ... Huh." The wizard shrugged. "I'm sure I taught one of my stewards that spell. No matter." He muttered some words, waved his hand and flashed some red lights. When Elara's hand left the black rod, it continued to rotate inside the elven skull without her. "Now go fetch what I need."As she headed into the back room, Endar turned back to Tacitus and grabbed the gauntlet again. "Would it hurt you if I removed it?" Tacitus pulled the fist back towards his body, frowning as he did. He eyes followed Elara momentarily as she left, until he addressed Endar. "The fist, or the entire gauntlet?" "Just the fist. I can fix it so that this won't happen again. Probably. Hopefully. But I doubt you'd want to sit in here and wait while I do. You'd be in close proximity to a few spells that could produce many sparks, and without the proper wards, I fear it could singe the beard you've been growing. Or your skin, muscles, and bones. I haven't actually done this before." Tacitus set about unscrewing it, then gave it to the wizard. "Fine. Take it. But I don't want it back unless it's fixed. Use your fancy spells to shock it or what have you. But it better be truly fixed, not just 'probably' fixed." "Does 'most likely' have a better ring to it?" Endar took the brass fist and set it down on a shelf by the wall. "You should know that even in its current state, this tool is likely worth more than most other trinkets you've ever held. Kings would be fortunate to have such a hand. Amputee kings, that is." "I imagine there are a great many of those kings around. But yes I get the point. It's nice to be able to blow things up with a punch. Thanks. Now just make sure I don't get blown up in the process. And do it quickly. The guards here don't like me having an axe or dagger on my gauntlet, so without the hand I don't get any attachment." "It won't take long." the wizard assured him. Seconds later, Elara reappeared with the items he'd requested, and Endar set to work. He prodded at it with tools and spells, and indeed many sparks of fire and energy spit out and colored the room. Elara came over and stood next to Tacitus. "Did you just discover it was broken?" she asked, looking up at him. She was a Breton of average height, but Tacitus was taller than most of his own people, and it showed now, with the way she looked up at him. Tacitus blinked a few times, as watching the sparks hurt his eyes, and eventually he just turned away, towards Elara. "Yes. I...knocked it on something and it sent me flying backwards. I didn't see it coming at all. I hadn't had any previous issues with it, though this was the first time the effect activated." Elara let out a small laugh. "You knocked it on something. In the palace. Is that something okay?" Tacitus scowled at Elara's laughter, but found himself not really meaning it. "Well, punched might be a better term. I punched the wall. And yes it's fine. Though I flew across the room when I hit it. Damn near busted my head open." "Interesting choice of first target." the stewardess said jokingly. Tacitus noticed that she seemed to enjoy talking quite a lot. "You sail into battle with a flaming hand and don't use it once until you're back here. Can't say I blame you. If I had to choose between fire punching some elf or one or two of the overly smug faces in this place, I'd be tempted to go with the latter too. Shame of it is that you only hit a wall. At least it will probably know better than to cross Admiral Tacitus Meridius in the future." Tacitus' chest puffed out a little, and a smirk traced his lips. "Everyone should know by now not to cross me. I hate this damn place and all the spineless people in it. So pompous and haughty, thinking they know power. Power is taking a man's life and holding it in your hand, not enacting laws and taxes. That's why when I was at sea, I used my axe. Let those elves know I didn't need magic to best them." Elara opened her mouth to respond, but was cut short by a loud crack and a flash of orange light from where Endar worked. The wizard was muttering to himself as the light dimmed down and settled back into the metal fist. She looked back at Tacitus, "I'm just a helper. And before this, I worked an inn. I don't know much about power. But sir, you ask me and I'll tell you that that right there looked a lot like I picture it. Don't you reckon there's different sorts?" Tacitus glared at the wizard, but grudgingly nodded. "I suppose there is. Though there's no power like taking a man's life with a blade. In that moment, you own everything he has. Magic is too impersonal to feel that.""You know, you have more power than you think. He relies on you to get him everything it seems. I can't imagine him going out and trying to buy things." "Ah yes, the power to go out and buy things." Elara mockingly waved her hands as if they contained some power. "May my enemies tremble before it." She chuckled, "I've learned small tricks here and there just from watching him. Magic ones, that is. But it ain't anything like to compare with what you do with your swords." "Show me," Tacitus said. Though he wasn't generally a fan of magic, he knew he'd enjoy Elara's display more than Endar's. "I can make lights." she said, proudly, as she raised her hand and conjured up a small candle of blue-tinted flame. "And I know how to make heavy things feel a little lighter. Master Drenim taught me how to summon a scamp too, but he doesn't like it when I use that one here. And I can cure poisons, heal scrapes, and ward low-level magical effects." "Make things lighter, huh? Do you use that for the heavier boxes?" Tacitus asked, smiling a cheeky grin. She hesitated briefly. "... Maybe." Tacitus squeezed her bicep. "You're telling me you can't lift hundred pound containers by yourself?" Elara didn't resist. Instead she laughed. "Phht! Are you telling me that you think the hundred pound ones are heavy? For it to be spell worthy, the box's gotta be at least... a hundred and ten pounds. Yeah, and not an ounce lighter." "It's the ten extra pounds that really make a difference," Tacitus said. The stewardess opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, Endar's voice called out. "There!" His staff tapped across the floor as he approached and held out the metal fist. "I've dealt with the issue. As it turns out, the harmonic field wasn't recognizing the magicka conversion. I've dealt with it." Tacitus grabbed the fist, but stopped short of screwing it back in. "So it won't explode unless I punch a person, right?" "Not unless you punch him, and you want to blow him up. The device itself was never meant to activate without you specifically willing it to. You don't need to know the infused spells, but your body will still produce the magicka necessary for the fist to cast them." "If it breaks again, I know the next person I'll want to punch and blow up," Tacitus said, as he screwed the fist in place. "Well, I guess I'll, uh, be off then." "Yes, yes, begone then. And remember to record the device's effectiveness when you finally use it." Endar reminded him, his back already turned as he moved off to some project or other. Elara gave a half apologetic smile, presumably for her master's forwardness. "See ya around Admiral." Tacitus started to leave, then turned around abruptly. "Would you like to go get a drink?" "Of course!" Elara nodded fervently. "I mean, yes. Yes, that sounds nice." Tacitus grinned. "Good, that's good. Well, uh, let's go then." Several minutes later, Tacitus and Elara found themselves in a quiet corner of a local pub, called the Sailor's Splinter. It was near the entrance to the Waterfront district, so it wasn't as seedy as those on the docks. Tacitus ordered two ales, and and took a hearty drink of his. "So, Elara, where're you from?" "Skingrad." Elara answered as she drank. "My father ran an inn there, and I worked the tavern most of my life. And you? You don't strike me as a Heartlander." "Bravil, Nibenese through and through. My father was a merchant captain. They're in Bruma now, after that whole skooma incident. Did you like working a tavern?" Tacitus took another drink, then motioned for a refill. "Eh, it was alright I guess. Taverns do well in Skingrad, thanks to the vineyards, but Pa got most of that. It was all too boring for me. That's why I left with Master Drenim when he stopped by. Overall, I don't miss it." "From a tavern to the Imperial Palace, not a bad jump. If you would've asked me a year ago, I would've been happy to be there too. Now I can't wait to leave. Damn palace is more deadly than any sea I've ever sailed. And I got attacked by a sea serpent." "A sea serpent?" Elara's eyes lit up in amazement. "You can't just stop at that! What happened? Did you kill it?" Tacitus laughed, and took a long drink, hoping to build the anticipation. "Ah. Good ale, this. Oh, the sea serpent. I'm surprised you didn't hear. We'd been out of Leyawiin for a week, scouring the waters south of there for Dominion ships. We found one, but instead of running away from us, it sailed towards us. An escort ship followed it, but as we watched, Crack! it went down. We had no idea what happened. Next went down the Dominion merchant ship, and that's when we saw it. We turned north, but the wind was against us, so I drove our ships towards the Elsweyr shore, hoping it was too large to swim in the shallows. It didn't work. It bit me, here," Tacitus pulled up his trouser leg, showing the large scar running on his left calf. "I flew into the water, though, and woke up on the shore." "It sank three ships?" She looked awestruck. "How big was the beast?" Tacitus leaned back in his chair. "As long as our two largest ships combined. And it took another down before my men killed it. By then, I was already on shore. A Khajiit found me, made sure I survived. Then the Thalmor came, and killed him. They took me to Valenwood, and that's where I lost my hand." "I'd heard that much." Elara said, before taking another long drink. She wiped her mouth on a sleeve and continued. "About Valenwood and your hand, that is. It must've been some Khajiit to help you like that. I've always heard they hate us down there." Tacitus shrugged. "He could've been looking to cash in by handing me over alive, then hid me so he'd get some coin out of the deal. All I know is he saved my life.""So," Tacitus said, finishing off his ale and motioning for a third, "what sort of exciting tales do you have?" "No sea monsters. I'm not that exciting. But working for a wizard does make for interesting times. Back in County Kvatch he once tasked me with catching him a live troll. I never managed to find one, but while looking, I did stumble across a nest of imps. Three of 'em there were, and they'd have fried me good if not for the scrolls I brought. I managed to stun the and even brought one back to Master Drenim for studies. I don't know what he ended up doing with the little bugger." "He tasked you with catching a troll? Why not ask for a dragon while he's at it! I don't know that I could kill a troll, much less capture one and bring it in. I swear, that mage is strange." "Oh, it wasn't as dangerous as you'd think. That scroll I used on the imps was one of several he left for me to get the job done with. One of them was a dominate scroll. And I had plenty of protection spells to lower the risk. Though I won't argue with you. He is a strange one." "What's the strangest thing he's ever done since you started working for him?" "Oh, now that's a hard question." Elara drummed her fingers on the wooden countertop as she thought. "Most of the really odd things took place in Kvatch. Here, he just sticks to a handful of the same experiments... Let me think... probably his training of Count Brutus over there. All the experiments tend to run together, but that man was odd even without Master Drenim turning him into an expert in harvesting hallucinogenics from Daedric bug creatures." "Daedric bugs definitely rivals sea monster in the weird category." Tacitus took another drink before continuing. "Well, what do you do when you aren't wrestling trolls?" Elara laughed. "Nothing special, really. I don't know where the money comes from, but Endar tends to pay well. So when I'm not working, things are pretty easy. The city's beautiful once you get past some of the people, and I like to explore it when I've got the free time. Lately I've been trying to learn the flute. Though I'm not very good at all." Elara paused herself to take another drink. After she finished the mug, she slid it away and leaned an elbow on the table with her eyes on Tacitus. "What about you, Admiral? I can't imagine sea serpents are an everyday thing in the Imperial City. What does the mighty sailor do when he's so far away from the sea?" Tacitus stared back, and gave a half-smile. "I used to box, but I haven't in a while. Nowadays, I go to the Arena. Bet on the matches, or just watch. Mostly, though, I just wish for the feeling of a deck beneath my boots. I'm one of those sailors that feels uncomfortable when I'm on land." "I can't say that I've ever been off it." Elara admitted. "So I can only imagine. But there's no roads or cities to stick to. No guards or Counts. You have the whole ocean beneath you and the stars to guide you. I've always imagined it would be oddly free for just a deck and some quarters." She chuckled playfully. "Am I close? Or is the city girl too caught up in the adventure stories she's read?" That's how it was, Tacitus thought, but now I only want to be out there to kill those vermin. Do I long for the sea, or the kill?As Tacitus took a drink to clear his mind, he adjusted his legs beneath the table, and one of them brushed Elara's. He let it linger there, savoring the closeness. "Those same stories are what I was raised on, and made me become a sailor. Sailing is exactly as you describe." "Then it sounds worth it." she said, not fighting his advance. "I think a little discomfort on land is a fair trade for that sort of freedom." "I guess you're right. The sooner this war starts, the sooner I get that freedom. And the sooner more Dominion ships litter the sea bed," Tacitus said. "I'd drink to that image." Elara thumped her empty mug and grinned. She did a lot of grinning, Tacitus noticed. "I don't know how you and Master Dremin aren't better friends, with your mutual hated for their type and whatnot." Tacitus arched an eyebrow. "He hates the Dominion? Well, that's news to me. If that's the case, he isn't too vocal about it. Though it makes me less annoyed at him, now. Why does he hate them?"Tacitus finished off his drink, then motioned for another for both he and Elara. "Something about past dealings." she said, nodding in thanks as the barkeep refilled her mug. "He always acts just a little different when they're brought up. Me, I think he sees them as rivals or something. I've never seen him as excited as when you brought him those sun bird designs and gave him a chance to counter theirs." Tacitus recalled Endar telling him of his brief imprisonment, but didn’t mention it to Elara. As usual when dealing with the mage, he mostly ignored what he said. "I may have been to harsh. Not likely, though. It's hard to be around him too long without your intelligence being insulted." "Him and every other Dunmer from Morrowind." Elara grabbed her mug. "Anyway, enough about my boss. I shouldn't have brought him up. What do you say we finish our drinks and make our way out of here?" Tacitus raised his eyebrows. He liked that Elara was forward. "If you insist, troll wrestler."They finished off the last of their ale, then made their way outside. It was dark, no traces of violet or orange from the long gone sun. "Would you like to go back to my place?" Tacitus asked. Elara's brow raised, but the corners of her lips twisted up. "Lead the way, Admiral." It was a long walk back to Tacitus' apartment, which was in the Elven Gardens district, but near the Market district entrance. Though it was late, the city still teemed with citizens. Some stumbled around drunk, while others laughed heartily with their friends. "It's nice tonight, isn't it?" Tacitus asked. "It is." she agreed with a nod up at the moons. Masser and Secunda sat almost perfectly atop the White Gold Tower, dominating the sky. "Bright too." Tacitus wanted to reach out and grab her hand, but he was on the wrong side, his brass fist between he and her. The thought of his flaw made his cheeks burn hot, but luckily the moons were not quite bright enough, and it escaped Elara's notice. Instead, he too looked up at the tower, feeling slightly dizzy from the ale as he did. "They are. Funny, the palace doesn't look like a hellhole from here." She laughed at that. "When you first brought us here I thought it was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. There are some characters inside for sure, but looking at it from out here, I don't think my mind has changed. I mean look at it! It's taller than a mountain! How could anyone have managed to build a place like that?" "I've always though it looked like a ship's mast myself. Can't imagine how big the ship would that had a mast that size, though." They'd made it to the Elven Gardens District, with Tacitus' house not far away. He found his right hand felt clammy, and his heart seemed to beat fast. Internally he cursed himself, for getting nervous around a woman, especially after all he'd been through. Then, his mind wandered to Silana, his cheeks again burning red. She's in Anvil, you wimp. And she's a whore, she was acting. She probably acts like that with everyone. Finally, they came upon his door, and he pushed the thoughts aside. "I apologize for the mess," he said, leading Elara inside. The living room was small, with clothes thrown over the chairs and tables. "Believe me, I've seen worse." Elara was looking at a fine steel axe he had mounted on the wall. "What's the story behind this?" Tacitus looked at the axe, almost forgetting it was there. "Can you keep a secret?" "Well I'm working for a mage on his top secret projects that I'd be 'incinerated' for letting even the barest whisper of slip, sooo... yeah. I can keep a secret." Elara grinned, "And now that you've gone and built it up, spill it." Tacitus moved a shirt from the bench directly across from his fireplace. Elara took a seat as well, and he began his story. "You know I was captured by the Thalmor. And I'm sure you heard I escaped with the help of a Bosmer dissident. But that isn't the truth. They let me go." Her brow raised, and Tacitus could see the humor in her eyes replace itself with a look of genuine concern. "Let you go? Why would they do that?" Tacitus looked at the axe, admiring the simple, yet graceful carving on the head itself. He wondered what this Red-Snow was like, and what he'd done to make an enemy of Corio. "I'm not sure. That axe had something to do with it, though. Their general made me swear I'd give it to the Nord's High General, but that can't be it. Maybe he was arrogant, thinking I'd die along the way." "So he just sent you out? Like with a pat on the head and an axe to deliver?" She frowned. "Sometimes when Endar summons a Daedra, it'll be wild and destructive. It'll scream and break tables and burn carpets, and it won't stop until he uses the right spells to calm it down. The creature breaks, and it's his. After that he'll turn his back to it and never look its way again. He trusts the creature to remain complacent and do as he commands. It seems like this general thought he broke you." She gave a soft smile. "He must've been an idiot." The idea he'd been 'tamed' by some Altmer general startled Tacitus, though he forced out a smile to conceal it. But he couldn't shake how uneasy it made him feel. Am I broken? Was the sunbird attack a play into their hands?With these thoughts ringing in his head, Tacitus did the only thing he could to push them out. Suddenly, almost violently, he pulled Elara towards him, their lips locking together in quick, unexpectedly passionate kissing. She seemed to resist, but only for the briefest of moments. Once she began kissing him back, all thoughts of Corio and the Thalmor dissipated, but something else seemed to take their place. His eyes closed, he found images of Silana dancing through his mind. The bronze skinned seductress closed her eyes and bit her lip, saying his name between ragged, excited breaths. It was then he realized Elara was also saying his name, rather boring in comparison to Silana. Tacitus broke away, standing up and turning his back to Elara. It was then he noticed his shirt was off, tossed to the floor while they'd been kissing. Elara came up behind him, oblivious to his withdrawn manner. She put her arms around his waist, her fingers working to untie the strings of his trousers. He turned back around, this time wanting to shake not the thoughts of the Thalmor from his head, but those of Silana as well. He lifted Elara in the air, her legs wrapping around his waist as they began to kiss again. But it seemed so lifeless and tame, so she began to kiss him with more vigor, bitting at his neck and shoulders. He did so in turn, briefly, but felt nothing. Tacitus set her down and pushed her away, finally giving in to his feelings of guilt. Elara, whether in passion or ignorance, tried to kiss him again, while gripping him in the front with her hand. Tacitus' guilt and the drinks controlled his next action. Truly angry with himself, for abandoning Silana in that dockside whorehouse, he shoved Elara away, more forceful than he should have. She stumbled backward, but tripped over the edge of the bench, and hit the wall hard enough to draw blood. She gave a small yelp, but Tacitus ignored it, barking, "Get out. Get out!" When she did, he slumped against the wall, his head between his hands, wondering why he could not be happy for more than a few moments at a time. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Akamon "Hawk-Eye" Skaven, Hammerfell Morning The next morning Akamon awoke refreshed and rejuvenated. For first time in awhile, he didn't dream of Elqwinwe. Whether that was a good sign or not, he wasn't sure, but he had to find her no matter what. Getting up from the bedroll, Akamon dressed himself in a simple out fit that consisted of a fine linen top and bottoms with a white silk over coat that acted as a robe of sorts. Buckling his scimitar on his left hip and his silver shortsword on the small of his back, Akamon was easily able to conceal both blades from plain sight unless he willingly revealed them himself. Sliding open the screen door to his room, Akamon walked to the main room of the inn and was greeted by the hostess from last night. Bowing, she lifted her head and smiling kindly asked,"I hope you slept well Ansei?" Placing his right hand over his heart, Akamon returned the bow with a slight nod and replied warmly. "I did. If I ever have to stay in Skaven again I will make sure to come here again. Your hospitality is should not be under appreciated. By they way did a high elf woman ever stay here at all in the past 10 years?" The hostess was quite perplexed with Akamon's question. Fidgeting, the Redguard woman shook her head. "I don't believe so sir. Well we get all kinds of patrons so it would be extremely difficult to remember a particular one. What is this woman's name if I may ask?" Akamon almost facepalmed his forehead in realization. Of course they wouldn't remember a specific patron in the past ten years. How shortsighted of me. It seems the only place where Elqwinwe would've have gone in Skaven would be the Crystal District. That is the most likely place. Halfheartedly laughing, Akamon exclaimed, "I apologize for asking a ridiculous question. I'm just trying to find her and it's been a while. Again I apologize." Quickly walking out of the inn, Akamon was met by the bright light of the sun. Skaven was a bustling city. People moved to and fro like the waves of an ocean. As he was walking through the Merchant District, tons of people were bartering back and forth. Not surprisingly a lot of the merchants were Khajiits, Imperials, and High Elves. One Khajiit in particular was being harassed by what looked like some thugs. They were all dressed rather scantly, one of them even had a dagger and was threatening the merchant. "How many times do we have to say it again?! Huh!! Give us our cut and we'll leave you alone!" The one with the dagger pressed the blade against the Khajiit's throat. "Ple- please stop!! J'virr hasn't been doing that well this past week, so J'virr does not the have the gold that you want!!" One of the of the other thugs, a rather skinny looking Redguard came up and punched the Khajiit straight in the gut, drawing blood and making the poor merchant fall to his knees, clutching his stomach. Akamon saw enough walking over to the scene he addressed all of them. "So you pick on a merchant who obviously has no money to spare and harass him for it? Pathetic." The group of thugs turned around and locked eyes with Akamon. The leader of the thugs step forward in a rather aggressive stance and yelled, "This ain't none of your business, so get out of here. Unless you want som-", the thug had no time react when Akamon literally within in a split second speed blitzed the thug and was literally a few inches from the ruffian. The thug backed away as did his buddies. Seeing how fast Akamon was, they didn't want to try their chances, and quickly left. Kneeling down Akamon gently put his hands on the Khajiit's shoulders and asked,"Are you ok?" The Khajiiti merchant looked up at Akamon and quickly nodded. Akamon helped the Khajiit up and let the merchant sit down on some wooden crates. Akamon asked, "Does that happen often?" The Khajiit nodded and replied, "Yes. This one thanks you for helping J'virr. Thugs harass J'virr every Fredas for money, but J'virr doesn't make that much. Only enough to buy food for J'virr and rent a room at the local inn." Akamon nodded sympathetically. "Tell me do you have a good memory?" The Khajiit looked up at Akamon with confusion on his face, but then he flashed his teeth, in what Akamon would assume was a smile. The Khajiit recuperating from his ordeal got up from the crate he was sitting on and answered. "Yes, J'virr does have a good memory. He remembers odd and interesting people who walk through the market district every day. Does this one have a question for J'virr?" "Yes. I'm looking for a High Elf woman. She has golden eyes and dark brown hair. Very beautiful, but dressed like a commoner. She might have com through here about 8 years ago. If you can't remember, I understand." The Khajiit played with his gold earrings on his ears and his tail twitched for a few seconds. "Sorry but J'virr does not remember one such person. J'virr however does recommend that this one go to the Crystal District. That might where the golden woman might be." The Khajiit positioned himself behind his stall. Before his went about his job, the Khajiit looked at Akamon and bowed saying, "J'virr will always be grateful for this one. If J'virr and this one ever meet again, J'virr will treat this one to a drink at the inn. May you walk on warm sands, Saint of the Sword." Akamon bowed slightly and before leaving the merchant Akamon added, "The name is Akamon J'virr. I hope we meet again some day." **************************** The Crystal District is the home of the very large Altmer population in Hammerfell. The other such District is in Sentinel, the capital of Hammerfell. The building designs were definitely a stark contrast to the somewhat rugged look of the Redguard like architecture, more elegant and free flowing in design, but yet also hiding a hidden strength, built to withstand time, like the people that live in them. Since it's been nearly two hundred years since the massive swath of Altmer refugees fled to Hammerfell from the persecution of the Thalmor, the Crystal District looked as if it was always a part of Skaven. The Altmer living here have built a good life for themselves. Altmer children played in the street throwing what looked like balls of light at one another, dodging and return the shots. Man even at such a young age, to have such a grasp on magic is astonishing. The Altmer children looked upon Akamon and waved at him grinning happily. Smiling back he waved at them to. Just then an older Altmer woman came out and scolded the children for playing with magic. Seeing this as his chance, Akamon walked over and bowed to the Altmer woman. "Good evening ma'am. My name is Akamon and I was wondering if you could answer some my questions." The Altmer woman brushed her robes and bowed back and used her hands to shoo the children, one of them a young boy shot a ball of light at the woman but she quickly snapped her fingers and the light disappeared. Sticking his tongue out, the young boy ran away and caught up with his friends. The Altmer woman brought her attention back to Akamon and said,"Good evening Ansei. Before you say anything yes I knew you were an Ansei. Your type always holds themselves with such dignity and respect it's not hard to spot you or any of your order. What was the question you wanted to ask young Akamon? Oh my apologies I forgot to introduce myself my name is Valerie." "Thank you Valerie. Has a young Altmer woman by the name of Elqwinwe passed through here? I've been asking around and everybody said that the Crystal District would be my best bet. She would have came through here about 8 years ago." The Altmer woman pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Then suddenly opened them and said, "That name does sound familiar. Linwe mentioned that name before, something about her parents. Oh I'm sorry you're new here. Linwe is the local alchemist here in the Crystal District. Head down this road and then take a right and you'll see a sign that reads Linwe's Concoctions. I hope that helps, Ansei Akamon. If you'll excuse me, I have to hunt down the rascal of a great-grandson." The Altmer woman then sped off in the direction of the band of the young Altmer children. Following Valerie's directions, Akamon found the store she described. The sign read Linwe's Concoctions. Opening the door, the smell of pungent herbs and potions hit Akamon's nostrils. Various bottles of potions were on shelves throughout the entire store. Then a faint voice reached Akamon's ears. "Just give me minute. I'll be right there." After a couple of minutes a healthy looking Atlmer came strolling down the stairs at graceful pace. Upon seeing Akamon seeing the Redguard, Linwe smiled and said, "Welcome to Linwe's Concoctions. Did you come here to browse my creations? I've got all types of potions, pleas take your time and look around." Akamon walked over to the counter and rested his arms. Leaning in, he said the alchemist, "Actually I'm here because a woman named Valerie told me you have some information on someone I'm trying to track down." Linwe stopped his work and turned around to look Akamon in the eyes. "Is that so? Valerie is always caught up on the latest rumors. Huh, who new at 435 someone can still act like they're an adolescent, haha." Linwe then burst out laughing at his own joke. The Altmer then turned around and then went back to work. "So who is this person you're looking for?" Linwe quietly kept working his mortar and pestle "Elqwinwe. Valerie said you talked about her parents." The faint mashing and soft thud of the mortar and pestle stopped. The alchemist brushed his apron hesitantly, before turning around to to face Akamon. Walking over to the counter, the Altmer stopped right in front of Akamon and asked,"And how do you know of Elenya's child?" Akamon smiled slightly, before composing himself and stated,"We grew up together in a village west of Skaven called Divad's Calling. She was my childhood friend up until I was 14, when I left my village to become an Ansei. When I was 22 and performing my Walk About, my village was ransacked by the Thalmor. At the time I thought she died with the rest of my village, but I found recent evidence in her parents store that suggests that she fled and came here to Skaven." Akamon reached inside his tunic and pulled out Elenya's journal and slid it across the counter towards Linwe. The alchemist carefully took the book and opened it. "Read the last journal entry." Linwe merely glanced at Akamon before opening the journal. He quickly flipped the pages to the last entry and skimmed the page. Done reading it Linwe, sighed. Closing the journal he slid across the desk back to Akamon, who took the journal and put inside his small leather pouch. Before Akamon could speak up, Linwe simply said, "Elqwinwe did not come to Skaven. If she did, she would be here with me. I'm her godfather. Before Elenya and her husband left here to start their business in your village, mind you this was a very long time ago, she said that if anything happened to her in the future they come here to stay with me. She would occasionally send me letters letting me now how things were going. I knew all about her daughter. Around the time you said your village was ransacked by the Thalmor, Auriel curse them, That's when the letters stopped. I was expecting Elqwinwe to come, because in one of Elenya's letters, she stated that if anything dangerous happened to them, she wanted her daughter to come and stay with me. As you can already infer, Elqwinwe never came. After about 2 years, I assumed that the worst happened." Akamon was hit hard by this new found revelation. He couldn't believe it. He was so sure that she would be here. He started to clench his fists. Tears were already running down his cheeks. Before he could fall completely into despair, a golden hand placed itself on Akamon's shoulders. Looking teary eyed, Linwe with a stern gaze, spoke to Akamon what he would say would ignite a spark of hope and determination within the Ansei. "Elenya once spoke of some relatives in High Rock, but I'm not sure exactly where they live. If you still truly believe that she is still alive, that is where you should start looking." Akamon wiped his tears away quickly before saying,"Thank you Linwe. I will make sure find her not just for my sake, but yours as well, and I will bring her back here so you can finally meet her face to face." Adjusting his overcoat, relaxed for second before adding,"I guess it's a sight to behold. A mighty Ansei crying. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I chosen not to go with Lashana. I could've have become a farmer like my father. Who knows I would've most likely married Elqwinwe. Sometimes I think myself a fool for choosing the life of a Sword Saint." Linwe casually said while working with his alchemy station,"You would've died too you know. Life has a way of screwing us over sometimes. Just remember if there is anyone who can find Elqwinwe, it's you. The person who cares for her. If I was younger, I would go with you, but I'm getting too old for that kind stuff." Turning around, Linwe winked at Akamon and said,"Never doubt yourself Ansei Akamon. Farewell." Akamon bowed and said, "Farewell", also and exited the shop. Walking back into the opening square he turned around to look at the sunset. The start of a quest to find his childhood friend and love would begin tomorrow. High Rock huh. That's gonna be a challenge. I wouldn't even know the first place to look there. Wait a minute. Falion LaRouche is from High Rock and a noble too. If I can convince him, he might be the person to help me. I'll make sure to talk to him tonight. Mood Music. "So... I finally found you at last." Akamon turned around to see three armored knights. The one in the middle of the group was none than Astius Crex, the Imperial knight that Akamon defeated in a duel 7 years ago. "I'm surprised to see you skulking in the Crystal District." Smiling from underneath his straw hat, Akamon responded jokingly,"So now you show up. Finally found your balls to approach me directly? I eagerly awaited another request from your order but no word came; so I thought you learned your lesson or was kicked out of your order." Bringing his head up, Akamon smiled,"I'm glad to see I was wrong." With a slight arm movement, Akamon brushed away the outer tunic and revealed the hilt of his sword. Astius cracked his neck, smiling as he did so. Drawing his steel longsword, Astius nodded to both of his amored companions; who in unison, drew their swords as well. Stepping forward, Astius threw back his head sweeping the hair out of his face while exclaiming,"I will defeat you this time Akamon. While you have been becoming complacent in your Hall, I have been training relentlessly for these past 7 years. Now it's time to see if my labor has bared any fruits." Akamon didn't say word. Using his left thumb, Akamon flicked it pushing the sword blade out from it's locked position in the scabbard. Lowering his head, so Astius could only see his mouth, the former Ansei smirked mischievously. This agitated Astius even more. Spitting on the ground, Astius said,"This is to the death. I've already paid off the guards. So they won't be bothering us." Astius gestured with his off hand to both of his companions; sheathing their swords, they stepped back from the Imperial. Akamon with a blank look on his spoke to Astius."You intend on going through with this are you?" "By Talos I do!" "Hmph, very well." In one swift and graceful movement Akamon drew his scimitar and brought it to a low guard position with his left hand resting on the bottom of the hilt and the sword pointing towards the ground at a 45 degree angle. "Don't disappoint me." Mood Music. "I'll shut that mouth of yours once and for all!" To Akamon's surprise the Imperial rushed him head on. Still hasn't learned at all. With patience and anticipation, Akamon waited for the knight to come in his guard. Now. Astius swung his blade horizontally at Akamon's head hoping to cleave in half, when he was thrown off guard when he noticed the sword in Akamon's hand disappeared, then in the blink of an eye Astius was met with a sword point within a few inches of his face. Swinging erratically, Astius backed off breathing heavily. Akamon brought his scimitar into the low guard position again and waited for the next attack. "Heeah!" Astius recovering from near shock of almost having his head impaled, rushed Akamon once more with this time using an upward cut to dismember the Redguard. Akamon shifting his weight, easily avoided the swing, and was then met by another horizontal strike aimed his head to which Akamon slightly bent his knees and then using superior footwork to that of Astius, circled around the Imperial and came down with a swift strike aimed at Astius' right shoulder. Astius was again astonished by the Redguards skill. The Ansei didn't even try to deflect or counter his strikes, he was merely avoiding them, almost effortlessly. Then Akamon flanked the Imperial and without thinking turned around at the last second only to bring his sword up to block an overhead strike. The force of the blow made Astius bend his knees. What strength! Quickly backing away, Astius didn't how approach the situation. He's so fast and agile, on top of that his strikes are blindingly fast and have amazing force behind them. Is this what I have to show for my training? Akamon bringing his sword down to the low guard, Akamon spoke to the Imperial. "You seem to rely solely on instinct and reflex, which show your limits. In the Way of the Sword, you must use your intelligence." Astius forgot all about his predicament, and retorted back at the Redguard,"Quit mocking me!" Again rushing the Redguard, this time Astius aimed low for Akamon's legs, when the Ansei disappeared, then like an apparition appeared behind the Imperial, then reappeared in front of him. This time Astius seized the moment and swung downward at Akamon's head only to seemingly slip through the Redguard as if he was ghost. Akamon used this feint to reappear behind the knight. Wiping the blood off his scimitar with a flick of his wrist Akamon brought the scimitar to it's sheathe and as he did so, Astius upper body gushed forth fountains of blood. dropping to his knees, Astius said gurgling blood,"I guess the tree withered before it fruit bore", then dropped face first dead, in the streets of Skaven in a pool of his own blood. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Endar The tip of Endar's pen scrawled across the parchment, making words that intended for royal eyes. Normally, he had Elara to do this sort of menial work for him, but she had not returned since she left with the High Admiral a few days ago. He wasn't exactly sure how long it had been, given that he hadn't actually noticed their absence until two days ago, when he'd called for her to bring him tepid saltwater and was met with silence. Now, he had no stewardess, no saltwater, and no patience for this letter. He hastily scrawled out his requests and signed his name before folding it and opening a drawer to find his seal. As he searched, he felt a tiny wisp of magicka brush against his smaller bones, and turned to his crystal ball in time to see none other than Elara, draped in her enchanted cloak, approaching the room. She entered without knocking, bringing with her the pungent smells of cheap rum, sweat, and, oddly enough, scamp. She uttered some words of apology, including phrases like "needed a break", and "feeling better", but also a bunch of other nonsense that he tried to block out involving her being upset or angry or something. "Yes, yes. Riveting, truly." He waved a dismissive hand and gave her the letter. "Now that you're no longer out doing whatever it is you just said, you can bury your thoughts in something actually useful, like your job, and deliver this to the Empress." Her eyes narrowed the same way they often did when he cast spells near or on her without warning. But then she signed and diverted them to the letter. "She won't be able to read this. Your handwriting just looks like a bunch of scribbles. I'll rewrite it." Endar shrugged. "Fine. Just be sure it gets to the Empress it when you're finished." His steward sat at her desk in the corner and set back to work. She'd only just started when she spoke again. " 'Dear Empress Mede'? You know Mede is dead, right?" "Of course. And his daughter took his place." "It wasn't his-" Elara looked back at him as though he'd committed some crime. "Really? Empress Dales is a Motierre, not a Mede. Her father took over after Titus Mede II." "Really?" Now that she mentioned it, Motierre sounded right. It had been a simple enough mistake. "... Huh." Endar shrugged and opened his journal to update it with the contents of his letter. He was far too busy to spend much time thinking about the comings and goings of royal families. "And this part about "live Bosmer'... It's a little bit eerie. As in, illegal. I doubt Empress Dales will allow you this." "Live Thalmor Bosmer. There's a difference. And my research has reached a stage at which little progress can be made without suitable specimen to work with." "That's your Wild Hunt research for that elven fella, not the sun bird research you were hired here for." "They will have what they want from me." Endar replied. "But that does not mean that they can't allow me, as a friend of the palace, some liberties with my other work." "Friend? You can't even remember the Empress's name!" "Of course I can. And I will, now that I've spent more than a couple seconds thinking about it. Now finish the letter. It's imperative that she receive it before the next Great War." "Of course." Endar got to go back to writing in silence for a few seconds before she broke into the quiet yet again. "Wait, we're leaving? You didn't plan on telling me about this?" "You've been gone for a while. And now you know. So it's no problem. We need power sources similar to the ones described in the sun bird schematics, and the wizard we'd seek out might be the only person in Cyrodiil who knows how to create one. His name is Rythe Orealo, and I'd invite him here, but unlike myself, he's not exactly the 'social' type of mage. He's more of the 'kill trespassers and enthrall their souls' sort. Other than that, he's not bad company. We collaborated on occasion back in Morrowind." "So this mage, does he live in a cave? Is he safe?" "No, he most certainly does not live in a cave. He lives in a ruin, and a very nice one at that if what I've heard is true. And he is actually very dangerous, but for us, he should pose little threat. The soldiers I'm requesting to accompany are more to show off how official we are than to defend us. And besides, if he wanted to, Rythe could easily melt their eyeballs and turn their spirits into his own personal cupbearers." "That's reassuring." "Good. Because some undead can pick up on fear, and it would be best if you didn't give any of his guardians a reason to think our motives there would be against him." Elara looked nervous. "Well, they aren't, are they?" Endar shrugged. "We wizards can be stingy with our work. I will obtain his one way or another. The plan currently is to appeal to his sense of nostalgia for when we worked together, but if that fails, we will have no choice but to do something he may not like.... Don't worry. The hardest part won't be getting ahold of his research. It will be finding him. There is an old knightly order in the region known as the 'Knights of the Thorn'. If you recall, I sent you to to Cheydinhal some time ago to deliver a letter to them. I am expecting to meet one of the knights today, to discuss the venture." "Right... I am not sure I want to go on this trip." Endar hadn't anticipated that. Elara's best quality as a stewardess was her cooperation. He believed that was why she had lasted so much longer than most others. "Might I ask why?" "Because it sounds like the sort of trip that gets people killed. And undead monsters who taste fear or whatever are not what I signed up for." He groaned. "They don't taste fear, that would be ridiculous! And I will not require you to follow me into the ruins. Cheydinhal is far enough. I intend to take a detour on the way back that would benefit from the convenience of a steward being present." "Oh yeah? And where would that detour lead?" "To Bruma, where the Daedra left us mortals a rather impressive souvenir during the Oblivion Crisis." Endar saw that his stewardess clearly didn't know what he was talking about, so he went on. "It was a siege engine, capable of leveling cities like you or I could an ant hill. It is broken now, completely non-functional and unlikely to be repaired by materials found on Mundus. It's been studied plenty since, but not to the extent that it deserved." "How could a Daedric machine help you with your sun bird research?" "The same way that studying the insides of a troll teaches us about those of a man. The siege engine relied on a very powerful sigil stone to function. Such a stone, while useless for our purposes, would have needed quite an advanced vessel to coordinate its power throughout the machine. I can manage with regular welkynd stones well enough, but I've never contended with a greater one like we need. It would be useful to study how this siege machine utilized its power source so that we may compare it to the documents we have on the sun birds." "Alright." Elara tucked her completed letter into its envelope, and procured the seal from a drawer. "I'll go, but don't expect me to follow into some necromancer's ruins. You couldn't pay me enough for that." Endar still didn't understand the childish fear of undead, but he consented. "Fair enough. Now run along and deliver that to whomever can get it to Empress-" he paused for just a moment, "-Motierre. I will have departed for my meeting by the time you return." "Yes, Master Drenim." He turned back to his journal as the stewardess took her leave. I may have to hire a bolder one for future trips. he thought. Endar liked Elara, which was beyond rare when it came to his assistants. But it was important that he have someone capable of following him into places like Rythe's. Otherwise, he could end up with missing information on such locations that he did not have time to record himself. It was in the Tiber Septim Hotel that he had scheduled the meeting for that afternoon. An hour had passed between his discussion with Elara and his arrival at the building's lavish entrance hall. Red and black banners depicting the Imperial dragon lined the walls, and ornate gold vines wrapped around the great stone walls, which suffered no shortage of decorations, including more banners imported from all across Tamriel, wall mounts holding up fancy silver weapons, and portraits of various famous Emperors and heroes dating back to the Second Era. The hall was quiet. The few visitors who occupied it kept to their small groups at tables and lounge areas off to either side of the central entrance. Endar passed them all and headed for the winding stairs on the left side of the large room. His own contact was supposed to be waiting in a study on the second floor. When he reached the right door, Endar prodded it a couple times with his staff and let himself in. "Ah, Master Drenim!" The knight was still rising from his armchair when Endar came in. The man wore full plate mail covered in painted thorns, and seemed to be struggling to save his page in a book on account of the thick gauntlets. He was obviously an Imperial, with tan skin and dark brown hair cut short. His thick mustache hung low, and through it he spoke with a voice that Endar found to be humorously deep. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Bremman Senyan the Sixth." The knight extended a gauntlet hand, to which Endar nodded. "Of course you are... Why on earth are you wearing armor?" "Why, I wear this armor whenever I am in faraway langs." Bremman replied, returning his hand to his side where it belonged. "I- we knights have many enemies. Evil men and wicked monsters who would destroy the noble at first chance. I do not like to give them such a chance." "Did you want me to see your armor and be impressed?" Endar asked, amused. The knight's reddening face said yes, but his mouth said "Of course not. I truly wear this armor for protection." "Of course you do." "When armed, a Knight of the Thorn can take on any enemy from this world or Oblivion itself." the knight stammered, as if he had something to prove. "Of course you can." "And we know the location of the necromancer den that you seek." "Finally, we reach the point of this meeting." Endar took a seat across from where the knight stood. Between them was a table, and to their left, a fireplace. "You claim that these ruins are near your city. How near?" "Less than half a day's ride, actually." Sir Bremman replied, lowering himself back into his chair and adjusting to sit comfortably in the ridiculously out of place armor. "It is known as Fanacas. Ayleid in origin, but the occupants have changed out a hundred times or more these last couple centuries alone. I cannot promise you that this, 'Rythe Orealo' is the leader with complete certainty. But these are the only ones we know of in the region, and indeed the earliest reports of their arrival coincide with the time at which magical crystals began circulating in the local markets. Mages in particular seem eager to buy them up at the prices they're offered at." "This sounds promising. Have the necromancers created issues for the county?" "None that we have recognized. People go missing every now and then, sure, but no signs point to the ruins. If they did, the Knights of the Thorn would take quick action to bring the monsters to justice. As it is, their presence so close to our lands already puts them on thin ice." Thin ice that is too cold for you. Endar thought. No doubt any 'signs' pointing to the ruins are quickly dismissed in favor of safer threats to tackle. "How close are the men of your order willing to go to this ruin?" "We'd investigate more closely ourselves if it were within the bounds that we patrol." said the knight. "Unfortunately, it sits less than a mile outside of our jurisdiction, at the base of the Valus Mountain range. If you still intend to approach it, we can lead you close enough to see the exterior yourself." "How very noble of you. You serve the Empire in ways you cannot know." "Of course." Sir Bremman said with a slight bow. "Anything to help strengthen the bonds between our beautiful city and this great Empire. It is good that the noblest and strongest of alliances still remain, even during these trying times." "Right, right." Endar rolled his eyes. The way this man spoke annoyed him. His gallantry felt faker than a beggar's absent children. "Tell your leader to expect a visit before too long. Your assistance will be welcome." