Tavern Tales: Skyrim, Volume One (Legend)

[charlescrowe]

Ruarke spent the walk to Solitude in a daze, only sobering up enough to check themselves into their room at the Winking Skeever. Seeing his reflection triggered something deep within, mentally exhausting the Breton, and giving his body need for rest for the first time in almost a century. Too tired to do anything else, he sent Malori off to find Manan, then collapsed heavily on the bed.

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A cool breeze blew in from over Lake Rumare; late spring in Cyrodiil was turning pleasant, the first signs of a warm summer chasing away the cool air of earlier in the season. Raurke looked around, smiling, chasing after his sister while they traveled with their parents to their favorite spot on the southern shore. Ahead, Serenity was now talking to a friendly looking Nord about their day out as a family. As they caught up, the Nord snatched Serenity up, signalling to his accomplices in the trees. "Your money, or your lives!" he shouted, an arrow thudding at Raurke's father's feet to punctuate the threat.

"You can have it; just let her go." Argus Duskshadow spat, reaching to his belt to untie his coin purse. "Hera, yours too."

Raurke's parents walked slowly to the Nord, purses held in front of them. Once he had them, he let Serenity go, then yelled to his cohorts. "All right boys, no witnesses!" Cackling, six more bandits came out from the trees, all well armed. Argus closed the distance between him and the Nord, grabbing the man's shortsword and plunging it in his back. A battlecry came from one of the bandits as four of them rushed in; it wasn't long before Argus and Hera had brought down another two bandits, but they were outnumbered and worried for their children.

The two bandits who hung back loosed arrows, one catching Argus in the arm and leaving him open as another bandit lunged. Hera screamed as her husband's lifeblood stained her dress. Enraged, she drove her dagger into the bandit's neck only to be brought down herself by a second volley of arrows.

Terrified, Raurke grabbed the cowering Serenity's hand and ran. One singular thought ran through his head as he pulled his sister along; 'Find a Legionnaire!' Serenity screamed, and a one-eyed man was ahead of them. "Run, children. I'll hold them off!" he shouted, blade in hand and firing off bolts of brilliant blue lightning.

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The dream faded as Raurke was aware of Malori wiping his brow, holding his head in her lap. Soothing him with a soft whisper, she wiped his forehead again with a clean rag. "You're safe, my Raven." Raurke slipped quietly into a peaceful rest.

[DarkRider]

In Half-Moon Village...

No word came from the healer on the next day or the next. Duncan, Rae’Gar, and Jayn filled their idle time bartering with the local merchants to fill the Mill Tavern’s supply list. But by the third day in Half-Moon, the wagon was full and the three companions found themselves faced with a tough decision.

“It’s too dangerous a road,” Duncan shook his head at Jayn’s proposal, “Maybe I should ride back with you and then return here on my own; would only take a few days, Rae-Gar can wait here.”

“You planned on making this trip alone as I recall,” the young woman argued, “so why is it too dangerous now for me?”

Duncan frowned, “It’s not like that. Look it was my task, I can’t ask you to assume the responsibility.”

“You’re not,” she crossed her arms in annoyance, “I’m volunteering. This woman…this avatar, she chose to reveal herself to you two, that’s no small thing. You need to see this through.”

“Indeed,” Rae-Gar concurred from where he stood leaning against the stable fence.

Duncan frowned, “You stay out of this,” he turned back to Jayna, “you sure, Jayn?”

“I’m sure, and if it makes you feel better I’ll ask around the tap house if anyone else is traveling north, maybe we can make a caravan.”

“Not a bad plan I guess,” he said finally surrendering, “when do you leave?”

“First light,” she answered, “don’t worry about me, I’m a big girl. I better rent a second horse and start poking around for a companion or two. You guys, try to stay safe.”