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Dear Ms. Bathory, You and I, being two of the premier authors in Cyrodiil, nay, Tamriel, have a unique opportunity to reach out and touch the citizens of the former Empire. I myself am doing so by profiling the greatest leaders our province has to offer, and next on my list was someone dear to your own heart, Skjari Snow-Strider. The salacious manner of your relationship aside, I was hoping you could help me shed some light on our enigmatic Emperor. What is he like, personally? How accomplished of a mage is he? Why is he just now stepping out into the center stage of politics? What made the Empress choose him, over, say, Theodore Adrard's son? What do you think qualifies him to be Emperor? While I apologize if these questions seem daunting, I feel it of the utmost importance we give the public a real view into the White-Gold. In doing so, I believe we are helping to further the war effort, by inspiring the public and strengthening their view, positively, of the Imperial leadership. I do hope you agree. Best wishes, Albecias Plebo ** One Month Later The first thing Albecias did when he returned to the Black Horse Courier office each morning was check for letters. While usually he had only fan letters or crackpot theories about the leadership, today he received the long awaited reply from colleague and competitor Magdela Bathory. He hastily opened it, only remembering to close his office door at the last second. Eagerly, he read, My dear Albecias, What a surprise to find your little missive among my letters. I am flattered that an eminence in the literary world such as yourself would seek out my opinion on the state of our empire. I do hope that your reputation doesn't suffer as a result. Then again, I had heard your circulation was down and that your investors were nervous. Perhaps you seek by novel means to increase it? In any case, being these days infrequently in the Imperial City, I am afraid that I can offer little insight on our new emperor beyond what you could glean in the halls of the Elder Council and from your own observations of his actions. He has quelled rebellion and restored order to numerous counties where it was wanting. He has supported our fair empress through attempts on her life. He has brought the Elder Council to heel, rooted out treason among the legions, and is rebuilding our strength to face an implacable enemy. In these trying times, what more could one want in a leader? Even one not versed in military or political matters such as yourself should understand the import of these accomplishments. Our empress apparently does. As for why he steps onto the stage now, surely it does not need to be said that our poor empire is in dire need of strong, capable leadership. The man for the moment, as the saying goes. The public does not need insight. It needs bread, safety, and hope for the future. We do not subsist on words alone, as injurious as that may be to your own sense of security. The public will judge our emperor's performance based on those things, not on your scribblings or mine. Still, good Albecias, do take care to quote me accurately. You are rather fanciful in your interpretations at times. Perhaps you should try your hand at the erotic novel? Yours cordially, M.B. Albecias crumbled the parchment and threw it against the wall. The woman lied through her teeth. She’d slept with Snow-Strider after all, and yet was reluctant to assist a fellow literary artist in making sure the public was well informed on just who and what their government was. She presumes my circulation is down. Bah. She’s just jealous I am both a novelist and reporter, whereas she must suffice with those smutty ‘romance’ novels. That’s if they contain any romance and aren’t just longer versions of the Argonian Maid. And to suggest I write that trash? I would say I’d never been more insulted, if she didn’t also completely disregard the social importance of all of writing! Though she didn’t tell me anything about the palace, at least I now know just what an insufferable bitch she is, Albecias thought, realizing afterward his jaw was locked tighter than a crocodiles. He rose, and retrieved the letter, before locking it up in the floor safe beneath his desk. Though he doubted he would ever suffer through that miserable missive again, he might need to use it against her in the future. Or so he hoped. He took from the safe the letter from L, though he now was confident that L was simply a cover for High General Ceno. Albecias was certainly astonished that the political mechanizations of the man had gone thus far unnoticed, but knew someone as old as he must be skilled at this point. How old is he? 65? 70? Far past his usefulness, that much is sure. Albecias grabbed a pen and marked through Magdela’s name on the list. Already he’d crossed off Generals Lithin and Retrius, and Colonel Quentas, who he was sure ignored his own anonymous letter. That left only the High General himself and the Synod. Albecias thought it rather clever Ceno included himself on the list, so as to throw suspicion on someone else, but it was a pitiful ruse, the weakest link of the general’s so far perfect plan. But, Albecias thought with a roguish grin tracing his lips, his greatest blunder by far will be underestimating me. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheCzarsHussar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 High Rock The mercenaries came ashore several hours after the sun set, at that late hour in which nothing stirs. Their ship, a shallow keeled caravel, could have easily maneuvered up Deleyn’s Rush, but that would bring them in sight of the villagers who lived at the base of Wyrd Hill Keep, the seat of House Mon. This was intended to be a quiet affair, and the Sisters of Silver were not about to take their chances with a peasant boy catching wind of their being here. And so they disembarked on the coast with ten others in tow, quietly moving towards the keep. As most houses lined the river, they approached from the north. Soon, they arrived at the small tunnel entrance that led into Duke Mon’s keep, hidden in a group of boulders lying in a stand of trees. A guard opened the door after Sosia identified herself, though her raspy voice made it unmistakable who she was. Her sister Senna waited until the others passed through, and took up the rear of the party. More wary than Sosia, she feared this was a trap, though begrudgingly had given in to the stronger willed sister. They crept along through the tunnel, the only light conjured by the leading guard. Boots scuffling the dirt floor was the only sound, and the earthen walls dampened even that. It seemed as though the passageway might collapse any minute, yet the journey was uneventful. Finally, a door appeared, just as it seemed the tunnel would go on forever. It opened through a false wine barrel, and the Silver Brigade mercenaries stepped into the cellar. The white and green clad guard motioned for the two sisters to follow him, while the remaining sellsword waited, in case things went awry. They climbed up the stairs, and got a fleeting look at elegant and tastefully decorated Hall of Wisdom, so named for the owls of the Mon family. Passing that by, Sosia and Senna came to the living quarters, where the guard pointed them to Jhared Mon’s study. “He’s in there,†the guard said, standing vigil by the staircase as they walked the length of the hall to the study. Sosia grasped the door handle and quickly opened the door. Senna had her hand the hilt of her mace, ready to use it at a moments notice. Duke Mon had his back to the sisters, his features indistinguishable against the bright dual moons, which cast ghostly rays through the window. Against the moonlight, Jhared looked skeleton thin, his features taut and pronounced. “You’re late,†he said, now turning to face the twins. His sunken andbeady eyes studied the two, no doubt looking for some mark to identify who was who. “Your tunnel is too long,†Sosia rasped out. “Ah, so you must be Sosia then. That,†he nodded towards the scar across her throat, “must have been painful.†Sosia grimaced, her eyes narrowing at the pretentious noble. “It was,†Senna said. “Now lets talk. You said you have a job for us. What is it?†Duke Mon gestured to the chairs, where the sisters sat, though Senna hesitated until Jhared did the same. “Testy, I see. Do you not trust me?†Their silence was answer enough, so Duke Mon continued. “I have a job for you two. As I understand it, your last job left you resentful of our king.†Both sisters made no move to answer, their biggest concern this meeting being a trap, hoping to catch them speaking out against Adrard. After what happened to their cousin and former Silver Brigade leader, Salomon Silver, they needed to be cautious. Mon smiled, though his eyes remained cold and analytical. “You needn’t worry, I am as resentful as you. He wronged me, as he did you, and I seek recompense.†Something about the way he said it made him seem honest, as if the loathing in his voice couldn’t possibly be faked. Senna scoffed, leaning forward onto the large desk separating the mercenaries from the nobleman. “What, did he hurt your feelings? He paid that fool Socucious enough coin to convince him to take us into the deepest part of the Reach. And you know what we found? Vicious Reachmen who’d rather skin you alive than kill you, so they can fashion suits of skin and dance around bonfires in them, and then bleed you like a pig as a sacrifice. They poison their blades with slow acting poisons that take fortnights to kill, so that you can smell your limbs rotting. We fought monsters, not men, and lost half the company. That’s what he did to us.†Duke Mon remained silent for a long while, his eyes neither averted nor wholly focused on the sisters, as if he stared at some unseen thing between them. He at least had the courtesy to drop his smile, but even his pity seemed false. Finally, he said, “Then what I have in mind should fit you two perfectly. I not only propose employment, but revenge.†Though they remained skeptical, Mon could see the interest dancing in the sisters’ eyes. Sosia asked in her raspy voice “What’s your plan? Attack him? Raid his lands? Sounds like a quick way to get killed, going against a king.†This time, Mon’s smile was genuine. “No, my darlings, that’s the beauty of it. Once done, the king cannot touch you. For you will be in Cyrodiil.†Though they hadn’t yet figured it out, Mon could see the sisters working out at least part of the plan. “That’s right, we won’t be fighting him. The Empire will fight him for us. But to incur their wrath, you will need to set aside any morals you may hold. Though considering your field of choice, that shouldn’t be hard.†“Yes, morals aside, now what’s your plan? I swear you nobles talk just to hear the sound of your own voices,†Senna said. Mon scowled, briefly, but soon continued with the same excitement as before. “I’ve also hired the Crimson Chevaliers, and they are already on their way. You will meet them at the Ayleid ruin Ninendava, where they will then began raiding and attacking Orcish refugees moving across Cyrodiil.†“You hope to rile up the Empire then. I suppose we’ll say he hired us?†Senna asked. Mon vigorously wagged a slender finger at her. “Precisely. But, your group will march south, instead of attacking with the Chevaliers. They expect it to be a secondary attack on the Orcs, which I informed them was the plan, but in actuality you will turn request to speak with the Empress, and let her know what happened. Say you were hired to attack as well, but you couldn’t kill innocent civilians. Volunteer to lead the legion to the Chevaliers and wipe them out. You will have convinced the Empire that Adrard attacked Orcish refugees, you will have wiped out a competitor, and Adrard will be blindsided. And who knows, perhaps the Empire will request your assistance in taking the fat man out.†Sosia smiled, which stretched the scar on her neck and made it seem as though it were smiling too. “It is a good plan. He deserves to be cast down like a dog. But on what pretense did you hire the Chevaliers to attack Orcs?†Mon waved dismissively. “Their leader nearly forgot to ask, and even when he did, he didn’t seem to care much. I told him I simply hated them, and made up a tale about a son of mine dying at their hands. Which is the same story you will tell them if asked.†“What about payment?†Senna asked. “Half now, half upon your return. And whatever loot you get from the Chevaliers.†Senna nodded, slowly. She seemed lost in thought. After a minute or so, she asked, “What do you hope to gain out of this? The Empire cannot attack in full, and even if they did, no one wants another war, not before the next Great War.†Mon looked surprised at her line of questioning. “I’m impressed. You’re more intelligent than most of your colleagues. It is a fair question, but I cannot give you the details. After all, you are sellswords, a notoriously recreant breed. But suffice to say breeding chaos is my goal, and with chaos that I hope to sow dissension. For others to question Adrard, first they must see him fail.†“What about the Empire?†Sosia asked. “What do you expect them to do?†“A blockade seems the most realistic option, that or detaching a legion contingent. Either way, I care not. So long as Adrard suffers.†Both sisters seemed unconvinced about either option happening, but it was obvious Mon wasn’t adept at military matters, so they simply nodded in agreement. “Will you provide us with provisions and passage?†Senna asked. “Certainly,†Mon said. “I have friends in the shipping industry who owe me favors and can easily transport you, and ample provisions. I expect you’ll leave by the week’s end, and arrive at Ninendava around two weeks afterwards. Weather permitting, of course.†The Silver Brigade leaders seemed satisfied, and Senna said, “I look forward to taking Adrard down a peg or two.†After the money changed hands, Senna and Sosia left, back through the tunnel and out into the fields just north of the keep. Once they surfaced, with their emergency guard contingent, Senna and Sosia waited until they were well out of range before speaking to one another. “Can we trust him?†Senna asked. “He seems to hate Adrard, but…I get the feeling we’re just pawns to him.†Sosia laughed, which sounded like the cackle of a feral Alik’r desert dog. “He’s a noble. Of course he only thinks we’re pawns. Who gives a **** what he thinks.†Senna nodded, set slightly more at ease by her sister’s reassurance. After all, they were the treacherous sellswords, not him. ** The scruffy, wide-eyed, crooked nosed guard waited for his fellow watchman to close the hidden cellar door. He placed the coin pouch in the man’s hand, while managing to keep his own from shaking. “What’d you learn?†Scruffy beard asked. He noticed his voice didn’t waver, and couldn’t help be proud. He was turning into a downright decent spy after all, after that near debacle in Skyrim, delivering the letter to the High General. “Not much,†the other guard said. “The door was thick, but from what I make out, the Duke wants to hire them. He’s sending them to Cyrodiil, something to do with Orcs.†“Is that it?†Scruffy asked, his voice hinting at disappointment. “Sorry, that’s all I got,†the other guard said, giving a shrug as he left. Scruffy was then alone, to ponder his next move. King Adrard paid him well to report on the Duke, but he hadn’t much to tell. Only about the strange mage visitor, but that was hardly remarkable. And this…it didn’t seem like nothing, but what could it possibly mean? Scruffy remembered it wasn’t his job to investigate, just report what he knew. Walking briskly to his bunk, he sloppily penned the letter, and found the designated courier in the town tavern. He paid the man, who set off immediately, as required their arrangement. But upon his return, he found the gate barred, and no amount of shouting nor banging produced a response. Finally, just as he began to suspect a cruel joke was at hand, Duke Mon leered over the wall high above. Scruffy’s heart sunk. He’d been caught. “Out for a midnight stroll?†Mon asked. Beside him, another face leaned. At first, Scruffy didn’t recognize it, but as the torch flames danced shadows across his face, he realized it was the other guard, the one he’d bribed. As the other guard splattered against the ground, Scruffy considered running, but heard the sound of hooves trampling behind him. He was trapped. Scruffy turned around to inspect the new arrivals, and who he assumed would be his executioners. He was surprised to see them disappointed, as though they’d somehow failed. “Well? Where’s the courier?†Mon shouted down. “M’lord, we couldn’t find him. We block off all roads north to Camlorn but he never showed. Then we inspected the tavern, but the barkeep said he’d left, but to Daggerfall, not Camlorn.†Scruffy smirked as Mon paled, his flesh looking paler than a corpse’s. “Send riders now! You will not let him escape!†Scruffy knew it was too late, though. The courier had not but a few minutes head start, but that was all he’d need. His mount was swift, and he knew the land better than Mon’s men ever would. Scruffy contemplated how silly it was Mon hadn’t just nabbed them in the tavern, but he didn’t have long to think on it. The mace caving in his head ended that. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Lorgar Grim-Maw, Shadow Pack (Shade, Morpho, Preacher, Hunter), Valenwood, Trivabas Forest , Night, The small Bosmer tribesman sat lonely beside one of many tall, massive trees that dotted Valenwood's illustrious landscape, near his feet a sinister bog. He was fixing his bow's string, and cleaning his small leaf-shaped dagger, the pommel made from Aldmeri White Gold. He had taken it off the dead body of a Thalmor Justicar envoy he, and a group of his comrades had massacred not two weeks ago, a rather large cohort of elite Altmer shocktroopers, not the standard bosmer auxiliary unit the group was used to facing. Not surprisingly, the shock troopers were able to weather the first volley of arrows quite easily, forming a solid line of defense using magical wards, and maintained excellent battle discipline throughout the entire hour-long engagement, inflicting heavy casualties among the Bosmer guerrilla fighters. Understandably the resistance fighters, weren't kind to the ones who were forcibly captured, Apparently, the group was on it's way to Arenthia, from Woodhearth, delivering important communique, along with a small package, to the local Justicar. What those orders were, and the contents of the package, wasn't known, as their war chief, Hundwing Dreadlake, kept the details to himself. Nonetheless, the only thing that was on there minds that night was the grand feast that was about to occur. Furthermore, no one really cared, There goals were to simply kill any dominion patrol they encountered, which the Cey tribe had been doing for nearly a decade. No reason to change that now. With their entire body covered in black warpaint, the Cey tribe had existed for nearly a millennium. Known for their ferocious warrior-like culture, they lived in the vast Trivabas forest, guarding the borderlines of the town Kardarth, and the now Dominion controlled fort Stone Fell. The tribe had refused to bow down to dominion rule, and had taken to killing as many dominion soldiers that crossed into it's borders, which had piled and piled over the years to a respectful number. This area was seldom travelled by any dominion soldier, mostly out of fear. The Cey didn't take prisoners, and were rather infamous for their cannibalistic tendencies. In other words, they were the alpha predator in these parts of the backwoods Unknown to the tribesman a new monster lurked in the water below, The Cey tribesman had no time to let out a scream, as in a sudden blur of movement a figure leaped out of the murky waters of the swamp, grabbing him and throwing him into the water with him. He wasted no time in thrusting an ebony shortblade into his chest, the crude leather armor offering no resistance against the blade, A good ten seconds later, the man remerged from the mire, dressed head to toe in allege, the figures body was completely concealed, and the naked eye wouldn't be able to tell his general features, besides the fact he was very tall, and moderately built . Following him thirty more figures emerged from the black swamp, clad in similar camouflage, standing a good foot apart from each other, three to his right, three to his left. Under normal circumstances they would be in single file to better conceal their numbers, but the moon was noticeably absent tonight, and a thick, dark miasma hung over the night sky like a blanket of pure darkness, pierced only by the occasional torch light in the distance were the Cey village lay. The figure in the front crouched on his left knee, raising his hand in a fist. He whispered, "Area secured. Team One, circle around left and eliminate any sentries in that part of the swamp. Stay low and out of sight." He turned his head around, saying, "Shade, this is where you're going to insert, get into position and await my signal." He paused before adding, "Do not be seen under any circumstances." A low, emotionless, but obviously feminine voice answered him, with one of the "algae men" nodding their head slightly, "These rebels are not worthy of the mire." She disappeared in a cloud of blue mist, most likely caused by the casting of an invisibility spell, throwing off her cloak of camouflage as she did, The lead soldier among the group turned to face the lights in the distance, went lower and commanded the remaining special operation troopers, "The rest of you follow behind. Do not engage unless ordered." Three infront of the larger group whispered, "Aye sir." With that they all sank bank into the filthy murk. ********************* A sentry's muffled cries fell deaf to the wind, as a hooded man grabbed him in an armlock, using his hand to silence his screams. Overlooking the entire village on a hill, there was a tower, made from imported wood the group had seized from a dominion caravan. During the night, six Cey warriors were stationed there, as a watch for any signs of enemy activity, and if detected, an alarm would be sounded from the top of the tower. Going by the five other bodies piled at the bottom floor, that wouldn't happen any time soon, The man holding the bosmer in his iron grip slowly but steady inserted a long, narrow steel blade into his back, which caused the elf to struggle in futility to escape from his grasp, and his pupils to dilate. Impaled on the backs of all the other dead elves, was a similar weapon. Speaking in a gentle, and oddly respectful tone, the hooded man whispered into the elf's ear, "Remember, death isn't the end of life. Simply the completion. The blade is coated in a special toxin. You won't feel a thing. Just close your eyes, and enter Aetherius." The warrior's body soon feel limp, and lifeless. Gently placing him on the floor, the hooded man closed his open eyes. Drawing another steel blade from a quiver on his back, he took out an amulet of Arkay and whispered, "May Arkay grant you the peace you claimed to seek." He left the slender steel blade in the elf's backside, as he placed his amulet back on his neck. The hooded man wore a black cloth hood and cloak, the type a priest would wear, along with dark leather gloves, boots, and a tunic. Besides the abundance of slender blades on his back, he carried a well-made parrying dagger, along with a silver rapier on his belt. Unlike his other comrades, the man didn't wear a leather Bosmer balacva, opting instead to have a grey scarf, which covered his mouth, to go with his hood. Cold grey eyes peaked from under it, darkened by shadow. A sudden noise behind caused the man to turn around, drawing his parrying dagger, and bringing up the slender blade he carried in his right hand. The sight that awaited him was a Bosmer warrior, whom was in the middle of lifting up his rusted greatblade, falling to the ground with a large spear impaled in his back , falling down dead. Walking over the corpse of the dead Cey warrior, a woman strode forth, ripping the large spear from his back. She bore a dark green high rock styled longcoat which had a camouflaged pattern to it, wearing a full set of dark leather armor underneath, as well as a plate pauldron on her left shoulder. The leather balaca she wore was plain, besides one distinguishing mark near where her forehead was, a blue morpho butterfly. Under his hood the man smiled, lowering his weapons, saying in a kind tone of voice, "I thank you for the assist, Morpho." The girl nodded her head. Just by her voice, a person could tell she was in her thirties, as well as very cocky and arrogant "Just don't get caught off guard again, Preacher. I cant be here to save your ass all the time." The man nodded his head, "Of course." He went over to the dead Bosmer Morpho had just slain, falling onto one knee with his amulet of Arkay. Placing his hand over his face, softly closing his eyes, he whispered, "Arkay grant you the peace you claimed to seek." Morpho snorted, bringing her spear to chest height, drawn, "Save that rubbish for after the battle." Preacher, or so the girl called him, smiled underneath his scarf, saying, "The battle hasn't started yet my daughter." He took out a spyglass from his pocket, enchanted with a night's eye, and night vision spell. Down at the base of the village, in the swamp, the Blood Wolf commando could already see over twenty of his comrades advancing through the murky bog. All they were waiting for was the signal. ************** Away from the tower, the area north of the village entirely consisted of massive tree's, spreading out as far as the eye could see in a large forest. Unlike the south of the village, which was a huge expanse of swampland, the area here had wholesome vegetation. Like the marshland, however, a thick, unnatural mist fluttered about Running, scared out of his wits across the forest floor was a Cey warrior. Covered in blood, as well as sweat, he rushed away from whatever was pursuing him. Any normal persons reaction would be to scream out in terror, but whenever the wood elf tried, his voice always failed him. As if he was trying to suck in air, but the end result was always his lungs failing him. Thinking back, the blades that...thing cut him with, could have been poisoned with some kind of toxin. Pain suddenly shot through his leg, as the Cey tribesmen fell to the floor with a large throwing spear protruding through his leg, trying to scream out in agony, but his voice failing once again. He desperately dragged himself away from whatever was coming for him, fearing he would slowly drown in the pool of blood that was building up around him. "Hee…" A deep, bass voice suddenly entered the Wood elf's hearing. He slowly turned his head around, which he instantly regretted, Standing over the warrior, The "man", or so the Bosmer though was a "man", was dressed head to toe in tree leaves and plants. On his back, was half a dozen throwing spears, and on his belt, at least seven different types of horrifying daggers, which were unrecognisable to the Bosmer. But worst of all, were the jagged blades protruding from his arms, as if they were attached to his wrists, which were protected by metal wrist guards, and his hands, covered by ivory plate gauntlets. Chuckling to himself, the man pointed towards his left. Nervously, the Cey warrior glanced in the direction he was pointing at. The remains of a dozen other Cey sentries were strewn about, hanging from a large dead oak tree, there skin removed. He couldn't even scream, as the man slowly, and agonizingly inserted his wrist blades into the Bosmer's stomach. In the distance, his final image just before his conscious faded was a massive fiery explosion from the village, ************ Dragging himself across the barrack's wooden floor in the center of town, the Cery warrior tried his hardest to scream, but the searing heat in his throat allowed a weak groan to escape. The man's entire body was blackened from flame, as the building around him burned down, beside him, the fallen bodies of his comrades, whom were moments ago enjoying a card game. The screams of his brothers and sisters outside, mired with confusion, anger, surprise and terror echoed from outside, along with the clashes of steel Standing in front of him was the perpetrator. Clad in pitch black robes, the color of the void, the figure was gripping the face of his commanding officer, with their black gloved hands, lifting him into the air, a feat which should have been impossible, unless they were channeling a strength spell. The figure was...oddly short, at least, for a mercenary. They were only a few inches taller than the Cey warrior, and the Cey, as a bosmer tribe, were quite short to begin with. The strangest thing was the item he or she wore over there face, a black porcelain mask, which was expertly crafted. It had the basic features of a face made from skin, possessing eyes, a nose, and a mouth, all carved beautifully. The figure's grip tightened, as the man barley managed to gasp for air, and curse, "Y'ffe will rend your bones dog!" A low toned laugh emerged, dead, bitter, and emotionless, "Thousn't, shall curse your reaper, before the night takes thy, do you think your god will by yonder moonlight, will come to thou aid in your time of darkness?" The voice obviously belonged to a young woman, though something was extremely off. The voice was forlorn, cold as ice, lacked any sense of warmth, devoid of any emotion...and seemed...distorted. The raging inferno around her didn't affect her in the slightest, and besides the burning and consuming smell of smoke, the Cey warrior smelt...rotting flesh. The man remained silent, spitting in her face. Continuing, the woman said, "Alas, I think not. The only one here, watching you and your comrades suffering is the God of Worms. He shall gore on your souls remains..." A black blade emerged from the sleeves of the girls robe, long, and jagged. It was clearly...unnatural, as every few seconds, the blade flicked from vision, a dark red aura glowed off it. She shoved the sword into the man's chest, her hands glowing dark violet, which wrapped around the warriors head, causing him to scream out in pure anguish. The Cey warriors eyeballs exploded in a display of gore. The girl let the body fall to the floor, his now vacant eye sockets hollowed, and his face showing the terror of his final moments. ********* The initial inferno took the village off guard completely, and most of the Cey didn't have time to properly arm themselves, as dozens of soldiers emerged from the depths of the swamp, and attacked the village. The fire that started the blaze had come from the barracks, which already eliminated more then twenty of there finest warriors, as well as permanently damage quite a bit of there already meager supply of equipment. Bloodwolf commando's broke into Bosmer dwellings, killing them in there beds, slitting there throat and cutting down anyone who got in there way. Though the mercenaries were instructed by there CO to keep civilian casualties to a minimum, there were still the odd uncooperative Bosmer here and there, who needed to be put down. Eventually the Cey warriors managed to rally, but there numbers were already depleted. What was left of the tribe did there best to defend there homes, but there combatants not only had the element of surprise, they had far superior skills, weapons, armor, gear, training, skills, which resulted in a completely one sided battle. In the haze of black smoke and flame, a rather large group of Cey tribesmen broke off from the main body, whom were desperately trying to hold off the advancing enemy soldiers among the tree buildings. Even outnumbered two to one, the mysterious cloaked men were cutting down Cey warriors like nothing, and carving their way to the center of town. One of the elders, a rather old tribal shaman raised his iron sword and pointed to the tree line, shouting, "Regroup in the forest, fall back my warriors!" Following his command, dozens of Bosmer guerilla's rushed forth to the shelter of the forest. There they could regroup and plan their next move, Not that any of them had the chance, as the ones in front suddenly fell limp in a collective cry of anguish as arrows, crossbow bolts, and magic energy came pouring forth from the treeline, colliding into the large group of Wood Elves. That was followed by half a dozen more volleys over the span of two minutes exiting the treeline, and showing the large group in death. Emerging from the dark of the forest, fourteen or so Bloodwolf commando's dressed in leaves, moss, and other forms of fauna wordlessly advanced in formation, cutting down without mercy any Valenwood resistance fighter who dared to engage them. Unlike the rebels, the commando's fought in unison, remaining in a proper skirmish formation, and covered each others flank. They advanced, intent on reaching the village center, slaughtering anyone who tried to withstand the fury of the Bloodwolves. Now that the two pronged attack had been sprung, any tiny hope of victory for the Bosmer rebels faded. It was planned from the start, by the Blood Wolf leader, Colonel Saladin. Thirty commando would secure the swamp beside the village, and eliminate any sentries posted there without being detected. A small two man team, members of Colonel Saladin's personal unit, Shadow Pack, Preacher and Morpho, at the same time infiltrate the village, and eliminate the small force stationed at the watch tower stealthily, effectively blinding the rebel force, without raising any alarms. A second, smaller force consisting of twenty Bloodwolf special operatives, lead by another member of Shadow Pack, Hunter, would secure the forest north of the village, by it's border. A single Bloodwolf operative, Shade would then break off from the main force by the marsh, and destroy the enemy barracks using her considerable magic, simultaneously depleting the rebels numbers, but also signaling the main force to attack. Advancing from the marsh, the main forces objective would to sow terror among the rebel's rank, and drive them to the apparent safety of the forest, which would result in them being caught off guard by the second force. It all worked perfect. Now being caught on two fronts, the remaining warriors knew the battle was lost. Throwing down there weapons, and putting there hands over there heads, the remaining Cey surrendered ******************** Sometimes I forget why i'm here. What i'm exactly fighting for. Is it because I am loyal to the Empire? Or that I need to be surrounded by death to feel alive? Heh, maybe there all right. Baldur. Boldir. Rebec. Gracchus The Court-Mage. I'm nothing more then a monster. A monster in a world of lights. Storn and Aila should have just left me to the Wolves after Ulric died. Several minutes later, the surviving Rebels, including the civilians among them, were rounded up, and put in a circle, hands tied and guarded at all times. Colonel Saladin was standing beside a tree, wearing his black/red armor, observing the recovery operation. All documents were to be gathered, and later given to Dominion intelligence for study. The Bloodwolves worked diligently, and soldiers who found something of note were handsomely rewarded with a small, but attractive sum of gold. All of them were mercenaries after all. Gold was there mistress. It mattered not if the information ended up killing hundreds of innocent Valenwood civilians, they were dogs of war, of the battlefield. Morality wasn't in there job description. Lorgar gripped Azidonk's hilt even tighter, and turned his head around. Flashes of red lightning danced around the corner of his eye, instantly causing him top stop and turn his head the other way. He knew whom he would gaze at if he turned in the other direction. He'd rather die, then face the "thing" that those eyes belonged to. Shadows danced around, as the beast spoke, "Come now, Lorgar. Do you truly fear me that much?" It finished, with a chilling laugh, Lorgar whispered to himself, "Your...not real...your...not real..." The beast let out another chuckle, still out of sight, "Does that honesty matter, if i'm real in the sense others can interact with me?" Though Lorgar couldn't see it, he knew it grinned, "I'm real to you." "Pardon me, sir." Interrupting his contemplation (and nightmare) was Corpreal Ashart. The young Breton had participated in the early scouting operations, and hadn't fought alongside the main force in the battle. Lorgar couldn't see his facial expression behind the balaclava he wore, but Lorgar could tell he was feeling uneasy. Lorgar gave him a slight nod of his head, "Report, Copreal." The soldier gave a crisp salute, as he offered the ranking officer a small, wrapped package. It was encased in Aldmeri runes, and had a small note attached to it. Lorgar gently took it, saying to the commando, "Thank your Corpreal. I'll pass on to dominion intelligence of your role in finding this. " Lorgar had no intention in doing that. Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! 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Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Rune The Rift "We ought to go further north." Kosta pressured them as they crept through the brush towards the road. "We're too close to the city." "You aren't scared of some payroll watchmen, are you?" Falnis asked, lazily grinning. "I thought you were the best of the Goldenglow lot." "I wouldn't be here if that weren't true." The Redguard responded. "But I'm not so fool as to think we'd stand to gain by getting a band of sellswords set on us. The road doesn't split. Anyone on it will pass north the same as they would here." "Rune?" Falnis turned to him for an answer. There was an amused gleam in the bandit's eyes that said he was mocking him. "What do you think? Are you afraid of some sellswords and a couple milk-drinking guards?" "Of course not," he answered. Within these last few months of practicing, Rune had gotten good enough with the bow to down two men in as many seconds. "but-" "You see Kosta?" Falnis interrupted. "Rune ain't scared. You gonna let a couple of Imps like us show you up?" Kosta's lips tightened, annoyed. He was a bandit turned thief turned bandit again, and between going behind Boldir's back at Goldenglow, and his lack of opportunities to impress Chief Hrokvild, he had few friends in Faldar's Tooth. Still, Kosta was one of their best with a sword, a fact that he enjoyed bringing up in drunken arguments. Though for all that skill, everyone knew that Falnis was even better, a fact that had created something of a rivalry between the two. Though at least they respected one another as dangerous men. That was more than Rune had in this little trio. He was a good marksman, but in truth, he was only here because Boldir had asked him in private to accompany the two real killers. We aren't monsters. The Nord had said. Don't let those two act like we are. So while Kosta and Falnis were on this important raid because of merit, he was here because he was a nice guy. Rune's fingers fell into his pocket and closed around the water-smoothed stone he was named for. If the old symbols on it were good luck as he liked to believe, they might need need every bit of it. This wasn't a normal roadside raid. Any bandits could pull off one of those. No, Boldir and Hrokvild had chosen their best men because anyone weaker would not be enough to handle the types rumored to be guarding the important shipments. Maven was hiring new mercenaries from outside the Rift. Dangerous killers all, but it wasn't sellswords Boldir hoped to kill. Word was that most of the fallen bandits as of late had been felled by a large man in thick Nordic armor that covered him from head to toe. If Maul was leaving the city to hunt them, this was their chance to finally bring him down. "We'll be done sooner if something comes from the north." Kosta insisted. "I'm going that way. You fools can follow me or not. But I won't be here when a band of Black-Briar's sellswords show up." The Redguard turned and began north. Rune didn't have to look to know that Falnis was watching him, waiting to see which of them he'd side with. The bandit probably scowled when he followed Kosta, though Rune didn't look back at him to check. They walked and walked, following Kosta's lead for an hour at least before the Redguard came to an abrupt halt. He crouched and slowly began to creep forward. They joined him, and it wasn't until they'd come to a stop near the edge of the tree line that Rune figured out what it was that had caught Kosta's attention. There was a low rumble up the road, following the sound of a horse's hooves slushing through the snow. By the time the wagon became visible, it was apparent that something was wrong. There were no visible guards, and he lonely driver appeared unarmed. He was a plainly-dressed Nord man with a knotted blonde bear, lazily riding along, seemingly without a care. His cargo was hidden under a large cloth cover. It had been months since Rune had seen someone delivering cargo without any sort of protection. They'd seen to that themselves. "You know there's gotta be someone hidden in there." Falnis whispered. "They're just waiting for the likes of us to try and rob the man, then they'll pop out from under that blanket and attack. Maul's done that before. This may be him." Rune's stomach felt tied in a knot. There was a good chance Falnis was right, and if he was, things could soon play out in a lot of different ways. Right hand in pocket, his fingers ran across the rune carving as he scanned the tree lines behind the approaching wagon. If anyone was following it in case of attack, he couldn't see them. "Easy." he heard himself saying to them. "Don't attack the driver. Go for the-" Ever arrogant and defiant, Falnis leapt in front of the carriage, sword in hand. Rune cursed and let go of his stone to notch an arrow, and Kosta burst forth to stand by the foolish bandit's side. "Hands up!" Falnis commanded the surprised driver. "I'll be having what's in the back. Make a move and we'll put an arrow in you." Sword in hand, Kosta rounded the wagon, but he notably kept a safe distance. Rune saw a little movement in the cloth cover and immediately took aim. ** The Horn-Hands "What'cha doing?" H'Reni looked sideways at the marksman. Rune, he swore the name was. He stood maybe a meter to his right, just outside of Rune's sideway sight. The catman spoke loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear him. "This one think you are trying to have fun without him." The startled thief spun, whipping his bow around to face the new threat, but as he swiveled, his bowstring popped, as if cut. Rune was confused, but quick enough to throw the bow aside and draw his sword. Over at the wagon, Falnis and Kosta's heads turned, and one of them swore. "Rune, get over here!" Gjoring threw back the cover with a roar, jumping out behind and setting his coarse straight for the Redguard. Jurik popped up moments behind him, taking a moment to see who engaged who, before he flung an empty potions bottle, followed shortly by a bolt of lightning, against Falnis. H'reni gently danced just outside Rune's reach. Roggi, having been the most exposed, ducked behind the carriage to get his shield. The chief's man was the first to fall. Falnis's skill with the blade did him no good when he hit the ground, convulsing as the electricity surged through him. Kosta, however, proved harder to bring down. His sword collided with Gjoring's axe as the Redguard let out a battle cry of his own. He lacked a shield, but he was quick to parry oncoming attacks. Back at the tree line, Rune's skill with the sword proved to be mediocre at best, a fact that became quickly clear to H'Reni as he swung wide and without nearly as much skill as his comrade. Jurik hopped out of the cart just as Roggi came back around with his shield in hand, headed for Rune. The Horn-Hand kept his attention on Falnis, determined to take him out of the fight before he could recover. A hammerblow later and he was free to start to circle the Redguard engaged with his brother. "You should've stayed with the Thieves Guild," H'reni whispered as he ducked under Rune's swing and dug his claws into the Imperial's hand. They penetrated into the bone almost immediately, forcing him to drop his blade. The cat circled around him, kicking in his knee from behind, sending him to the ground. With a cold efficiency, H'Reni took hold of Rune's wounded arm again and positioned his knee behind the elbow. Everyone around him paused for a moment when the sound of Rune's bone snapping broke through the air. The thief let out a scream, and tried in vain to kick free. As he struggled, Kosta took a fierce offensive against Gjoring, attacking his shield with a series of quick, powerful blows, each one skidding or bouncing off before the next made another connection. Gjoring pulled his shield aside, putting his axe in its place, before he brought in the shield again from the side, aimed towards the Redguard's torso. Meanwhile, Jurik stepped in closer, forcing Kosta to mind him as well as Gjoring. Roggi followed his lead as Rune was out of the fight. H'Reni made sure to keep the archer in place, having thrown his blade and bow further away to avoid any last-minute surprises. Gjoring slammed into Kosta's chest, beating the breath out of him and setting him off balance. The Redguard and Gjoring both lost the grip on their weapons, but the Horn-Hand kept his forward momentum. They fell over with Gjoring on top. Trapping his opponents arms with his legs, he raised his shield and struck down with its edge time and time again until he was sure the bandit didn't move anymore. "Man," Jurik mumbled to Gjoring as he looked at the grisly scene that was the remnants of Kosta's face. He shook his head and turned to H'Reni and the last of the bandits, waving for Roggi and Gjoring to follow him over to them. Looking down at him, he used his hammerhead to force Rune to look at him. "What's your name?" "Rune." the Imperial coughed out between pained breaths. "I'm Rune." "You're not common bandits, are you?" Jurik asked, to which H'Reni nodded in agreement. "Why were you here?" "Uggh" Rune struggled to shift his weight so he could better up at them. His eyes were bloodshot. "Why are you?" "Helping the locals your lot terrorizes," Gjoring scoffed. "Ever heard of Shor's Stone, perhaps? They, like us coincidentally, don't like bandits running around without anyone to put them down again." "Forgive this one's friends for not knowing much about the goings on in the Rift," H'Reni whispered into Rune's ear. "You hoped to find someone close to Maven, yes? Her watchdog, perhaps? You took the side against her when it all began to fall apart, yes?" Their eyes met, and Rune half barked, half laughed. "You have it wrong, cat. I was just here to keep those other two from getting too excited. Turns out you didn't need me for that." "What is he talking about?" Jurik looked to the cat, who shrugged. "This one thinks we won't get anything else out of him." "I agree," Mivanu joined them. She had hid in the woods while the others fought. She was fishing through her satchel. "I'd say we give him this and let him die slowly." "What is that, exactly?" Gjoring didn't look like he was entirely on board with what she said. "Just a very concentrated Deathbell extract. With some River Betty. Our new friend," she nodded to the Khajiit. "Thought me how to make it." "This one can attest that it is very painful, and deadly without an antidote." The thief flenched at the word 'painful'. He looked at them with strained eyes, and swallowed. "Fine, fine. I know some more for you bastards." "And here I was about to suggest we do the humane thing," Jurik grumbled. "Alright, alright. Go on with it. The damage is done already." Rune's eyes narrowed, more out of consignment than suspicion. "That dog you mentioned killed a good friend of mine in Riften. He killed her on Maven Black-Briar's orders." He looked at H'Reni specifically, ignoring the others. "That's why I'm here." "I'm hoping you intend to explain what any of this means, cat," Gjoring was the one to grumble next, met with a nod from Roggi and Jurik. H'Reni shrugged. "Just politics. And bandits making everyone's lives bad." "Right..." the younger Horn-Hand called Rune's attention again. "I'm cutting this short. Do you want a swift death, or to suffer my dear friend's poison? I'm willing to end it quickly if you want. I don't delight in torture." It seemed like an easy choice for Rune. "Kill me quick and be done with it." "Spoil sport," H'Reni said, aloud. The brothers Horn-Hand both gave the cat a surprised look, before Jurik raised his hammer and brought it down on the bandit. "Where to now?" Gjoring sighed with relief. "H'Reni thinks he should try to find out more about these bandits. And H'Reni is the perfect kitten for the job. You get back to Shor's Stone with the good news. This one will find you when this one has time." *** Boldir Three days later The men had been gambling and singing in the keep all morning, common practice before a raid, but Boldir had never seen their entire garrison mass together as they did today. They drank, wrestled in the pit, caught knives on shields, and did whatever else they could think of to entertain themselves before it was time to be serious again. All of it was done to the off-key tunes of three dozen men singing classics like "Shor's sons", "Ragnar the Red", and "The One-Eyed King". For all of the Fangs' joviality, Boldir sensed an uncommon somberness in them. Prayers were being muttered here and there, and some men preferred to sit and drink quietly rather than compete and boast like they normally would. Even the songs seemed a little slower than usual. It made sense. Less than half of these men had been soldiers at one point. Most had never seen a real battle. Sure, they'd raided, and most had killed, and they had trained under his own eye, but never had they conducted true warfare the way they were expected to at Treva's Watch, and even at Riften in the weeks to come. They'd have to get over it. The plan was complete, and every one of them knew what to do. The only question now was whether or not this rabble could pull it off. Despite the fact that they weren't leaving for another few hours, most of their eighty-odd men were already geared up for departure. The bandits wore all imaginable combinations of of fur, hide, scale, and leather. At their hips were swords and axes, and at their backs were spears and shields. Over half wore quivers on their shoulders with arrows to fill them. Chieftain Hrokvild himself donned his usual bright white mail underneath the black troll furs. His ebony warhammer rested on one shoulder as he walked about the cistern laughing, fighting, and praying with his brothers and sisters. It had been only three days since his friend, Falnis, had died on his last raid. If the chief was upset over his loss, he was hiding it well. When he spotted Boldir keeping near the south exist, Hrokvild smiled and lumbered over. "Filnjar," he called with a very slight mocking edge. "I had a chat with your Ollus today. Fascinating fellow. You never told me that your crazy-eyed friend from Riften was a man of the true gods!" "I figured I'd spare you from trying to meet with him." "And why in ******* Oblivion would you do a thing like that?! The man is beyond interesting! Though I suppose I see where you come from. Most of the world would look down on a man like Ollus. They cannot understand a man as special as him. Tell me, is it common for him to speak of his dreams?" "Aye. It's one of many annoying little things he does. Like that distracting tongue flickering that he's always doing, or the way he can't sit still in a group for more than a few minutes at a time. Why? He didn't try to share with you, did he?" "Well, not at first. He caught me praying alone on the wall and asked to join. Took me by surprise when he cut his own hand and said some words so old it took me a minute to realize they were for Shor. He muttered a bit and began to go his merry way. I was curious where an old sewer rat learned these arts so I stopped him and asked. Turns out Ollus hails from Whiterun, if you'd believe it. Did you know it wasn't even so long ago that Whiterun was ruled by a priestess of Lorkhan?" "I did not." Boldir confessed. "Aye, a fun bit of history, that." Hrokvild nodded and clasped the shoulder of a passing bandit before shoving the smaller man along. "Her cult created a revival in the area. She wasn't of Shor per se, but it got people looking in our father god's direction. Shame that didn't last, or I'd be in Whiterun right now. Point is, a few of them never left. Apparently, Ollus's mother is one of the few remaining. She taught him the true gods as a cub, back before he went south to fight elves. Ha! Killing elves and worshipping Shor! It's heartening to know that some old Nords out there are still raising their children right." Interesting. Boldir hadn't known that Ollus fought in the Great War. Nor had he ever heard of the man being from Whiterun. "Do you remember her name?" he asked, wondering if it was someone he knew. "Olada, I think he said. Or something like that. Ovala, Olava-" Olava? Boldir hadn't expected that. In fact, he hadn't thought of the old seer in almost a year. Not since he and his family left Whiterun. The woman had never spouted anything but cryptic garbage. What did Mila say? Some talk about us never making it back to Whiterun? At the time, it had seemed ridiculous. Now, though.... Suddenly, Ollus's dreams were not so meaningless. "Orala?" The chieftain was still guessing. "No, I think I had it right before, what was it I said? Ol-" "Do you remember what he told you about his dream?" Boldir interrupted, trying not to betray his concern. "I've always ignored him when he talked about these things." Hrokvild looked at him curiously. "But not now, eh? Heheh, It was a good dream. Wouldn't mind having some like it myself. He saw me seated on a fancy throne. With a fancy sword to match my fancy hammer." "Is that something you want?" Boldir asked, "To be a Jarl, or a king?" "Never gave either much thought, to be honest. There aren't a lot of ways for a bandit chief to become Jarl... Wouldn't say 'no' if I had the chance, though. Hehe." He slapped Boldir on the shoulder. "Anyway, enough talk of odd men and their dreams! Ollus is more entertaining when he's around, and Maven has kindly given us plenty of mead to prepare for the long march to Treva's Watch! Ha!" Boldir watched the big man head over to another group of bandits before he himself turned to leave the loud room. Two long, dim hallways and a flight of stairs later, he was outside Ollus's personal quarters. He'd originally slept in the barracks with the Fangs, but that hadn't lasted long. The door was open, and the unnaturally Nord sat on his bed, sharpening his shortsword with a whetstone. His cracked lips twisted in a smile the second he noticed Boldir's presence. "Lovely day for a siege, eh Boss?" His tongue flicked as it so often did. "I have high hopes for our little band." "It won't last long if all goes as planned. But that's not what I'm here to talk about." Boldir eased past the door and closed it behind him. Taking a seat at the desk near the bed, he looked the man in his silvery-blue eyes. "You've mentioned your dreams to me before, and I always ignored you... now I have to ask, have you ever dreamed of my family?" The joy in the man's expression was greater than Boldir had ever known from him. "Ohohoho" he set the sword aside and rubbed his hands together as though a feast had been laid before him. "I'd all but given up hope of you wanting to listen to my dreams! This makes old Ollus a very happy man." His smile straightened. "But alas, I do not know the poor Iron-Brow lasses. I've glimpsed many whom I've never met, and yet there's no way to know who they are without a real meeting." His tongue flicked again. "That said, I've dreamt of many who may interest you. They're with you, it seems. Always around, even when they aren't. Tied to you in a way that you can't control. I saw your friend, the boatman, laughing his way to an inescapable grave. And brother Aerin killing men, powerful men, with words alone. I recently saw our good chief on a throne, covered in dust, and made of golden snakes. I watched dear Maven ride a dragon, while her heirs desperately avoid the fire it breathes. There's another, too. A man I've never seen. Handsome and strong, he stands a great distance from here, amidst blood and snow. A different fire follows him, and it may well consume more than Maven's dragon could ever hope to. I don't know why I dream of this man. Best for everyone if we just avoid whoever that is, Hehe."This is going nowhere. These were either riddles or complete nonsense. Either way, Boldir didn't have time for this sort of thing. "Look, I don't care about dragons, fires, or golden chairs. Somewhere in Riften are a beautiful woman, close to forty, with brown hair and green eyes, and a young girl, almost fourteen by now, who favors her, but has brown eyes. Have you seen anyone like that?" Ollus nodded. His grin made Boldir nervous. "I had suspected that was them. I recall that the woman protected the girl in my dream, but not for long. A thousand enemies surround them and she stands almost alone. You are in this dream as well. You want to help, but wild creatures: snakes, dogs, and even bears, set upon you. That is all I see of her." Boldir scowled. It's just a dream. It's just a crazy man's ******* dream! Just leave now. He's got nothing to offer you... "What about the girl?" he heard himself ask anyway. "What did you see about my daughter?" This is where Ollus grinned. "Why, the girl will grow to be known as a great shield-maiden." The bluntness of this particular statement surprised Boldir. Compared to all the others, this one seemed strangely... Clear. "Mila... becomes a shield-maiden. So you see her surviving, then." "You called her Mila. Not me. Never heard any songs about a 'Mila'." There it was. Boldir frowned at the return of the accursed riddles. "But she lives?" "It was a dream, Boss." Ollus shrugged. "Take it with a grain of salt. Or don't. I've dreamt of many things. We all have, have we not?" Boldir stood to leave. For several moments, he felt incredibly conflicted. He'd been right before and Ollus was right now. This was just a bunch of rubbish from a dream. A crazy man's dream. The fact that he was banking Carlotta and Mila's chances of survival on information from the same source that claimed Maven would ride a dragon made him feel a tad childish. There's a reason the Battle-Born kid was one of Olava's only visitors. "This was... interesting, Ollus. Now don't do it again for anyone here. And say nothing of me coming to you either." "You're the boss." "We're leaving soon. Be ready when we go." With that, he pushed the door open and returned to his own chambers. Ingun was inside, writing something at his table with a quill he'd never given her. "What are you doing?" he asked, shutting the door behind him. "It's just potion ingredients." Ingun answered. Though her back was to him, Boldir could practically feel her eyes rolling the way they so often did when he treated her with suspicion. They could roll until they got stuck that way for all he cared. Boldir wasn't going to take any chances with the one woman who was staying Maven's hand from his family, even if she'd yet to give him cause to worry. "What kind of potion?" He asked, crossing the room over to a tall wardrobe that contained his armor. "One that will destroy the fort and kill us all." Ingun's voice was mockingly menacing. She glanced back at him and shrugged. "It's for curing stomach ache. Rune requested it a few days ago. I've been adding things to it as I recall them." Boldir tugged off his shirt and trousers, exposing the burn scars on his left side. He didn't mind Ingun seeing him change. She'd been the one who treated his burns, after all. "You might as well throw that away. Rune's dead." He was killed on a raid three days ago, along with Kosta and Hrokvild's Imperial friend. Falnis. I've got that little stone of his in my pack." That took Ingun by surprise. "I bet it was Maul. I don't know who else could've managed to kill Kosta and Falnis. That's a shame. Rune was one of the few people here I actually liked. Him and that boatman with the similar name. But you sent him off too. How many of us from Goldenglow does that leave? You, Cynric, that crazy one, and me?" "Aye." he said as he pulled up a pair of thick wool pants. "But not for much longer. If all goes right, your brother and grandmother will be dead within the month, and my family will be nice and safe some place far from here." Boldir paused. "Unless Maven flies away on a dragon, that is." The young Black-Briar looked puzzled. "What?" "Nevermind." "Okay... So does that mean you've decided to spare me when this is all over, then?" "I used to know a Redguard who would've said 'No promises'. That's the best you'll get from me right now." Boldir tied up a brown leather vest and draped a dark gray fur cloak over his shoulders. "Though, I suppose it's not too much to say that your life is tied to my family's." He wondered if his threats were true. Boldir knew Ingun now, even enjoyed bantering with her from time to time. She was nothing like her family. Could he kill her now? If the rest of them were dealt with, she would be the last Black-Briar. No. Boldir realized. I couldn't murder her like that. She's as much a victim of this as anyone. "And Riften?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts. Have you given it more thought? I still don't think you'll be able to invade the city without your friends pillaging it. Or even burning the place to the ground." "I know what I'm doing. They will split your family's wealth, and only your family's wealth. Once we've got the bandits of Treva's Watch on our side, we'll have the numbers to lay siege. We've also got friends on the inside who will be able to assist us as needed. We will reveal the truth of this story ourselves if we have to, tell the people of all the evil's that have been committed. The whole city will turn on Maven if they haven't already. Your family will be forced to either free my wife and daughter and deliver us their wealth, or be burned down in their own home. I have a feeling Maven's men won't stand by her when at sword point from both an army of bandits and a city of angry rioters." "Maul won't. And how do you plan on killing them if they comply?" "Once they're exposed, I have a good feeling that Riften will demand her blood anyway. But I've got a friend who'd gladly come and trivialize all of this if it somehow doesn't. As for Maul, he'll just have to die with her." "Well, it looks like you've got your slaughter all planned out. Congratulations. Why haven't you called on this 'oh so powerful' friend already?" "I've thought about it plenty. Believe me. If he came, he'd bring the might of the Stormcloaks. Maven would be doomed. But she'd know this, and it's at that point where she'd have no reason at all not to kill my family. I've got to force her to give them up before trying to kill her." Boldir finished strapping on his bracers and tightening his armor where needed, and slid his plain steel war axe into the loop at his belt. Lastly, he grabbed his large iron battle axe and planted the pommel on the floor. "So there you have it. You can stop worrying about Riften. At worst, some guards and sellswords die as well. I'll get my family back, these bandits will get your family's wealth, and Riften will be short several murderous criminals. Not a bad deal in the grand scheme of things." "You sound confident. Everyone I've known to take up a tone like that in regards to Maven has ended up dead or wishing they were." Boldir's brow wrinkled. He was confident. Maven was as mortal as the rest of them, and even kings will fall when the right enemy meets them. There was only one eerie cause for doubt in his mind. "A thousand enemies surround them and she stands almost alone." ... It's Just a crazy man's dream. "Maven wanted me dead decades ago, and she failed to kill me. She and I have been practically at war for the better part of this last year, and I'm still here. Maven's defeated a lot of people, but those people weren't me." When Ingun didn't answer, Boldir made for the door. "We're leaving soon. Cynric will remain behind while I'm gone, and he's good at being there when you don't know it. So don't think that just because you can't see the man guarding you, he's not watching." With that, Boldir left the room, locking the door behind him. *** Outside Treva's Watch That evening As the day grew later, the air grew colder, and even some of the Nords of their group wrapped their furs tightly and breathed into cupped hands. They wouldn't have to suffer long. The chill didn't truly set in until they stopped a mile short of the fort and allowed it to seep into their idol bodies. Very soon, when the sun was just at the right angle, they would get the blood pumping again, and there would be too much going on for the bandits to concern themselves with the cold. Even now the men could see old gray battlements poking out between the branches of winter-claimed trees. Treva's Watch was smaller than Faldar's Tooth, smaller and younger and all around less impressive. Still, it currently housed over twice as many men. Boldir made his way through the small groups of bandits, seventy two in all, over to where Ollus crouched watching it. He knelt down beside his only Riften companion present and joined him in looking out at the structure. "It's not as big as Faldar's Tooth. Or as carefully guarded." "Oh, they're guarding it." Ollus answered, not looking away. "I had to kill two of theirs when the Riften Rat stirred them outside their walls." "Whatever their defenses are, they won't be enough." Boldir assured him. "What of the back door entrance you mentioned? Where is that?" "It is to the south. Hidden amidst rocks and trees. I can lead the men there now if you'd like." "Aye. You do that. Go and gather those you need. It's almost on time to begin." The man began to rise, but Boldir grabbed him by the arm. "Ollus. Don't kill unless you have to. And don't enter the cave. Keep them trapped." The Nord flicked his tongue and nodded. "You can trust me." he said to Boldir in his most incredibly untrustworthy voice. He stood and left Ollus to his new duties. Hrokvild was already rousing the men, many of whom were so cold that they welcomed the opportunity to move again. "Come on." the chieftain growled lowly. "We've been wanting this for years! Let's not make it another day!" Boldir took his place beside him. "We're going to have to move quickly." he reminded the chieftain. "It's not dark enough that they'll be completely blind to a force our size sneaking in the tree line, so speed and surprise are the biggest weapons we've got. The sun'll be directly in their eyes on our end, so this should be easy enough." The chieftain grunted something in acknowledgement, and there they waited. One quiet minute passed, then two. Finally, the silence was broken by three long "AROOOOOOs cutting across the countryside. The chieftain brandished his black warhammer and held it high over his head. "Everyone with me! Let's show these sons of whores what we're made of!" He whirled around and bounded off with quick, heavy steps. Boldir followed, and then everyone else joined in. They roared in cheer over the still-blowing horn."YEAAAH!" "RAAAHHHH!" "FALDAR'S TOOTH! FALDAR'S TOOTH!" More horn blasts rang out ahead, hopefully drawing the bandits' attention away from the tree line they approached from. The woods quickly grew thin, and suddenly, the fort's western side was within an easy stone's throw. Men could be seen rushing to and fro atop the walls, specifically, the eastern ones. The horn distraction was working. "Go go go!" Boldir shouted, ushering the first wave of bandits ahead. Four men rushed the walls on either side of him. Three of each were archers, and they immediately knelt down and began to fire on the sparsely populated western wall. The remaining two set about unraveling their grappling hook ropes. With the horn still blowing and men shouting atop the wall, chaos was breaking out in the fort's courtyard, and any of the Treva men who did appear on the western wall and try to return fire were easily dispatched by Faldar archers long before they could prepare a shot against the sun. Once it was readied, Boldir took one of the grappling hooks for himself, twirled it, and tossed. The walls couldn't have been much more than fifteen feet high, and hooking on was easy. As soon as the rope was secure, he went up, not afraid to be first to atop the wall. Immediately after Boldir had made his ascent, two bandits rushed him from a staircase below. The first was felled by a Faldar arrow, and the second, his battle axe. Another appeared after them, an Altmer. Boldir caught the elf's blade on his axe shaft and kicked him down the stairs. Given the way he landed, the elf was not like to get back up any time soon. More men followed over the wall, and more grappling hooks clinked into it. The ill prepared bandits down below were already running to their keep in fear. "That's right!" Hrokvild's thunderous voice boomed as he appeared atop the wall and gave chase. "Run to your chieftain you pansies! Tell him Hrokvild Wild-Trotter is here! And he has an offer!" Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 -Continued- Ingun Black-Briar Faldar's Tooth Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the door rattling and the lock clicking open. Of course it swung open to reveal Cynric, hooded and cloaked, with a longbow and length of rope slung over his shoulder. The thief had told her to be ready, that today would be the day. It actually made her feel a little bad. Boldir trusted Cynric, and despite his occasional threats, he'd always been good to her. She'd never suffered from more than poor hygiene in his charge. Plus, Ingun was going to miss bantering with the big man. Cynric led her through the dim halls, through sections she had never seen before. There was a large room with four pillars, and water that reeked of dead fish rising to the ankles. They passed through that and several more halls, some stairs, and finally, a ladder leading to a trapdoor. Upon exiting atop one of the fortress towers, she saw that it was early afternoon. Below them, a few bandits played dice games on a table in the courtyard while three more looked out from atop the walls. The wolves in the kennels tugged at a bone, and two more men watched them in amusement. Ingun knew that besides these and a few other bandits inside, Faldar's Tooth was empty. Boldir himself had told her as much. He made a mistake, confiding so much in me. Though she was glad he had, Ingun did feel a little guilty as a result. Boldir was just a man who wanted to save his family. Leaving him and making that task so much more difficult felt like a betrayal after all that she'd told him. But it wasn't a betrayal. She was his hostage, not his friend, and the man hated her very name. There was no guarantee that she would be spared if she stayed. The thief hurried her along to the edge of the tower, where he carefully tied his rope around an old flagpole that lacked a flag. "You first," He whispered, "then I'll follow." Ingun peered over the ledge and shivered. It was an easy thirty feet from here to the ground, and Cynric's rope only covered just above two thirds of that. Obviously sensing her concerns, the thief put a hand on her shoulder. "The snow is thick down there. It will break your fall. Just remember to bend your knees so they aren't locked." She took hold of the rope, trusting that the skilled thief knew what he was talking about, and slowly eased herself over the tower's edge. You can do this. Ingun told herself. Maven would laugh at you for being too afraid to escape. She dangled one foot out over the ledge. This isn't thirty feet. It's hundreds. The other followed, and she found herself holding tightly onto the rope for dear life. "Now loosen up." Cynric urged. "Use your feet to walk yourself down the side. That's it, you're doing great!"I am? Ingun realized that she was doing it. Slowly but surely, a few inches at a time, she made her way down the fortress tower. Her boots easily gripped at the old bricks, and before she knew it, Ingun had descended ten feet, fifteen feet, twenty feet, and then... "Ooooh..." she gasped when her left grip slipped. She'd reached the bottom of the rope. Now for the drop. Bend your knees. Ingun looked down. Ten feet looked like a much longer distance from the top than it did from the bottom. She wasn't religious, but she found herself muttering a prayer nonetheless. "Alright." She muttered. "One... Two..." Three! She let go. The snow-covered ground rushed up to meet her, and before she had time to realize what she'd done, she was already waste deep in snow. I'm okay! she wanted to laugh. I'm not hurt! Ingun smiled up at Cynric, only to find that the thief was already halfway down and covering the distance that had taken her minutes in seconds. The thief landed lightly beside her and helped her out of the snow. "Good job." he said, his hood masking his expression. "Now let's get you back to Riften." Cynric led her into the woods at a brisk pace. Their frosty breath matching every next step. "If we hurry, we'll be in the city before nightfall." the thief said, "When we get there, I need to speak to Sibbi, he hasn't heard from me in-" There was a low twang and before Ingun knew what was happening, Cynric let out a cry of agony and fell to the ground before her. "Not another step." an angry voice rumbled. She froze in place and slowly turned her head, only to see a loaded crossbow pointed straight at her. The slender Nord wielding it had short black hair and a rough beard to match. Grollin, his name was. She'd seem him before, shadowing Hrokvild with pale eyes and an expression that seemed perpetually stern. Now that Falnis was dead, this man must've been the chieftain's second. Never taking his eyes off of them, even for a second, he said, "Your big friend may have trusted the thief to watch you. But Hrokvild didn't. I was curious if you'd get past the others.... Now take the thief's weapons and throw them aside." Ingun bent down to do as he bid. Cynric was clutching his wound, in too much pain to stop her. She drew his sword first, then his dagger, and tossed them each aside. "He carries more than that. Find his other knives. And his arrows too. Toss the quiver to me." Ingun reluctantly knelt down to search her would-be savior for more weapons. "I need to make him a healing potion." she said as she searched. The bandit shook his head. "He'll survive. It wasn't intended to be a killing shot. Cynric groaned as she pulled off his quiver. "Please," she said to the bandit. "Let me heal him. Bol- Filnjar would want-" "I don't work for Filnjar." The crossbow waved for her to keep searching. She found two more knives and a thin wooden club. Grollin scooped it all up and made her help Cynric to his feet. The thief stood, even with the bolt in his leg, and managed to limp with her help. Other bandits whooped and taunted as they were led into the courtyard and back into Faldar's Tooth. Instead of going up, to Boldir's quarters, they were marched down, where a new prison awaited them. *** Boldir Treva's Watch The dead were looted for what little they had. At at least a dozen of them, all in even cheaper garb and with duller blades than Boldir's own companions wielded. To hear those companions tell it, they'd already all but won. They laughed and shouted japes at the barred keep, seemingly forgetting that well over double their own number very likely waited on the other side. Still, Boldir stood quietly atop the western wall and let them have their fun. These men had followed his instructions to the letter, and even now, as unruly as they pretended to be, Boldir noticed the way they kept to their positions: the way the archers remained on the walls, and the axemen who filled the yard remained at the front of the courtyard, close to the main portcullis. These men had all the pride of bandits, but after being given a common prize and solid direction, they were turning into soldiers. His soldiers. Still, the hard part had not yet come. It's one thing to take on twenty dumb bandits unawares, and another entirely to win two hundred of them over to your side, especially after you killed their comrades. If this Chieftain, this Gerlith Ash-Eater, was truly a Nord of tradition as Hrokvild claimed, then his response would no doubt be a deciding factor in what comes next. Heads turned to a brief, distant scream to the south, the one they'd been waiting for. It signified that their foes had just attempted to leave via the hidden back door. Unfortunately for them, Ollus and twenty of their own bandits were already set up outside. Nobody was leaving that way without being filled with enough arrows to kill a frost troll. "That's your cue." Boldir muttered, nodding to Hrokvild down in the center of the courtyard. The chief gave him a short nod and took a few steps toward the keep, leaving a ten foot gap between him and the wooden doors. Hands cupped around his mouth, Hrokvild's voice boomed. "Is THIS what I should expect from my rivals?!" He threw out his hands and motioned around. "I am Hrokvild Wild-Trotter!! I stand, unchallenged, amidst the corpses of brave men and women of Treva's Watch! Gerlith Ash-Eater!! Are you to craven too meet me man-to-man? Nord-to-Nord?! Come out here! I'll be waiting!" Hrokvild scooped up his hammer and began to pace back and forth in front of the gate, twirling the weapon and humming as he did. A minute passed, then two. Finally, after the third, the gate cracked open, and a small procession of various races emerged. The Nord at their head had thick blonde hair tied back, and a had grown a matching beard. He was built large and strong, but even with his strong build and thick furs, he was practically a child next to Hrokvild. "Wild-Trotter." the man growled, stepping outside. "I'd thought old age had tempered you a bit. What's it been, six years now since we've spoken?" "Seven." Hrokvild growled back. "And you have nowhere to run this time." "Who's running?" the bandit asked. His right hand rested on an old dwarven war axe. His left was hidden behind a large round shield of wood and hide. "You have me trapped, Hrokvild. I know this. What do you intend to do now?" "You? I intend to feed your brains to my hammer, and your corpse to the crows. Simple enough, I figured. You aren't worth much more. A better leader might've asked what I intend to do with your men." Gerlith pursed his lips. "I suppose I'd just figured you would do the same with them that you will with me. I'll humor you, though. What do you intend to do with my men?" "Spare each and every one of them." Hrokvild said. He glanced up at the keep. Boldir followed his gaze to find shadow-darkened faces filled the narrow slitted windows. "Come on out here!" Hrokvild called to them. "Join your brothers and watch me kill your chief. On my honor, you won't die if your leave your weapons." The smaller chieftain snorted. "Your honor? We're outlaws, Hrokvild. Do you think anyone here gives a damn about your honor? Or trusts it?" "I'm an outlaw, aye. But still a Nord. And I'm not here to slaughter your men. I'm here to challenge you for your position as chieftain." Boldir could see the surprise written on Gerlith's face. "I challenge you to duel me, alone. We fight, and the winner becomes chieftain of both our clans. Refuse, and I'll tear this place to the ground with your men in it." The keep doors opened, and bandit feet shuffled out, gathering behind those who'd followed their leader. Every eye was on their chieftain, and the conflicting thoughts in his head were plain. Gerlith could refuse, and fall back on his superior numbers, but they were trapped and even if it were a thousand men in there, they'd lose half their number before Boldir's archers ran out of arrows. It would be a cowardly move for the chieftain, and Gerlith would more likely suffer mutiny than see victory if he took that option. On the other hand, Hrokvild was an imposing man. Still, the chieftain did not wait long before responding. "I accept." Hrokvild smiled and tore off his furs, revealing the bright silver, almost white, mail shirt underneath. 'Mithril', he once called the metal, when Boldir's inner blacksmith had inquired. The big chieftain took that off and cast it aside as well. He stood there, bare-chested and with a hammer in-hand. "Let it never be said that I did not best you with superior skill." Gerlith wordlessly drew his dwarven axe and stepped forward without hesitation. It wasn't confidence he displayed, but acceptance. Even so, it made Boldir feel uncomfortable. He'd seen many great warriors fall to lesser opponents with clearer heads. And if this opponent were to win... "This fight was always bound to happen." said the chieftain, as they circled up. "You are a persistent one." "Aye." Hrokvild growled, clearly done talking. "I am." The hammer struck first. It pounded against Gerlith's shield so loudly that some of the onlookers flinched. Neither fighter wasted any time in following up. Gerlith immediately pushed in close to take away his larger foe's reach advantage, while Hrokvild released his hammer with his left hand in order to grab ahold of Gerlith's shield and pull himself behind it. The two of them struggled for a moment, locked in a grapple with Gerlith trying to use his axe and Hrokvild avoiding it, until the bigger chieftain shoved off the shield and hopped back, putting some distance between them. He roared and took his hammer in both hands, furiously swinging it in powerful and surprisingly swift arcs. The bandits around Boldir cheered. "He's got him on the run!" exclaimed one of the archers nearby. Indeed, Gerlith had no choice but to back away from Hrokvild's devastating swings. Those he caught square on his shield jarred him, and he was given no chance to move in close enough to take any sort of offensive. Still, these men obviously were not aware of what the man was up to. They believed that he was afraid. Boldir knew better. He's trying to tire him out. Hrokvild's hammer swung downward, and Gerlith narrowly avoided death with a timely roll. He took a chance and rounded his axe at his opponent's back, but Hrokvild had already moved out of the way. Much like Boldir, he was quick for his size. When the two circled up again, Hrokvild's chest was notably heaving. He made another dash for the other chieftain, who pulled back and raised his shield. When the ebony hammer struck it, the courtyard burst into cheer. Splintered pieces of wood were all that remained when Hrokvild stumbled back, and everyone could see the malicious smile on the chieftain's eyes. "AAAAAAHHHH" he cried out, charging. Gerlith tried to parry the hammer blow as best he could with his axe, but Hrokvild's more powerful weapon met his with such force that the thing went flying out of his hand and across the courtyard. The massive chieftain followed his momentum past his defenseless opponent and, hammer in one hand, struck him in the back with the weapon's shaft. Gerlith fell face-first into the snow. He barely managed to rise to his knees before an ebony hammerhead rested against his temple. "Are there any words you'd like to say?" Hrokvild asked. His tone was serious, but Boldir could see the smirk half-hidden behind his thick red beard. "Maybe you'd like to try and distract me again. Find a chance to slip out of this somehow. Go ahead, try." Gerlith looked him in the eyes and spat on his boot. When Hrokvild's hammer made contact with his dome, it shattered like glass, showering the immediate area with blood and brain matter. More cheers resounded, and Hrokvild smeared his rival's blood across his face. He then turned to the amassed bandits of Treva's Watch, of which there were considerably more than before, and smiled a friendly smile. "As some of you may know by now, Gerlith Ash-Eater has stepped down from his position as your chief. And it was his final wish was that I take up the mantle. It is my hope and prayer that I can prove worthy of this honor. But... I cannot lead men who are not willing to be led!" He glanced back at the many archers Boldir had positioned on the walls. They began notching their arrows, but held off on drawing. Looking back to the fearful bandits, he smiled wider and asked, "Will you accept me?" A bald Nord with a thick black mustache was the first to step up. "You have earned the right. Aye, I accept you." Another Nord followed. "Gerlith was weak anyway. Aye." The rest quickly followed, adding their voices to the acceptance. Most were Nords, but there were a few others as well: Bretons and Imperials, a small handful of elves, and even a Khajiit. In the end, all of them were vouching for Hrokvild as though he'd been their chieftain all along. Whether it was out of genuine support or self-preservation, it was impossible to tell. This couldn't even be half of them, but Boldir had no doubt that those inside would sing Hrokvild the same song once their brothers had taught it to them. Hrokvild let them kiss his ass for a short while before raising his hands to silence. "I am honored! And I fully intend to lead you well! Now, how about a surprise announcement, eh?!" The crowd fell silent, and he continued. "As many of you likely know, there has been a fair deal of unrest in Riften as of late. Wagons are being guarded, patrols are stepping up, and mercenaries are suddenly here in droves to hunt people like us for coin. What you probably don't know, is that we are the cause." He paused, and murmurs spread throughout the crowd. "That's right. For most of this last year, your good neighbors of Treva's Watch have tirelessly waged war against a certain family you probably know to be the Black-Briars. For the morons, cave-dwellers, and illiterates amongst you, those are the people who control Riften and make your expensive mead." That set them off. Boldir could see the shock and confusion flood over them like a wave. "I know what you're thinking! Nobody crosses the Black-Briars and lives! Well we have! Again and again! And by the month's end, we intend to bleed them dry of every coin they've ever made! I invite you, my neighbors- no, my brothers, my sisters, to join me in this war! Together, we posses the strength to wrench the most powerful family in the Skyrim fall to its knees and make it suck our *****! Together, we will bring Maven to the ground, and become the richest bandits Skyrim has ever seen!" That set them off. The assembled bandits erupted in cheer. The duel had been a formality. Only the proudest Nords among them really and truly cared about that particular tradition. But to these men, the promise of wealth was like a drug, and they would never turn it down. The chieftain boomed, "Our clans will unite, and prepare together, as one. We have the strength! We have the will! All that remains is Riften!!!" The applause was likely greater than any Gerlith had ever received. The newly recruited bandits wasted no time. Within minutes, they had excitedly split into two groups: Those who rushed inside to inform their comrades of the sudden change they'd be seeing, and those who spread out into the courtyard to meet their new brothers, stepping over the corpses of their old ones on the way.They don't even care enough to bury them. Boldir thought. When we leave, they'll be fed to the crows. These are the men I've chosen to side with. The chieftain joined him on the wall, once again wearing his mithril and furs. "Enjoy the show?" "Up until the end. What was that about Riften remaining? We've talked about this. We aren't attacking Riften, we're surrounding it. Holding the leaders at knifepoint. But we don't enter the city." Hrokvild waved his hand. "Ahh, they'll have forgotten my words by then anyway. All that matters to them is a plan to get rich. Besides, originally, you were all about storming the city." "I never was a fan of the idea. And even then it was only if you could control them to focus only on Maven and leave the rest alone. It doesn't matter now. We have a better plan." "You don't think I can control them? Did you not see what just happened?" Hrokvild scoffed. "Why, I just took Treva's Watch without losing a man, and only killed, what, twenty?" "We took it, Boldir reminded him. "If not for me, you or your rival would've died of old age before you got to him." The chieftain frowned at that, but Boldir continued. "I trust that you can keep these men in line now, believe me. And your lot will remain loyal to you till the end. But these new ones are even greedier than you are. If they get inside Riften, Maven won't be the only one to suffer. Surrounding Riften and working with Aerin's Rats won't get anyone killed except Black-Briars and their men." "Gods, you sound like a bloody Imperial. 'No one gets hurt' Bah! What if Maven don't have as much as we thought? Should we just return home and wait for the king to find out what happened, let him set a bloody army on our poor asses?" "The Black-Briars may very well be the wealthiest family in Skyrim. It'll be enough. When you have your gold, you can go where you please and do what you please, and the world will get over it. But attacking Riften in earnest will mark you for death all over the country. I followed Ulfric for many years. And I know his top general better than anyone. If either of them want you dead badly enough, there's nothing I, or anyone else could do to save you from them." "You underestimate me." the Chieftain chuckled. "Hehe, and I reckon there'd be some songs in it for me if I did. But don't you worry. I'll follow your plan. It's your plans that've got us this far. There's no denying. Wouldn't want to ruin that." Boldir nodded, relieved. "That's good to know." Two clans of bandits following my orders. Baldur would love this. ... Well, probably not. Even with his great pains taken to minimize the damage, Boldir was technically acting against Skyrim. He had no doubt that were it Baldur in his shoes, his brother would've solved this all months ago, with only Maven dead and his family safe in Whiterun. No, he'd have been smart enough not to bring them to this wretched city in the first place. Unfortunately, it wasn't Baldur here. And Boldir had to deal with his own mistakes. "Choose a few men to remain here," he said to the chieftain. "Make sure they are capable of filling in our new comrades on all the details of what's to come." "Are you sure we should leave so soon?" Hrokvild asked. "I'd hoped to get a tour of my new fortress." "I'm sure." Boldir wasn't interested in spending any more time here than necessary. Faldar's Tooth was too close to Riften for him to feel comfortable leaving it so sparsely manned overnight. "Have everyone not staying ready to leave by nightfall. We'll be traveling in the dark." ** H'Reni H'Reni stepped into the shadows. Attacking Riften? Intriguing. Had Samuel seen this coming? He must have. Was that the reason he wanted H'Reni in the Rift? Had to be so. And here H'Reni had hoped it was an actual vacation. "You're leaving?" a Nord of surprisingly small stature put a hand on his shoulder, though his beard showed that he was no kid. He seemed nervous. "This one has to clue as to what you speak of." "Please, take me with you. I- I got family in Riften. I don't want this."Hmm, I do miss fresh food, the cat thought to himself as he made a gesture for the short fella to follow him. In the chaos this Chieftain Hrokvild had left, it was easy to slip away. ** Nobody was happy when Hrokvild gave the orders to head back, but nobody was going to argue with him either. That evening, the bandits of Faldar's Tooth left behind their new conquest as quickly as they'd come. This time they followed the coast. It was the easier trek, now that there were no enemies to alert. The hike was uneventful, and the outlaws were tired. When the distant form of Faldar's Tooth finally grew visible against the moonlight, many of them hurried ahead in their anxiousness to finally get some sleep. By now, even Boldir was ready for his bed. The quiet halls gave little indication of their victory, and Boldir was thankful for that. The men and women of Faldar's Tooth would no doubt find time to celebrate tomorrow, but for now, they were content with hard-earned rest. The few who had remained behind greeted him and offered their congratulations as he passed, but otherwise no words were said. When he came to his door, he found it unlocked. The severity of which hit him around the same time he entered and saw no trace of Ingun. Oh no... "Shit!" Suddenly not so tired, he stormed back into the halls. "Cynric?!" Boldir's mind was racing. Cynric was supposed to be guarding her; where was he? "CYNRIC!?" "The thief didn't get far." Bolidr swerved to find Hrokvild's friend, Grollin, leaning on the wall, crossbow over his shoulder. "He tried to free your prisoner, so I put a bolt in his leg and brought them both back. You're welcome." Relief and anger simultaneously overwhelmed him. He had always known there was a traitor. But there had been no indication of the culprit's existance since his family was taken. Boldir had begun to suspect that the person had died months ago in the confusion in Riften. He had never suspected Cynric. He was the one who had freed him from Riften's jail. It didn't make sense. "Take me to them." he commanded, containing his anger from the bandit. "Only because the Chieftain insisted." Grollin led Boldir down a few dim halls and down some steps to the lower floors. Compared to most forts, Faldar's Tooth was both ancient and massive. It had been centuries at least since it had last been manned by anything besides outlaws or rebels, and it showed in the lack of maintenance. Over the years, the lake had crept up on the beach, and the lowest levels of the fort were flooded to the ankle and smelled of dead fish. Entire rooms on the southern end were uninhabitable thanks to cave-ins and sinkholes. It was through one of these that Grollin led him now. They stepped lightly through the wreckage until they came upon a cramped semi-circular room with freshly lit torches casting an orange light over the four iron bar doors. Boldir slowly approached the one at the far left. Inside was a man, stripped down to a loincloth and chained up by his wrists. His long brown hair fell and brown beard hid his face, but Boldir knew who it was. Cynric's leg was bandaged up, and his chest sported some fresh bruises. He continued down the row. The next cell was empty, but in the one after it was Ingun. Grollin had left her her clothes, but she was chained up just as Cynric was. The iron door was unlocked, so Boldir looked back at Grollin. "You can go now." The bandit took his leave, and Boldir turned back to Ingun. "You would've doomed my family." She scowled at him. "And you would've killed me when it was all over." "I wasn't going to kill you." He left her cell and went back to Cynric's. The traitor had no words for him when their eyes met, but Boldir did. "I remember you breaking me out of my cell. You led me to the orphanage and then left to find Vex and my family. You ratted on them, didn't you? You brought the guards after me!" Cynric drew a long breath. His hesitation was all the answer Boldir needed. When the thief finally opened his mouth to answer, Boldir's fist crashed against his nose, breaking it. "AHHH!" the thief cried out as blood streamed freely down over his lips. "That is going to be the least painful thing that I do to you before you die." Boldir promised. It was a promise he intended to keep. Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 -Continued- The Brothers Horn-Hand The Rift "Hey, wake up," Gjoring poked at Jurik's body with his foot. "Hmm?" the younger Horn-Hand responded, his eyes still closed. "The cat is back." "What? Already?" Jurik practically jumped to his feet. Roggi and Mivanu were still getting up as well. H'Reni stood next to Gjoring. "How'd he find our camp?" "Hell, I don't know. Says he has good news." "H'Reni heard the bandit chief talk about attacking Riften, by the end of the month," the cat's tail swished across Jurik's face, much to his annoyance. "Didn't you tell Gjoring you had good news?" Jurik sighed. "This is good news. Being the ones who found out will help your reputation. Might even get you the eye of the Jarl." "You know, H'Reni, you sometimes scare me," he picked up his sleeping roll and started forcing it into one of the backpacks. Mivanu had started preparing something for them to eat. *** Mistveil Keep stood tall before them. The younger Horn-Hand remembered reading that it had once been burned to the ground because one of its rulers had pushed the population too far. Around them he noticed that people seemed on edge, even more so around them. He assumed it was because they were strangers. "You sure this is how to do it?" Mivanu had heard a thing or two about the Rift in her time. The Black-Briars supposedly ran the place, with a finger in every pot. Jurik and Gjoring hadn't seemed to care too much about that, saying something about the 'Silver-Bloods'. H'Reni grinned. "This one promises." "Right, right," Jurik walked up to one of the guards stationed on the outskirts of the Keep. "Hey, um, can I have a word? I have a message for Unmid Snow-Shod. About the bandits to the west." The guard looked a little confused for a second, but then frowned. "If you've got a bounty to collect, it's the steward, Anuriel, you'll be wanting. Come back tomorrow at noon to schedule an audience." "No bounty. This is for the Housecarl. They are planning to attack the city." "You're serious?" the guard shifted nervously and looked past them, as if there were something even more important back in the city. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. I'll go get Unmid." He turned and pushed open one wide gate door just enough to slip inside. A couple minutes passed before the great doors came open with much more force. Unmid stood before them, clad in the golden armor of elves he'd won in some distant battle. What red hair he hadn't cut off hung down in a braid or was pulled tight in a full mohawk, and his crooked nose looked as though it had recently healed from a serious blow. He eyed them all suspiciously as he strode down the steps from the keep. The guard from earlier came out as well, though he made no effort to address them. In fact, he stole right past with hurried steps and made his way back into the city proper. Unmid paid him no mind, and came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. "You're the ones with news of a bandit attack?" "Yes, we were ambushed not far off Shor's Stone," Jurik nodded. He wondered what it took to become someone's Housecarl. How strong a warrior would this Unmid be? He was sure Gjoring was wondering the same thing. "Just a few, but it gave us an idea. Our friend there," he pointed to H'Reni, who waited behind with the rest of the group. "He pretended to sign up with them. He said Chieftain Hrokvild now leads both the clans and intends to take the fight here." "Hrokvild, eh? I've heard the name. Never thought bandits would be fool enough to think themselves capable of threatening Riften though. What do the two clans number together? Forty brigands? Fifty? They pose no serious threat." "H'Reni said he counted at least two hundred," Jurik wasn't sure if he ought to bring up some of the implications he had gotten from the cat. He had seemed to imply there were something unusual about this group, apart from their ambition. 