“You too,” Duncan offered, his face clouded with worry, but he was determined to let her go. He watched Jayna walk off to the stable yard before he returned to Rae-Gar’s side, “If anything happens to her…”

“She’ll be fine,” the Khajiit cut him off in reply, “she has more than enough skill to drive a wagon to Dragon’s Bridge. I’m more concerned about where our path is going next.”

Duncan scoffed, “At the moment it would seem our path is going nowhere.”

“That is about to change,” Rae-Gar replied, nudging Duncan and pointing out a young villager moving quickly in their direction.
Both men straightened as the youth reached them, “The healer has called for you.”

--------------

When they entered the healer’s shack, they were surprised to find the avatar seated just inside waiting for them. She was clean, and dressed in a combination of soft linens and furs. Her ebony tresses flowed softly over her shoulders and her blue green eyes shown like sapphires set against her cream white flesh. She had a regal, almost godlike beauty and air that gave both men pause. It was Duncan who recovered first.

“How are you feeling?”

She smiled, “I am well, thank you Duncan,” her gaze moved to Rae-Gar, “and I am ready to travel again.”

“We have many questions about that,” the Khajiit replied.

“Yes of course,” she said knowingly, “we were on our way to the Temple of the Ancestor Moths in Cyrodiil, a friend is waiting for us there, but our party was attacked in the night, by dark men, riding on flames. I am sorry, that does not make much sense, and the change clouds my memory. Somehow I alone escaped, but they harrowed me for miles. Every time I stopped to rest they set upon me again with their hounds. If you had not heard my calls and come, I would likely be dead now.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow, “and you would have Rae-Gar and I complete a journey with you…that a contingent of guards couldn’t?”

“Yes.”

Rae-Gar cocked his head inquisitively as if trying to weigh the various forward scenarios in his mind, “Do you know who these men are?”

The avatar shook her head, “No, I am sorry. I do know they are not of this land, very powerful in the arcane arts as they wield dark magicks, and they wish to possess me.”

“To what end?” Duncan asked.

“I fear to find out,” the avatar answered solemnly, “we must go soon. Already I feel them drawing closer to us, they move faster in the darkness.”

Duncan shook his head, “What hope do we have? Rae-Gar and I have no power to match them, how can we be the ones to help you?”

“Because the Father has deemed it so, it is destiny.”

Rae-Gar set a hand on Duncan’s shoulder before he could argue, “We will bring the horses, prepare yourself to take leave, my lady,” he said before leading the way outside.

Once they were out in the open air of the late afternoon once again, Duncan’s gaze drifted up to the sun already fading behind the tree lines, “They travel faster in the dark.”

“Then we need to put some distance between us before then,” Rae-Gar answered.

“This is madness…”

The khajiit turned to look at him hard, “You are no coward.”

“No,” Duncan agreed, “but I’m not mad either. How can we possibly defend her? She needs mages, or gods, or something. Look at us; we’re just a couple of soldiers. What can we do huh? Tell me cat, when the black death rides in on their storms of fire, what are we going to do?”

Rae-Gar’s whiskers twitched, “I don’t know,” he answered, “but that's something we’d better figure out before it happens,” he said, resuming his stride toward the stables.

“Naturally,” Duncan said to himself, following with a sigh.

[ResolveThatChord]

The sky was a darker blue in Skyrim than elsewhere in the world, Rimat fancied. She wondered if it was an illusion by contrast (what with how everything was so pale in colour on the ground), or whether it was actually some quality of the air. The day's travel had brought them out of the damp forest and into the shadow of sharp, craggy mountains. They walked on a road cutting along a steep valley.

 

Maenam was spooked, again. A moment ago a peal of thunder had cracked out, booming loud and low between the walls of the valley. His hands were readied for magical combat, his gaze darting about the higher reaches of the valley. Rimat sighed.

 

“Come on. It's just a bit of thunder.†she said.