'A small, private army' he had called them. He decided he'd take the shot. Couldn't hurt his case. "And that there may be someone with military training with them." "Military training?" Doubt lingered in the Housecarl's expression, but there was also unease, and for good reason. A couple hundred trained bandits could pose a massive threat to the city. "What makes you so sure of this?" "I'm not sure of it, I wasn't there. But H'Reni said they acted like a small private army. That doesn't sound like any normal group of bandits I've ran into before." "I see." Unmid stroked his red goatee with a gauntlet-covered hand. "If what you say is true, then all of the Rift could be in danger." He paused long enough to swear under his breath. "Vermin like this should be dealt with more regularly... This is a matter for the Jarl. You must come inside and repeat to her everything you've told me. Only you though. Your friends can wait outside." Jurik nodded. He turned and gestured for the others to wait where they were as he followed the Snow-Shod. On the way he posed a question. "What does it take to be a Housecarl?" "Loyalty." Unmid responded at once. "That is most important. A Housecarl's oath is not one to take lightly. One must be willing to put the life they're sworn to before their own. Of course, skill in combat is also important. And any Housecarl who wishes to serve a Jarl would best serve with a general understanding of military tactics." "How skilled are we talking?" "It depends on who you're guarding. As Jarl Laila's Housecarl, I am expected to be a great deal better trained than your average soldier. It took me years to get good enough to offer up my services." Unmid stopped with one hand on the gate. "Why do you ask?" "I'm just curious," Jurik shrugged. "Some of my forefathers used to be Housecarls, in various Holds. Just wondering how good they were." "Mmm." Unmid pushed open the gate and led Jurik into the hall. From the high ceiling hung three iron chandeliers, and the stone walls were decorated with purple banners bearing the hold's crossed-dagger emblem. Halfway to the throne, an arrangement of three long tables faced the entrance. They formed a sharp "U" with a great hearth burning in the middle. Jarl Laila was not at her throne, just now, at least not the main one. She sat in the central chair at the tables, it was larger than the rest, and cushioned with purple velvet. Two chairs to her left was a Bosmer woman in blue mage's robes, and one to her right was another elf, this one an Altmer in a fine brown dress. Laila Law-Giver herself watched them approach with friendly eyes. With clean brown hair and good complexion, she was a healthy-looking woman, if a bit on the plump side, as many nobles are. She wore an exquisitely-tailored gray dress with golden inlays and brown fur at the shoulders and cuffs. And she sat up straight, with an etiquette that could only have been been taught. "Greetings." she said, pushing away a mug and setting her hands together on the table. She nodded to Unmid. "Good news, I hope." "The opposite, my Jarl." responded the Housecarl as he stepped aside and motioned for Jurik to step forward. "Go on. Tell her what you told me." "We, that is myself and my band of mercenaries," Jurik gave a polite bow, short and over quickly. "We were ambushed not far off Shor's Stone by some bandits we had been tasked to kill for one of the locals. After taking care of them, my roguish friend H'Reni decided he would infiltrate them to see what was going on. According to him the chieftain Hrokvild has taken control over both clans in the Rift and plans to attack Riften by the end of the month. H'Reni also noted they acted more like a small army than bandits." There was a chilling silence in the room when he was done, and Jurik could see the arguing thoughts written on Jarl Laila's face. By the time she finally opened her mouth to answer, however, it was another person's voice who spoke up. "We should wait and see on this." the brown-clothed wood elf said from her right. "Trained or not, we are more than capable of dealing with these ruffians when they attack. There is no need to send our own men outside the walls where we have the advantage." "I disagree." Unmid said. "From what I've gathered, these bandits are operating much more effectively than simple brigands. If we do nothing, who knows how strong they will be by month's end? And what of our people outside the walls? An army of marauders could ravage the countryside in that time." He looked at Jarl Laila, "My Jarl, send word to Fort Greenwall. With the Stormcloaks helping us, we can make short work of this menace." The elf opened her mouth to argue, but Jarl Laila raised her hand to silence her. "He is right, Anuriel. We cannot allow a threat such as this to run amok unchecked. Especially if they plan to attack the city. Unmid, you understand the ways of war better than anyone I know. I'm taking your word on this. Prepare our men for defenses, to be safe. " "At once." Unmid retreated past Jurik , back through the tall gates he'd come through. The Jarl turned back to her elven steward. "Anuriel, fetch me a quill and paper. I shall prepare a letter for Fort Greenwall, and another for Ulfric himself. Many men and women of the Rift fought and died in his rebellion. We should not have to lessen our city's defenses so long as he remains our friend." Anuriel hesitated, still obviously against this plan of action. "Jarl Laila, are you certain of this? There are others we ought to seek council from as well? Some people ought to know-" "I am certain." Laila interrupted. "In most things, I take your word first, dear friend. But Unmid would know better than either of us how best to deal with threats such as this." The steward reluctantly nodded and rose from her seat to make her exit. As she did, Jarl Laila turned her attention back to Jurik. "Thank you. You and your mercenary friends have done right by my city. I like to reward my friends. Tell me what you want, and if it is within reason, I will see that you have it." Jurik's eyes followed Umnid as he left. It was the first time he had met a Housecarl. He wondered how many of them acted as leaders for the city guard, formal or not. It might even be worth the effort to see if he couldn't get a sparring match with the guy. "Erhm," the Horn-Hand began as Laila posed her question. "I've honestly not given the subject much thought. Some food and lodging until we leave, and perhaps a small favor at the blacksmith and alchemist for our group?" "Done." the Jarl nodded as her steward returned with the materials she'd demanded. "Thank you Anuriel. Now I have one more task for you. Please write three grant letters for our friend here. Make them out to Balimund, Elgrim, and Keerava. Tell them that..." she paused and looked back to Jurik. "I'm sorry. I don't believe I got your name." "Jurik Horn-Hand, my Jarl. And in my company are by brother, Gjoring, Mivanu of Morrowind, Roggi Knot-Beard, Cidius and H'Reni." "Very good. Anuriel, tell them that Jurik Horn-Hand and his company's purchases are to be paid for in full by their Jarl. And that they may come and claim their coin when it best suits them." For several seconds, the room was silent but for the steward's quill scratching on parchment. When she was finished, she produced some envelopes from her pocket and sealed each letter inside. She got up and handed the three letters to Jurik. Jarl Laila nodded to him as he took them. "If that is all, Horn-Hand, you are free to leave. I thank you again for bringing this news to me." "Well, actually," he hesitated for a moment. "I think it only fair to offer our services to the city, in light of the information we brought. If you need anyone else to help defend the Rift, we're more than willing." "It seems that you've already been doing this." Laila answered. "If the Stormcloaks do not respond, and this city should fall under attack, your hammer would be appreciated, I'm sure. But in the meantime, you may do as you please." "Of course," Jurik bowed again, signaling that he had nothing more to bring to the Jarl's attention. "Farewell." said the Jarl, as she looked down at the paper before her. "And now I've a letter of my own to write." Jurik smiled to the others as he returned, handing over the writs from the Jarl for Mivanu to read. She in turn gave them to Gjoring, who grinned. It was better than they had expected. H'Reni really had given them a golden opportunity back when he suggested going to the Rift. "What do you think? Not bad, eh?" Gjoring held them out for Roggi to take. Reading, Roggi nodded, his grin wide, like a child just given a new toy. Being in the good graces of a jarl certainly had its perks. "I can finally get out of these furs and into something a little more protective. And less itchy," he said with a chuckle. Jurik snatched the writs back, taking lead towards the smithy. "Come on, I want my new armor. Not wait around." Roggi spotted the blacksmith, a burly man with a thick hay colored horseshoe mustache, and long, greasy hair. He seemed born for the job, judging by the looks of him. "How do you do, friend?" Roggi asked as they approached. The blacksmith wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up at them from his anvil. "I'm well. Is there something I can do for you?" Jurik handed over the writ. "The Jarl gave me this. Said you'd get us sorted out." The blacksmith read over it and then nodded. "Aye, I can set you up. Not everyday the Jarl's buying." He motioned for them to follow him to the racks behind his forge. The heat it gave off made no wonder why he was sweating. The fires blazed an almost silvery red, indicating that some magic coursed through them. "I've got good iron, and steel worthy of kings." he bragged, stepping aside so they could better see the multitude of swords, axes, shields, and armors. Some of them glistened with a silvery sheen, quicksilver. "Take a look and take your picks." Jurik and Gjoring looked to one another, giving a short grin. Then they both spoke in unison. "Scaled." Roggi said, "I could do with some scaled armor too. And an iron shield, and steel sword, if it isn't too much trouble." "Not at all." He turned and disappeared into his house, to return moments later with a scaled suit under one arm and a pair of boots lined with steel to match. He nodded to Jurik. "These ought to be about your size." "Great," he said, before he lifted his hammer for the smith to take a look. "Is there anything you can do with this? It isn't exactly new, but I don't want to be rid of it just yet." The gray-bearded man looked it over and nodded. "Aye, I can do this one some favors. A new shaft would keep it going strong for a good while still. But I'll have to take it over night." "I don't mind." "You got an axe?" Gjoring tapped his fingers at the blade of his own. "Mine's got no sentimental value. I could always upgrade on someone else's coin." Cidius and Mivanu had stayed a bit behind. The Dunmer tried to discern anything from the Colovian's face, to no avail. "Why aren't you going over there?" "I've got good steel, courtesy of my father. I won't waste someone's coin for something I don't need." As she thought on that, the blacksmith turned to Gjoring with a different war axe in each hand. The one in his left hand was good steel, with sharp Nordic designs carved into it. In his right was one of Nordic carved quicksilver, it's shine reflecting the sun into their eyes. He raised it a little higher. "I'd recommend this one. Good balance, and it'll be sharp a decade from now. Not that there's anything wrong with good steel either." Gjoring took the silvery one, feeling its weight. "It is a tad heavier..." he noted with a smile. "I like it. I like it very much. Makes me wish I could afford one earlier." "Um, hey?" Jurik called for Balimund's attention again. The brothers overshadowed Roggi with his more timid approach to the situation. The younger Horn-Hand felt a stick of guilt for making him wait on them. "You wouldn't have a piece or two or armor for a spellcaster, would you? Just something to make it slightly easier to cast while wearing armor." The man stroked his beard for a moment, slightly puzzled. "I have some bracers to go with that armor. Frees up your fingers for casting and such, if that's what you mean." He kept talking as he disappeared into the house again, raising his voice so that it echoed from the inside. "I thought you'd like that axe." he called to Gjoring. "It's actually second-hand. The man I bought it from found it in the ruins of a house that burned down here last spring." He came out with his arms loaded. There were two more suits of scaled armor for Roggi and Gjoring, and the bracers he'd promised between his fingers. After he laid the pile before them, he looked back at Gjoring and pointed off across the city. "Right over there. The man didn't know what he had, but I did. That axe is Skyforge crafted or my hammers are made of wood." Jurik looked at the tools by the forge, noting the hammers haft. "I suppose that means you're partially right." The blacksmith barked a laugh. "You're a quick one. Is charitable Jarl Laila going to be buying you lot anything else today?" "I dunno," Jurik looked at the scaled armor. He had seen the design several times and knew its quality, it was just that now that he was going to wear it, there was a flaw he needed fixed. "I don't suppose you have protective undershirts to go with these? The arms are a bit exposed." Gjoring nodded in agreement. He also took a look at his well-worn shield. "And I'd love it if you could do my shield a favor or two." "I do. Got leather, chain like the Stormcloaks wear, and hide if you like it light. And I can give the shield a fixing. Fix the bindings and deal with some of those dents." "Chain sounds like a good idea," Gjoring said, speaking for his brother and himself. He nodded to Roggi. "You should consider it too. Scaled is good, but has, you know, a design choice that is odd." "I'll take hide underneath mine. Plus the sword and shield I mentioned earlier. Whole new set, basically," Roggi answered. "Of course." The blacksmith disappeared into his house again, where he could be heard hollering orders to someone inside. The first time he came out, he laid Roggi's gear on the table before him. The second time, he had the rest. "This looks to be everything you needed. Leave that shield with the hammer and I'll have them both fixed up for you by morning." Pointing at a steel sword and shield, Roggi said, "I'll take those too, if you don't mind. You can have these." Roggi handed off his ancient Nordic sword and hide shield, then scooped up the scaled armor and the hide armor. Delighted, the blacksmith took the gear and stowed it on his display racks. "I appreciate it." he said. "This ancient Nordic stuff is no better than your average steel. Worse even, usually. But people seem happy to buy it up anyway." Roggi flicked his thumb along one edge of the double edged sword. "And I thank you. This steel is sharp enough to shave with!" "I wouldn't make a habit of that." the blacksmith joked. "Stop by around this time tomorrow, and I'll have all your gear fixed up for you." They thanked him and left, now donning gear on par with the best of warriors. Who knew a single job could pay off so well? And an easy one at that. Riften was turning out to be quite the place of good fortune. *** Boldir Exhausted, Boldir retired to his room after two more hours in the dungeons. He dipped his hands into a washbasin and used an old towel to dry them, leaving behind faint red handprints. He used the other side to wipe the sweat from his brow and then made for his bed, only to jolt back at the site of an armored figure standing in the shadows beside it. As she emerged into the candlelight, Boldir saw that she was an older woman, with braided white hair in a ponytail and a scar on her left cheek, coincidentally almost identical in location to his own, though hers was deeper. She wore a shield at her back and a mace at her hip, but looked in no hurry to draw either of them. That didn't mean she couldn't, and it didn't stop Boldir from drawing his own axe. "Shor's bones, woman! Do you know what time it is? Explain yourself." "It is a delightful time, my dear," the woman merely whispered, but it would have carried her orders to an army if she wished it. "A delightful time. Don't you think so? Or perhaps you prefer the sunlight." "When I'm outside, aye. This late, I prefer to sleep without crazies appearing in my room. I've got enough of those in my life as it is." Boldir scowled. "Now, I said to explain yourself." "Crazies? Oh, my dear, you mistake me. I am quite the Lady. But I suppose you need something more, don't you, Boldir Iron-Brow?" there was a grandmotherly warmth to her tone, even as she emphasized his name. How does she know who I am? Though admittedly, the way she his name was oddly comforting. He almost wanted to trust her on the voice alone, and then he realized how foolish that would be. Is she using a spell? If so, it was subtle, but the feeling was vaguely familiar, almost like a less blatant version of the sweet voice a certain Dark Brotherhood assassin had spoken to him with. "Yes." he said, fighting his mixed urges to drop his axe and to throw it at her. "And, while you're at it, you can tell me how you know my name." "How could I not, dear? I'd never let my Skyrim go a day without seeing how the precious thing is doing," she sounded concerned, yet proud. If it was of Boldir was impossible to tell. "I know of your involvement with the runty little Falk, how you settled in the plains. How the Rift came into your family. Your actions really brings a lump to my throat, upsetting my Rift like this." "Congratulations." he growled. He didn't have a clue what she was on about, but Boldir was now certain that he was leaning towards the 'axe throwing' option. "You know me very well. Now stop avoiding the question." The woman seemed nice, or maybe magic made her seem that way, but he wouldn't abide anyone holding information against him. Especially someone capable of slipping past an entire fort of bandits. He couldn't let it show, but this woman unnerved him, especially now, with his family on the line. The woman seemed confused, before she looked to the ground for a moment. Then she smiled. A much more sinister smile than she had displayed; her fangs were clearly visible. As were the red in her eyes. Her skin seemed more... faded. "You disappoint me, Iron-Brow. I've watched you since you started to mark yourself as a soldier. When the Grim Ones became a thing I had hopes for you. And then you disappeared for a while, blending in. Until the recent troubles in the Rift. I'm impressed, Iron-Brow. You've lived long for someone who takes on the Black-Briars." Boldir had to stop himself from recoiling. Instead he planted his feet and readied his axe. He'd never met a vampire before, but she matched the description to a letter. "I didn't set out to impress you, beast." he growled. "And I don't care if you're disappointed in me. I have no interest in wasting time trading cryptic words with you or anyone else. So plainly tell me why you're here and why you've watched me, or I will kill you." "Sometimes I wonder why I worked so hard to earn this position. My fellow Nords are nothing if not occasionally infuriating," the woman mumbled to herself. She sighed and raised her voice. "I am a merchant, of sorts. I sell and buy information on behalf of the Masque Bearer." She gave him a bow. "I am the Masque of Skyrim, at your service. I do hate to parade my name like that, so I had hoped you'd catch on before I had to." Boldir remained stone-faced, but tilted his head in a slight nod. That's more like it. "I saved us some time, then. Because I have no idea who this Masque Bearer is. But if someone is buying or selling information about me, I would like to know who." Is this man intentionally ******* with me? No, I see he is not. How did he ever achieve as much as he did? The Masque smiled again, a tad more condescending than before. She was sure he wouldn't notice; she was subtle like that. "The Masque Bearer: The Demon of a Thousand Faces. And an acquaintance of your friend, General Red-Snow. Surely you haven't taken that many hits to the head since then. I am his Masque in this cold land of ours. I trade information about anyone to whomever is interested and resourceful enough to seek me out." "Never heard of him." Boldir shrugged. "And Baldur has lots of friends I don't know. Right now, though, I don't really care about who you work for unless he intends to help or harm me. I didn't seek you out, so I can only assume you are here with something to say." "If you say so. Might as well leave it at that. I came to offer you a warning. Your former comrades in arms will strike from the north. The local Stormcloak garrison is preparing for attack. And I'd hate to see you fail before you can even attempt to take on the Black-Briars in a glorious final stand. How much you must love your family. Truly, this is dedication unseen. Many would fall to despair." "Wait-" If she's just told Boldir that Secunda was falling, it wouldn't have hit him so hard. "The... Stormcloaks?" His heart was already beginning to pound like a hammer against an anvil. "You're lying. Maven wouldn't contact them. It would be too risky. Them getting involved could lead to the army finding out what she's done. That she's responsible for all this." "I fear not. The letter is on its way to High King Ulfric as we speak. It will take a little time before the Stormcloaks get their orders to attack, but they are already preparing for it. Dismiss it as a lie if you want, it will not be my head on a pike. Or do the smart thing and don't presume to know what goes on where your eyes cannot see. You are running out of time. And people not aligned with your precious bandit chieftain," she added, thinking about the reports she had had of the exploits of a small group led by a Jurik Horn-Hand. He let out a long breath and lowered the axe to massage his temple. "I take it you're referring to Fort Greenwall." Of course she was. It was the only major Stormcloak army presence in the Rift. He looked at her without anger for the first time. It was hard, with the unnatural red that looked back, but if she wasn't lying, this information could save his life. "If what you say is true, why warn me?" "A maiden's crush, I fear," she seemed to...blush? It was hard to tell. In spite of himself, he snickered. "I'll bet. I don't owe you my soul or anything now, do I?" "Of course not," her expression from a moment ago seemed to never have been there. "You're doing far too well to let you be wiped out now. I want to see what you can accomplish. Think of it as a... maiden's token. Best treasured so no pesky adventurers steal it from you." "If we're soon to be under attack, that treasuring isn't likely to last long." Boldir pondered what his next move would be. Sending a scout to Fort Greenwall would be his first priority, of course. He had to know this woman, or creature, wasn't lying. And he'd have to send word to Treva's Watch as well. Alone, the bandits of Faldar's Tooth were few enought to be overwhelmed by a Stormcloak force. These are Stormcloaks. Your family. You can't fight them! ... Carlotta is my family. Mila. Boldir looked the Masque of Skyrim in those pale red eyes. Like anything undead, they unnerved him. But he had bigger things to worry about than his own fears. "Thank you. When this is over, I'll write you a bloody journal. Full of secrets." "I'm sure you will, my dear," her grandmotherly tone was back and she seemed older, more innocent. "You're an accomplished man, Iron-Brow. I would hate to see you die, yet I fear you will. And I am at the end of my liberties. So let me give my condolences for you losses now, when it can still be done. I am not without sympathy for what you are going through." "Save them." With the news of the Stormcloaks, Boldir was unsure what the future would hold. But no matter what it meant he had to do, he would see his family out of the Black-Briars' clutches. "I don't intend to lose anyone." "If you pardon me for saying so, Boldir Iron-Brow," the Masque gave a polite bow and turned to the door. "You did not intend to lose your family either. Good night, Boldir Iron-Brow." For a moment, fury welled inside him, but then he blinked, and opened his mouth. "Wait." he called to her, just as she passed from the room. She's right. When the red eyes turned back to him, brow raised high above, he said, "You trade in secrets. Do you know how things are among Riften's leaders? My family? Maven and the Keep? Anything that can help me. I can make a trade if I must." "For anything I don't already know, I can trade you a secret of equal value," the Masque grinned. "I take it you know about my prisoner by now." he asked, testing the waters. Boldir knew she probably did, but he didn't want to give more than was necessary. "Everything points to it being one of the Black-Briars. You wouldn't have lived as long as you did otherwise. Ingun went missing some time ago. I assume it is her." She only assumes. Boldir would have only been mildly surprised if the vampire had known what he'd had for breakfast. This was good. "Follow me." he said, leading her out of the room and down the hall. "I have never mistreated her. Kept her safe in my room for all these months, where the bandits couldn't touch her. Do you know where these burns of mine came from?" "I don't think you will make any eyebrows rise by telling that event, Iron-Brow. Playing with fire in the Wooden City is a bad idea." "Aye, though it's not what gave me them that you'll find interesting, it's how I survived. You wouldn't tell it from looking now, but these were a lot more serious back when I got them." He led her down a flight of stairs, down into the ruined and flooded lower levels that most of the bandits rarely cared to visit. "As it turns out, she is a gifted alchemist. She treated the burns, changed my bandages, even dealt with an infection that would've killed me. She was useful to say the least. She even seemed to be capable of looking at the situation and telling that it is her family at fault. Not me. All-in-all, not a bad prisoner." "Common knowledge," the Masque shrugged, referring to Ingun being the ever-outsider among the Black-Briars. She grimaced at her surroundings. How easy it would be to exploit this area, should there be an alternate way in. She should look into that. Did Boldir know how much he gave her for giving her a tour? Probably not. Boldir didn't respond, and continued to lead her on to the end of a corridor, where a couple of Hrokvild's men were posted outside of a doorway. They gave the Masque strange looks as they passed through, but said nothing. Inside the room, another bandit sat back with his feet up on a table to their right. Ahead was another door. "Back already?" he asked when his eyes landed on Boldir. They narrowed when the Masque appeared behind him, but the man held his tongue. Boldir motioned for him to leave. When the man was gone and the door closed, he turned to the Masque. "I don't know how much assumptions count for you, but I've all but confirmed to you that Ingun is here. She's barely left my side since we took her all those months ago. Consider that confirmation a return gesture for the information you gave me." "When I say I assume, I really mean I'm highly certain based on the circumstantial evidence. May I meet her?" "Of course. If you answer me this: Did Maven have anything to do with the Stormcloaks you spoke of?" The Masque laughed. It was somehow almost entirely silent, more a faint breeze that sends a chill up ones spine. "Your one question and you waste it on that? Dear Iron-Brow, even if Maven Black-Briar is not responsible, she will know, like she always does when something happens in the Rift. And with Laila Law-Giver on the throne, even if the Jarldom acted without Maven's expressed wishes, the line between her being involved or not is very blurry indeed. " "It told me what I needed to know." Boldir said. "And it wasn't my only question. But we can revisit that later." The heavy wooden door creaked as he pushed it open to reveal the four cells. Their entrance was greeted by whimpers from the far right. Boldir ignored them and lifted the room's one torch from its sconce and led the Masque to the third cell over. Inside, Ingun sat, chained by both arms and wearing ruined clothes that would have once been worth a fortune. Her hair was matted, covering most of her face, and a fowl smell came from the bucket in the cell's corner. "You have a visitor." he said, drawing her eyes up to meet them. They squinted against the light, but she still managed to raise a curious brow. "It seems she is less palatable to your position than you implied," the Masque noted to Boldir. She leaned in to the bars, speaking in a compassionate voice. "How are you holding up, dear?" Ingun stared back, but no words formed on her lips. She looked from the Masque to Boldir, and back again, a mixture of anger and fear apparent in her eyes. "Don't expect her to answer." Boldir said. "She hasn't done much of that these last few d-" "Who are you?" Ingun interrupted, with a defiant look at Boldir. Her voice was hoarse, but surprisingly strong given her conditions. "You may think of me as one of many faces, dear. I am intrigued to see you in such a fashion, Black-Briar born and all. I mean you no harm. I simply wish to know what you think of the situation. Here, in the Rift. Anything you can think of, My Lady." The noble frowned. "The situation of the Rift? Well that man behind you and my own family are letting their damned feud get innocent people killed, for one. Do I really need to tell you what I or any other sane person would think of that?" She rolled her eyes. "Or how about the good chance that this time next month, Riften's like to be a ruin!" "I'm not going to let that happen!" Boldir shot back. "As you well know." "Oh, I know," she said, "I know now that you're willing to go just as far as Maven!" She turned back to the Masque. "Is there anything else?" "No, unless you want to make an arrangement for the future, as uncertain as that is," the Masque smiled. "Assuming you get out of here, I would very much want to work with you." She turned to Boldir. "I suppose there is no way you will let me leave with her, is there?" "None whatsoever." Boldir said, suddenly uneasy. He didn't like the idea of this woman, who already knew far more than anyone had any right to, taking interest in the prisoner who served as his family's only true defense. "I promised you a chance to meet her. You got it." "That you did, and I thank you for it. It was well worth answering your question for," she gave Boldir a bow. "Now, if there was nothing else?" With a gesture for Boldir to show her the way out she turned her back on the Black-Briar woman. "There was one last thing, actually." Boldir's face was somber. He still felt uneasy getting his information from the mysterious vampire, but even a small confirmation would be worth the risk. "Not to long ago, I was contacted by a friend from the city. He brought news of my wife's survival after her execution. Tell me for certain if this news is true. And if you're able, how she and my daughter fare. Tell me this, and I'll share my other Riften prisoner with you as well, and all of his wasted story along with it." "Whether or not your wife still lives, even I cannot tell. But I do know she was not the one executed some time ago. The Face Sculptor knows her trade," the prospect of meeting another of Boldir's prisoners was worth this tidbit, as was the idea of fueling his fire. "Assuming she lives, I doubt she will for long. And I fear your Mila's fate may turn out worse than death. Unconfirmed reports claim she got the attention of Sibbi Black-Briar himself. If true, death may have been merciful." The shift from hopeful information to dreadful caught Boldir off guard, and it took everything he had to hide his fury from the Masque and Ingun. He spared a brief glance at Ingun, with no doubt in his mind as to her fate. Nobody, not the Riften guard, nor Maul, nor even the Stormcloaks were going to stop him from bringing their family down. "Then we'll have to act soon." he finally answered, after taking a moment to structure his thoughts. "Now I owe you a meeting with my other prisoner." He led the Masque over to the far left cell and held up his torch, revealing a Breton man, half-naked, hanging from the wall by chained wrists. What skin wasn't bruised, scared, or otherwise damaged was as pale as bone, and a mop of filthy brown hair fell over his face, obscuring it. The floor below him was stained with dried blood. "You came at a good time." Boldir said. "I don't suspect Cynric here will be much longer for this world." At the sound of Boldir's close voice, the man's drooping head lifted, and a pair of hollowed, bloodshot eyes widened in fear. "N-no!" he croaked, his voice so dry and cracked that he could barely do more than whisper. "No!" "Cynric... Cynric... Endell, I assume. Good thing you don't allow him use of his hands. He was quite the Jailbreaker back in his day," the Masque did not care to look at the prisoner much, rather she focused her attention on Boldir. "You do know how to stir things up, don't you, dear?" "He's the one who did the stirring." Boldir said. "He betrayed my family. He's the reason they were caught. And I saw that jailbreaking skill firsthand when he broke me out with the intent to walk me into a different trap." "Of course he did. He is, or I guess was is more appropriate..." the Masque chuckled to herself, looking back to the Breton. "...Thieves Guild. And the Thieves Guild has been in Maven the Black-Briar's employ for years." She leaned in, raising her hand. Cynric's eyes got a momentary green light to them. "Now, please do tell me what you can about how all this happened. I do enjoy collecting all available accounts." "Sibbi came to me." muttered the thief. "After they got Boldir in jail but before they had his family. He wanted me to get them and Vex out of the Ratway and into Maul's hands. Problem was they refused to leave till they knew Boldir was out too, so Sibbi-" Cynric broke off into a fit of coughing, and when he resumed speaking, his voice was even slower and raspier than before, but under the vampire's influence, he could not hold back. "Sibbi had me free him. Fake a rescue." he nodded at Boldir's feet, refusing to meet his captor's eyes. "He wasn't supposed to escape the orphanage. That wasn't the plan. But I had to go along with him after that, at least in pretend. It eventually became about saving Ingun. When I tried..." his deathly voice trailed off, and he shook in his chains and glanced up at Boldir before bellowing, "No! No, no, no!" He looked back at the Masque, his eyes pleading. "Please, take me away from here!" "I'm sorry," the Masque shrugged. "I have no use for a jailbreaker that can't get out of a moderately difficult jail." "Please!" the man screamed. "PLEASE! I'm begging you!" "Quiet." Boldir ordered. Cynric immediately obeyed. "Do you have a gag for him? I fear he will make Ingun's stay worse than it absolutely needs to be. And he is annoying me. I assume you feel the same way." "He only gets like this when I'm around." Boldir said. "A few more days and he'll be done crying anyway. Now, he motioned to the door, "You've given me a lot to think about and even more to do. I'll see you to the gate." Boldir led the Masque back through the fort, drawing some confused glances here and there from some of the outlaws, but like before, no comments. He watched the bars of the gate close behind her, and he watched her disappear into the midnight darkness only seconds later. He no longer felt safe, knowing that such creatures existed, that could so easily get in or out of such a place without anyone being the wiser. Don't worry about it. he told himself. If the creature wanted him dead, she'd never have shown herself. If she wanted him to fail, she'd have never warned him. Boldir had his real enemies to worry about, and perhaps worse, his friends in the Stormcloaks. Boldir turned back to the keep. There was a lot to do now. Hrokvild would have to know so he could help ready the men, and they still needed a scout to confirm that Greenwall is preparing to attack. Another would have to go and alert their new allies at Treva's Watch. They would need them. Boldir's heart felt heavy. He hoped the vampire was lying, but a part of him whispered that he knew she wasn't. If that part spoke true, then all of his plans could fall to ruin, and it would not be Maven, but his own brothers who deal him the final blow. Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Theodore Adrard High Rock Midday Cavern Mount stood high above the surrounding countryside, the lower slopes covered thick with firs, pines, and spruces. They gave way to a massive plateau, the cliff faces reaching straight up towards the sky. It looked as if someone had taken a gently slopping hill, and then violently wretched the peak towards the sky. Only the southern face of the mountain retained the slope of the lower mountain, and it was on this southern face a massive cavern opened up, giving Cavern Mount its name. Theodore noticed the stone of the cliffs was dark and rugged, but pocketed with brown at seemingly regular intervals, though he knew not what caused that. The mountain itself was smaller than even the Kurallians from which Theo had just come, but its location in the western lands of Shornhelm and House Estermont meant it towered above the local forests that lined the coast. At its base, a small village sat. The houses were all made from the local woods, giving the village the appearance of being part of the forest. Smoke drifted lazily into the sky from each house, though it was surprisingly nice for a winter’s day. Theodore and Sir Maric rode in from the south, straight towards the small village. Both were wrapped in thicker than necessary fur coats, Theodore’s over a brown doublet, Sir Maric’s over his ebony armor. They’d left Dryston Winvale’s valley refuge two days ago, with the wizard nowhere in sight when the time for departure came. Instead of waiting around to say their farewells to the grumpy wizard, they’d just set off, leaving a note with the assistant who looked rather forlorn at their leaving. Their destination was the gatehouse that spanned the breadth of the cave’s entrance. It was made of thick stone, and as the village blended in with the forests, so did the gatehouse blend in with the mountain. Square towers looked like columns supporting the cave roof, though the arrow slit window identified them as the guard towers they were. The gates were thick, metal banded across to support and bind the wood together. They would have seemed large had the cavern not dwarfed them. Riding through the muddy streets of the town, Theodore couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by the mountain. He wondered if the villagers felt the same, or if it was just another feature in the serene landscape surrounding their homes. Logging being the main business here, it made sense that piles of timber lay near the village center. Several loggers sat on around, eating salted beef for their lunch. They mostly ignored the nobles, which made sense given the wedding at the castle. The young Baron Tilwald, vassal to Lord Estermont, was getting married to the daughter of Baron Perrick, whose liege lord was also Estermont. It wouldn’t be a large wedding, in the dead of winter and between two baronies, so the king making an appearance would likely surprise everyone. Though they’d been riding for two days, Theo still had no excuse for why he was coming to this wedding. He supposed he’d just say he wanted to meet a few more of his vassals, which seemed not altogether a lie. They arrived at the gate, and were quickly let in once they announced themselves. A guard was dispatched to guide them through the cave, which had enough branches that the first explorers spent weeks exploring them all, with some still completely unknown. Caves were wide enough that they could easily ride their horses through the tunnels, with the pathway well trod and lit by numerous torches. The guard excitedly talked about the caves and the tunnels and the mountain, but Theodore and Thomas only responded with lukewarm enthusiasm. But upon reaching the peak, the sight took their breath away. The cave exited atop the plateau in a cluster of stones, which formed a kind of doorway, blocking the cave from the sun and sky. The mountaintop gave expansive views of the barony from here, with the sea’s sparkling glimmer just visible off to the west. To the east, the snowcapped peaks of the Wrothgarians stretched towards the heavens like the pointed fingers of a hand, while to the south the Kurallians rolled and tumbled, rougher and rockier than any other range. To the north, pine foresters stretched far and away, with the rolling hills and occasional mountains shielding any hamlets or cities that may have lay there. The castle itself offered another spectacular sight, for how strange it looked. Only one wall formed its defenses, and it faced the opening from which they now exited. As for the wall, it was comparatively low to most castles and forts in High Rock, with guard towers at the ends and at the gate. The stone was the same as the gatehouse at the cavern entrance, dark and rough, with the appearance that is was not cut from a quarry but broken. Two other towers, both rounded, lay within the castle wall. One, tall and spire like, reached toward the clouds on the northern side. Another on the southern side, squat but exceedingly large, seemed dangerously perched on the cliff’s edge. In between them, a peak roofed great hall lay, not tall, but long. That was all Theo could see from the outside, but moving past the gate offered an even better view. Skinny panes of stained glass faced east and west on the great hall, and even from their view it was gorgeous. Elevated pathways connected the two towers and great hall, with flowering gardens and ponds laid out beneath. A few other buildings, mostly wooden, lay at the farthest end. The king had of course heard of the pleasurable beauty of Cavern Mount, but he knew, and realized, that words never did justice to such sights. And it was more than just spectacle, Theo knew. Though the cavern pathway was wide enough for five men to ride abreast, it grew dangerously steep in places, and narrowed as it ended. Any attacker must need fall out single file, within arrow shot of the wall, with few place to find cover. That was if they made it past the gatehouse at the base of the cliffs, which itself was formidable. The only option was therefore vertical assault, a climbing force from the mountainside. But that posed its own risks, as the cliff faces were steep, with few places to rest. Only the most skilled climbers could conqueror it, and even then success was not guaranteed. The sound of voices singing and fiddles sawing brought Theodore’s attention to the middle of the castle, where a grand pavilion stood. The tent’s sides were brilliantly painted, bright blues, emerald greens, soft pinks and stunning yellows. Beneath it all was the wedding party, surrounding a ‘U’ shaped table. At the head of it, dual thrones sat, on a slightly raised platform. The young baron took note of the new arrivals, and upon realizing the status of them, raised a hand to halt the music. He rose, an outstretched hand beckoning the other merrymakers to turn their attention to King Adrard. A flabbergasted smile on his face, the baron bowed and said, his voice wavering only slightly, “Honorable guest, noblewomen and men alike, I present to you our fair King Adrard. I must say, my liege, it is a wonderful, if somewhat unexpected, surprise.†Theodore smiled back at the boy, though he supposed he was that no longer. He was around 19 in age, give or take a year, with a rather peculiar but not easily placed familiarity. His hair was as brown as the soil, or possibly like that of wood bark, and his eyes were of equal hue. He was lean, not unfit, but skinny nonetheless, with a clean-shaven face but slightly shaggy hair. He stood about Theodore’s height, possibly taller. He was not ugly, nor exceedingly handsome, but, and this seemed to be the familiar sense Theo earlier felt, plain. He would be equally at home sitting with the loggers in the village, or as one of the serving people, or even dressed up in knightly armor. He was everyone and no one at once, which was precisely the reason that brought Theodore here today. Though not expecting such an unassuming face, Theo knew the Baron Corrick Tilwald would suit him perfectly. Theodore bowed his head. “I am sorry for having disrupted your wedding, Baron Tilwald, but having heard of the splendor of Cavern Mount, I had to see it myself, and your wedding was, well, frosting on the cake!†That got a chuckle from the other nobles who each greeted the king in turn. Most were lower nobles, viscounts and earls and marquises and marchionesses, though the family of the bride was here, Baron Haskill Perrick. His bushy golden muttonchops covered scarred cheeks, though nothing covered the missing and shortened fingers on either hand. His pale blue and silver doublet poor above his heart his family’s sigil, a flitting brown sparrow. The Dowager Baroness Atha Tilwald, she of well past 80, greeted the king with not a bow but hug, as befitted her grandmotherly demeanor. Her small, fluffy haired dog yelped when she set him down, but quieted when she lifted him into her lap again. The soon to be bride, Evelyn Perrick, curtsied when Theodore came around to her. She was a pretty girl, with a slender but pleasing figure, though from what Theodore knew of her, she was no dainty noblewoman, but rather adventurous. The last to meet Theodore were the bards, a trio of troubadours from the Scenarist Guild in Hammerfell. One was an older man, not quite the Dowager Baroness’ age, but still older than Theodore. He was bald, except for a thinning strip around the back and sides of his head. His smile was genial, revealing a few cavity-laden teeth, but he was overall pleasant. His two compatriots were husband and wife, and introduced themselves with thinly veiled haughtiness. “Your majesty, what an honor it is to meet you. And an honor for you as well, meeting the best bards in all of High Rock,†said Emeric Montclair, his shoulder length blonde hair falling over his tanned face as he bowed low. The woman, Emeric’ wife, curtsied, his smile bright and youthful. Her skin was dark, much like all Redguards, and her black hair curled and bounced as she spoke. “Tahla Monclair, at the service of your highness. My husband speaks true, we are the finest in the land, and even old Damon can still saw the fiddle well. Let us play you a song, I’m sure it will be to your liking.†Before Theodore could respond, Damon Ivey, the fiddler, struck up a jaunty tune, his tapping foot keeping rhythm with the song, which Emeric and Tahla sung, while also pantomiming the story. The Pretender, Lielle Rolston, a self styled queen, She was evil, uncouth, and above all mean. So when she tried usurpation, we knew that she would fail, For the great King Theodore was destined to prevail! First her mousy husband, the King-For-A-Day, Murdered her father (with her help by the way.) Poison and potion, sent Dilborn to bed, And Aleron took the throne, once he was dead. But what this short-term king failed to see Was Lord Theo, the cunning, the clever, the keen. Our mustachioed lord saw through their plot The Rolstons poisoned him too, but all for naught. For the nine divines favored him of Camlorn They kept him safe, from hurt and scorn. The wise Lady Gaerhart, fair judge to all, Convicted and sentenced King Aleron to fall. King Theodore Adrard ended the reign Of the short serving Aleron, of whom no one sang. With her husband’s blood still running down the steps, Lielle, blonde vixen, fled from the west. A courageous host now gathered for the hunt, Adrard, Traven, Ryger, Estermont. Lord Traven, of Northpoint, shrewd and prudent, Lord Estermont, of Shornhelm, fierce and gallant. But Lord Ryger of Farrun, fell from within, Slain by traitors, killed by a Jehannan. Farrun looked lost, alone and defeated But Lord Traven arrived, his aid much needed. Victory they won, led by Prince Roland, Who slayed a dozen, a score, a hundred! Jehanna fell next, betrayed from within, By Lady Roain, who saved her kin. Her cowardly husband, the evil Lord Simon, Would have set her aside, for Lady Rolston. And so Traven and Prince Roland prevailed, The rebellion in Jehanna thoroughly quelled. On the Iliac, Estermont marched on Wayrest, While King Adrard took care of the rest. They caught the enemy in such a trap, Traitors ran and fled, quick as a snap. Only Evermor was left, no allies around, So Lielle made a pact, sealed and bound. She called upon Orcs, with their brutish savagery, And upon the Reachmen, crude and earthy. They came in the night, hooting and howling, The poor Jehannans never saw it coming. But Lord Traven held fast, and faced the attack, While Estermont and Montrose threw them back. Then came the soldiers, the men of Evermor To join the battle, out of the gates they poured. Estermont, Montrose all wheeled and fought, With King Theo sat back, a coward we thought. Until we saw, his genius revealed, When Duke Jastal’s cavalry took the field. They came from the back, out the River Gate, But our wise king knew to anticipate. His pikes and spears dismounted the knights And when they retreated, there was hardly a fight. For our brave horsemen, Estermont’s men, Took them from the back, as they shattered and ran. The Pretender’s soldiers caved and fled, Leaving many man afield and dead. All that was left was to breech the city, Where just King Theo was sure to show pity. Prince Roland volunteered, and so did Sir Vette, And they led the Redguards, sneakily I bet. They had the powder, they had the will, And they blew the gate halfway up the hill! Twenty they numbered, no more than a score, But they killed fifty each, maybe even more. Their distraction turned the battle our way, And King Theo’s forces won the day. Through the streets we stormed, not a man left to be seen, Lielle Rolston had hidden in her castle, a craven queen. The gates were locked tight, we were shut out, But then we heard the screams, the horrible shouts. Three mercenary captains opened the gate, And Lielle was done, finished, left to her fate. She sat atop her tower, not a guard in sight And so the captains of Silver tried to taker her, that night. King Theodore burst in, stopping the violation He slew two, but Lielle was killed, by defenestration. Our liege proved noble once again, Killing the thugs who broke the laws of men. He knighted the valiant, rewarded the brave, All got rewards, to everyone he gave. The feast he put on lasted till morn, And then he showed the Empire his horns. The poor Legate had no such clue, He was played false, played for a fool. The vile Empress Dales lied and cheated, And King Theo was wise when he seceded. For High Rock is free, free of the Empire, To do as we wish, whatever we desire. King Theo the Great, threw off our chains, May he live forever, forever to reign! The applause and good-natured laughter filled the tent, as the three performers took in the gracious approval, bowing and nodding their thanks. Theodore, though at first put off by the Monclair’s pomposity, found himself thoroughly enjoying their rendition of the song, if only because it played to his ego. “Brilliant! I must ask, which of you wrote it? It is as near to the facts as my own memory,†Theodore said. “I did, my liege,†Damon said, his smile radiant like the sun overhead. Theodore clapped his meaty hands together, his own grin curving his mustache. “Marvelous job, all of you. When you are finished here, I would very much enjoy you singing that in my court.†Damon started to answer, but was cut off my Emeric, who brushed him aside to say, “We would be delighted, King Adrard. You honor us with the highest praise.†“That was fun, wasn’t it? Now that all the introductions have been made, why don’t we get to the duel? What say you, Baron Perrick?†Baron Tilwald said, his voice this time more filled with confidence. It seemed that earlier the Theo had made him nervous, though the king could not blame him. Baron Perrick, still standing from his introduction with Theodore, said, “It will be my pleasure.†Theodore detected a hint of animosity in the man’s voice, though why he bore any ill towards his new son-in-law, Theo couldn’t say. The two duelers, per High Rock custom, donned a light leather coat and gloves, facing each other with ten paces between. Their squires handed them each a thing thrusting sword, blunted and round tipped to prevent injury. The tradition of a wedding day duel between the groom and the bride’s father dated back to at least the Third Era, though no one knew exactly when it started. Originally, it was an armored combat to first blood, but now it had morphed into a benign, but still engaging fight to see if the groom was worthy of the bride’s hand. To prove his worth, the groom would need best, or at least hold his own, in combat with the future father-in-law. The duel commenced, with Corrick advancing toward the elder fighter with youthful vigor. Though, in a surprising move, rather than attack, he feigned, goading Baron Perrick into a lunge that left him unbalanced. It seemed that, probably because of his smaller physique, the young baron was more skilled than most with a thrusting rapier. It made sense, as thrusting weapons were valuable assets in finding the weaknesses of plate armor, though they required a deft hand and discerning eye. Corrick nearly landed a blow on Baron Perrick’s ribs, but the golden whiskered man danced out of the way. Perrick went on the attack, pressing Corrick backwards away from the pavilion. With near effortless grace, the young Baron Tilwad dodged or parried each blow. But, in moving backwards, he was unable to see, and his foot slipped off the path and he tumbled down. He turned it into a roll, but Perrick’s blunted blade still stung him across his left arm. Once back on his feet, it was Corrick’s turn to press the attack. Where some youth’s pride might be wounded at the fall, Theodore thought of Roland specifically, Corrick kept his composure and did not become reckless. Baron Perrick was obviously uncomfortable with the rapier, and had trouble blocking every blow. Then, when Corrick twisted Perrick’s blade near the hilt, it flew and landed with a clatter on the stones. The fight was over, and a grand one at that. The wedding goers gave each duelist a hearty applause, though Baron Perrick seemed sullen at his loss, and beneath his gold mutton chops his cheeks burned red. They party ate a little more, and drank a little more, but soon it was time for the ceremony, which did not last long. It was held in the great hall, but with the weather so fair, afterwards everyone moved back outside for a great feast. It was at that time one of the more peculiar traditions in High Rock took place. Baron Tilwald, beaming along with his wife, rose and called for attention. Theodore hadn’t seen him drink much, and it showed in his speech, which remained unslurred. “Most of you know of my family’s sigil.†Corrick motioned to the banners hanging around. The background was dark blue, and in the center soared a mighty eagle. Its head was white and russet, the body a fade from the mottled head to pure brown. Theodore thought it strikingly similar to the color of Corrick’s hair. The beak was sunflower yellow, sharp, hooked, and deadly, the talons just as so. Baron Tilwald continued. “A cliff eagle, so named because they only live on the cliff sides of Cavern Mount. As long as my family has lived here, they’ve symbolized our devotion to honor, nobility, and grace. When each member of our family comes of age, or as is the case today, marries a family member, they are given an eagle as their own companion. These animals are not simple pets, but protectors and friends.†Perhaps it was realization, or simply a slight twitch, but it was then Theodore realized that atop Corrick’s throne sat the very eagle he spoke of. It was a clone of the one on the banners, and stood perfectly still, its eyes ever watchful and wary of the guests. Sensing it was being watched, it turned to look at Theodore, who found the creature, while unnerving, also strangely intelligent. He chuckled to himself when he realized that was what most people probably thought of Sir Maric, who was ever perched just behind the king. “My own bird, Erer, has been with me since I turned fourteen, and it is with great joy I present to my wife her own,†Corrick said. A man wearing a leather bracer brought out an eagle, around the same size as Erer, though it was rather uncomfortable with the situation. Once it caught sight of the other bird, however, it stopped fidgeting on the man’s arm. So as not to ruin Evelyn’s dress, or hurt her from the eagle’s talons, the man set it atop her throne. Theodore noticed that the Dowager Baroness Atha Tilwad had no eagle with her, and made a note to ask about that when he got a chance. The festivities ran long but were joyful, and even after the bride and groom slipped off to consummate their marriage, the sounds of drunken boasts and courtly gossip rang throughout the night. Theodore chose not to partake in any late night partying, and was given a rather modest room inside the spire tower. The steward made many attempts to apologize for it, but Theodore assured him it was perfectly suitable. Theodore awoke slightly after daybreak the next morning, well rested and eager to speak to Corrick. He arrived in the great hall for breakfast, and was not surprised to see it so unoccupied. Evidently most guests were nursing headaches from the previous night’s merriments. He and Sir Maric were served thick, spiced sausage and sweetberry cakes, and the king indulged in an early morning glass of wine. As they finished up, the Baron and new Baroness of Cavern Mount arrived, hand in hand, to take their place at the head of the table. Theodore thought it sweet seeing them together, and it reminded him of Roland and his wife, though that only soured his mood when he remembered why he was here. He was determined to save them, and Corrick would be key to that. Theodore waited until Corrick and Evelyn finished breakfast, and then asked if he might have a private tour of the grounds, conducted by the man who owned them. Corrick obliged, while his wife, seeing Theodore wanted privacy, made some excuse for herself and left. They started with the spire tower, whose upper stories held an enormous library. Theodore was astounded by its size, but was amazed even more by the view from the top of the tower. Two chairs faced the north looking window, and they each took a seat. “My my. It is a stunning view, isn’t it?†Theodore said. Corrick nodded, his eyes scanning the forests, lakes, rivers, and hills that lay in his possession. He turned in his plush chair to Theodore, just as Erer landed upon the windowsill, taking up the bulk of it. “If I may be so blunt, Your Majesty, what brought you here?†“Had anyone else asked, I would say it was to meet more of my vassals. After all, weddings are gathering places for those high and low. But in truth, it is a more dire need.†Theodore looked upon the young man, wondering now if he should trust him, though no alternative presented itself. “Before I answer, though, I would like to know more about you.†“I’m sure you already know everything there is to know. Why have me tell it?†“I think what a person thinks of themselves gives a lot of insight into who they are. And only they can really tell their story, no matter how biased it is.†Corrick thought on that for a moment, his eyes studying his bird as he did. “I became baron three years ago. Though I’d been in council meetings two years prior to that. Grandmother is old, you understand, and she never had an eye for running things. My family, mother, father, brother and sister, all died six years ago. It was stupid…a fungus grew inside one of the caves we used for food storage, and poisoned them. It was rough, but, and I know this sounds childish, but Erer was the only thing that kept me afloat. My father gave him to me only a few days before he died. I still don’t know how Grandmother did it. It wasn’t long after I met Evelyn, at a ball that her father was hosting. She of course knew of our plight, as I’m sure most did. She was sympathetic, obviously, and…†Corrick turned to Theodore, a grin surprisingly tracing his lips. “Well, we actually got married about a year after that. A secret wedding, of course, and no one ever knew, though her father suspected. You’re actually the first one I’ve told, though I see no harm in it now that we’re ‘truly’ wed. It was her idea. She’s much more outgoing than I. I suppose that’s most of my history.†Theodore took in every word, though most of it he found rather uninteresting. The boy did have a sentimental side, though he didn’t seem to easily express it. He loved his grandmother and wife, and the bird, and had experience ruling. Still, he had not revealed much about himself, and that was the crux of the problem. Though Theodore needed him, he was still unsure if he could be trusted. “You seemed rather skilled with a thrusting sword. Though I understand you also have quite a taste for reading. What is it they call you?†Theodore asked. Corrick’s gaze drifted back to the window as he spoke, his face betraying nothing. “Take your pick. The Bookish Baron, Baron Bookworm, Baron Bird Brain, though it’s only the last one that, pardon the pun, ruffles my feathers. I take pride in the other two. Reading is the pathway to knowledge, and knowledge to wisdom, though I’m not so arrogant as to consider myself wise. As for my skills, light swords and armor, though I concentrate mostly on magic. And I dabble in eavesdropping, though mostly I just disappear off into taverns on my lands, pretending to be a commoner. It’s interesting to get their perspective on things, I believe.†“You stayed behind with Estermont’s men, to guard the roads to Shornhelm, yes?†“Led them, actually. It was supposed to be his youngest son, but he decided there was no glory in guarding roads. Of course, that same glory got one of his older brothers killed, and last I checked, no soldiers of mine died. Some would call that cowardice, other practicality. I prefer the latter, and I have a feeling you feel the same.†Theodore nodded at that. “You are very forthcoming.†“I know better than to cross you. And I know an opportunity when I see one. You need something from me, though what it is I haven’t the slightest idea, and I’m sure lying to you won’t accomplish anything.†Theodore traced the grain of the chair’s armrest. He remained silent, and found no solace from the wood, no matter how much his finger followed the patterns and lines. Finally, he said, “My family is sick. The same Daedric disease that cursed my father-in-law has set upon me, and took my two newborn children. I know of a man that can help, but he’s in Cyrodiil. I need someone to contact him and get a cure.†If Corrick was surprised, he didn’t show it. Theodore noticed he didn’t display much in the way of emotion, his face plain and stoic. He supposed that few things made him smile, though from what he observed yesterday, Evelyn was chief among those. “I’d guessed it was Daedric, whatever took King Gaerhart. Though a curse is surprising. Why me? And what is your offer, then?†“You are not a major player, an unknown, and hardly anyone in High Rock would recognize you, and no one in Cyrodiil will. And you are smart, and can craft the lies necessary to fool anyone. As for the reward, some money, of course. But you also stated you’re pragmatic. Though it is a ways off, most of those that sit upon my council are older men, and who knows how many will die in conflict with the Thalmor. Whether it be for me or my son, so long as my family rules, you will sit upon the Council of Lords someday.†Corrick smirked, and chuckled softly. “Thus making me an ally as well, as my future position is tied to your rule. I shouldn’t expect any less from the King of the Bretons. I do see a few complications, though. One, my wife will not be happy, and two, how will I gain access to this man.†“Your wife will understand, or she will be made to. There is no time for dallying, Baron Tilwald. As for your in, that will come from my cousin. He is the ambassador, and runs the embassy. You will join him as an apprentice, and then find a way to talk to Endar Drenim. He is the quasi court mage, but talking to him shouldn’t be hard. I will provide you with a letter detailing the symptoms, and you can give that to him. I will also provide you with a recall scroll, to bring you back to Camlorn once you’ve discovered the cure. My court mage will take care of the rest.†“Your plans are detailed as ever, my liege. I accept your offer, then, though I require one more condition: I want a role to play in the next war. Though I do not relish fighting, or personal glory in battle, I believe I may still be of some use, and I do not wish to be guarding roads this time. Not against the Thalmor.†Theodore stretched out his hand, and Corrick shook it. Theodore rose to leave, but stopped short, remembering something. “Where is your grandmother’s eagle?†he asked in earnest. Corrick flinched in surprise. “It actually died. The birds only live sixty to seventy years. I think that’s why she got the dog. Missed the companionship.†“And will Erer be going with you?†“Of course. Unless I caged him, he’d follow me anywhere.†Theodore smiled softly at that. He didn’t know such friendship, from man or beast, and had never actively sought it. Those he knew fell into three categories, family, allies, or enemies, and there was no room for friends in any of those. Sir Maric was the closest thing to a friend he had, and the brooding knight hardly said a word, even after reuniting with his love. “And the eagles,†Theodore said. “How did they come about?†Corrick perked up at the chance to relay his family’s history, reciting the tale from memory. “My first ancestor was a wyrd witch, and a coven lived in the woods near here. They reviled the eagles, who in those days would snatch newborns from villages, or so the story goes. Finally, after the previous matron died, the witches decided that whoever could reach the top of the mountain without being killed by the birds would become the new matron. In those days, the cavern entrance was hidden behind vines and moss and trees, but my ancestor paid a local man to show her the way. As they stumbled through the caves, safe from the eagles, they became more and more certain that they would died in there, until one day they found the exit. They were so scared in the cave that they didn’t realize they’d fallen in love. Men in a witch coven are forbidden of course, but she was the matron now, and so settled her coven down and formed the village, while she and her husband ruled from atop the mountain. The story goes that the eagles were so impressed that she reached the to that the eagle matriarch bowed to her, and they became friends. And that’s the story of our eagles.†Erer flapped his wings, as though he realized he was being talked about. His brown chest puffed out, head held high, he looked positively regal, though both Corrick and Theodore chuckled at the display. “A fascinating story. Thank you for it, Baron Tilwald. And for doing this.†Theodore was shocked by his own vulnerability. He’d always thought it was weakness, to show such sentimentality, but after the children’s deaths, he needed something to lift his spirits. His shoulders sagging as he walked down the stairs, he just hoped theirs would be the last death because of this curse. Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Milly Quentas, Teldryn Sero (The Good Doctor) Afternoon, Solsthiem, Raven Rock Milly reached into her pockets in an attempt to retrieve a cigarette, but stopped herself. She was with child, and those were very harmful to the body. Instead, she simply adjusted her glasses, and walked into the inn. She had visited blacklight on one occasion, so she knew what Redoran masonry was like, she herself wasn't weak, so the long flight of stairs downward wouldn't be a problem. Still, her care for the second little person in her womb made her nonetheless, wary. The things I do for my bloody husband. . The ship ride to Solsthsiem was....surprisingly not that horrible. It wasn't great to be sure, but it was relatively comfortable. Lorgar's pet wraith had made sure to book her passage on a ship half decent. The crew wasn't polite, but they certainly weren't friendly. Milly, however, like with anyone, always kept her "innocent, shy, girl" mask when interacting with everyone on the ship. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced around the room. The Retching Netch cornerclub was very different from the inns and taverns of Cyrodiil. It was dimly lit by rounded paper lanterns, and besides herself there wasn't a human to speak of. Where in the west, a tavern was a place of noise and excitement, this place seemed rather tame, at least at the moment. The Dunmer bartender was reading something over his counter, and the few patrons whitely kept to themselves. At a table in the corner sat the only figures of note. One was a blue robed elf whose face was mostly concealed beneath a low-hanging hood, and across from him was yet another Dunmer, fully armored in some sort of chitin, and with red Ashlander markings covering half his face. That must be this Teldyrn that Loggie spoke of. Looks like a guy who honed my husband into a dangerous killer. Just to make sure, Milly approached the bartender. Baiting her eye lashes, as well as making herself seem smaller by slightly hunching over, she asked, "Excuse...me?" Her voice was quiet, but not quiet enough that you wouldn't be able to hear her. "Eh?" the elf looked up from whatever note he's been reading from. "Oh, I barely heard you, there. Welcome to the Retching Netch, Outlander! Can I get you anything? Perhaps some of my famous sujamma?" "Does it have Alcohol in it?" The bartender gave her an odd look. "Err, yes. It's my signature drink." She shyly said, "I'm...with child. Do you have any drinks without it?" "I can pour you some milk, I suppose." "That would be fine." She took out her coin purse, "How much?" The bar tender poured her a cup of milk from a wooden jug. "Three septims will do it." She handed the man the gold, "If you wouldn't mind telling me, I'm searching for a man named Teldryn Sero. I was told he spends all his free time here." "Need'n some muscle, eh?" He confirmed her suspicions by nodding to the figures in the corner. "He's the one in the armor." She nodded "He came recommended by my husband." Milly said In a shy tone "Is he that good?" she took a drink from her cup. She never liked milk, but she couldn't deny the nutrient it provided the body. "I've never hired him." admitted the bar tender. "But that Sero's been here for years, and knows the island like a man knows his own home. Solstheim's a dangerous place, Outlander. And anyone who gets that cozy with it's gotta be doin' something right." "What's his standard fair?" Lorgar already told her, but milly couldnt be too careful. Her traveling clothes, while worn, we're of very high quality. So It would be evident money wasn't an issue "He's running higher than he used to, I think. More traffic these days now that the mines are open again." The elf motioned back to the table. "I couldn't tell you for certain. You'll have to ask him yourself." "Open?" Milly remembered reading somewhere that raven rock used to be an imperial mining colony but was abandoned when the mines went dry. She asked, genuinely curious, "You found ebony again?" "Indeed." The dark elf smiled, somewhat proudly. "The mines were thought used up for a good long while, but ebony was struck a few years back, and we haven't had a bad year sense." He paused for a moment. "Well, not like back then, anyway." "Back then?" She asked,taking a sip of her milk,"Must have been hard on you folks when the empire packed up its bags, and when house redoran treated you all like a backwater." Back then as in when the mines were closed." He frowned. "And we are a backwater. But House Redoran and Councilor Morvayn have done right by us anyway." She stopped, before turning around to finish her milk. She left ten gold pieces on the counter as a tip. "Thanks for the drink." Her voice remained the same, but her expression changed slightly. "Oh, any time Outla- M'lady!" Milly could hear surprised Dunmer scooping up the septims as he spoke. She gave him a wink and a sarcastic laugh. As she did, her back straightened out and she looked a biy different, "I'm surprised you couldn't tell I was nobility." "Can't think of too many reasons an Imperial noblewoman would have to come here, if I'm bein' honest." said the bartender. "I have my private reasons." and with that she approached the sword for hire. She made herserlf look small, frightened of the scary man, and stressed out. As Gaius liked calling her, she looked like a mouse. She shyly said to the seated dumner "Excuse me." Whatever conversation the elves were having halted, and they both looked up at her. In the dim room, it was difficult to make out the hooded one's expression, but the sellsword himself seemed rather amused. "Can we help you?" asked the hooded Dunmer. "My...husband said you were an able bodyguard." she said to the tatooed Dumner shyly "I am." he responded. "Teldryn Sero. Best sword on Soltheim," he tipped his head in a slight bow and grinned, "at your service... for a price, of course." She took the letter of introduction from her pack, "Ummm...my husband said he knew you a very long time ago. Ummmmm." she fidgeted around "His name is Lorgar Grim-Maw. Do you remember him?" "Lorgar Grim-Maw..." The elf looked thoughtful. "I've had a lot of employers over the years. Names tend to blend together, but that one rings a bell." Teldryn stroked his trimmed beard for a moment before a look of familiarity crossed his face. "He was the Skaal fellow, correct? The one who wanted sword lessons?" "Yes. I think." She offered him the letter, The letters hand writing was slightly messy but easy to read. Telydrn I have a feeling you remember me. You called me the fastest man alive. You taught me all the finesse required to handle the sword. I'll cut to the chase, standing before you is my wife. The sweet innocent flower with glasses. She's also a noble from Cyrodilli that pays very well. We both know ever since the ebony mine reopened Reaver activity has doubled all over solsthiem. Meaning the island is extremely dangerous to travel around. To add further concern she's with child. I don't want her ending up in A Grahl's stomach. Take extra care of her for me will you? She can give you double your standard fare. PS: be a gentleman and don't do anything stupid like charging her double for my unborn child. Teldryn's look of amusement continued to grow as he looked over the letter. "Did I really call him the fastest man alive? Seems like an odd thing for me to say when there are so many I have yet to meet. Though I do recall that Skaal being a quick one." He glanced at Milly's belly before flashing her a yellow grin. "He also mentions that you can pay double my usual rates." "No one offers to pay extra unless there's something wrong." muttered the hooded Dunmer. "I wager the Outlander's got a bounty on her." "My friend is right." said Teldryn. "I'll never flinch from a bonus, but if you're being hunted, I want to know before any deals are made." She quivered at there stare, shying away. Smart bastards. "Do I look like a criminal...to...you?" "Only a poor criminal looks like one." mused the sellsword. "I'm not looking to turn you in, if that is indeed the case. I only need to know if you're running from someone so I can better deal with them in the event that they catches up." "Plus you're acting like a frightened little girl." the other elf added, bluntly. "Unless you've never seen a Dunmer before, something's gotta be making you all shaky like that." Damn it. This always works on other people. She took a deep breath of air before saying, "My husband leads a mercenary company. I'm a countess. We have plenty of enemies." She said straightening out her back, " I was told my husband has relatives in the skaal village, and that i'm safe there. If it wasn't for my pregnancy, I would be with him. Alas things dont work like that." She added, "So I dont know if anyone is hunting me. The man who helped my disappear is a professional, so I highly doubt anyone followed me." Milly didn't know if it was her sudden change in demeanor, or the news itself, but the revealation definitely managed to surprise both elves. "What in Mephala's name is a countess?" asked the Teldryn's friend. "Sort of like a queen in Cyrodiil." answered the sellsword. He looked at her now with much more interested eyes. "A queen, eh?" the robed Dunmer's brow furrowed. "I'd bet a queen- or a countess could easily pay triple." "Come now, Salver, she has already generously offered double without even asking my price." Teldryn shook his head at his countryman before looking back at her. "So what you want is a trip to the Skaal village. No detours. Correct?" She put her hand up, "Queen is going way too far. I was a member of the upper Aristocrat, yes." She stopped before saying, "I was anyway. Disowned by my father. I stealed my inhertiance before it happened though." She said with a small smile "Yes that's the plan. I researched the local Fauna of the area when I was traveling here, and I know it's basically Skyrim on Skooma. Whever it's the Rieklings, frost trolls, or Grahl's." Lorgar trusted the man's loyalty was to gold alone, she knew the type. So as long as she paid him handsomely, she doubted he would betray her. She opened the palm of her hand, and conjured a brilliant blue flame "I would normally brave the wilderness by myself. But as you can tell by my enlarged stomach, and that letter, I dont have the luxury." "Of course." said Teldryn. "And while I doubt we'll be seeing any Grahl, I will be happy to lend my services against the many other dangers of Solstheim. If you've seen a map, you already know that Skaal Village is a long way. Clear across the island. A trip like that, with the..." he glanced at her stomach again. "special circumstances, will be every bit of fifteen hundred gold. Up front." "One thousand now. Five Hundred when we get there, with my organs, pretty face, and baby all intact." The two Dunmer shared a glance, and then Teldryn nodded. "You've got a deal, provided you agree to only travel by day." "What kinda of boogeymen lurk in the shadows on the island under the pale moon?" She said, with a grin and a joking tone, "The kind that hunts in a pack and tears you to shreds." answered the sellsword without hesitation. "I can protect you from Reiklings and Reavers without a problem. But if a group of werewolves gets the scent of a pretty little outlander, they'll present more trouble than I can guarantee protection from. I can handle them, but I'd prefer not to bet five hundred coins on your chances of surviving such an encounter, so it's got to be all up front, or we only travel by day." "Lycantropes." She asked, "What kind? Werebears? Werewolves? Worse?" "Just the two." he answered. "Werebears are more common up north. But lately I've noticed a lot more of the wolves towards the center of the island. My guess is that they've got a larger pack holed up somewhere." "Why hasn't the Redoran garrasion dealt with that yet?" Unlike most reports, Were beasts were far from extinct in Cyrodilli. The legion and watch has claimed that on several occasions, but reports always surfaced. Even the supposedly extinct Were Lions could still be found, very rarely.Still, if a report of Lycantrope den was reported, the legion, or Countie guard were dispatched immediately. Heck, Milly knew for a fact she was sleeping with one "They've had no reason to." he replied. "There haven't been any attacks on Raven Rock. It's the Reavers who have suffered most. Them and the lot at Thirsk." "Thirsk mead hall?" Milly heard a story about that. Somthing about a rare-sub speciecs of trolls. Was it the Underfyke? The underfuck? Nordic names always confused her, "You mean the one the was destroyed a long time ago? How does a mead hall surive isolated from the rest of Solsthsiem?!" Teldryn shrugged. "They're strong people. You just about have to be if you're living on this rock. You sure have a lot of questions. It will save time if you ask them on the way. Is it your plan to set out this morning, then?" "Fine." she took out a large purse from her pack and handed it to Teldyrn "Count it if you want." "I'll be sure to." the sellsword said as he peeked inside the money pouch. "Later, of course. It has the weight to it, so I'll spare us the wait and take your word that it's all here." "Alright then." She said taking a seat, "When do we leave?" " You're the employer. But I would recommend setting out as soon as possible." "Thats fine with me." she asked "Should we buy supplies first?" Milly herself had all the traveling gear required, but thought they should stock up on food "That is up to you." said the mercenary. He nodded to his friend. "Salver here writes my scrolls for me, and anything else of mine is already set to go." "I have all my gear." she motioned to the large bag she was carrying, "Just need food." "Garyn up top can get you whatever you need when it comes to food. I can stay here and talk price on some scrolls while you go and buy some." Milly waited patiently for the mercenary on the edge of town, slightly tapping her feet as she did. Several minutes passed before Teldryn arrived, now with a tan helmet covering his head and a red cloth, most of his face. As if his jagged foreign armor didn't look strange enough already, he also wore what looked like thick, rounded spectacles over his eyes that complimented his armor to give him the appearance of some sort of humanoid bug. "You look like some kind of massive Charus man." she said her eyes slightly wide open, "Bonemold?" "Not quite." said the sellsword. "This is chitin. Made from the exoskeletons of ash beasts. Bonemold is what the Redoran guard wear, and comes from actual bones." "Ah. What kinda of creature is this ash beast is your armoured carpace is made from?" "Ash hopper. There's a good chance you'll see some as we travel." He motioned toward the path. It wouldn't go on for long, Milly knew. There were roads across Solstheim. "It's a quick walk south around the levees before we can even start on our main route. Roughly an hour or so. Shall we?" "I'm ready." Milly rubbed her swollen stomach "I would hope so." The two of them set off, Teldryn setting pace. The waves to their right crashed against the beach, and beyond them, in the distance, Milly could make out the enormous mountains of Skyrim, far larger now, than they had been when viewed from anywhere she'd been in Cyrodiil. Though grand as they were, Skyrim's peaks could not match Morrowind's Red Mountain in sheer intimidation. The gargantuan volcano dominated the southern horizon, still spewing ash from its mouth as through it had only erupted a year ago. Red mountain's power was not to be contained by earth alone. The very skies over Morrowind were painted an eerie gray. For the first half hour of walking, this was all Milly had to look at. The trail had died off into sand and ash a ways back, and now her only guidance was Teldryn himself. The Dunmer didn't seem to even notice when this had happened. He just trudged on ahead, every now and then commenting on the island's history, or stopping to point out some native plant. By the time they reached the southern edge of the cliffs, the sellsword glanced her way, or at least seemed to. It was hard to tell with his face so hidden. "We can begin moving up here. It was hard to tell, but we've steadily been moving downhill. Now, it's time to switch up. You'll feel this a lot sooner, but I'm assuming you're up for it." "I hiked alot when I lived in Chorrol. I'll be fine" She said, obviously not really effected by the walking. "Good, good. Come on then." He led her uphill, it was steepest at first, but once they'd reached the top of this 'dune' the ground leveled out. "See those towers way off to the south and east?" Teldryn asked. "Over by the water? It's not as easy as it once was. Time has seen Fort Frostmoth buried deeper and deeper in the ashes. It was once your Imperial Legion's main settlement here." "The garrison was led by a General Falx Carius, correct?" she said, glancing around at the achingly beuitiful scenery. She studied extensively the islands history on the ship "It sounds like you'd know better than I." answered the sellsword before continuing on northeast. "How long have you lived on the island?" The witch asked "Eh? Oh, for many years, Outlander. Soltheim has been my home since before the Great War. And no one knows it better." "Were do you hail from?" "I am originally from the mainland. The grand city of Blacklight. Don't let the talk you may hear back home fool you. Your western folk can keep the white towers and mountain cities. There's not a place in Tamriel that can rival the splendor of Blacklight." "Oh I know that. I've visited Blacklight once before. Quite a long time ago though, I was only a girl at the time." She continued to follow the Dumner, glancing around her surroundings. She had let her golden hair down, thinking it was futile to try and keep her hair organised on a hike, "Though i'll always prefer the tranquil green forests of Chorrol over any city." "Never been there." the sellsword said plainly. "Even been to Cyrodilli at all?" She asked. The ashen wastes were like nothing she had ever seen, it was majestic, in its own odd way. "Oh yes. I have lots of clients who've hired me here, only to decide that my services would be useful elsewhere. Last time I was I'm Cyrodiil was... two years ago? Some mage who'd met me years back was putting together a band to clear out some Ayleid ruin for him. Or, re-clear, rather. The place had been inhabited by bandits and gods know what else in the last few centuries." "Ayleid ruin eh? I imagine you ran into quite a few undead monstrosities, and whatever defenses the elves left." Milly had the misfortune of experiencing the nightmare of one of those crypts when she was younger. Luckily her mother had gotten her out. "There were undead, but it wasn't us they threatened. Our mage employer was actually a necromancer. It's no good to try and discern my more mysterious customers' motives, but I'd wager we'd just cleared that one a new hiding place of his own." "I bet he's dead by now. Killed by a group of adventurers." She paused, before changing the topic. She was genuinely interested in the subject, "So do you remember my husband much?" "I remember him better than most people from that far back. He was a talkative fellow. Asked a lot of questions. Though most Skaal seem to get that way when they spend much time away from their own. What stood out most though was his speed. I like to think I helped him out a good deal in technique, but there was little I could do for him in regards to quickness. He was already faster than most men alive." "Did he have a missing eye that far back?" "Not that I recall." answered the Dunmer. "Though I can't profess to remembering his appearance all too well. It has been a good number of years, and I was more interested in the man's gold and skill with a blade than the rest." Milly knew not when Lorgar got his red eye, and it seem she wouldn't find out. She let out a sigh, before contuining her inquiry, "Was he always as good as he is with the sword?" "The only people who are always at the same level are the ones who have no skill at all. No, your husband was an okay swordsman when we first met. He was quick and strong, but only knew as much as one could when they grew up a Skaal. I like to think our sessions improved his technique a great deal. But if he's been going strong all these years since, I'd imagine your husband has only improved since then. If time hasn't slowed him, he's probably far better than he was back then." She continued walking down the road. Normally, she wouldn't tire out for a good while, but due to her burden, she would have to pace herself carefully. She glanced at the bright sun, thinking to herself. She didn't think her husband abondaned her, but she would rather him be here with her right now. Regardless, she continued to follow the Dumner sellsword. Checking the shortblade she carried on her belt, she made sure to prepare herself is somthing happened. Milly was quite the swordsmen, no where near the level of her husband, but at least as skilled as your average bandit. Magic, especially her skill in destruction, would be her main weapon on the journey. She glanced back at Teldryn "I hear the Skaal are very peaceful, but still are mighty warriors and hunters, as much, or greater then there kin from Skyrim and the Imperial countie of Bruma. Or so my husband say's. Is that true?" "Oh yes. If you threaten them, they can be as dangerous as can be expected from any Nordic people. What the Skaalic warriors lack in proper training, they make up for in ferocity in combat and equipment. Their armor is strong, and they wield powerful weapons made of Stalhrim. It is no wonder they have successfully protected their people for as long as anyone can remember. And their hunters are among the best trackers north of Valenwood." She recalled reading an old third era book, detailing many raids on Fort Frostmouthe from Skaalish raiders, written by it's Garrison commander, General Falx Carius . Lorgar had told her the day after, that the Skaal tribe was very easygoing, and generally, extremely hospitable to outsiders. In fact, Lorgar had told Milly was originally an exile from the Skaal tribe, before later being accepted back when he was in his adult hood. He seemed...wary of talking about the reason for it, but she could guess. Regardless, he told her Frea would treat her like her own blood, especially since she was carrying her cousin. Milly asked, "Hmmmm, no kidding. I read a book once, detailing various raids from skaalish warriors against the imperial Garrison in Fort Frostmouth. So they weren't always this peaceful?" "I don't know what outlander book you read, but I'd take it with a grain of salt. If the Skaal were ever a violent people, it was long before either of us were around to see it. I've never heard anything about them attacking Fort Frostmoth back when it was still a fort. But if they did, I'm sure it only would've been if they felt threatened." "You've been among them?" "The Skaal? Yes, I've been among them. There's not a lot of places on the island I haven't been at some point or another, and Skaal Village is safer than most of them." "Sorry if i'm annoying you with all these questions." She gave him a slight smile, "Just want to know as much as the island as I can." "Better that you ask your fill now than in deeper Reaver territory." answered the sellsword. "And speaking of pests... Come see this." The Dunmer slid his sword from its sheath and turned from the direction they'd been traveling. He crept to a short ash dune that, as Milly looked more closely, seemed to have an ever-so-slightly discolored patch of ash in it. When Teldryn was right above the slightly lighter spot, the ash began to shift on its own accord, and the shape of a head rose from it. It didn't get far before the sellsword's blade sunk into it, and it collapsed back into its pile of ash. "That, was an ash spawn." he said, before plunging a gauntlet down into the pile. "You can't hardly cross this island without encountering some of the N'wahs. It's best to bring them down before they can rise." His hand came out of the ash, and it was holding some sort of dark, rounded stone. The center of it pulsed with some sort of red energy. He tossed it to Milly. "And this is his heartstone. Keep it. It'll make a nice souvenir." She glanced at the object that she caught with her right hand. She could feel a faint pulse of energy coming from the small rock like object "Hmmm it feels....strange. This isn't just a simple mineral is it?" "No." Teldryn answered. "These came from Red Mountain. Whatever material they're made of, it holds power." She asked, "When did these ash spawn appear?" Milly started to scratch her golden head, very curious,"Was it when red mountain erupted?" "Yes indeed. They've been a constant pest here for the better part of this era." "How dangerous are they?" She got up from her crouching position, and went back in in line with Sero, "I'm sure the constant Reaver attacks are more of a trouble then some ash beast." "Reavers are easier to spot, and their attacks are a good deal more predictable." said the sellsword. "Though on the best of treks, we would avoid both." "I heard that there much more prepared, well-equipped, and more importantly, dangerous then your average bandit on the mainland." "That is often the case. Reavers tend to be more successful than the groups and clans on the mainland. Rougher conditions breed more dangerous outlaws." "Can we handle them if a group attacks?" "Depends on the group." Teldryn admitted. "Don't worry, Countess. I've been doing this for a long time. Could count on one hand the number of times I've lost an employer to Reavers." "Bad experiences with bandits, just has me a little on edge." She kept pace with the dumner, "Lorgar told me about annoying little creatures called Rieklings. Will those be a threat?" "If we are lucky, no. More often than not, the trek to Skaal Village does not bring me across paths with them. But the little bastards do hunt the regions we'll be passing through, so it is possible. Don't worry, I can handle them, just like the ash spawn." "Normally, I wouldn't." She started to rub her swollen belly, "Ive got somone else to worry about now though." "Fair enough." Teldryn said, nodding his odd, bug-like helmet. As it turned out, it wouldn't be Reavers or ash spawn that would create obstacle for them as they made their way through the vast ashen wastes of southern Solstheim. Three hours of walking -some parts in silence, some parts not- later, Teldryn very unexpectedly stopped, and then shoved Milly behind him as a small white creature with many legs seemingly leapt out from behind a dead, fallen tree at them. He sent a spout of flames from his left hand and drew his sword with the right. The albino spider's legs withered and curled on the ground as it burned, but dozens of little red eyes accompanied the bodies of five more when they crawled over the log. Three where the same milky white as the first, but another two were a sticky pale green. "Back up." the sellsword commanded. "Give us some room." Milly obeyed his command, drawing her shortblade, and conjuring a small blue flame with her freehand. She made sure to take cover behind the Dumner, at a good safe distance. It was good that she did, as not but moments later, the spiders sprang. Teldryn cut one down in midair, while blasting another with a jet of flames. The green ones and another white still remained, and one of the green ones had already moved past him in Milly's direction. While Teldryn took on the other two, this one moved with startling speed in her direction. The light green blob of legs and fangs was difficult to follow clearly, but it finally stopped just feet in front of her. Its fangs clicked once, and it made a hissing noise, and then the spider leapt at her. As the spider lept in midair, Milly impaled it on her short blade. Years with training with her brother had given her good aim. As the blade entered into the arachnoid, she let go of her shortsword, took a step back and let loose a torrent of blue flame on its downed body. By the time the green spider's insides were good and melted, Teldryn's own challengers were already equally deceased. She saw that the sellsword had another spell readied when he turned to face her. His head cocked a bit, and he extinguished the flame in his hand. "I have to admit, I had my doubts." he said. "It's good to know you aren't an employer that needs me for everything." "Was it the expensive clothing, great beauty, or swollen stomach?" She said with a sly grin and snarky tone of voice, "The stomach, mostly." Sero replied, wiping the spider slime off of his sword with a rag. "Are these...overgrown spiders common around here?" She crouched to the ground, and retrieved her shortblade. "More common underground. In caves and such. Finding them outdoors is actually quite rare." Milly wiped the blood off her blade with a hankerchief from her pocket, glancing around, "Alot of giant insects around this island?" "No." answered the sellsword. "Unless you count ash hoppers. Mainland Morrowind has all sorts of them, but I guess they don't like the cold up here." She turned around to face the Dumner, motioning for him using her left hand to continue on with the journey, "Too many alpha predators I take it as well. "Definitely more than a few." Despite the talk of Solstheim's many dangers, the next few hours were largely uneventful, and they were still trudging through the ashes when the eastern sky reddened. Before long after that, Teldryn called them to a halt. They laid camp at the center of an old rock formation that he knew of, and Teldryn took the first watch while Milly went into a long, dreamless sleep. The next morning was an early one. The winds had picked up overnight, and thick clouds of ash were coming down on them even in their encampment. "Those are eastern winds." the sellsword told her. "That's good fortune. And by good fortune, I mean that nothing ahead of us is like to sniff us out." Good fortune or not, the blowing ash was enough for Milly to pull up her hood to protect her face from the enslaught of gray particles. Teldryn also gave her a red cover similar to his so she could properly breath. "Lots of outlanders aren't used to the ash." he said. "Some fools even die from inhaling too much of it in storms." They continued on. Hours passed, and the heavy winds and thick clouds of ash finally died down, revealing to Milly an unexpectedly close view of the mountains that covered the northern half of the island. Pine trees dotted the landscape just a mile ahead, and when the thickness in the air caused by the ash subsided, it quickly turned cold. By the time they reached the trees, the ash was gone, replaced by grass and spots of snow. "We will be at Thirsk Meadhall by this evening." Teldryn informed her, as her eyes left a tree with deer scrapings on it. "If we stop there for the night, we can sleep comfortably and still make it to the Skaal Village in good time tomorrow. Or we can push on today and try to make it all the way by nightfall. I would suggest the former, as that last leg will be a tough march and faster than we've been moving, if we're to make it in time. But it's your decision." "I'll take your advice. The air doesn't feel right around this part of the island." Milly said, occasionally glancing behind her shoulder, she had her right hand to her shortblade, with her left up in case she needed to conjure a spell. "It beats the ash. And Thirsk will provide us the best shelter outside of Ravenrock." "So this meadhalll....typical nordic establishment filled with drunker debauchery?" "Better." answered the sellsword. "The mead is the best on the island, but the Nords of Thirsk are hunters above all. Before a recent setback involving Reiklings, the hall boasted many great trophies. Fortunately for us, they still have the mead." "Rieklings? Those annoying little blue snow-goblins?" Milly hid under her hood from the howling wind, which stirred the dark trees, as if they had awakened from some evil slumber. This forest was very different from the ones in Cyrodili, it had a certain...forbearance to it. "That's a fair summary." said Teldryn, looking back at her with what could've been concern or complete indifference thanks to his covered face. "They got pretty thick in this area a few years back. But ever since the Nords took to hunting them, they've grown to avoid it." "That seems rather...extreme."Milly went closer to the Dumner, making sure she was fully aware of her surroundings, " The nords going out of there way to hunt them. Are they intelligent?" "Define intelligent." Teldryn chuckled. "They're not animals, that's for sure. But they're no Dwemer either. And Reiklings can be violent little buggers even on a good day." "They sound cute." She said in a deadpan tone, "Cute, like your little brother drooling all over your dress and biting your leg." Milly took in her surroundings, gazing with awe at the dead snow-filled forest. While she had visited some very, unusual and extreme places in her life, this took it too a new level. The land itself cried out in agony, filled with dead vegetations and, stalking in the night, hulking abominations of the old world. It was...exciting to say the least. Asking another question, Milly said, "Sero, out of all the horrors, Solthsiem has to offer, which one would you least want to encounter?" "I've encountered them all, by now. My answer's the same here as it'd be in Skyrim. Dragons. But since there hasn't been one of those sighted here in several years, odds are they aren't around anymore." The sellsword continued on in silence for several seconds more before speaking again. "Lacking that, I suppose it's the werecreatures I mentioned before. Nasty beasts, no matter what the type." "From what I read about the native culture, Werecreatures are a blight on the Skaal. Twisted reflections of the All-Makers creatures. " She glanced at the spooky tree's, "Isn't it ironic the bloody island is infested with them?" "Maybe. I've never had the best grasp on irony, myself. From what I've seen in my travels, it seems like someone hates something, they're almost destined to live close to it. Otherwise there isn't much cause to hate it in the first place. "Not all Lycantropes are mindless savages, though. I assume all of them here have long passed the point of no return?" "Blazes if I know." Teldryn answered. "The only ones I've spent any time with are the ones attacking me." Hah. That's irony right there. Giving the Dumner a playful smile, Milly hunched her back, and pointed her hands at the Sellsword, "Maybe you met a Lycatrope, but you never knew what they were. They can be anywhere. Anyone!!!" "Maybe." He glanced her way for a moment, his eyes impossible to see behind the thick lenses that covered them, and then picked up his pace. "We aren't like to see them here." he said as they passed over a small hill. He stopped to point at a small light about a mile in the distant. "Smart creatures are wise to avoid Thirsk." "Let me guess, any that dare approach are turned into living pincushions?" "Living? No. But anything that will make for a good trophy is subject to being hunted if sighted. And these last few years, the mead hall has really gone back to its roots when it comes to strength. There are few beasts they won't track if they can brag about it later. They're a fun lot." "Eh, I take that as good drinking buddies." Surprisingly enough, despite the large lengths they had traveled, Milly didn't look worn. Tired, yes, but nothing suggesting she was pregnant. Years of living in the Great Forest has made the Witch physically fit, and a hike was nothing to her. "I used to visit Bruma when I wasn't practically an exile. The nords there were fun to drink with, a little rough though." "That much, we can agree on." They continued to lightly converse for the next half hour, until the lights of Thirsk had grown close, and the details of the large mead hall were clear. Milly saw hundreds of short, fat spears lining the perimeter in a makeshift fence, all decorated in various primitive tribal decor and planted deep in the snow. "One for every slain Reikling." Teldryn said. "In memory of the time that they lost everything to the creatures, and a reminder of how to deal with prey that turns foe. The fence is always growing." Disgust grew inside the girl, "This is...barbaric. Like some sort of mass-genocide!!! She said, in barely a whisper. She didn't want to offend her soon to be hosts, but still voiced her opinion, "How many bloody Rieklings are they going to exterminate>?!" "I wouldn't voice that opinion inside." whispered the sellsword as they drew towards the door, and the sound of muffled voices raised in song could grew clear. "Whatever you think of it, the Reiklings did a number on them, and now that Thirsk is strong again, they see little reason to give them a chance to do so again." "Dully noted." She muttered under her breath, approaching the meadhall's wooden door, she stopped by the entrance, smiling playfully at Teldyrn, "I believe it's customary for a gentleman to open the door for a young lady." "You Cyrodiilics are a strange people." Teldryn said, pushing through the door, hitting Milly with simultaneous waves of warmth and delicious smells. Several Nords looked up, and a few nodded and waved them in. As they entered, a tall brown-bearded man with long matching hair approached, one hand one his sword hilt and the other wrapped around a mug of mead. "Well met, traveler." he loudly said, smiling and nodding. "Sero." he briefly glancing at Teldryn before reverting his attention back to Milly. "Unmir." Teldryn said, easing his way into the room. Milly immediately reverted to her usual, "Shy-Girl" persona, Nords tended to despise weakness but, at least in her experience, were much more caring and defensive around adorable defenseless maidens. Milly, despite being 37, looked much younger due to sisters excellent skill in alchemy, which did wonders to the skin. Speaking how she did before , but adding more force and strength, but keeping her "shyish-cutsy tone", Milly said, "Greetings." She didn't cutsy, but gave a friendly bow of her head, "You are?" "I am Unmir Boar-Rider." the Nord proclaimed loudly and proudly. He spoke as if she were across the room. "I'm the Chieftain here. And what should I call you, Outlander?" Millinerus Quentas, i'm from Cyrodili." She asked, her face becoming slightly withdrawn, "Ummm, i'm quite sorry to trouble you, but may I have a seat?" She gave a weak smile, "Me and Telydrn here have been traveling quite a bit. Normally, i'm all for a good hike in the woods, but