 

Maenam shook his head. “No clouds. It might have been a mage. A lightning spell.â€

 

“I doubt it. Natural lightning is far more loud and energetic. It's thunder is lower, longer wavelength with more volume of compressed air or something.â€

 

Maenam looked annoyed, but lowered his hands. “So say you. I was tutored by the Master of the school of destruction in Alinor.†He resumed walking, gesturing for her to follow. “He had a lightning spell that would send the birds flocking from the trees for miles around Crystal Tower.â€

 

Rimat hauled the heavy pack up to sit more comfortably across her shoulders. “Uh huh. And you reckon you'll find him here, in the godless back-end of nowhere?â€

 

Maenam didn't seem to consider this worthy of reply. An errant snowflake landed on Rimat's lip. She looked up to see the sky above had become white. That certainly happened quickly. It seemed even the weather here had a mean streak.

 

He was silent for a while, and then, “It sounded almost like a voice, wouldn't you say?†Rimat let her sceptical right eyebrow reply for her, so he elaborated, “Folk wisdom says that the Nord wizards of long ago would cast spells by shouting thunder. The way the sound reflects around these mountains sounds almost like speech. I think I may have found the origin of the legend.†He gave tight smile. “One would think that Galerion's legacy might have been to dispel such superstitions about magic.â€

 

The snow was beginning to fall in earnest now, and Rimat's headscarf was starting to get soaked. “Shelter?â€

 

He nodded. “I think so.â€

 

It was some time later that that the storm abated; not until the sun had set and risen. Rimat was already finishing packing up camp in the dry cave they had found when Maenam woke up. He looked around and nodded, satisfied at her work, eliciting a derisive snort from her direction.

“If yer lordship is done with 'is beauty sleep,†she said, in a poor imitation of a Nibenese peasant, “I-â€

 

“Don't test me.†He cut her off irritably, rising to leave the cave and check the time. Something crunched under his boot, and he stopped. Crushed under his heel was a collection of leaves and flowers. He hunkered down to get a closer look.

It was a little square basket, woven from elves' ear leaves. Arranged inside were the crushed remains of native wild flowers, and a single septim.
Rimat shouldered the pack, and walked up behind him. “Come on, you're blocking the doorway.â€

 

“Look at this.†he said. “Someone was here... We should start taking watch at night.â€

“No-one was here.†She shouldered past him. “Come on.â€

 

Outside it was a misty morning. The sun shone weakly through a sky completely covered in white cloud. Their cave was higher up on the mountain, so from here their view was clear. Down below, the mist extended out in a vast, white ocean. Mountain peaks rose up out of it in the distance, but everything beneath was obscured. It was beautiful.

 

Rimat felt her heart lift a little. “You know, I hate this place, but sometimes it's not so bad. I reckon I could get used to living on the road.

Maenam fell in step behind her. “Did you make that? Why did you leave it in the doorway?â€

 

“You were sleeping for hours. I was bored. I even finished reading my book. And it's Saint Olm's day.â€

 

He rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand, still waking up. “I thought you said you weren't religious.â€

 

“I didn't say that.†Rimat increased her pace, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. After a moment, she relented, and sighed. “No, I'm not religious. That was different. It's for my brother.†She trudged on, looking ahead over the ocean of white mist. “And my family.â€

 

“I see.â€

 

The conversation lapsed as they descended into the mist. It was eerily silent here, beyond the forest. The mountains shielded everything from the wind. The only signs of life were a few short, gnarled juniper trees clinging to the rocks by the path. Rimat could barely see beyond them through the mist. The silence stretched on between them, and she found herself wishing for their usual banter.

 

“Well, this couldn't get more awkward.†She said, right before an arrow buried itself in Maenam's midriff.

He gave a short grunt, and collapsed to his knees. Rimat turned and stared in disbelief, stunned for a few moments, until another arrow flew from the mist and hit the pack on her back, knocking her off-balance and sending her sprawling to the ground.

 

Winded, she let out a croaking gasp for air. No sooner had she done so than another arrow struck the ground by her head. She let out a terrified squeak then shut her mouth, lying as still as she could. Very slowly, she turned her head to look at Maenam.