i'm currently with child, and it takes a toll on my stamina." "Of course! Of course! A seat and a drink, if the cub will allow it." Unmir left them as he headed for the great hearth that extended across the center of the room. Above it hung the bones of a massive cliffracer. "Don't bring it up to him, but Unmir's an Outlander himself." Teldryn whispered as they followed. "I remember when he got off the boat. It's only been four years." "He seems to have done well for himself among this small group of hunters" Milly whispered back. She glanced at the monstrous creature over the fireplace, her eyes filled with shock, "A cliffracer...dear Arkay, I thought they were extinct?!' "That one isn't going to prove you wrong." he answered, taking a seat by the fire and removing his helmet and face wear. "We're only here for the night, Unmir. You got any of that Ashfire mead?" "For you?" The Nord frowned. "Sorry merc, but the stores are low until someone goes to town. You can have a Black-Briar." "Fine fine, just give me something to warm up with. The fair lady too, if you don't mind." Unmid disappeared into the back room and another Nord approached Milly from the side with a corked bottle in her hand. "Here." she said, handing it over. The label read "Ashfire". "Unmir's stingy with the stuff, but we got plenty. Congratulations on the little cub. It ain't easy trekking this island with a child in the belly. I should know, done it twice now." "Thank you." Milly accepted the bottle graciously, smiling. She was a noble lady at heart, and still acted as courteous as possible, especially when she was a guest. Asking in a polite way, she said. "It's not really that notewothy though, I had Teldyrn to help me. I'm used to long hikes as well." Still smiling, she asked the nordic woman, "Two you say? "That's right." said the huntress. She somewhat young to have pulled off such a stunt, but it was clear from the shape of her furs that the woman was built strong. "First time was from Skaal Village to Raven Rock. I wanted to birth her in Skyrim, see. The second was the opposite, came here from port with one inside me and the other at my heel. They're outside now. The younger has seen four winters, the older, six. She's already killed her first Reikling. Makes her mamma proud, that one." Milly was a fantastic liar, but she was better at telling partial truths, "Well, my husband is from Skaal village, and he wanted him or her raised in a peaceful environment. Dark times are brewing, me and him thought it best the child be raised in the relative isolation of Solsthsiem. It helps that he has a few close relatives there as well." "Fair enough. I find little enough of that tends to find its way to their lot." The huntress raised her own mug to her lips and took a long drink. When she was done, she wiped the foam from her mouth and smiled. "Oh, come on!" Unmir stood before them with two bottles of Black-Briar mead in his mug-free hand. "It's fine," said Teldryn, taking the bottles from him. "I'll just take them both." He reached into his pouch and pulled out a few coins that gleamed in the firelight. "Here." Unmir laughed and slapped the Dunmer's hand down. "Ahh, The day I make cold and weary guests pay for a drink is the day I step down as Chieftain to be a barmaid." Teldryn nodded and pocketed the coins. He flashed Milly a sly grin as he turned back to her. He'd known what Unmir's answer would be when he'd made the offer. "So when did you bag this beast?" he asked, nodding up at the cliffracer. "My employer was curious about it, and I as well had thought their kind extinct." "Hehe, between you two and me, they probably are." boomed Unmir. "We found the bones under some garbage in a chest a few months back. Don't know why it'd been taken down." He looked at Milly. "Though if you're interested in game, you might like this." He pointed at a very large set of gray scales on the wall. There was enough there that they could've covered a full-grown bear. "This one's mine, and by my beard, that there belonged to a slaughterfish. Biggest one anyone's ever seen, I'd wager." the Chief said, grinning like a child showing off his best toy. "Benethic-Coelacanthic, otherwise known as Giant Slaughtfish." She said, not condescending, but in a cheerful and vibrant voice, "I've seen a handful myself." The Nord looked at her with something between shock and disbelief. "Well then, it's... surely it's unheard of for your Bene- Benecocanics to roam the Sea of Ghosts. The beast gave fight, that is for certain." He paused, looking more than a little disheartened by this conversation, then nodded and spoke for the first time at a normal volume. "You, uh, you enjoy the mead." Unmir turned and headed for the back room, grumbling something about 'Outlanders' and 'his best drink'. "I think you wounded his pride." Teldryn said with a half-smirk. "He'll get over it." said the huntress. "Unmir liked that fish. But he's a good hunter. I'll wager there's something new in its place by month's end." Milly appeared genuinely saddened, when she asked the huntress, "Oh my. Did I offend him?" "Offend? Nah. You meant nothin' by it. The big man's just upset that his prize kill ain't worth much like he thought it was. Like I said, he'll be over it by morning. So those Benewhatsits, you say you've got lots of 'em where you're from? Where's that, Cyrodiil?" "Benethic-Coelacanthic" She said, melodically giggling at her cute mispronunciation. If she wasn't married, Milly might have attempted to lightly flirt with both hunters, have a contest with her sister. Alas, those days were done. "No, there actually quite exotic, the most vile and dangerous sea creatures live in the Sea of Ghosts, and the Rivers of Valenwood." She paused before saying, "Though Benethic's are considerable less dangerous then some other aquatic life I know about. One of my cousins loved collecting rare animals , kept them in her lab. And yes Cyrodili, Chorrorl to be exact." "I've never been south of Skyrim." admitted the Nord. "Cyrodiil has always sounded too warm for my liking. The cold hardens you. It'll be good for your little one." "I'm sure." Her curiosity was piqued, "If you wouldn't mind me asking, you say your from Skyrim? Why did you move to Solsthiem?" The huntress shrugged. "Why not? I like it here. Things are a lot simpler when you don't have to contend with jarls or kings. I hunt, fight, pray, and live. And I do it for me. What more could one ask for?" "Refreshingly simple." She took a small sip from her bottle of mead, "Ask around and you'll hear a lot of that." Teldryn said as he stood up and stretched. "This lot likes to make it very clear that they're better for their simplicity." "Maybe we are." The huntress responded with a dry smirk. The sellsword just shrugged. "Maybe. But you'd have a hard time convincing most. Personally, I prefer coin and worldly pleasures over 'honor' and 'glory'. They're more tangible." He looked at Milly. "Tomorrow won't be as long, but the path isn't an easy one. I'm going to get some rest. I suggest you do the same." He turned and left for the back room. She glanced at the Dumner's, deciding herself and her child needed rest soon. Soon. Milly asked the Huntress, "Do you know much about Teldyrn?" "Well you know he's a sellsword. Stops here every now and again. He likes gold and mead, and he's got a witty tongue. Couldn't tell you much else." "Ah." Milly finished her drink, afterwords thanking the Nordic huntress, and followed Teldyrn, leaving the main hall. Milly, found a comfortable spot, a small bed with a fur blanket. It certainly wasn't as comfortable as her grand matress in her mansion back in Chorrol, but it was better then sleeping on the ground. Laying down, Milly closed her eyes and let the comfort of night take her, ******** Milly turned to face Thirsk Meadhall, waving her hand at the nords who had stepped out to see them leave, she energetically shouted, "Thanks for your hospitality!!!" Some man she'd never spoken to grumbled something and went back inside. The huntress from the previous night nodded to them and followed, responding to him about whatever he'd said as she closed the door behind them. Teldryn, his face covered again, called out to her. "You coming? It won't be near so far this time." She followed the Dumner, quickly getting beside him, "Well, it's still the last stretch, next stop, Skaal village" Milly said energetically, "How far is it exactly?" "Exactly? No idea. The terrain will slow us more than the distance. There is no easy path to reach the village from here." Milly stopped for a second, gently feeling her stomach. She took a deep breath of air, laughing, "Wow...that was a hard kick." "Little one's anxious to get to the village." The sellsword answered. He took a few more steps, but then turned back to look at her. "Are you good to move on? We won't get another comfortable stop the rest of the way." She took a breath of fresh air, "I'll be fine. Just give me a second to catch my breath." "Alright. Take your time. You're the one paying." Milly didn't take long. After a brief respite, the pair of them set out again. Teldryn hadn't lied. The path they followed quickly proved to be far more treacherous than the day before. Twice, she caught herself before slipping on black ice hidden within the snow and atop the rock. Falling here would be deadly. The slopes they trekked fell steeply on the right side, and the rocks were unforgivably jagged all the way to the distant bottom. They came upon a cold mountain stream at one point, which they had to ford. Thankfully, she and Teldryn were both capable of conjuring up heat spells to warm them dry. He said that barring any complications, that would be the last break they take. A half hour after the stream, Teldryn stopped her and pointed out to the east. Seven thin smokestacks were visible in the distance. "There's your village." "Looks very quiant. A small little abode." She said with a small smile. Milly didn't need the comforts that the nobility in Cyrodili enjoyed. Half of her childhood was spent in the forest after all. "Shall we make contact?" "That's the plan." He led her on down the zig-zagging mountain trail, lower and lower, until the trees grew thick enough around them that the smokestacks became hidden behind a thousand layers of pine needles. "So, just wondering before we meet with them." She paused, before asking, avoiding a stray wooden branch, "My husband is far more composed and...." she struggled for the right words, "less hot blooded then a majority of nords i've met. I assume that's a skaal cultural trait, at least compared to there Skyrim cousins?" "Depends on the Nord." Teldryn answered. "In general, yeah, the Skaal culture isn't so warrior-centric the way Skyrim's is. But they've had their share of hot-heads as well. I'm sure you meet one or two eventually." They walked a good hour before reaching the edge of the village. The "village" was actually more like a small sized town, as Milly could see dozens of huts, as well as some smaller wooden buildings dotting around it. It had a certain...charm to it. Very refreshing compared to the endless stone streets of the Imperial City. One large Skaalic man, who wore thick pelts and a wide hood spared them a glance as he walked past. Another followed him carrying a good sized doe on his shoulders. "I'll be here until tomorrow." Teldryn said, leading her past them and to the center of town, where more of the locals stole curious looks at them before resuming whatever work they were in the middle of. "You do what you need to and I'll come for the other half of my payment at dusk." "Aright." Milly sparred her goodbye for then, as she turned around to follow the rather large nord. Acting shy wouldn't do her any good, so she spoke in clear, stern, yet friendly tone of voice. She called behind me, "Sir in the hood, pardon me!!!" "Hm?" said the big man as he turned. Under the hood, she saw that he was missing his left eye, with a dark, uncovered empty socket in place of the right. "Excuse me, If you would be so kind to point me out to a certain..." She took out the letter Lorgar gave her, and read out loud the name to the best of her ability, though shes sure she mispronounced it, "Frea Typhon-Fury" The Skaal scratched his thick, scruffy beard. "Don't know anything about 'Typhon-Fury'," he rumbled in the most gravely voice Milly had ever heard. "but Frea's our shaman. You should try her hut, over by the Greathall." Milly looked over to see a very large, wooden hall. It was similar to the architecture in Bruma, though there were clear differences. The hut, the man was referring to appeared to be larger then the ones aducaent to it, and was slighty more decorative, being covered in some animal furs, and other clutter. She gave a nod her of head, and a brief "Thank you.", as the imperial woman headed towards it. Quickly heading to the door, she cleared her throat, remembered her social graces (as was prudent when meeting in-laws), and knocked on the door, saying in a moderately loud voice, "Excuse me?" At first there was no answer, but as she prepared to knock again, the door opened, letting out a multitude of sweat and foreign aromas. The woman who stood in the doorway looked more a warrior than a shaman. She stood almost as tall as the one-eyed man who'd pointed her here, and her shoulders were almost as broad, though the thick furs may have added to that. Despite the imposing frame, she had comely face, and smiled like a friend. "What brings you, Outsider?" The resemblance she shared with her cousin was...uncanny. Very uncanny. While not possessing her husbands more...unique traits, and having light blonde hair instead of snow white, they definitely had more then a passing resemblance. Assuming, this was Frea of course. Not that Milly doubted it after seeing the similarities she shared with Lorgar, Milly decided to make sure. The countess spoke in the way she did to the bar tender earlier, and with Telydrn when they first meet, though she was a good deal more loud, "Excuse me, Miss, are you Frea?" "I am." responded the Skaal. She squinted against the sunlight as she studied Milly. "We have not met." She gave a low melodic laugh, "No we haven't." Going into her pack, she took out a seal envelope, and handed it to the skaal, giving her an akward smile, and said shyly "I really dont know how to tell you this, it's better if you read this." She offered the letter to the skaal. To my dear cousin, It's been quite awhile since my last letter, Frea. I'm sorry, i've been very busy of late. You know how things are with me. How's are you doing? Is the old man doing alright? Now back to the topic on hand, the young lady presenting you with this lletter (I swear to you, she's only fifteen years younger then me. If you want you can ask her why she looks like she's in her mid twenties. This is going to come off somewhat as a shock to you. She's my wife. (I would have invited you and Storn to the wedding, but yeah....) And surprise, she's pregnant. She's also a countess. But don't worry, she's far tougher then she looks. I know she'll grow to love Solsthsiem. I'm sure you aren't aware of this, but things are going to hell on the mainland. The second Great War is about to erupt, and as one of the Empire's most skilled special operative, i'm expected to play my part. I'm already knee deep in Wetwork, and Black Ops shit. Frea...the things i'm doing out of duty...are unforgivable, and I wont whisper them to darken your day. I dont want her involved in the slightest. Take care of her for me. Take care of the both of them. I know you'll treat them like your own family, and love them like family. Frea. And the village will accept them, as they accepted me, a thing forsaken by the All-Maker. Out of everyone I know on Tamriel, I trust you and Storn the most. I've told her i'll return to get her in a few months, after's she's given birth, and this shit is done on the mainland. But...I don't know anymore. Hircine's curse I...I think it's consuming me. The Bloodlust has gotten worse. I have dark nightmares every night. My sleep is haunted by the dead. You, your father, and Wulf always did tell me the path I walked would eventually consume me. Hehe. I think i'm getting closer every day now. When your surrounded by constant death, you always loose something on the inside. I think...I may just leave the both of them with you. It would be better for them to stay far away from me. But...I love her too much. I'm very undecided on the matter. At the least, you'l receive word from my second on my decision. Thank you Frea. Send my love to dear uncle for me. Sincerely and with love, Colonel Lorgar Grim-Maw Frea's eyes poured over the letter as she read it, and Milly could see the sadness creeping in the farther she got, until she blinked and folded the paper in her hands. "All-Maker preserve him." she muttered, before focusing back on Milly. "Lorgar was as a brother. It pains me to read what has become of him. And I know it must be hard for you as well. Please, come inside. For the sake of the past, Lorgar's wife and child are welcome here." Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Tacitus Meridius Imperial City Evening Tacitus left the palace in a huff, as he did most days. Today he’d learned that the Elder Council was maneuvering to add in a second Vice Admiral, under the guise of alleviating some of Tacitus’ duties. It was an obvious ploy from the Nibenese, and Tacitus knew they were just trying to undermine his authority after his war hawking comments about the Bretons. The Colovians and Vice Admiral Palenix, though still sniveling politicians, were blocking the measure. Tacitus knew it was only because, for the first time in recent memory, there was no Nibenese high admiral or vice admiral, and the Colovians wanted to keep it that way. To Tacitus, all of the petty bickering represented what was wrong with the Empire. It had ceased being a country of action, ever since the defeat in Skyrim. Now they tried to play nice, make friends, while the other provinces took advantage. And now the Bretons, of all people, walk right over us. Tacitus thought. Tacitus walked back to his apartment, his mood dour, face stern. On top of the continued political machinations of the Elder Council, the event with Elara still weighed on his mind. He remembered her not showing up in the palace for days when he sought to apologize, which he still hadn’t. Dual pits formed in his stomach, so much so he almost completely blocked out the bustle of the Imperial City around him. It was only after walking a few feet past a familiar tanned woman that he realized what was happening. He froze in place, realizing his palm was cold and clammy, his heart beating more rapidly than he could ever remember. And when she said his name, his throat dried up and he couldn’t utter a word. “Tacitus…how’ve you been?†Silana asked. Still facing away from her, Tacitus swallowed and said, “Good. Wh-what’re you doing here?†She grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. He kissed her, or she kissed him, he couldn’t really remember. Euphoria took over, and they stayed in Tacitus’ apartment together the rest of the day. Talking, making love, but mostly getting to know one another, something they hadn’t time for back in Anvil. Tacitus never remembered to ask her why she was here, and didn’t care. He was happy, forgetting everything about the Elder Council and Elara, even forgoing showing up at the palace the next day. Lying beside Silana, Tacitus stroked her hair with his right hand. “I wish we could live like this forever.†Silana inhaled deeply, eyes closed as she enjoyed the serenity of the moment. “I do too. But I’m afraid the Oculatus will come busting down the door if you stay here much longer.†Tacitus couldn’t help but smile when she smiled. It was as if her emotions were his, as if their souls were intertwined. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this, not even with Adrianne. He was in love he realized, and right now, that was the only emotion he felt, as if it had completely destroyed every ounce of anger or hate in him. “You’re right. But tonight,†he pulled her chin up, so that their eyes met, and he kissed her once, softly. “Tonight, we’ll feast like fat nobles. How does the Tiber Septim Hotel sound to you?†Silana grinned, the bolted out of bed, sauntering her way to her two bags, both still packed. Reaching in one, she pulled out a revealing, curve hugging blue dress, which she held in front of her naked form. “How does this dress look to you?†Tacitus stirred beneath the blankets, but he knew there would be time for that after dinner, and, he prayed, for the rest of their lives. The thought of spending his days with Silana didn’t shock him in the slightest, and only made his goofy, crooked grin bigger. Several minutes later, after both had cleaned up, they departed into the dusky Cyrodiilic evening. Tacitus wore his dress uniform, a dark blue coat that hung down to the back of his thighs. Beneath it, a white shirt, though the golden buttons on the jacket kept that from sight. Rounding it out was black pants and knee high black boots, with his sabre on the left side. His left arm bore the golden fist, and he looked nearly regal, with his graying blonde beard now trimmed and his head freshly shaved. Silana wore the sapphire colored dress, sumptuously low cut, her brown hair curly and tumbling over her left shoulder. As they walked arm in arm, they both drew curious looks and flattering gazes. It was a pleasantly cool night, and the city was bustling as usual, though the crowds seemed to part for the High Admiral and his love. They didn’t notice the man following them, nor that he waited outside the hotel and followed them back when they finished dinner. It was late by then, and the streets cleared enough that Tacitus finally noticed something was wrong. Turning around, he spotted the dark haired Colovian skulking in an alleyway, his face hidden by shadows but his eyes glancing sideways to watch the couple. He stopped, causing a confused look on Silana’s face. “What’s the matter?†she asked. “That man. I think he’s following us,†Tacitus said. The man, realizing he’d been spotted, started walking away, until Silana said, “Lurio?†That stopped him in his tracks, and he slowly turned to face the couple. Silana covered her mouth with her hand, and said, “By the gods, it is you. Lurio, what’re you doing here?†The man had shoulder length black hair, and dark eyes, which were sunk back in his pale face. A scar ran from one ear to his chin, and he blinked far too often. “You can here, Silana. I had to follow you. Why don’t we go back? We belong in Anvil.†Silana shook her head, as Tacitus’ rage began boiling back up. How dare he think he can take her away, he’ll never take her away. “Lurio, I’m here for good. I’m not going back, okay? There are other girls at Maid’s that I’m sure you’ll love.†Tacitus’ teeth ground, his good hand forming a fist. Veins bulged on his neck and forehead, as he quietly seethed. He wants her to be a whore again. She’s NOT a whore, and she NEVER will be. Never again. “They’re not you. They’re not as pretty as you, and they don’t like me like you do,†Lurio said, completely ignoring Tacitus as he took a step towards Silana. “Come back with me.†Silana gave him a small, pitying smile. “If you go back, I promise I’ll come visit you some time. Does that sound good?†Lurio flashed a smile, and said, “I’ll see you soon Silana.†After Lurio left, Tacitus and Silana were silent until they got back to the apartment. There, Tacitus faced her, his arms crossed across his chest. “What was that?†Silana frowned at him, obviously unhappy about his accusing tone. “Lurio was a customer. A regular. He thinks he loves me, but he’s just confused. You saw him, he’s not a smart man. He’s just confused.†“You said you were going to go visit him.†“I lied. I’m here, Tacitus, and that’s all that matters. Now just forget about him. He’s not going to bother us, I promise.†Tacitus relented, realizing how foolish he was being. She was right, now that they were together, that’s all that mattered, and that set him at ease for the rest of the night. The next morning, Silana convinced Tacitus he needed to go to work, so he pried himself from bed and threw on a simple outfit of black pants, white shirt, and black vest. He unscrewed the fist and in its place attached his hook. He kissed Silana goodbye, and couldn’t help but feel content at the idea of her waiting for him to get back. As he left, Tacitus saw a familiar black haired man leaning against a building down the street from his apartment. He was so fixated upon Tacitus’s apartment that he didn’t even seem to notice Tacitus himself approaching. “What the hell are you doing?†Tacitus said, shoving him back away from the street. Lurio was slow to react, his mouth gaping as he registered who Tacitus was. He regained his composure though, and puffed out his chest, “I’m waiting for Silana. She said she’d see me.†Tacitus smirked at the man’s naivety. “You think she love you, don’t you? You’re insane. Leave, and don’t come back.†Lurio pushed Tacitus, his face and posture defiant. “I don’t have to listen to you.†He then moved past Tacitus, bumping him with his shoulder and disappearing into the crowd of people. Tacitus melded into the crowd as well, a frustrated shadow across his face. His happiness from earlier was now hidden behind a mask of anger towards this man. The rest of the day went that way, as he fluttered between happiness and anger, though eventually as he headed home, he began to accept that the stranger wouldn’t be a problem anymore. But, as his apartment came into sight, he saw Silana standing in the doorway, arguing with the man. Tacitus came up behind him, and pulled him down to the bottom step, their faces inches away. “I thought I told you to leave.†Blubbering, Lurio said, “I came to see her. I love her, and I know she loves me!†Tacitus shoved him down to the ground, and would have beat him, had Silana not moved between them. “What are you doing?†she asked. Tacitus couldn’t understand what she meant, or why she was protecting him. “He needs to leave. What business does he have coming to our house?†“He’s leaving and won’t be back at your house, will he?†Lurio nodded, all the while never taking his eyes off of Silana. But all Tacitus could focus on was Silana saying it was his house, not theirs. He realized just how caught up in her he was, and that she’d only been here a few days. “I have to go, I need clear my head…†Tacitus turned and walked away, unsure where he meant to go. He needed a drink, he knew, and a chance to get away from Silana. ** Tacitus stumbled home several hours after having left. His mind was clouded by alcohol and anger, but he knew both would pass once he went home and got some sleep. And maybe Silana and he would make up, and all would be right again. In his drunken state, those hopes seemed possible, even likely, and Tacitus couldn’t help but smile as he neared his Elven Gardens apartment. But, as if he were repeating the morning’s events, he spotted Lurio in the same place across the street. This time, however, not a soul traversed the capital city’s streets, and Lurio caught sight of Tacitus as he approached. “I thought I told you to leave,†Tacitus said, through teeth that ground like a mill. “And I told you I wasn’t going to. Get out of my face,†Lurio said, shoving Tacitus back. That morning, Tacitus would have brushed it off. Even before he went to the tavern, he might have ignored it. But now, with the alcohol running thick in his veins, and with this man having sown discord between he and Silana, Tacitus could not, would not, stop himself. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and threw him backwards into the alley. He pounced, recalling the days of his boxing, though with only one hand the beating seemed localized on one side of Lurio’s face. With pale, skinny fingers, Lurio tried to claw at the admiral’s eyes, but Tacitus ignored him and punched him even harder. He lifted him up, using the forearm of his left arm to pin his throat against the wall. As Lurio choked, spittle sprayed from his mouth, some of it mixed with bright blood. Finally, in a moment of realization, Tacitus dropped him, his eyes moving across the street to his house, where he knew Silana waited. He didn’t want to disappoint her, not again. Lurio moaned, every cough a wheeze from his broken throat. He seemed to be trying to say something, so Tacitus leaned in, and even then strained to hear the man. But to him, it sounded like he said only one word; her name, uttered as though the man said it often, and loved the way it rolled off his tongue. It blinded Tacitus, so much so that he didn’t remember hoisting the man up again, nor ripping his throat out with his hook hand. He didn’t remember standing there for hours, staring at the wall with all manner of hate and anger in his heart. He only remember her name, in the voice of Lurio, repeated over and over again until it drove him nearly mad. Eventually, he came too, and began to inspect the scene. The blood was smeared down the wall of the building. It reminded him of sap on a tree, the way it slowly fell down, down to the puddles on the ground of the alleyway. There it pooled, forming crimson glass. Tacitus wondered if he stepped in the puddle, would it shatter? No, he thought. It’s blood. He looked down at his hand, and his hook, both of which were splattered with red as well. He quickly bent down and wiped them on the man’s clothes. When he rose, he looked over the broken features of the dark skinned Imperial, whose face was bruised black and blue, so misshapen as to appear inhuman, especially now that the man’s throat was mutilated, and the bones of his spine were visible through the carnage. Tacitus was disgusted, but couldn’t look away from what he’d done. Finally, he hurried off into the darkness of the moonless sky, making for his house. Silana was waiting for him when he returned home. The incredulous look on her face, and her arms crossed over her chest, told Tacitus she didn’t believe his story. “At a tavern? For eight hours?†Her doe eyes, brown like rich overturned soil, or the stained wood of a ship’s mast, looked him over. Her sight lingered on his hand and hook. She grasped them, raising them into the light. Backing away, she shook her head, tears forming in those dark eyes. “I-I can’t believe you. I asked you to leave him alone!†Tacitus cast his eyes to the floor. He couldn’t meet her gaze, not after what just happened. After she stood there, crying into her hands until she had no more tears, Silana disappeared, into their shared room. She came back with her things gathered in hand, though having only been there for a few days, there was little to pack. As she tried to leave out the door, he grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back towards him. She wrestled from his grasp, but stood before him, ready to listen to whatever he had to say, though the hurt in her bloodshot eyes was plain. “I did this for you. He wanted you to go back, to be with him. And you didn’t make him leave! I thought you loved me,†Tacitus said, his voice rising with each word, like the slow ascent of the tide upon a beach. Silana slapped him, Tacitus’ face burning hot from it and embarrassment. “Lurio was harmless. Why couldn’t you see that? What’s wrong with you?†“You came here for me, not him. Why didn’t you make him leave?†“I came here for me, Tacitus, not you. Of course I wanted to see you, to be with you, while I’m here. But not this you. This isn’t the man I remember in Anvil.†Tacitus felt the knife of her words slide between his ribs. He turned away from Silana, and said, “I don’t want you to leave. You can’t leave. I need you. Look what I am, without you.†The silence hung heavy in the room, like a thick fog. Neither Tacitus nor Silana moved, both of them frozen with despair. Silana sighed, her voice laden with melancholy. “Tacitus, you’re too angry, too hateful. You killed a man, all because he liked me, because he chased me here. How can I be with someone like that? I can’t help you.†Defeated, Tacitus asked, “What will you do?†Silana’s voice took on a proud quality. “I’ve saved up enough money, I’m going to take up lute lessons. Everyone’s always said I had a good voice, and if I can play an instrument, I’ll become a bard. I want to see the world, travel to new places. “I’m sorry Tacitus. I-I can’t be here, though, not after this. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Goodbye, Tacitus. Goodbye.†She left after that, and Tacitus was alone. He yelled out, punched the wall, kicked over chairs and knocked down paintings. He grabbed the axe from above the fireplace and chopped a chair into kindling, cursing with each hack. When he finally stopped, his chest heaving from the brutal swings, he turned the axe over in his hand. It reminded him of Maori, of this General Red-Snow, but most of all, of Corio. He did this to me. He made me like this, torturing me, cutting of my hand, making me a monster. He’ll pay, I swear he will. By the Nine I won’t stop until he’s dead, by my hand. “RRRRAAARRRGGGGHH!†Tacitus yelled, louder than before, throwing the axe end over end until it stuck in the far wall. His blood boiling, he rummaged through his kitchen, through empty bottles of brandy and whiskey, until he finally found one with enough left to knock him out for the night. As he blacked out, his anger towards Corio, his hate towards himself, and his sadness at Silana leaving left him feeling, above all, alone. ** Several days passed after that, as Tacitus went through the motions of his job. He still denied the advances of the Nibenese, and they had recently begun moving their attention to other endeavors. There was not investigation into the murder that he knew of, as it was not uncommon for back alley murders to take place in the city. Coupled with the fact that the man was a stranger, with no known friends or acquaintances in the capital, it seemed destined to disappear. So when the second most influential Nibenese councilor entered his office, Tacitus only thought it signaled one last push for the second Vice Admiral position. “I already told you, I’m not going to give in. If you have nothing new to say, you know where the door is,†Tacitus told Jayolia Vanin, a proud Nibenese woman with a dark complexion, darker hair, and beautifully intricate tattoos across her cheeks. Her violet mage robes flowed to the floor, with designs and runes similar to those on her face. She gave a slight smile, no more than a twitch of a corner of her mouth, but enough to unsettled the High Admiral. “It does so happen I do have something new. We know what you did. Don’t look so surprised; you’ve ripped out dozens of Thalmor throats. It would take an idiot not to see the resemblance. Don’t worry, though, we’ve covered it up nicely. No one else will be hearing about this.†Tacitus sat in his chair, staring off at some unseen thing on the wall. Dumbfounded, he searched for the words to deny the accusation, but ultimately simply said, “What do you want?†Jayolia held up two slender fingers, which both bore rings. “Two things. The first is obviously that you will create a second Vice Admiralty position, and you will appoint Cyronin Goneld. The second is that you will also begin reasserting Nibenese influence back into the navy. Officers, captains, what have you. So long as you meet both of those conditions, your secret is safe. I trust we have an understanding?†Tacitus nodded, his good hand clenching into a fist so hard his nails drew blood against his palm. He wanted nothing more than to send this woman and all her fellow council members crashing through a window, but he knew he was trapped, a fish in a net. As she left, Tacitus had his assistant pull the documents about Captain, now Vice Admiral, Goneld’s career. It was rather unremarkable. He was the son of another Nibenese Elder Councilor, who had strong ties to a large merchant business and was extremely rich. He had just as many blunders as victories, and seemed both meek in attack and uninventive. Overall, a piss poor captain who would make an even worse admiral. It disgusted Tacitus, who took pride in his choosing men with courage and bravery and skill at sailing, not prissy boys whose fathers bought jobs for them. His apprentice announced, an hour after Jayolia’s visit, that Tacitus had yet another Elder Councilor guest. This time, though, it was Synette Perrick, now the leader of the Breton faction after the spying fiasco with Quintil. She wore a red dress, drawn tight across her chest, with gold lacing covering up to her neck. Her hair was straw colored, cut so short as to only reach to her shoulders. Her eyes were pale blue, and her skin pale as well, though a few freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. “Good day, High Admiral. I trust your visit with Jayolia was pleasant.†Tacitus stopped himself from asking how she knew about the meeting, only to realize that if she knew of the meeting, she likely knew what the meeting was about. But he did not address it, hoping he was wrong and this visit was about something other than Lurio’s death. “It was fine.†“Then I trust ours will be as well. Well, no need to dally; we know what the Nibenese know, and we need something in return for our silence. Namely, you will keep the navy out of any conflict that might arise with High Rock. We hope there will be none, but should there be, you will use your influence to also convince the other leaders to not take action. After all, are not the Thalmor the greatest threat, and our common enemy?†Just as before, Tacitus wanted to silence the woman, rise out of his seat and send her crashing to the streets below. He managed only a grimace, however, and nodded his acceptance. Synette smiled, and had the conversation not been about blackmail, it might have been a warm, friendly sort of smile. “Wonderful. And as added incentive for your cooperation, we know of the woman.†Tacitus rose, slamming his Dwarven metal fist on the desk. “Is that a threat?†Still smiling, she said, “Of course. We mean to have your cooperation, Admiral, one way or another.†Sitting back down, Tacitus dropped his eyes to the floor, wondering just what he’d done by killing Lurio. “Well, I’m glad we could have this talk, Admiral. Most beneficial, wouldn’t you say?†Synette gave one last smile, and left just as the councilwoman before her had. Tacitus slumped down in his chair, holding his head in his hand, and resting it on his metal fist. His teeth clenched shut, containing the primal scream he wanted to unleash. But, unlike the night of Lurio’s murder, he contained his anger, suppressed it, and relented to the will of his blackmailers. And for the first time, even after the capture and torture and sunbird trap, he felt helpless, like he was a puppet on strings. His destiny was not his, his will was not his, and he had nothing left but the thought of revenge on the mer who made him this way. He wondered, Is that enough to keep me going, when I’ve already lost so much? Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Maul Morning The satisfying thud of his fist on flesh. That was something he'd missed. Nothing fancy, no tools, no toys. Just him, the target, and the information he wanted, slowly oozing out of Bersi like the gash on his forehead into his right eye. Wiping the blood from the dully pointed metal tips at the end of his gauntlets, Maul admired the armor he wore once again before sending a fist in Bersi's gut as he sat restrained. His hands were shackled to a chair, and the man couldn't see the smirk beneath Maul's helmet as his hands reached for a finger and slowly pushed back. "How'd you get that name again, Honey-Hand?." Crunch. It took the merchant a moment to recover before finally speaking again. "How do you think?" he said slowly, between pained breaths. "I give to the beggars and temple." "That's downright adorable. Maybe you can give me a hand," said Maul. "Or maybe I'll just take it. The whole damn thing." "I don't know what you mean!" Bersi cried. "Honest!" "You better hope you know something.... Because if you don't, I'll have to make an example out of you instead, and I don't think you want that, if you plan on keeping that name." "An example of what?" Honey-Hand cried, "Attacking innocents with no cause?!" Maul said, "Exactly. So think of what I'll do to someone who deserves it. Only people getting out of this alive are ones that know how to sing. Get me?" The horror written on Bersi's face was palpable. But whether he opened his mouth to respond with information or more idiotic defiance was a mystery, as at that moment, the shop door slammed open, and a sellsword man clad in dark leather armor appeared. "Maul, Lady Maven needs you. It's urgent." Maul took off his helmet and said, "I hope she's got something. Let's go then, I won't keep her waiting. If you know something, tell me as we walk." Ignoring Bersi, the sellsword nodded at Maul and went back outside. He followed, leaving the frightened merchant to contend with the mess that had been made of his shop. Maul wasn't worried about the man running. There were eyes all over this place now, and there would be plenty of time to deal with Bersi later. "Lady Maven is calling in almost everyone. I don't know what it's for yet. But it's gotta be big." said the sellsword as they walked through Riften's large market. It hadn't been very crowded as of late. Not with the city shutting down and the almost daily executions. What few peasants had dared to leave their homes that day glanced up at them as they passed, but quickly averted their gaze again when they recognized who they stared at. Maul ignored them all. They passed the square that greeted Mistveil Keep, where a large execution stand gave off the rotten stench of death day and night. It wasn't just old and dried blood that clung to the wooden planks. Even from here, thick clots of red could be seen dripping from the cracks it had seeped through only hours before. "Any idea who that last one was?" asked the sellsword once they'd passed. "I saw them take his head, but didn't recognize him. Shorter fella, had dark hair. Looked like a Breton." Maul took a look at the bloody splatter and snorted. "Yea, I know the one. One of my last catches, said to have helped kill Hemming. The execution was mercy compared to what we gave him." Sniffing in the air, he said, "As glad as I am to kill vermin, their stench just reminds me of that damn Ratway. Whatever Maven's got, I hope it'll bring me closer to ending all of this. I'm in a mood again." By the time they reached the manner, most of the family's mercenaries were already there. Sibbi had sent couriers to every hold looking for swords, and now a couple dozen of the ugly bastard milled about outside, crowding the way to the entrance. Once he'd pushed inside, he found the house itself to be less crowded. A few employees stood together in the foyer, loyal ones like himself who had served the family long before this business with Rats and bandits had escalated. To the side stood Sibbi, and of course, the one they all looked to was Maven herself. Their heads turned Maul closed the door, and a few nodded acknowledgements at his entrance, but quickly turned back, as Maven was speaking. "Good of you to come so quickly." Maven said to Maul as he took his place in the circle. "I was just filling some of the others in on the unfortunate business with the Stormcloaks. It will speed things up, and so we are going to have to act fast. Today. If we do not, Ingun will not survive this conflict." She looked at Sibbi. "You recruited those men out there. I need you to choose several you trust and remain here to guard our house and the prisoners. Their time left in this world is short, but for now, they are not to be harmed." "Yes, Maven." Sibbi seemed anxious. Maul could tell by the way the young noble gripped his sword hilt, beating his fingers on it like mudcrab legs on a rock. "The rest of you will come with me." Maven continued. "Jarl Laila has been persuaded to make a mistake. One that we will not try to reverse, but correct. Maul, you will be by my side, to make sure that Housecarl of hers doesn't get any ideas." "Of course, Maven. Gladly." Eying Sibbi, Maul gave him a knowing glance, then a nod. His anxiousness to serve was something Maul would never have expected to see, even with the death of his father. It might lead to mistakes, but it was better than his normal demeanor. "All is set then. Good." Maven nodded to the door. "Then gather the men and tell them that we're going to Mistveil. I want a few to remain here to help Sibbi, but we will need more than he will." Maul eyed Sibbi's fingers a while, then finally stood forward, looking at Maven directly. "Maven... I have a request to make. I want to make sure this goes off without a hitch, and for that to happen, I'll need a little help. Sibbi, you up for it?" The young noble glanced at Maven, who nodded in consent. Maul could tell by the way Sibbi looked at him that he appreciated the chance he was giving him. "Always." "Alright then," said Maul. If anyone thought his intentions and expression unreadable before, it was so even more with his helmet on, which he could now be heard barking orders from outside. Rallying up the troops, as it were. Sibbi lost his father, Maul lost his only brother. The shit for brains boy could never replace his brother. Regardless of his intentions, which Maul himself hadn't figured out either, he knew that much at least. By the time he had assembled the two dozen men, the sun had begun to rise high enough to peek over the clouds to the east. Maven and Sibbi joined him at the center of the formation, and they started off. More people were in the marketplace now than before. A few vendors had set up for the day, and the townsfolk were finally stirring in small numbers. By the time the sellsword procession had reached the bridge leading from the city center to the keep, however, the place was teeming with onlookers. They knew something was going on. Maven Black-Briar had not been seen outside of her home since the death of her son. Their scowls did not go unnoticed, by Maul or the Black-Briars. Sibbi's hand was once again at his hilt, and some of the sellswords eyed the crowds as they walked. Despite the unease, they reached Mistveil without incident. The two guardsmen at the gates nodded in salute and said together, "Lady Maven." before pushing open the large wooden doors. The sellswords at the helm stepped aside, and Maven entered first, entering the Jarl's home with a more commanding presence than the ruler ever had in her life. Maul and Sibbi followed her on either side, and the entire force filed in after them. The throne room of Mistveil Keep was large, but they managed to fill much of it, right up to the hearth at the center. Jarl Laila awaited not in her throne, but in at the table before it. To her left sat her steward, Anuriel. She was one of Maven's. But it wasn't Anuriel or the Jarl that Maul was truly concerned with. The Housecarl, Unmid stood closest to them, between the great hearth and Maven. The reflection of the fires danced across his gold elven armor, and he made no effort to hide the disdain in his expression. "Maven Black-Briar." Jarl Laila began once Maven had come to a stop before the hearth. "My men told me you were coming, and of these men you've brought with you. I made no move to stop this, as you have always been a friend to Riften-" Maul sneered beneath his helmet, and one of the sellswords audibly chuckled. The snows would grow hot before Riften's guards would follow a command against Maven. To Laila's credit, she gave no indication that she heard the snickering. "-But bringing a force like this here, to my castle, requires explanation." "The city is not safe." Maven said, matter-of-factly. "After the murder of my son in your streets, I'd have thought you would understand the need to travel with protection in these times." Jarl Laila leaned forward in her throne. "A most unfortunate occurrence. You have my condolences, and my promise that we are doing everything in our power to bring Hemming's killers to justice." "Everything and still not enough, it would seem. This was not an isolated incident. Hemming was one of many, and the culprits may be as numerous as your own guards, who have no leads and no idea what they're up against. This is why I've taken the matter of dealing with it into my own hands." Unmid scowled. "You are not the Jarl. It is not your place to set these thugs of yours loose on the people of Riften." "It would not be necessary if your men were better at their job." Maven retorted. "I have always been granted special concessions when it comes to using my resources for the cleaning up of Riften, and that is exactly what I am doing." Anuriel whispered something into Laila's ear, and the Jarl nodded. "She is right, Unmid. The Black-Briar family has more money and resources than the rest of our city combined. Maven has always been capable of helping this city in ways that even I cannot." "But my Jarl-" "That's enough." Laila turned to Maven. "You have my blessing to continue with your search. If my men can be of a use in this, say the word. But all of this concerned a matter that I brought up. I trust that you had a different reason for coming here?" "I did," said Maven Black-Briar. "My reason for coming here involves a larger and more pressing issue than the rats beneath our feet. My concerns lie to the west, outside of Riften, where an army of bandits amasses its strength and prepares to march on us." "A fact I am well aware of." Jarl Laila said dismissively. "Fort Greenwall has already been contacted. The Stormcloaks will be at Faldar's Tooth in a matter of hours to deal with this menace." "I know." answered Maven with a frown. "That is where my issue lies. Do you know how many bandits we face?" "Close to two hundred, according to my source." "Almost as numerous as the Stormcloaks that march on them. I do not expect a Jarl to know the logistics of a siege, anymore than you should me," Maven glanced at Unmid. "but surely your Housecarl is aware of the fact that the Stormcloaks are too few in number to take Faldar's Tooth alone." "The Stormcloaks are hardened and trained soldiers." Unmid replied. "Rabble like those at Faldar's Tooth are no match for them." Again, Anuriel whispered into Laila's ear, and the Jarl said, "The man who told us of these bandits claimed that they are well-trained, like an army." "And he was correct." Maven said. "They do not know it yet, but the Stormcloaks march to certain death. Their defeat will only leave these outlaws with good steel and better armor, and word of them defeating a Stormcloak force will only make them look stronger. Such strength will draw more bandits to their cause. They will be back at full strength within a month, and we will not have the Stormcloaks to help us then." "What do you propose we do instead?" Jarl Laila asked, sitting back in her throne again. "I propose that we send help. The men of Riften's guard will be enough to see this through, and ensure that the villains inside are wiped out to the man." "Riften's guard? Are you mad?!" Unmid took a step forward, to which Maul responded by taking a step of his own in kind, daring Unmid to get too close. He could see in his eyes that the Housecarl got the message, but Unmid was no coward by any means. He scowled at Maul and went on, "You have already admitted that the city is in a dangerous state. Sending out our only protection is just asking for trouble in our home." he looked back at the woman to whom he was sworn. "Jarl Laila, I strongly urge that you decline this. It is my duty to protect you, and sending away our swords will make that much more difficult. Maven may even want you dead!" "Preposterous." said Maven. "Jarl