 

He caught her eye, and raised a finger to his lips. His head was cocked, listening. One hand was grasping the arrow where it protruded from his side, blood dripping off his knuckles. She tried to see how seriously he had been hit, then did likewise, listening for any sign of their attackers.

 

She strained her ears, and gave a little jump at the low cracking of a rock tumbling down the mountain somewhere above. But aside from that, no sound was discernible beyond her blood pounding in her ears.

Without making a sound, they appeared, approaching slowly. At first they were indistinct silhouettes. The first was some beast-human: the stature of a man but a strange, shaggy, elongated head, great antlers reaching to the sky. It's legs seemed also to be covered in fur. The other seemed more human, but only the barest shadow of each of them could be seen.

 

No... it wasn't a monster. They were both human, one man and one woman, but the man was wearing some strange stag-head helmet and garments of fur. The woman was also dressed in scraps of fur, and as they came closer Rimat could see patterns of blue woad painted across her bare skin.

“Maenam?†Rimat braved making a sound. “How's your stomach?â€

 

“Painful.†He muttered. They weren't too near each other but their low voices carried in the silence. Some part of Rimat's mind considered how the mist would affect sound travel, and whether their voices would carry to the archers.

 

“You going to live?â€

“Don't insult me.†A small smile crept into his pained expression. “Do you think they just hand these robes out to anyone?â€

 

“Okay, are... you going to do something about it?â€

 

He shook his head. “Not yet.â€

 

A small breeze stole past, pushing back the mist some distance. Rimat stole another glance at the approaching pair, and stopped. The cold fear in her gut grasped, intensified. It WAS a monster- the man, bare chested, had an open wound in his chest, like a gaping hole. She could see where his heart had been torn out, and it's place was... something else, secured behind the bones of his exposed ribs.

“Maenam?â€

 

He didn't reply.

 

She could feel her body sweating in the cold. “I'm going to run.â€

 

“Don't run.†He still spoke softly, perhaps he was trying to speak firmly but his pain was evident in his voice.

 

“I'm going to run.â€

 

“Don't. There are more of them.â€

 

She knew that. These two weren't carrying bows. “I'll wait for you. North on the path. Promise you'll come find me.â€

 

She turned to look at him, imploring him to reply. He didn't. His eyes were fixed ahead, at their approaching attackers. Rain began to fall.

 

They were closer. Much closer. How did they move so quietly? How much of did they hear of the spoken exchange? For a long, drawn out time, Rimat and Maenam were perfectly still and silent. And then, too soon, the man was standing over her. She locked eyes with his, through the eye holes in his barbaric headwear. He regarded her dispassionately for a long moment. Then his hand grasped the the handle of his axe.

He was halfway through drawing it when Maenam stood up. Rimat wasn't looking in his direction, but there was a flash of light and the barbarian woman was thrown from her feet. In the next moment a rock the size of Rimat's head was flying at the man, but at a flick of his left hand the air shimmered and it was sent harmlessly spinning away before it reached him. Axe in hand, the man turned and bounded towards Maenam.

 

And for a brief moment, Rimat saw that on the braided necklace around this monster's neck hung an object of ivory, carved with black Daedric runes.

 

And before she knew it she was scrambling away from the path, slipping down the mountainside in a cascade of dirt and rocks. Arrows struck and bounced off the ground around her. There was a sudden drop- unable to slow her descent in time, she went over the cliff and for a moment she fell, completely surrounded by white fog. She splashed down into a stream, landing jarringly, her leg sinking into the soft bed. As she struggled out, she could hear shouts coming from all around. Rimat ran as hard as she could, fruitlessly trying to loosen the bindings of her pack to lose the dead weight. Her gaze distracted, she surprised herself by running into someone, bowling them both over.