Laila and I have always been on good terms, and I would like for it to stay that way." turning back to the Jarl, the said, "And you will not be without protection. This man is clearly loyal to you, as am I. Which is why I would stay here with you, and leave my own swords to help protect Mistveil in the absence of most of your men." Maul could see clear as day that the Jarl was conflicted. Her eyes were closed tight and Anuriel was whispering to her again. Unmid's scowl moved from Maven to Sibbi to Maul and back, and Maven herself looked indifferent to the entire situation. When Laila finally reopened her eyes, she nodded, ready to give an answer. "If these bandits survive and attack Riften, many lives will be lost. My duty as Jarl is to make sure that does not happen. I accept your men with thanks Maven. And-" "My Jarl-" "I have made my choice, Unmid. Not all of our men will leave. Twenty men-at-arms will remain here, to keep the peace. It is not even close to the optimal amount, but it is better than nothing. And if the siege goes well, our men will return to us before long." "A wise decision." Maven said. "We must ready them quickly. The Stormcloaks will attack before dusk." "We shall begin preparations at once." said Jarl Laila As men began moving about, Maven turned to Maul. "Now for your part in this. You are to go with these men and join up with the Stormcloaks in their attack. We haven't heard from Cynric lately, so there is no news of Ingun. That said, this battle may be our last chance to save her. If Boldir sees the inevitability of a defeat, he will take her life as a final curse. I need you to get inside the fort and free her before that can happen. Once Ingun is safe, Boldir becomes your priority. Things cannot go back to normal so long as he lives. Kill him. And bring me his head so I can see with my own eyes that this war is over." Maul nodded and said, "Finally... it will be done. I'll come back with his head or not at all. In fact, there is no or. I have something I've been preparing for this occasion. Sibbi, I'll talk with you about what I have in mind on our way there. I'll need your help." The young noble nodded. It would be his first experience with battle, Maul knew. If he was afraid, it didn't show. But maybe he was confident that he would not be close to the danger. Whatever the reason, he followed Maul outside to help ready the men. ** "Move it! Get those damn horses going! I'll not be slowed down by the likes of you lot, and if there's a single scratch on her, I'll feed all of you to the rats!" The sun was setting on the city of Riften. It would be night soon, and the world's shroud along with the men pouring out of the city at Maul's behest would make it even harder for their enemies to notice the large cart they were pulling along with horses. The 'her' in question. Whatever it was, it put a smile on Maul's face. A rare thing, not that anyone could see it under the man's helmet. "Sir," one of the Riften soldiers arrived at Maul's side. "It's too large to move through the forrest. We'll have to follow the beach. But they'll see us coming." "I can take a portion of the men through the trees." said Sibbi from the horse to his right. "We'll keep within earshot." Maul nodded. "Good. Sibbi, you take the main force through the forest. I'll come from the beach when it's darker. I have a little operation of my own to make anyway. We'll be in the walls before they start stroking their morning wood." *** Boldir Faldar's Tooth Evening Strung up in a Thalmor prison, Baldur Red-Snow had screamed and cursed at his foes, defiant even when all seemed lost to him. They tortured him, branded him, and were prepared to do far worse. Boldir had known. He'd known and yet made no effort to save his brother. Even now, the thought was like a heated dagger plunging into his heart. It was a guilt he would not stand for a second time. This time, he would act, even against the Stormcloaks. Every one of them I kill bleeds for Mila. Every innocent who dies does so to bring Carlotta back to me. No one Boldir loved would suffer while he could stop it. Not again. The snow coated the exterior of Faldar's Tooth like a blanket. Chief Hrokvild knelt in the thick of it down in the courtyard. He was leading men, all older Nords, in prayer. His lieutenant Grollin sat atop the keep, quietly fletching bolts for his crossbow. Every now and then a twang sound rang down as the marksman fired a practice shot at a distant tree. Most of the men were moving to and fro in the courtyard, and those who weren't waited atop the walls. The orders Boldir shouted were no different than those he'd given a thousand times as a soldier. They came naturally to him, and even without Hrokvild relaying what he said, the men followed his commands. "More pots to the east wall!" he shouted. "Ready your arrows, they'll be here within the hour!" "Is Ollus in position? ... Good." "Where are the torches damnit?! ... Well find them!" The outlaws of Faldar's Tooth ran this way and that, moving supplies, reinforcing the main gate, and more of them were always getting into position. He'd trained them to attack a city, not defend a fort, but the discipline they'd picked up showed. He hoped it would be enough. It had taken the scouts a day and a half to confirm for certain that the Stormcloaks were preparing to attack. He had spent hours contemplating his next move, and decided that it was best to tell the others. Murmurs had broken out after the announcement of what was to come. The uneasy quiet that followed was broken by a muscle-bound woman named Lisbll, who had stood and loudly proclaimed, "Good. We needed more shields to take Riften anyway!" The others had laughed at that, and it had been enough to set Boldir's mind at ease on the matter of desertion. Now his little army was dug in, covering all four walls. He'd sent a runner to Treva's Watch to call for reinforcements, but that had been two days ago, and it was clear that Hrokvild's new clansmen were not yet so loyal that they'd go against the Stormcloaks for him. The ones here didn't seem to think they needed them, which was good. They would fight better if they believed they would win. Chief Hrokvild had suggested they fall back to Treva's Watch and bolster their numbers there. It seemed like a good plan. Boldir had already considered it himself. But to do so would ultimately ruin everything. "Nothing stands between Faldar's Tooth and Riften." he had explained to the chieftain. "If we flee west, the Stormcloaks will occupy this fort, and we will never be able to take it back. They'll wait for reinforcements from Riften or Windhelm, and then they'll push after us at Treva's Watch. You remember how easy it was to take. Even with help, we'd be crushed in a day, or driven further east. If that happens, we lose our shot at Riften." In his time with the Stormcloaks, Boldir had beaten more formidable forces than the one he commanded now. Without Treva's Watch, they numbered less than a hundred. On the field, the Stormcloaks would surely crush them, but their walls were high and the gate was strong. And Lake Honrich provided a unique tactical opportunity, if his men could pull it off. Despite all the preparations, a small part of Boldir still wanted to leave, to take Ingun and go into hiding, to start over and find another way to save his family. Anything but fight the Stormcloaks. They were his brothers and sisters, all truer Nords and better people than his present company. They were doing their job, as he had done for most of his life, and now he was doing everything in his power to see them defeated. The idea of cutting his losses and leaving the bandits to their fate was tempting, but Boldir knew in his heart that if he left, he would never see Carlotta or Mila again. He'd never get his chance to bring down the Black-Briars. These bandits were his key to Maven. Somewhere in the woods to the east, a horn sounded, aaaahoooooooooo. It was matched by the shrill, viscous howling of their own caged wolves. Boldir stood motionless atop the wall, battle axe in his right hand and a round hide shield in his left. Archers lined the battlements on either side of him, and more stood atop the keep. Hrokvild was done praying. He waited in the courtyard below with the bulk of his forces. They would reinforce the walls as needed. The first movement became visible within the trees. A few branches shook, followed by many more. By the time the Stormcloak blue appeared at the tree line, it was already apparent that they outnumbered the outlaws. "Hold fast!" Boldir commanded when he saw some of the archers begin to shift uneasily. "Those are trained men marching on you. They expect to meet a ragtag force of bandits with little skill and no courage. How about we prove them wrong?" His men roared a monstrous cheer. It grew until all of Faldar's Tooth was madly roaring and hooting in the face of death. The wolves howled with them, and to the Stormcloaks, it must have sounded as though they marched upon some realm of Oblivion itself. Boldir almost smiled. But when he raised his hand to signal his next order, any cheer that may have existed in him was gone. This would be the command that made him a traitor. "Archers, notch your arrows!" The men did as he ordered. The Stormcloaks approached briskly, with shields raised. He could make out their faces now, the designs of their helmets. At least a hundred had already spilled from the trees, and more were behind them. "Hold!" he shouted. They needed to hit them in the middle, not the front. Only fifty yards divided them... Forty. "Draw!" Bowstrings pulled back, and the men picked their targets. "... Release!" Th arrows flew into the ranks of Boldir's former comrades. Some found their marks, and the soldiers they struck collapsed mid-charge. Others missed, or thudded into raised shields. "Again!" he barked. "Release!" Volley after volley they rained down upon the Stormcloaks, each one seemingly making a larger impact than the last. The attackers no longer stretched back to the trees. They had split, and a good half of the force was flanking around to test the other walls. Boldir hoped that they could manage as well as his own. "Draw!" he shouted for the dozenth time. "Release!" The troops storming his wall were tightening now, forming a large shield wall to advance behind. Within seconds, the round wooden shields were filled with arrows. We'll run out before we stop them. "Hold!" he yelled, this time in place of 'notch'. He pointed at the advancing wall. "We've got them scared! Aim low, try to hit their legs! Notch!" The next few volleys were less effective than earlier ones, but some arrows still hit their targets and slowed the advance. It wasn't enough, though. Behind the shield wall, the Stormcloaks had archers of their own, who randomly popped up to return fire. They were better marksmen than his own men, and he found that they were easily capable of quickly rising, loosing an arrow, and disappearing behind cover again. When one of his archers fell, another from below would take their place, but he didn't like the rate at which this was occurring. The attackers were close now. Only ten yards from the wall, they finally stopped and crouched, closing their eighty-odd shields and making it nearly impossible for his men to hit them, their own archers however persisted in taking their quick and deadly shots. Boldir just managed to get his shield up in time to catch an arrow aimed at his chest. It thudded hard into the tanned hide and stuck, the arrowhead poking through just enough to warn him how close it had gotten.They're trying to thin our numbers so they can move on the wall. "Ready the pots!" he commanded. "If they get too close, I want to see fire!" Bandits from the courtyard carefully moved up the wooden stairs to join him. They were large men, Hrokvild's strongest, and they carried heavy ceramic pots sealed tightly with oil inside. They crouched at the battlements and spread out, waiting while the Stormcloaks continued to fire at will. Next came grappling hooks. The first one landed near enough to Boldir that he was able to easily chop the rope at the knot with his axe, but there were at least eighty Stormcloaks down there, and shoulder-to-shoulder they could have almost covered the length of the entire eastern wall. His less than twenty archers couldn't hope to completely stop their advance. He heard hooks clank around the wall at both sides, and then the Stormcloaks broke from their protective shield wall and charged, letting out battle cries that matched his bandits' own. These are brave men. I'm sorry. "Do it." he said. "Burn them." The large bandits stood, hefting their heavy pots to their shoulders, and chucked them along with lit torches. He heard the first one shatter before his saw where it struck, but the ball of fire was impossible to miss. To his left, someone laughed as more balls of flame erupted among the Stormcloaks' ranks, and a wave of heat washed over them all. Screams and shrieks of pain rang out across the Rift as men burned. That coupled with the arrows was enough to break their assault on this wall, at least. Over thirty soldiers had gone up in flames, and the remainder were split and disorganized by the chaos and resistance Boldir had known they wouldn't be prepared for. Most of the survivors retreated, no longer so confident that this was a battle they could win. Those brave and foolish few who didn't were cut down by arrows before a one of them could make it to the top of the wall. His bandits taunted and cheered, but Boldir felt hollow inside. You're doing this for Carlotta and Mila. he reminded himself once more. Those men stood between you and them. The other walls seemed to fare almost as well as his. At the northern one, Hrokvild's hammer crushed the bones of some men who had managed to climb the wall, and the others had held up fine. To the east down below, across a line of withering fire, charred corpses, and arrow-filled shields, the Stormcloaks regrouped back near the tree line. Even after the failed attack, he saw that the other fronts must not have suffered the same level of losses as the one that attacked his side. Together they looked to be about a hundred and fifty strong: a formidable force, but not one that could take Faldar's Tooth as it stood. Though he wasn't done with them. A hundred and fifty Stormcloaks loose in the Rift would be a massive threat to his men when they lay siege on Riften, and as much as he hated it, there could be no survivors. Boldir looked back at the keep, where Grollin stood sentry, and gave the signal. The bandit raised a horn to his lips and blew.bwaaaaaap bwaaaaaaaaaap The Stormcloaks turned their attention back to Faldar's Tooth and, perhaps believing the bandits would leave the fort in pursuit, formed defensive ranks as he'd known they would. They trained me to fight like them. The bandits' final attack didn't come from the fortress, however. As the Stormcloaks faced westward, towards the fort, Boldir made out the form of Ollus emerging from Lake Honrich at the Stormcloaks' flank. Doning in stolen waxed leather armor, the pale Nord spit out the reed he had been using as a breathing tube and drew his sword and dagger. Behind him, thirty reeds ascended from the water, followed by thirty heads and thirty similarly armored bodies. Unlike the other combatants, these gave no battle cries, issued no warning of their approach. Silently, they sprinted at the Stormcloaks' undefended backs. From where he stood, Boldir didn't hear a sound until the first soldier cried out, "The water! They're coming from the water!" He was too late. Before they knew what had hit them, the Stormcloaks were being slaughtered from behind. Ollus was whipping this way and that between the confused soldiers, slashing his sword across this one's neck, or jabbing his dagger into that one's back. The outlaws with him fought with similar brutality, easily driving a deep wedge into the Stormcloak force. The fortress gate opened, and Hrokvild led forty more men out. They charged with none Ollus's stealth. Not that it mattered. The soldiers were confused and disoriented by the surprise attack, and they could barely defend themselves when Hrokvild crashed into them. Boldir watched his hammer flail about, shattering bones and crushing skulls with speed at which most men might wield a dagger, and he was glad that the monster of a man was on his side. The chieftain was as dangerous as any Necro Nord. "They're doing it." said the bandit archer to his right. "We've won!"Not yet. Boldir thought. At Riften, it will be us on the outside. "What's your name?" He asked the man. "Lud. They call me Little Lud." Little Lud wasn't little, but he did have a young face. "Well Lud, I want you to take twenty men out there and collect as much gear as you can get back to us. Shields are priority. But bows and arrows are important as well. We need enough for every..." his voice trailed off when he glanced back east and saw what was happening. Around him, the bandits were letting out a collective gasp. Only moments ago, his men had been slaughtering their foes. Now they were outnumbered five to one, as the Stormcloak blue was joined by Riften purple emerging from the east. Reinforcements had arrived. He couldn't see the end of them from here, but there were more than he could count, approaching on two fronts, one along the beach and another from the tree line, both met Ollus and Hrokvild's forces head on, and engaged in a brutal fight that the outlaws had no chance of winning. Boldir looked on, helpless. Between Hrokvild and Ollus, well over half of his men were out there. Once again, he entertained the thought of taking Ingun and leaving. No. It's too late for that, coward. You fought your own brothers. You will not run from these men. "On me!" he shouted. "To the eastern wall!" "There's no way we can win this!" one man cried frantically. "That's most of our men out there getting killed!" Boldir glared at him. "Run, and they'll hunt you down, surrender and they'll behead you, if I don't get to you first. The only chance we have is this fortress. So long as we hold this place, we have a chance. Have you already forgotten how many Stormcloaks there were at the start of this?" "No, but-" "Then you know that their numbers don't mean shit! Is Maven more powerful than Ulfric?" "No." "Then why should her men be stronger than his?!" He was shouting now, more out of anger than anything else. "We will hold this fort and we will throw Maven's men back, just as we did the Stormcloaks! You are the gods-damned bandits of Faldar's Tooth! They won't take your home from you. They won't take shit from you! In fact, after we've dealt with these milk-drinkers, it'll be us who do the taking!" "Damn right!" yelled Lisbll. "Whether they are climbing the wall or storming the keep, there is not a stone in this fortress that they will touch without bleeding for it first! And when the ground is red and their corpses are dry, our enemies will realize too late that it wasn't mere bandits they decided to trifle with, but the toughest, meanest sons of whores Skyrim has to offer! And when this is over, we will make them pay for that mistake!" The roaring cheers may have traveled all the way to Riften. Bandits were now shouting their own battle cries, screams of "Faldar's Tooth!" and "Sovngarde!" In the kennels, the wolves howled, but Boldir still did not smile. Many lives would be lost this night, and down below, his men were fighting his brothers. He was was too angry to smile. Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Maul "Kill." The single word marked the end for the bandits as the men at Maul's command backed up Sibbi's. Maul expected the bandits to be less exposed, but smiled when he saw their men out amongst Stormcloak blue and bloody Crimson. Nothing they'd done would ever come back to bite them, this much was obvious. But seeing the bandits amongst the dead of Ulfric's men, knowing the gravity of what this Boldir had done... Any sympathy he might've gained was now long gone from him. Maul might even be a hero after all of this was over. "No more running around in the gutter for sewer rats." That thought sent his blade singing through the air as he marched, parting his way through the Riften and Stormcloak soldiers to have at the bandits that were caught in the killing field. There was nothing fancy about his approach. Men saw Maul in his armor, and in their greed had attempted to be the ones to kill him first. The first, a man with a sword and axe gone crazy with impending death leaped over his fellow bandits to get his chance, only to have Maul demonstrate that his green blade was cold enough to even freeze Nord blood. Maul's blade buried deep in his torso, ignoring the blow to his shoulder as he pushed the corpse away, falling apart and being trampled on by the men behind him. More came with shields. Maul jumped at the smallest warrior he saw, his large foot crushing him beneath it as he slaughtered the ragtag assortment of bandits around him, using frozen corpses from his blade to protect him as well as scare those that got too close. They were outmatched in strength, weaponry and armor. He alone was a symbol for the outcome of the battle, all by himself as frozen body parts regularly shattered about him in bloody spray. As Maul's shoulder caught an axe, Hrokvild's man caught Maul's blade in his belly, feeling the chill encompass him from within as Maul squeezed what little life he had left from him. As his head left his frozen and shattered corpse, Maul held it in his hand, contemplating silently to himself as the blood dripped on his steel covered feet.Maul Grimsever. That's what they'll call me once I kill this man and everyone that ever helped him, with this very blade. By now, the surviving bandits were well aware of how this would turn out. He could see it in their movements, their stances, even their eyes. They brought with them all the ferocity of doomed men, but it would not be enough. To his left and right the soldiers of Riften were gaining ground, and quickly forming up around the bandit force to surround them. To the bandits' right was the lake, and besides the quickly closing gap back to the the fort, all other sides were covered by soldiers of Skyrim. Some of the more self-preserving among the outlaws already turning tail back to Faldar's Tooth while they could. Maul didn't care. Whether on the field or in their halls, all of this a in would die. That's when he saw him, only ten feet away. A man, taller by a half a head than any other on the battlefield, with a red beard down to his gut and a black hammer that crashed against his foes like waves. The men around him fought hard as well, as if their moral was boosted merely by his very presence. It could only have been the chieftain, Hrokvild, Cynric had called him. Maul smiled a bloodthirsty smile as he started for the chief. "Dog!" a familiar voice, cold and slimy, shouted from his left. The second Maul turned, a steel shortsword, Imperial in make, clashed against his chest. The blow staggered him slightly, but otherwise he was unhurt. His eyes fell on the one man he'd hoped most of all to find out here. The biggest rat of them all, Ollus. The pale Nord was soaked in blood and water, wielding the shortsword in his right hand and a dagger in the left. His leather vest barely looked like armor at all, but he stood poised to move quickly like the little rodents he was titled after. Those crazed, icy-colored eyes glared at Maul with more amusement than fear or anger. Maul's helmet turned from the red headed chieftain to the rat that swiped at him a moment ago... his Nord blood demanded he go for the big one... but Maul would rather see this disgusting man gutted and begging before him. Turning his attention back to the slippery one, he said, "You came to my home with visions of violating me, but it seems today, it'll be me doing the *******. I won't be gentle." Their blades clashed, Maul's came with considerably more force, but Ollus moved with his swipe, gliding his sword down Grimsever until it caught on the cross-guard. The smaller man's dagger swiped at Maul, but he easily deflected it off his armored wrist, and proceeded to shove Ollus backwards, throwing him to the edge of the beach. The criminal recovered quickly, and easily dodged Maul's follow-up strike, and then deflected another before circling around him, lightly darting in with a quick jab that bounced off Maul's armor near the ribs. Underneath his helmet, Maul scowled. Ollus was fast, but at least his strikes weren't very effective against the armor. As Maul made his advance, another bandit smacked into him as he fled from Riften guards, only to be cast down before him and have Maul's boot find his skull as he continued towards Ollus. There was no reason for him to meet his blade, his armor would continue to dullen his enemy's, until the right moment.... There. Maul deflected his sword again with his arm, seemingly leaving himself open for counter attack. Ollus capitalized on it, stabbing at the slit in Maul's helmet, only to have the metal plate slam in his face, but not before Maul grabbed his arm, pulling the rat into another headbutt, and taking his dagger from his grasp. With blood he couldn't see dripping over his helmet, Maul yelled, "Again!" The rat grimaced at him, while trails of red ran down his broken nose. When Maul moved to strike him again, this time with his own dagger, the rat ducked out of his way and backed up to the beachside slope, where he stopped and wiped his face clean with his left hand. The man's pale eyes met Maul's, staring straight through the dark visor, and he lifted his hand to lick blood from his palm. Ollus flashed Maul his red-stained teeth. Whether it was a grin or a furious scowl was hard to discern, as the respite was brief. He charged Maul again, meeting Grimsever with his own blade and sending a flash of ice over them both. Maul blocked his next blow, allowed the armor to take his next, and blocked once more, before responding with an attack of his own. Ollus dodged out of his way, causing Maul to almost stumble knot the water. He regained his balance and struck Ollus's sword with more strength than the smaller man could properly block. The rat held his sword in both hands and was still driven to the ground, but rolled out of range before Maul could follow up. A Riften guard rushed him now that he and Maul weren't so closely engaged. Ollus ducked his swipe and stuck a leg out to trip the charging soldier, sending him over the short slope and into Lake Honrich, where his armor tugged him to the shallow floor. Ollus giggled crazily and readied his sword, this time waiting for Maul to approach. Maul was tempted to take his helmet off. He hadn't expected to be sweating... this rat was a slippery one indeed, one he'd enjoy very much to squash. The helmet came off.... "I'm ending this now. I have a fort to crash," he said as he paced towards him. The rat licked his lips hungrily. "Careful, Dog. Remember what I said about your armor." Maul brought Grimsever swinging down at him, and Ollus parried it and stepped aside, but Maul swiped at him again, missing his foe's neck by inches. He followed up with a series of quick, fierce strikes, each one being met by Ollus's shortsword, which was by now covered in frost from Maul's own weapon's enchantment. "Like I give a shit about whatever you ramble on about," he said. "And if you hadn't noticed, I'm still wearing it." At that moment, Maul struck the ground, bringing up small ice crystals, which he smashed with his boot to kick the shards in Ollus' eyes. The Rat protected his face with his arm, leaving him briefly open for Grimsever to taste his flesh as it raked across his lip. "Ha, maybe you'll shut up now. Not likely though. That's okay, you'll be taking a nap very soon. I told you, I always find my man." Ollus snarled and lashed out furiously. He was hurt, that much was clear to Maul as he easily deflected the next few swipes. At least it seemed that way, until Ollus feigned right on him, only to move left and draw his chilled blade across Maul's left shoulder, just between his pauldron and breastplate. The cut stung, but it wasn't deep enough to be fatal. Maul replied by hammering Grimsever into Ollus's sword once more, staggering him. He did it again, unleashing a torrent of frost over his enemy's steel. Again, he struck, this time with a loud clang as Ollus's blade shattered into a hundred frozen shards. The sting of frosted blade cutting into him fed Maul's anger, enough that he didn't bother to gloat and moved in to finish Ollus here and now. A Riften guard noticed a wounded bandit still alive and ran to strike him down until he was shoved on his back with one arm from a large armored Nord with a frosted green blade. "He's mine!" Maul said, his footsteps heavy and deliberate once again like in the sewers. Ollus stepped back once again, tripping on a body and running low on space between himself and Grimsever's point which soon would find itself buried in his heart. That same point reared back in Maul's grasp and began soaring towards the rat's chest in his thrust. It struck rock, as the pale Nord somehow wriggled out of the way like the rodent he was. Maul swept the green blade right to catch him, but Ollus had already rolled clear, under his arm and straight past him. The man's suddenly regained speed caught Maul off-guard. When he turned to face his foe again, his eyes widened at the blur of movement coming his way. Ollus's smaller body crashed into his, sending Grimsever flying from his hand as the two of them went over the steep ridge and into Lake Honrich with a loud splash. Maul's armor suddenly felt like hundreds of pounds. It pulled him down until he hit the the shallow floor like a stone. Even through the water, he could make out Ollus's eyes widening with amusement. That just made him want to strangle the little cretin all the more. Instead, he accidentally inhaled some water as his helmet quickly began to fill. The last he saw of Ollus in the lake was the Nord laughing as he swam back to the surface. Maul's vision was completely gone. The waters were actually clean enough to peer through, but in his panic he forgot he was wearing a helmet. All he could manage to do was reach ahead of him in hopes he'd by some miracle pull himself out, as if he'd find some rope or something and someone would pull him out. "Not like this..." he said, or at least he would have if water hadn't been rushing through his gullet every time he opened it. His hands kept clawing for something... then, as if the gods who he paid no mind to before had been listening, his hands managed to find something. He didn't know what it was, didn't care. He just pulled, and pulled and pulled... His vision was growing darker, if that was possible, as his remaining air in his lungs finally pushed out of him in his exertion. But he didn't stop. At one point he thought he blacked out, but his arms kept working on their own, as if possessed. Then in one final pull, Maul's large form broke the surface. His body was still however, lifeless. A bandit saw this, and instead of calling over his comrades, he saw the glint of silver on his frame and his heart was instantly seized by greed, even though there was no chance of making it out of this battle alive for him as the Riften guards closed in even more. It mattered not. Before he could even touch the dead man, he suddenly came back from the land of the dead, grasping his wrist in a terrible lock which brought him to his knees. Just enough for Maul to stab him in the throat with a finely crafted dagger which made the filthy scum's skull light up like a lantern. He grinned as he drew the glowing blade free from the bandit's neck, searing his flesh around the wound. After letting the corpse drop, Maul yanked his helmet off just in time to wretch water all over the dead man. The sounds of battle raged on around him, but when he finally managed to look up, Maul found that not even a dozen bandits remained. Most had their backs to the lake as they fruitlessly tried to fend off Riften's onslaught. In the midst of them, Ollus still stood. A deadly green blade flashed about in his hand. The powerful sword was the lone reason for his continued survival, Maul saw. The soldiers of Riften were hesitant to challenge the powerful ice magic of Grimsever head-on. He looked down at his own dagger. It glowed even whiter than the sword's ice, but it was a burning white, where Grimsever's bite was bitter cold, even for a Nord. But Nord he was, and as such, he had an advantage Ollus did not against his dagger. Maul had a plan... "RAT!" he yelled, stepping through the pathetic limp dicks that called themselves Nord soldiers. Pointing a finger at him, he said, "I'm not done with you yet!" When Ollus turned and saw him, genuine surprise filled his eyes. He flicked his tongue across his lips, but Maul gave him little time to do much else. His dagger clenching gauntlet soared towards the bandit's face almost as quickly as the rat himself would have done. Before he could think, he was staring dead center at the heated point, only a hair's breath away from burying its searing point into his socket. But it wasn't to be, not yet... Ollus felt the blood dripping into them first. Then the question of who was roasting meat came to his mind, and he soon realized that his hand had risen in defense, leaving his dagger dangling above him as he held it back. As best as one could a dagger that was sticking through their hand. That's when he started screaming, an agonized cry that contained tints of wild insanity. Ollus grabbed for Grimsever as Maul pushed all of his considerable weight down on him. Maul yanked the white hot blade from his grimy hand and met Grimsever's edge with his own just before it cleaved through his skull. The enchanted magics collided in a great explosion of frost.... Grimsever was gone, nowhere to be found. All that remained was a frost covered Ollus, and an ice figure that resembled a heavily armored man brandishing a small dagger. There was a brief moment of silence from those watching, a silence that was soon broken by the maniacal laughter from Ollus himself, even as he clutched his bleeding hand. It was short lived. Soon, the icy figure began to crack, first from around the fiery blade, and the ratty man's smile faded instantly. He tried to scramble off as usual, but his legs were beset with frostbite and rendered useless. Flipping to his stomach, he crawled and crawled, digging his fingertips into the dirt until they bled, even as the sound of shattered ice sent chills up his spine. The chills were soon gone, replaced with flame as Maul's dagger found his bony back again and again. Paralyzing him and leaving him helpless as Maul's dagger found his scalp next. As he gripped the man's hair, freeing it from its roots, the last thing Ollus heard was, "I told you, once I've caught your scent, I always find my man." The soldiers around Maul were silent as the grave. When he looked up, he saw that every other bandit had been slain. Finally, as he straightened, one of the Stormcloaks approached him. "Thank you for the assist, Sir, but the walls, I hope you have a plan for them. The bandits are holding onto that place tight. We've lost our commander and over half our number trying to storm it." "Yea I've got a plan alright," said Maul, pointing to the large crate behind him a few yards. "Hope you boys haven't lost your nerve to fight. If you want some payback, then come with me. The guards will attack the fortifications from the front. When they don't expect it, I'll open my secret weapon and we'll plow right through their back gates. They'll be waiting and expecting something, but by the time they realize what's happening, it'll be too late. I may not have the thu'um like Ulfric, but unlike him, I have something better than the Thu'um. Maven's money." "Aye," said the Stormcloak, a determined smile forming on his lips. He turned and began to shout orders. "Regroup! Everyone regroup on me!" As Ulfric's soldiers formed up alongside the men of Riften, the Stormcloak pointed to Maul and shouted, "This is the man who saved our asses, and he has a plan to take this fort. Listen to him, and we can avenge our brothers!" The Stormcloaks raised their voices and beat heir axes against their shields. The speaker turned to Maul and nodded. "We're all yours." Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 *** Some time passed as the soldiers moved to their positions. Maul kept his eyes on Faldar's Tooth the whole time, where he knew that somewhere in the darkness, Boldir was watching back. The lack of a response from the fort confirmed to him that they lacked the men to match his own. Iron-Brow had put all of his hopes into a plan that had failed, and now he and his bandit friends waited behind their walls for the storm to come. He would bring it himself. He judged that dawn was still a couple hours away when the Stormcloaks finally launched their second assault. They focused all of their strength on the east side. With men of Riften bolstering their numbers, they charged the wall with all the ferocity one would expect from an army of Nords. Arrows rained down on them, and rocks cascaded against their shields. Several balls of fire erupted amongst them, drawing screams that rang across the battlefield. This time though, with his men behind them, they surged forward rather than retreat, firing arrows of their own from behind shields walls. All of this, Maul watched before he and his own force of one hundred men of Riften used the distraction and cover of darkness to loop north back into the woods. Eventually, the details of the battle were lost to him, and when they emerged from the trees west of Faldar's Tooth, only faint shouting could be heard. Maul pointed forward, smiling as the men lifted his new toy out of its cart. It had taken twice as long to move it through the woods, but the Stormcloaks had welcomed the respite before beginning their assault. Four men began opening the monstrosity, the creaks and groans giving way to what was clearly much more fancy equipment than what Nords, or even Imperials were used to having in their arsenal. A beautifully crafted battering ram, with thick oak wood and dwarven metal supported with ebony within the frame... And the best part... a deadly sharp spike with little thorns all around it...all revealed to them as the crate's ugly barriers fell from this work of art. Maul shooed the men away so that he could run his hands over it in peace... admire the craftsmanship. "It really is useful to have Maven's contacts at your disposal. Amazing what that Altmer can do with Dwarven contraptions..." said Maul as he grasped one of the handles, causing the thing to give off a reddish orange glow from the magical seals, especially at the business end of the drill. "Cover this up! We don't want these to give away our position. Five man team on the Mauler with me, now! A score of men behind us! Hug the walls. We're bum rushing these fair maidens in the rear. So get your swords ready, boys." The steel whispered as they drew their weapons. Somewhere, a wolf howled, loud and powerful. It was followed by a choir of others. Meanwhile, one of the Rift soldiers threw his fur cloak over the head of the Mauler. They moved out swiftly, like predators closing in for the kill. The high wall of Faldar's Tooth loomed above them as they approached. The distraction had seemingly worked, for it was sparsely manned. Whatever numbers Boldir and Hrokvild had left must have been focusing all of their attention on the east side. Even the sentries seemed to have their backs turned. "This is it, get ready men and be ready. We'll be the first ones inside. Use the chaos and darkness," said Maul as they hauled their secret weapon towards the gate, just waiting for them to penetrate her like a khajiit in heat. "When we're through, you're on your own until the others arrive. I'll give the signal for them to charge the rear and overwhelm the scum inside. Ready... charge!" And so they charged, the enchanted siege weapon in their hands. It wasn't until they were mere feet away from the gate before Maul saw the faces rising atop the wall. He opened his mouth to warn the others, but even as he breathed the first word, a large round object came hurling from the battlements. It shattered on a man behind him. Someone shouted, "Get down!" but there was no time. A flaming arrow embedded itself in the man's chest, and an explosion of fire engulfed them all. If not for the damp lake water soaked into Maul's clothing, he might have been burned to a crisp himself. As it was, flames still licked at his arms and legs, searing them. He patted at the fires while taking cover under the gate's archway. The deafening screams of his men burning echoed inside his helmet, but they were matched with other screams, shouts of battle as his soldiers in the woods took the ambush as signal enough to attack. "No matter," said Maul, as he brushed the flames away, ignoring the sting. "They'll pay for that. Tenfold." Men continued to die around him as more and more bandits became aware of attack from their back walls. Maul realized he should have known they'd expect a sneak attack... it mattered not. When the Mauler finally connected to the gates, and flames began to engulf the barrier, the Riften guards all grew more bold, realizing that they'd soon be on the other side to deal death to those that rained it down upon their heads now. The battering ram's head crashed into the gate once more, immedieately turning more and more of the wood to ashes. On the other side, Maul could hear animalistic growls. Another crash. This time the Mauler punched clean through and sent a torrent of flames erupting out the other side, where bandits could be heard yelping. The Riften soldiers reared back the siege weapon one last time, and then drove it forward. The ram exploded through the doors, sending burnt splinters everywhere. The men around Maul roared victoriously as they surged into the fortress through a hailstorm of arrows. Many fell before even getting a few steps, but many more pushed through, engaging the bandits sword-to-sword, axe to axe. Maul himself was struck by an arrow, but it was only a shove on the shoulder to him under the life-saving armor. He drew an iron sword that he had picked up on the battlefield and entered the fray, slicing left and right at the bandits before him. He took some blows, but none that could do him any harm. And for every bruise he may have received, two of Maven's foes were felled by his hand. He heard a howl again, closer than ever this time. It was followed by more of the snarling growls that from before. "Aaaaugh!" A soldier next to him screamed as a massive gray dog- no, wolf leapt onto him, throwing the man to the ground before tearing out his throat. More of the creatures joined in, rushing into their ranks as if with the same hatred as the bandits. The men attacked them as well, but they were not trained for such a foe, and the distraction gave the outlaws opportunity to strike at them all the harder. They were not yielding this fortress without a fight. A loud whistle pierced the night, attracting some of the wolves to one Maul, helmet in his hands, head exposed . "Come and get it!" he cried, just before the helmet came back on. Wolf after wolf charged him, attacking his joints in his arms and both legs. He was immobilized for a time, arms swinging around like a skooma crazed khajiit. Finally, he managed to get enough control to smash a wolf's body into the head of the Mauler, engulfing it in flames and using it to smash into the others nearby. The strange tactic caused enough confusion and panic from the pack to run into the crowd of bandits, biting and gnawing their way from the bright burning machine, even while some were aflame. The battle raged on, and it was difficult enough to fight in a helmet in the middle of the night. Maul was so tempted to tear it off, until a sword blow glanced off his right side, causing his ears to ring. Luckily, striking in the direction of where he felt blows, even if they happened to be from behind and accidental was enough to keep him on his feet. But he needed more than that. They needed to push them back. "Shield wall!" "Shield wall!" one of his men repeated. Several minutes of chaos ensued as Maul's men slowly worked to separate themselves from the bandits in the courtyard. Eventually, they managed to create into a halfway suitable formation. The bandits grappled with them and tried to break through, but the effort yielded less and less fruit as his men became more organized. Now that Maul had a moment to catch his breath behind the shields, he assessed the battlefield. His men had pushed well into the courtyard now, and the remaining bandits were gradually losing ground. The arrows had stopped, and he was pleased to see that all but the eastern wall had been taken, and even now, Stormcloaks were pushing their way atop it. A couple stray wolves prowled at the base of the walls, but kept their distance from both armies in favor of gorging themselves on the the dead. Cheers of imminent victory echoed off the walls as the men of Riften began to push forward."Riften!" The men began to cry out with each surge forward. "Riften! Riften! Riften!" The outlaws gave more of the courtyard with each push, until finally a loud horn blow signaled their last possible retreat. The gates of the keep opened, and the bandits hastily retreated inside. Like ravenous dogs, Maul's men pursued without waiting for any orders. By the time he had reached the gate himself, the entrance hall was strewn with bodies and weapons could be heard clashing throughout the many halls of the large and complex fort. It was only a matter of time now. They had broken Boldir's defenses. Now Maul could finally carry out his orders. Ingun was in here, somewhere. It was time he found her. The insides of the fort were confusing, narrow. They typically were designed to be, so that those Nords defending would have the best chance to fend off outsiders. This proved a worthy annoyance for the large Maul as he stumbled over bodies to look for a possible hiding spot for Ingun. He had his men run off to the more populated parts of the fort, whilst he worked his way down in search of a dungeon. The flights of steps going under was dark, having no torches to speak of on his way in. As he fumbled around in the dark, he was finally greeted with light, only to be ambushed by two bandits hiding in corners, waiting for the first Riften asshole they saw. Expecting something, Maul simply grabbed their faces and smashed their heads into the wall, letting them crumble at his feet. "The floors..." said Maul as the two splashed loudly in the flooded hallway. "Water. This must be the farthest level. I'm close..." And guards were a good sign. Maul stepped forward and found the water to only be a couple inches deep. He trudged through the black murk, deeper into the ruined corridor. This part of the fortress seemed to be almost abandoned, but he reckoned that the bandits didn't have the manpower to both hold his men and guard their prisoners. So onward he fumbled, until he rounded a corner and spotted a light stretching out under what must have been a closed door. Well, someone's been in there. He splashed down the hall and proceeded to kick in the door. Inside was a wide, torchlit room with five cells along the far wall. "Hello?" called a familiar voice from the second cell. Maul's chest tightened. Ingun. After quickly running through the muck and seeing her for himself, he said, "You smell like shit. Not a scent he'd ever associate with the Black-Briars." It reminded him of the sewers he hated so much. Maven and the others always made it a point to not appear as normal people. Seeing a Black-Briar so low and so filthy was like finding a king in a whorehouse. "Maul!" Ingun's eyes betrayed her surprise. "I heard the fighting. Is it over?" "More or less," he said. "Tell me, Ingun. The men, did they..." "No. Though not for lack of desire." Ingun's scowl was pained. She blinked and then nodded to the wall beyond him. "They keys are by the door, please, unshackle me." Maul did as he was told, unused to hearing please from a Black-Briar. He and Ingun didn't run into one another very often before. Maven said 'please' once in a while, maybe as a formality or to be funny, but even locked up he could tell Ingun's was sincere. "You should stay close to me the whole way, unless I say otherwise. Understand? Where's the big one, Boldir?" "I don't know." Ingun massaged her wrists where they had chaffed against the iron. It hadn't been so tight that it would scar her, but it couldn't have been comfortable, and she had clearly struggled against it on more than one occasion. "He hasn't come down here in a day, at least." For some odd reason, there was a hint of sadness in the young noble's expression, but it was fleeting, and replaced by something else that Maul did not recognize, something angry, or even determined. "Maul, I need you to take me to Riften." "Not until the big one is dead," said Maul. "Besides, I should thank him for this armor of his while I still have the chance, don't you think? Lets go, this isn't over just yet." Maul didn't have to wait long to reach his men. There were still fighters in the fort, but most were dead, or dying, waiting for the final death stroke from their attackers as they quickly filled the hallways and corridors. Maul had only one close encounter, which ended with him booting a bandit in the chest, and sending him crashing into a group of bloodthirsty Riften Guardsmen waiting with open arms and readied blades. He ignored the gruesome scene, barking orders for them to take Ingun to her brother while he searched for his final target. Climbing up a rope ladder, Maul's helmeted head burst forth into the night with Aetherius greeting him, its radiant display being all but lost on the man who knew nothing but hunting and causing pain. The sounds of battle were still all around him, and Maul's eyes were searching for Boldir. "Sir." It was one of the Stormcloak soldiers. He pounded his chest as if Maul were one of his commanding officers. "The fort is all but ours. We're sweeping through the halls at present, but as far as we know, all that's left of the bandits have come together in the cistern. It's barred tight but we've got some men clearing the way to bring up your siege weapon now." Maul took off his helmet, revealing an obviously disappointed expression on his sweaty grimy mug. "Tell the boys to hold off on the Mauler for a bit. Let me try something." Walking past the soldier, even bumping his shoulder as if he owned him, rather than Ulfric, Maul made his way back into the fort with a purpose in his step, making haste. He wanted to be the cause of Boldir's death, and whether that meant being in the front when they broke into the Cistern, or causing it by other means, he didn't care, so long as everyone knew Maul brought about his downfall. Including Maven. Pushing aside the men all clamoring about with their freshly bloodied weapons raised, Maul quickly reached the large slightly rotted double doors where the men were supposedly huddled together for a last stand. And Boldir. After knocking on them with his big Nordic boots, admittedly a bit too big for his own feet, even though you couldn't tell by looking, Maul said, "Now... you see that? See how much those doors shook just from me alone? These doors won't hold. You all know that. You saw what my Mauler did to your back gates. You're all done for. UNLESS you give up the one named Boldir. Your leader. Give him up, and you'll live. In fact, just kill him right now. First one to cleave off his head gets 1000 gold coins and a new horse filled with provisions. You have five minutes to save your lives. If he's not out here by then, and missing his head, you're all dead." ** The torches in the cistern burned dim, and through the orange glow, Boldir made out the confused eyes of his doomed allies being cast around, searching every face in the room for just one among them whom they might not recognize. One whose name was 'Boldir', who's life was apparently worth all of theirs combined. Of them all, only Chief Hrokvild's rested on the correct man. The Chieftain's stare was of such a fierce intensity that Boldir was certain the man would give him up here and now. But he didn't. He only stared, as if waiting to see what Boldir would do himself. When nobody named 'Boldir' stepped forward, the bandits began to turn to their leaders. "Chief?" they said to Hrokvild, "Filnjar?" the said to Boldir. "There is no one here by this name!" One man shouted back through the door. He received a curt "Four minutes." in reply. There were thirty of them left, not even enough to crowd the cistern. And a third of those had suffered some sort of injury, including Hrokvild's own lieutenant, Grollin. If the outlaws fought hard, they might take down twice or even thrice their number. But even with their losses outside the walls, the Riften and Stormcloak men still outnumbered them five to one, at least. There was no escape. Boldir knew this. Hrokvild knew this. The bandits knew this."If you die. We die." he could hear Carlotta's voice reminded him. It was only his imagination, he knew, but she sounded angry, blaming him for her death, for Mila's... And no matter what, these bandits were doomed. Hrokvild must have known this, or else the chieftain would have turned him in by now."Two minutes! Time's almost up!" shouted someone on the other side of the door. Boldir didn't know who was counting the time out there, but he was certain that it had not been three minutes yet. "You're Boldir, aren't you?" said a young blonde man closer the wall. His left arm was wrapped up in bloody cloth, but his right pointed an axe at Boldir accusingly. All eyes turned on them. "We found you at Goldenglow. Maven's island. We took you in and you trained us, geared us for war with these people. All the others from that group but you are dead or gone. Tell me, Filnjar. Tell me your name ain't actually Boldir!" "Easy." Grollin growled. "Whatever his name, you're talkin' to a friend of the Chief's." "I don't care if he's Ulfric Stormcloaks's own favorite nephew. We will all be dead unless that man dies first!" "Is that what you think?" asked Boldir, as he stepped forward. "That the first of you to kill me will be rewarded? And all of these people, whose friends you and I have shot, cut down, burned alive will step aside and let you walk? We kidnapped Maven Black-Briar's daughter. We committed murder, banditry, treason against the Rift and ALL of Skyrim! That's not forgivable!" He turned his head to look at the others. "Aye! I am Boldir Iron-Brow! A Stormcloak and a traitor. And a father who has lost his family to Riften's monsters. If you are still fool enough to think they will let you walk, then fine..." He readied his axe. "Come and kill me. I will laugh from the grave when Maul cuts down the one presenting my head." Nobody moved or said a word. The young bandit who had accused him looked defeated, and eventually even nodded. It was even quiet outside the doors, where their attackers must have heard the exchange. Finally, after what seemed like a longer silence than the time they had been allotted, someone far away on the other side shouted something. The bandits readied themselves near the door, their decision made. There was more shouting now. Barked orders, the clambering of feet and the rattling of mail. But no siege equipment. No pounding on the doors. As the sounds outside died down, Boldir approached the doors himself and listened. The attackers seemed to be moving away. And then he heard the war horns. Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Ingun Black-Briar Outside the fort, horns sounded. These were not the deep, furious bellows of a Nordic horn. They were higher, sharper, and altogether unfamiliar to the young noble. Ingun's first thought was they might have been some signal of victory, but the nervous looks exchanged by the soldiers around her dispelled those thoughts. Sibbi stood beside her. Her brother's armor was dark plate, obsidian, most likely. And his matching longsword dripped with blood. When she had come to him, her brother had been nearly breathless with excitement and a sense of victory. He had told her of their assault on the walls while Maul flanked the fort, of how he of all people had climbed a rope and cut down men atop the fort's walls. All the while, ignoring her please to provide her an escort back to Riften. Now, however, he was of a very different mind. The main gates were closed, but Maul had smashed and burned the postern ones to bits. Sibbi was visibly worried, she saw, as he pointed this way and that, ordering archers to run the walls, shield-bearers to the ruined gates. Unfortunately, most of their forces were inside the keep. Whatever they were up against, their sparse numbers in the courtyard would not likely be able to hold it. Curious herself, Ingun followed Sibbi as he climbed the stairs to the top of the wall, and what she saw completely remedied her thoughts on the situation: A hundred shadows, no, two hundred, at least, charged the fort from the northern tree line. In the darkness, their details were difficult to make out, but Ingun did not have to see them to know who they were. The bandits didn't bother with the walls, or flanking. Maul's broken gate was their focus. Within seconds of her peek, they were already clashing with Sibbi's couple dozen men. Her brother looked at her with anger that she knew was just a mask for his fear. "Who are they?!" There was only one plausible answer. "The bandits from Treva's Watch. They have to be." "Well we can't hold them." her brother said, more to himself than to her. He led the way back down to the courtyard and crossed it back to the main gate. "You wanted to go back to Riften? Fine. We'll leave this to the men we pay for it." Sibbi seemed defeated. Moments ago, he had been at the top of the world, and now... Horrifying screams erupted across the fort as the bandits broke through Sibbi's men. The last few tried to reach the keep, but they did not get far before being overtaken and cut down. As the Black-Briar siblings escaped through the main gate, Ingun looked back to see the black shadows surging into the courtyard, filling it like water into a bowl. She and Sibbi went unnoticed, for the outlaws were much more interested in the keep than an abandoned gate. She heard more men inside begin to scream as metal clashed against metal. "Let's go!" Sibbi said, grabbing her by the back of her tunic and practically throwing her ahead. We have to warn Maven!" She stumbled forward and shot him a mean glance. Sibbi could warn Maven if he wanted to, Ingun figured as she recovered. She had other concerns. Whether Boldir would survive this, or was dead already, his family now lacked the one protection it had in her imprisonment. Whatever else she thought of the criminal himself, Ingun knew that Boldir's family were less innocent in this conflict than she had been. They won't die for this. she promised herself. They won't. ** Maul Confusion ruled Maul's men, and indeed, Maul himself as they clambered through the halls back the way they'd come. Ahead was the sound of fighting. Not the small hallway skirmishes or occasional dying sobs of before, but an actual battle. Steel was clashing by the dozens, and men were retreating in every direction they could. What had happened? Everything had been going well. The Mauler had just rounded the final corner to the doors, and his men had prepared to assault the cistern when a runner had approached them crying out, "Enemies in the courtyard! Too many!" And now, war horns sounded, sharp and infuriating, announcing a new wave of enemies. Everything happened so fast... too fast. There were shouts and cries, men panicking, and even Maul was amongst their ranks, his loud barks of desperation too low to drown out those crowding the fort's halls. Men's screams filled his skull as he desperately tried to get a team of men to use the Mauler on the door while they still had the numbers to kill Boldir. He dragged two away from the doors as they attempted to flee, a Stormcloak and Riften guard, both wet behind the ears. He almost got close despite being short on men to operate the Mauler, but they stopped an inch away when the other two heard the screams growing louder and fled once more. Booting the doors after he failed to bring them back, he said, "Damn you, damn you all! I'll get you, Boldir! I always do!" Fleeing himself now, Maul was fighting Stormcloak and bandit alike, murdering whoever was in his way before he was overwhelmed and trapped like the rest. There was still time to reach the outside... "Sir! This way!" The voice shouted over the frenzy Maul stood in, echoing out from a passage to his right. After a brief search, he found that it belonged to a man of Riften, one Maul recognized, as he had served for years The guard stood among a pair of others who were already moving up the stairs behind him. "The walls! They aren't covered yet!" Maul's eyes were wild, but luckily covered with his helmet now, so they couldn't see the looks of fear in his eyes. Even if he survived, Maven might kill him herself for his failure. That thought made the rising feeling of hope in his gut sink right back down, but it didn't stop him from stomping his way towards safety regardless. "Get moving, lets go! We have to reach the city and warn Maven!" Up the stairs, they went, not bothering to take the time to recruit others to follow. By the time Maul had reached the top of the stairs, the sounds of swords clashing was already echoing up from their base. Maul personally guided them to the same ladder he had climbed before. The trapdoor was still open, and a dim light was pouring through. Behind them, someone's screams were abruptly cut short, and what seemed like a hundred battle cries rang throughout the halls. Who could have done this? Maul climbed, and upon reaching the top, he got his answer. From his vantage point on the wall, and with in the early pre-dawn glow, he could make out a hundred figures at least, armored in leathers and furs, scales, and iron. Having already killed or driven off his men outside, they swarmed the courtyard, pushing into the keep where they were undoubtedly cutting off his men at every turn. These were no soldiers any more than the defenders had been. They were bandits. Outlaws. Cowards who hid in the wilderness and fled from their enemies. How were they beating him? Beating Riften's best? The three soldiers standing atop the wall with him seemed as shocked as he was. It took shouting from the trapdoor to snap them out of it. "Hey!" A fur gauntleted hand reached the top of the ladder, and a Riften guard's helmet poked out the trapdoor. "Pull me up, NOW-" The man's hand slipped, and he disappeared back into the hole, where he could be heard crashing into the floor. Seconds passed, and then a different hand emerged, this one hoisting up a large, bearded man, with dark hair, a burn scar across his left cheek, and the pommel of a battleaxe poking up behind him. One of the guardsmen drew his sword and rushed him as he climbed, but the bandit used his bracer to smack the blade aside with surprising speed, and grabbed ahold of the guard's arm and yanked, dragging the man of Riften into the hole, and himself out in one fluid movement. Another of Maul's remaining two men used the moment to charge the large bandit, but their foe quickly drew his axe and parried the strike before hewing off his arm at the bicep. As the man fell, Boldir Iron-Brow glared at Maul with angry eyes, and said, "That's my armor." "Thanks for letting me borrow it. It came in handy when I was hunting down your family," said Maul, feeling braver under his helmet despite the cold in his spine. "Pretty wife of yours, she has spunk. Think I'll keep it, reminds her of you I think. I almost believed it I bet, when she kissed me-" Boldir's axe flashed at Maul before he could so much as laugh at his taunt. Luckily, he managed to raise his own blade just in time to stop it from burying itself in his neck. Even so, the strength behind the blow was enough to stagger him. Outclassed. I can feel it. Only one chance... The remaining Riften guard stepped forward to help, but Boldir dodged his strike and drove his fist into the man's face. The blow sent him sprawling to the ground, and Boldir's axe cleaved through his armor as he tried to rise again. By then, Maul had recovered enough to take the offensive. He aimed a strike at the bandit lord's exposed left, but found only air as the large man dodged it more quickly than should have been possible. This time, Maul wasn't fast enough to defend himself, and Boldir's axe crashed into his stomach. The armor saved his life, but he was knocked back so hard that he stumbled into the ramparts. As he recovered, another blow, this time from Boldir's haft, knocked against his helmet, setting his ears ringing and his vision to a blur. Maul could just barely make out the big man's form, but he could feel all of the hate piercing through him. There was only one chance for Maven now, and that was if this man died. Even if the bandits attacked the city, killing Boldir would at least keep them as common rabble, rather than fighting like a trained force. It was the least Maul could do at this point, for getting more of her family killed and failing her miserably. I haven't failed yet... "Come on, Iron-Brow! Is that all the anger you can muster? After all the time I spent alone with her...." Eying the burns under his helmet, Maul smiled to himself, preparing to survive the next onslaught. That proved difficult. When Boldir attacked, he did so with more speed and strength than Maul could ever know. He successfully blocked the first strike, though it rattled him further. The second, his sword managed to parry at the last second. The third found his left arm, glancing off his gauntlet and into the soft flesh beneath, drawing blood. Boldir didn't stop at three. He attacked again, and again, crashing his axe into Maul's sword or his own armor. All the while, Maul bit back the increasing levels of pain and worked to ease in closer to his foe. Finally, after rejecting a particularly devastating blow, his sword could take no more. The brittle iron snapped in two, and Boldir slammed his full weight into Maul, throwing him into the battlements as if he were a toy. The impact briefly knocked the light from Maul's eyes, and for a moment, all he could see was darkness. That is, until his helmet came off. He heard it clatter to the ground at their feet, and then his one of his foe's massive hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life out of him. It was hard to do anything, even cry out in pain as he was forced to stare into Boldir's eyes before his vision gave away again under the immense pressure building up in his head, his eyes especially. They felt like they could pop at any second, and he was sure they would very soon. He couldn't think, plan, do anything, not even hold his broken sword. When that dropped, the clang brought a little of himself back, enough to try and reach for the jagged piece of metal far out from his reach. He kept feeling for something to use... and finally his hands settled on the same dagger he used to slay his last target. Imagining the burns on Boldir again, Maul unsheathed his blade, aglow in its moonlit magics before burying itself in Boldir's charred flesh, aimed for his very heart. Iron-Brow staggered, and his hold faltered. Face-to-face, Maul smiled at him. The salty taste of blood was on his lips, but he didn't care. He gripped the dagger tighter, feeling the heat of its blade emitting through his foe's hide armor, smelling the delicious burns. He savored it. And then Boldir's grip grew strong again. The giant of Nord didn't say a word, he just squeezed, choking Maul, no, lifting him. The axe had been discarded, and now both of his hands were at Maul's neck. His fingers remained locked around the dagger. Soon the glowing blade came sliding back from its fleshy sheath, and he saw now that he had stricken too low: Inches below where the heart was. Maul prepared to stab again, but halted when his eyes met Boldir's. Where his own gave way to his fear, Boldir's eyes showed hate, cruelty... madness. That was when Maul realized that nothing would stop this man. That Riften was doomed. Maven was doomed. These were his last thoughts before Boldir threw him, and they were the thoughts Maul would take to his grave. *** Boldir Iron-Brow Morning "Boldir?" the deep voice called to him from what seemed like the other side of a tunnel. "Boldir?" Chief Hrokvild said again. This time sounding much closer. Groaning, Boldir turned away from the battlements, his hand clutching the spot he had been stabbed. "Damn." the chieftain swore. "Someone find some bandages, NOW!" Boldir shook his head and removed his hand. There was little blood beneath it. The dagger, Mila's dagger had burned the wound shut. It wasn't bandages he needed, but a healer. Someone to make sure his insides weren't ruined and to fix them if they were. At the moment, he could not tell. The pain he felt was still numb, and the worst of it had yet to set in. In fact, he did not even recall being stabbed. There had been a moment there, right when he had seen Mila's dagger clenched in Maul's fist, where anger had overtaken him, and then... Nothing. His mind had shut down and his body taken control. Boldir's first memory after seeing the dagger was Maul's broken form on the ground below, surrounded by fleeing men. "Have we won?" was all Boldir managed to ask before a severe throbbing pain spiked out from his wound. "We have." the bandit assured him. "Every one of the whoresons is dead or fled. And those who managed the latter where few enough." Boldir nodded, quietly hoping that those who escaped were Stormcloaks. "And us... What do we number now?" Hrokvild's face turned grim. "More than we did at the start by several times. The boys and girls of Treva's Watch were kind enough to go recruiting from smaller clans and gangs this past week... But as for our men... well, you were in the cistern. That lot's all that's left of us. These others still call me 'Chief', so we're still on top, but..." the chieftain signed. "They ain't my men, you know? They ain't the brothers and sisters I've fought beside all my life." Count your blessings. Boldir thought. At least you didn't have to kill them. "Then we stand with enough to take Riften, then?" "Aye, I believe so." "Good. And what of Ingun?" The bandit spat. "The bitch escaped. Someone must have gotten her out before our help arrived." Boldir had been afraid of that. It had been impossible to reach her before they retreated to the cistern, and when the battle had seemed against them, she had mattered little. But now... "Then we have to act fast. Tonight." "Right after the battle?" Hrokvild started, "Boldir, I've always been in favor of an all out assault. You know that. But this isn't-" "We have to." Boldir said. "Without Ingun, we lose our leverage, and if we give Maven any longer, she'll use her resources to replace the guards and fortify the city. Right now, we have the advantage." "And what about sparing Riften?" Hrokvild asked. "You always went on about how an all-out attack would ruin so many lives. What's changed?" "Everything." Boldir said. He was in too deep, now. He had spilt the blood of his Stormcloaks and benefitted from the slaughter. Riften was just another obstacle to face before he could save his family. The last one. "Rally the men. You're charismatic. Convince them that this is their chance to reap the benefits of all they have fought for. Tell them that they have the day to recover and prepare, and that tomorrow they will be so rich that they'll never have to fight again." That turned Hrokvild's frown into a wicked grin. "I think we've rubbed off on you, Magekiller. I'll do it." Boldir waited until the chieftain was gone, and then he let out a long, pained breath through gritted teeth. His insides were hurting a lot more now than they had before. The sooner he could find a healer, the better. But before that, he had one piece of business left to attend to. He scooped up his helmet and headed for the stairs. It took several minutes to get outside the fort, curtesy of both his wound and the droves of looting bandits. By the time he found what he was looking for, the sun was up, and he could make out the thick storm clouds far to the south. A half-dozen bandits were gathered round and cheered as two Nords, both large and hairy, wrestled beside the heavily-armored corpse. One of them, an older man with a braided gray mustache that fell past his chin, managed to land a solid right hook on his opponent's eye. The poor man's head twisted right with the punch, and then he fell. Mustache threw his hands in the air and roared as the others cheered or sneered, and then he went to go claim 'his' new armor. Boldir didn't say anything to the man. He didn't have to. When the others saw him approaching, they parted ways, and when he approached Maul's corpse, Mustache only gave a little more trouble. He stepped forward with raised fists and a cocky grin that was quickly wiped away when Boldir's fist sent him sprawling next to his unconscious companion. The others laughed while the large Nord knelt down over Maul and began working at the armor's fastenings. As it turned out, Boldir's gear was much too large for Maul. Maven's second had padded and stuffed it with cloth on top of wearing double layers beneath. Even the boots had been oversized, which, in spite of everything, made Boldir chuckle. It seemed that Maul was no bigger than his mouth and the gear he wore. And then a hand grabbed his wrist like an iron claspe, causing Boldir to flinch. Maul's eyes were open, but they only stared up, seeing nothing, and most of his body remained broken, bleeding, and unmoving. It was as if the Nord were a troll, biting even after he should be dead. Boldir slowly unsheathed the smaller axe at his belt and proceeded to drive it into his foe's neck. Even as the blood drained, he held on, and it was not until it had begun to slow did Maul release him. Boldir stood back up, unnerved, and pained from his wound, and looked around at the others, who appeared even more startled than he. "Have any of you found a dagger? It's of Nordic make, with a fox carved into the hilt." They appeared surprised that he had spoken to them, and one-by-one they shook their heads. Damn. Mila had never gotten the chance to name her little blade. He had hoped that when this was all over, the girl might finally be able to do so. It would have been something for her to remember him by. Something to remind her of better times, when he had tried to be a father. A large procession had gathered in the courtyard while he was outside. Hrokvild stood atop the wall, having just given his speech to rally them for their final battle. It had worked. The outlaws grinned and cheered, oblivious to the dead men around them. You could pick out the bandits of the Faldar clan by looking for the more sullen ones of the crowd. Boldir was thankful that he had missed the speech. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Hrokvild bellow, and all the motivation that he needed was already inside Riften. He was one step closer to saving Carlotta and Mila. And with the Riften guard smashed, Boldir realized that Maven had her greatest advantage. This was the end for her, and whatever else was going to happen, the thought brought him just a hint of satisfaction. Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Legate Avitus Agrippa, Night, Northernmost part of Bruma, The blistering cold wind howled like a starving beast across the bitter cold tundra, covering the Imperial Legionaries in a blanket of white snow. They had been walking for three days now, since there visit to the Stormcloak Pale Pass garrison, with barely any new leads to explain the disappearance of the fort. The vibrant Aurora Borealis was in the night's sky, the legionaries only source of natural light. Tribune Jiub's magelight, however, was their primary source of vision in the chilling darkness. In front of the moving column of Imperial soldiers, Legate Avitus Agrippa prowled. The only emotion he could express was rage, and so, normally, the Legate was colder than the ice around them. Normally, an officer of his rank would ride a horse, leading his column of legionaries on the back of a mount, but Avitus prefered to work as hard as the soldiers around him, to lead by example. A good soldier know's how to march long distance, even in extreme conditions. Every breath the legate let out, was foggy and cold. Underneath his full-face Imperial Templar helmet, Avitus brown stubble intermingled with shards of ice, and frost. Unlike the rest of the troop, Avitus wasn't shivering under the blistering cold. That man's heart was already cold as ice. One of the legionaries beside him, an Imperial, asked his commanding officer, "This land sure is foul, sir. The weather chills to the bone, and yet you aren't even shaking...are you alright, Legatus?" The imperial officer glanced away briefly, before facing the soldier. Though you couldn't see it due to the helmet, the legionary could tell his face was radiating pure, but emotionless, fury. Ignoring the previous question, the legate said, almost monotoned "Auxiliary, are the men assembled?" The soldier coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat, "Aye, sir. Immunes Aleroii and Immunes Hastati are scouting ahead." "Good" Avitus said, finally after a moment of pause. He turned away from the Auxuilary, and faced his unit of men. He raised his voice, "Alright men. Were going to stop for the night." The assembled crowd of soldiers sighed in relief. They had been walking long and hard, and the wintery climate was wearing on them. Some rest would do everyone good. Even the iron legionaries of the 112th Imperial Dragon Cohort needed sleep. The decided spot of the camp would have to be in the open, because there wasn't any tree's in the vicinity, except far in the distant. Dark, shriveled oak tree stood tall, acting as the legion's main border hurdle to the fort. Beyond that forest lay Fort Amenti. The legionaries made a makeshift wall, using a wooden stake, each carried in there large pack, which were attached to large wooden poles that soldiers hefted above there shoulders during the march. Sentries were chosen for the first shift, tents were raised, and after little more then half an hour, a temporary base camp was established. Already huddled imperial soldiers were bringing out pots, and making fires. Stew again for dinner it seemed. The makeshift "palisade" was only a defensible structure in the loosest sense of the word, although, along with the torches, it would keep common hazards, such as wolves, bears, and other animals away from the camp. Legate Agrippa ran a very tight ship, and anything less organised was simply unacceptable to him. The thirty six legionaries under his command didn't want to disappoint. In these extreme conditions though, it was best to be prepared for anything. Without order and civil law, foul things spawned unchecked in darkness. Besides Fort Hadrian, the area was lightly manned, with almost all Imperial Army personal limited to Ranger patrols. Legion presence was a bare minimum, especially this far north. Most Imperial Legion forces in Bruma were concentrated at Fort Subia, and Fort Voildrio, the headquarters of the eleventh and ninth legion respectfully, that along with the Counties capital. Huddled by a fire, and a medium sized cloth tent, were a trio of imperial legionaries, two of them on the bare snow, one, sitting atop a pile of supplies. Each of them, had there helmets taken off, along with there gauntlets, keeping most of there Imperial Templar armor on. A good deal of there equipment, including there tall tower shields, ebony tipped long spears, as well as silver gladius were to the side, keeping only there steel daggers on them. The two on the ground were Imperials, Nibenese if you wanted to be specific, going by there tan skin, and hassle brown eyes. One of them, who had bright red hair, stirred a wooden spoon inside a pot, that was over the raging fire, with some thick, brown soup cooking inside. The third, and final legionary was apparently Colovian, which was evident by his pale-white skin, nord styled war paint, and black raven hair. He spent his time sharpening his dagger on his steel pauldron. The legionary beside the red haired one grunted in annoyance, saying, "Arkay be damned, Sula, when willl the blasted stew be ready." The Nibenese soldier with the ginger hair, Sula Aurilus, pointed the wooden spoon at him, "Be patient Tirion. There's no rush." He went in closer, sniffing his self-made stew, "And besides, there's no rushing perfection." His companion laughed in response, "Yeah, I've tasted better army porridge then your grog." Sula pointed his bony finger with his free hand, sighing in annoyance "Why cant you just shut up, and be quiet like Angelos." Tirion shook his head, lazily stretching out, "Angelos doesn't speak at all." Sula continuously stirred his pot of stew, "It's better then your constant jabbering! Specialist Angelos shook his head, as if he was done with the other soldiers bickering. The blade he was sharpening was a Kurki, a redguard styled knife. The weapon's silver edge glistened under the moon, and made a metallic screeching sound as it made contact with the steel pauldron, which was painted red. Sula yawned, stretching his limbs out, "They say the Empress is always watching. I really don't think she would want to be in this kind of climate." Tirion chuckled in response, "No. From what i've heard, the Empress would rather be in much hotter, wetter places." Sula blushed, "You don't mean..the rumors about her are...true?" Tiron nodded his head, "From what i've seen, yes. My cousin works in the palace as a servant. He tells me he spends her freetime chasing after anything with a pair of breasts and a skirt." The imperial soldier laughed, "Well, isn't that we do?" Tirion, smiled, "Touche." Further in the camp, the legate's tent extended, taller and wider then the rest. It served as the group's tempoary HQ. Inside, a wooden table, with a large map of the Imperial countie of Bruma lay outstretched. Legate Agrippa placed his gauntleted hands on the table, looking deeply troubled. The imperial officer had only taken off his helmet, and was still in full battle dress, having his trusty Gladius, and dagger to his side. Beside him, his second officer, Tribune Jiub, offered a steaming cup filled with brownish liquid, "Nirnroot tea, sir?" The Imperial soldier shook his head, wordlessly, turning away, and studying the charts on the table once again. Jiub sighed, beginning to drink it himself. The Dumner asked, after taking a sip of the steaming liquid, "Your not still worried about this mission, are you Legatus?" "Of course I am, idiot." Avitus snarled, giving Jiub a sideway's glance. He was certainly in a foul move, "Normally, a small ten man lance of recruits would be more then enough to reestablish contact with a backwaters outpost most people don't even know about." He paused, his cold brown eyes seething with anger, "Instead, General Martullus sends thirty six of his best soldiers, along with his second in command. Without alerting anyone else" Avitus gripped the edge of the table with surprising force, "That bastard is hiding something from me." Avitus and Martullus were infamously informal, despite being shining examples of Professional soldiers, with one another. They called each other whatever they wanted, and spoke in whatever tone they saw was fit. The perks of serving together almost there entire lives. Despite there rocky exterior, the only people the two truly trusted were each other. And when push come to shove, the two always had each others back Before Jiub could respond to his superior's...suspicion, the flap covering the entrance into the tent flew open, as an Imperial Soldier walked in. Unlike the rest of the legionaries, he was wearing light imperial armor, made from dyed blue leather, and animal furs. In fact his leather cuirass, had the skin of a wolf's head attached, acting as a makeshift hood. His rather unusual garb identified him as an Exploratore, a sub group of specialist, or in official imperial circles, Immunes, ranked scouts. Over his shoulder's, the man bore a hunting bow, a quiver of steel-tipped arrows, and a rather large long-spear. His face, covered in facial bushy brown facial hair, was tanned, and was covered in blue war paint. Sharply saluting, the Explorate stood at attention, "Legatus, Tribune. sir." Both officers returned the salute, crisply. Avitus wasted no time. "Report, Immunes." The soldier cleared his throat "Sir we found something that you should see." ************************* "Aw ****..." Seethed Legate Avitus. They trio of soldiers had walked southeast of camp, about fifty yards away. The wintery climate was a hazard to be sure, though due to the keen tracking skills of the Immunue, as well as Jiub's magelight they could navigate through the snow decently. After around ten minutes of walking they had stumbled upon Immunes Hastati. Along with the frozen remains of three Stormcloak soldiers. Looking at the bear standard on there cloth tabards, steel chain mail, blue colors, and iconic helmets, there was no mistaking there allegiance. The soldier's themselves look terrible. There faces frozen in eternal agony, as well as there bodies forever distorted in terror. The cold had preserved there body, but not there humanity it seemed. Avitus crouched, examining there frozen bodies. Upon closer examination, on there necks lay Amulets of Talos, they symbol of the war god still visible among the frost. Avitus briefly closed his eyes, as he tore the amulets from the Stormcloaks necks, giving a moment to pay his respect to the fallen soldiers. After a second, he turned his head slightly, to face Tribune Jiub, with no visible emotion asking, "How long?" The Dumner crouched beside the Legate, inspecting the remains. He paused, before stating, "Impossible to tell really. The chill of Bruma is quite good at preservation. If I had to guess, I say...no more then four months." Be glanced up at the Legate, who wasn't responding in any kind. Apparently deep in thought. Tribune Jiub spoke up, "Sir...I don't think it's wise to jump to any conclusions-" Avitus interrupted, his voice, barely a whisper, "The good captain told us, the Stormcloaks hadn't authorized any official military operations against Cyrodili after the ceasefire and treaty. I believe him. I can tell when a man's lying." Avitus paused before continuing, "A group of recruits, glory-starved decide to muck about and launch an ill-planned raid. Before they reach the fort, or whatever objective they had...something gets to them first. And kills them." Tribune Jiub interrupted, "You don't think the cold got to them?" Avitus shook his head, "Nords don't die from the cold." The Imperial legate gripped the frozen amulets in his hand, "I don't like any of this Jiub...I dont like it at all..." As if to conform with Avitus's pessimism, as the wind howled, and the icy snow fell from the sky, an Imperial war horn sounded in the distance, coming from the location of the camp, startling the group. As if it was inherantly inside him, Avitus instinctively drew his Gladius. "Were under attack it seems." Jiub, already conjuring a ball of fire with his right hand ready for anything, nodded his head, "But who the hell would attack us out here?" "I think we should be asking, instead of who, what..." Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Witchking of Angmar Posted February 8, 2018 Share Posted February 8, 2018 Anna Bathory died peacefully on a cold morning with the sound of waves crashing in her ears. The last words she spoke to her daughter were to say, "Your hands are cold, dear. Dress more warmly." It was not Maggie's wardrobe that made her illusions slip, but rather hunger. She would not feed on the cattle in the Volkihar prisons. Occasionally she bedded one of the sailors that came through the nearby village, but in Anna's last days she had wanted to stay near. As the blonde woman's heart stopped for good, Maggie sat a while in silence, then reached up to brush her cheek. Tears. It had been years, perhaps centuries, since any of those had appeared in her eyes. The Volkihar mages saw to preserving Anna's body so that it could be returned to Skingrad. Maggie both dreaded the end of her vigil and had yearned for it. Now she could return to what remained of her life, and get out of this backwater of Skyrim. The charms of the small village and the vessels that visited its port had worn off. Yet she knew that her absence had left a void of power in Skingrad and in the Order that others would be scheming to fill. Her mail had piled up in recent days and Maggie took it out into the garden to read. Serana sometimes walked there in the evenings, but in the daytime Maggie had it to herself. Among the papers was a small wooden box. It was rectangular and was neatly carved with rounded edges. On the sides where simple carvings, in old Nordic style, of dragons flying and breathing fire. On top of the lid was another carving in similar fashion, but it was only of a menacing dragon head looking up at her. There seemed to be no hinges and no lock but the lid still seemed to be stuck to the the box. When Maggie touched the lid, the dragon head lit up briefly for a second in a dark red color. She removed the lid and saw inside a neatly folded paper lying on top of a rolled up one. The rolled up one was tied up with a black ribbon. Picking up and unfolding the first paper she saw that it was a letter. "I hope this box finds you wherever you are. I will say that life at the palace has kept me rather busy. The Council can be a little difficult at times but I think they are beginning to see things my way. I miss you at the palace. While Lady Quentas has a certain spice that I like, she does lack your ladylike charm and subtlety. Though I'm not sending you this to tell you about how things are here in the Imperial City. I wanted to send you gift. If you do not intend to return then consider this a parting gift. While I personally carved out and enchanted the box myself, the real gift is inside the scroll. You always seemed a little curious at the land I was born in. So I constructed a dream from my memories; a way for you to relive history, albeit through my somewhat fading memories. PS: I suggest you lie down in a bed before reading the scroll. PPS: Karsh misses you as well and wishes for you to return and, to quote him: 'replace that rude, big chested woman', as well as to 'bring more shinies'." Maggie laughed at the last note. "Ah, Skjari," she said, holding the scroll up to examine it. There could be no doubt that it was all his work, not a trick of her enemies. The offer of a visit to ancient Skyrim was too good for her to pass up. The rest of the letters could wait. Returning to her room high in the castle, Maggie placed the box on the shelf along with the other dragon the wizard had given her months- a lifetime- before. She changed into a light shift and ordered the nightblades that she was not to be disturbed, then lay propped on soft pillows and slowly opened the scroll. The scroll was long and the magic text even glowed a light yellow glow, the paper and the ink practically teemed with power. She read it and slowly her eyes began to shut and she felt her consciousness slip away from her body. All she could remember for a moment was that she was falling, or floating in air, the feeling was hard to pinpoint. Then the world suddenly came to a halt. She was still lying in a soft bed, softer than the one she had been lying in when she read the scroll. She opened her eyes and looked around. Looking around she saw that she lied a fluffy double bed in the middle of a stony road. Around her was a green and lush meadow for as far as the eye could see in almost all directions, except for one; in one direction she could see a mountain range reach for the sky as it stretched across the horizon. Forests lined the roots of the mountains. The road she was on lead towards the mountains, to a great city with stone walls and towers. Beyond the walls could be seen a great citadel with spires with arches between, similar style as could be seen on old Nordic architecture in Skyrim in the current times. Close to the citadel was a number of rooftops that could be seen. Further from the citadel the houses disappeared behind the walls, giving the sense that the citadel was situated on a large hill. The weather was sunny, with the sun high up in the noon sky, and a few clouds dotted the sky here and there. A soft summer breeze swept over the plains of grass, tugging lightly at her hair as it passed. Maggie rose from the bed and looked down at herself. The gown she wore was of a practical but beautiful velvet of deep wine, held together with burnished gold clasps and embroidered with arcane symbols in the dragon tongue, with a fur collar and sleeves of snowy sabrecat. She wore riding boots, good for exploring. "Even in this the illusion is perfect," Maggie marveled, gazing around and up at the city ahead. "Good day, my lady." she heard a familiar voice behind her. She turned around but was not quite sure it was the man she had been expecting. Donning a dark, almost black, steel suit of armor that covered his entire body. The armor had somewhat sharp edges. The face was hidden behind full, face covering helmet with only two holes in the shape of menacing eyes to look out through. The voice sounded like Skjari's but was a little deeper. And his demeanor was more of a servant, or a guard, than that of a dominant king. Smiling, Maggie said, "You are the guardian of this place. Or... my guide, perhaps? If so, you know who I am and we can skip introductions. Please tell me where I am. Or rather, when." "You're on the road to Iizdu'ul, largest city and capital of Skyrim. The year is somewhere in the 13th century of the Second Dragon. First year of the First Dragon beginning with the unification of dragon and man." Maggie considered, then shrugged. "Those dates mean little to me, as does the name. Is this Windhelm?" She was curious about the limits of this illusion Skjari had created, to see how much the guide knew or would tell her. "No. This is what later became the frozen wasteland in Winterhold. You've been to the heart of the citadel." "Winterhold. Then that city was long a place of arcane power. But where are the dragons? I had expected to see the sky thick with them." "Most sleep in the mountains, preferably near human settlements, most of the time. While dragons do often fly over the sky, you don't see them all the time." "I confess myself a little disappointed." Maggie reached out and ran a hand along the figure's arm. "This armor is impressive. It was Skjari's?" "This armor is that of his personal elite. His armor is of a more royal model of this one."' "Ah. Then will you take me up to the city? I'm anxious to see it." Suddenly she heard the sound hoofs clap against the stone road. When she turned she saw a horse dragging a carriage along the road towards them and towards the city. There were no driver in the carriage and the carriage itself was of rather robust make. A couch of pillows facing forward was the only place to sit. The guide helped her up and into the carriage, and as soon as she was seated, the carriage took off and left the guide behind. As she looked at her guide, he suddenly disappeared like if he had been made of smoke. Maggie looked ahead and saw the city grow bigger as she got closer. Suddenly she heard a powerful roar from within the city. Then she saw it, a dragon slowly flew up from behind the walls and began to circle the city. Then it landed on one of the towers near the front gate of the city. There it lay, watching the road and the gate. People also began to appear around her on the road: travelling merchants with their wagons, peasants carrying sacks of grain or piles of wood, a dozen guards marching with their short spear, leather armor and round wooden shields. Maggie studied each one that passed, remembering small details that would become fodder for her tales. These are Skjari's memories, she reminded herself, not reality. Yet it was closer than any living or undead being had come in their age. As she rode, she recalled the wizard's nightmares. He was trapped here in this place, more certainly than any poor sod in the Soul Cairn Serana told her about. This was his home, that closest to his heart, and yet also his prison. No one could have understood that better than Maggie herself. The passers-by paid her no attention, and she realized that she must look to them like any highborn lady. "I wish to stop," she told the carriage, wanting to talk to some of the common people on the path. The carriage slowed down to then stop. Some people gave her carriage little confused looks for stopping in the middle of the road, but otherwise went back to minding their own business. A few even looked at her for a second before dropping their eyes to the ground as if simply looking straight at her had been a shameful act. Maggie stepped down from the carriage, heedless of the odd looks. "You there," she said to a merchant. "Are you from this city or another part of Skyrim? I'm a visitor here and should like to know what your life is like." The merchant gave her one quick look and then lowered his head and looked at his feet. "I sell cloth from the Misty Forest, my lady." "The Misty Forest? Is that far from here? Show me some of this cloth." "Yes, my lady." said the merchant and went to uncover the leather blanket that covered his wagon. "The Misty Forest is a great forest stretching west and southwest of Monahven, Throat of the World." she heard a familiar voice from behind say. Maggie glanced over her shoulder at her guide. "I wonder how much time I have to see these places. I don't suppose you can arrange a dragon ride?" Turning back to the merchant, she uncovered the bolts of cloth and began to inspect them. The weave was obviously done by hand looms, not as sophisticated as that of the later empire, nor did the dyes have the rich lustre. For all that, the brocades seemed to dance from the slight imperfections, and the sturdy wool would keep out Skyrim's chill. "Excellent work, master. I will remember these and you shall have reward for your kindness." She meant that he woud be immortalized in her stories, but there was a weight at her hip, and Maggie took a gold coin from the pouch there and tossed it at the merchant. "Thank you, my lady." the merchant said with a bow, then went back to getting his ox to move the cart. "This dream is limited to the city and the lands directly surrounding it. And you can stay here for as long as your body in the real world allows it." said the guide. "Ah. Well there must be limitations I suppose. I shudder to think what magic was required to produce even this." She said it cheerfully, however, and didn't seem too concerned about what Skjari had to do to gain the power for this. Climbing back into the carriage, she said, "Onward to the city, then." The carriage began moving again as the horse followed her command. As she approached the city gates she heard a loud rumble, and noticed that it came from the dragon that seemed to almost be growling. The people on the road seemed unconcerned with dragon however. Maggie even thought the dragon followed her with its eyes as she passed in under the gates. Inside the city walls opened a wide and long street, with shops lining both sides. Commoners were scurried around the streets and the city was teeming with life here. The carriage stopped a bit a further down the street. "Here we are." She alighted cheerfully and took in the bustle on the street around her. Seeing a tavern, she said, "Mead, that is what is wanted here. The citadel can wait, yes? I want to taste what real ancient Nord mead is like." The guide materialized at her side, like smoke condensing into armor. "As you wish, my lady. Most expensive and popular was Frosthoney mead. Though it was mostly only sold in the upper class district." "Well let us see what the Dancing Horker has to offer." The wrought metal sign above their heads was just that, a horker standing up on his tiny back legs and dancing with a maid with pigtails. Inside, the crowd was sparse since it was still early. A group of men looked up from their dice game, gaping at Maggie, and there was a more exciting game in the back, that of thrown axes. They were being tossed at a battered wooden figure of an elf lord. The serving girl had to go into the back to get Frosthoney. Maggie yelped when she took the first sip. "By the Seven. Why would anyone in Skyrim need to make a drink so cold? I shall have to tell that young Stormcloak general he needs more ice wraith teeth in his if he wants it to be authentic." The real Frosthoney was colder than Baldur Red Snow's version, and this had aged much longer. It was a harsh drink for a harsh time. "It's also how you mix it. None has ever gotten the real secret recipe from the Ice-Bloods. For a pile of gold you can buy a cheaper copy of the recipe. The rest you have to figure out from their bragging over how no one else can carefully extract the juice and flavor from the snow berries and how to grind the teeth into powder." said her guide. "It is a kindness that I'm... as I am, then." Even here she didn't like to speak of her true nature. The locals might not approve even in an illusion. "Sit, sir knight. Have some mead yourself if you like. I want you to tell me what you can of your lord. His family, his origins. Was he a lordling? Where did he learn his magic? And speak if you will of his... his lady wife, the queen. What sort of woman was she?" "I am no knight. I'm a collection of thoughts and memories." he said and took a seat opposite of her. "There was no real queen. All women at the king's side aged and waned in beauty with time, thus being discarded once they had lost their charm." "Because of his longevity? A neat trick. Do you know how he does it?" The conversation in the inn had gone silent, and there were eyes on them. "I know. But that's a secret." "Of course it is." She didn't seem put out. "Now tell me about his family. Are any still living? Can I meet them?" "My family is dead. And I have little memory of them." said the guide, or rather Skjari said that, as it seemed to be his words that came out in a slightly annoyed tone. Maggie raised a brow at the pronoun change. She wondered how conscious was Skjari's control of the illusion he had made. "Ah well. Then I shall content myself to see the land and its other people. Come. I have satisfied my curiosity about the mead, at least." "Yes, my lady." the guide said, returning to his formal and servile tone of before. Maggie took the guide's arm as they walked through the streets. She mostly observed the people, but stopped at a baker's window. "Ah, sweetrolls! It seems their provenance is ancient." Handing the baker a coin, she took the roll and ate it while they walked towards the citadel. When she passed a townsman wearing a dragon amulet, she stopped the man and said, "Tell me about your gods. Do you recognize any besides the dragons?" Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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