Scrambling up, she saw it was another barbarian man. He looked up from the ground, seeming at least as surprised as her. She shrieked, kicked him in the stomach, then kept on running. At every step she thought she could hear him running behind her. She couldn't help it- she tried to glance behind, and immediately tripped over a rock. She got to her feet again as quickly as she could and kept on running.

It wasn't long before her path was cut off by a rushing river. She stopped, gasping for breath. She could still hear the mad shouting of the barbarian men, echoing between the mountains.

The fog was beginning to dissipate as the rain began to fall in earnest. It wouldn't protect her from being seen for long. Without hesitating further, she strode into the stream.

 

About a third of the way across she was already regretting the choice. She was moving downstream, fast, and digging her feet into the mud wasn't helping at all. Halfway across, it was too late to turn back. She was sent tumbling with the the rapids, her shoulder banging against a rock. Thankfully most of the weight absorbed by the pack. It was getting harder and harder to keep her head above the surface. Gasping for air, she felt exhaustion taking her, felt her strength failing. Her head was pushed under, she was spun upside-down by the currents, thrown down against the river bed, flung up again to desperately gasp for air, only to choke down water into her lungs. She struck another rock, and another.

In the end, she was just strong enough to outlast the rapids. She crawled up onto the muddy bank, shivering, coughing and bruised. She had never in her life felt so exhausted.

And now she was at least a little drier. In a safe place. She rested, eyes open only a crack. Red candles burned around her, countless little candles filling the room with warm light.

She squinted, scrunched her eyes and opened them properly. Not candles. Fireflies. The rain had passed, and so had the day. The clouds had disappeared completely and the full glory of the starry sky stretched above her. Her body shook as she coughed. She stumbled to her feet to look about, and couldn't see any sign of the path. She looked up at the stars, rubbing her arms for warmth.

She turned to the North, and again, before she knew it, she was putting one foot in front of the other.

[lilith]

Slipping quietly through the waning light, Fiska was feeling the sting of the frozen air.  It’s not that she hadn’t been out many a foul day like this before, but there was something different this time. “Something I just can’t put my finger on…†she said aloud coming to a standstill.  Spinning around, the glance exposed just more of the same, the frozen wastes of Skyrim.  The power, or more aptly put the presence of power, was still tingling each nerve ending, she kept hoping she’d see a wizard, a powerful wizard at that, as she knew of no other thing besides lightning to feel like this.

 

Remembering the fools’ errand she was on caused a slight grimace to traverse her face, “Damn elves, they’ll probably not have the coin either.† Fiska continued on with her seemingly mindless trek through the icy and forbidding terrain.  Forgetting occasionally her path as the draw of the power seeped into her consciousness with teasing tentacles.  Once again the wind whipped up stinging her back to reality.  That’s when Fiska espied the faint glow, “it’s just a cook fire, but yet…†pausing trying to resolve that this is where the power appeared to emanate from.  Curiosity or perhaps resolution bade her to turn her strides towards the dim glow.

 

She didn’t view herself the same as others did.  However, she understood why, no one but Orcs could bring themselves to look in her eyes and it wasn’t commonplace with most of them either.  There were few in the stronghold that had seen her capabilities and that was well before the death of her father. “Follow your heart child,†rang through her memories still irritating her today as it did when she first heard it from her grandmother all those many years ago, “how can you follow your heart when the stronghold comes first?!â€

 

She had always appreciated the soothing art of restoration, however that was one of the differences, she herself was not a healing beauty, only amongst her own and her stronghold wouldn’t have her.  Through many trials she eventually found illusion and conjuration to be more than beneficial to her and her needs and in the end she felt she was well balanced regardless of what others saw or didn’t see in her.

 

The faint glow was becoming more distinct, setting her thoughts aside she could discern it was not a lone fire, but in fact several windows reflecting the late afternoon sun.  The angst she had been feeling slowly dissipated as it was replaced with a long forgotten and somewhat foreign feeling.  As she approached the buildings she set all aside in one huffy remark, “Orcs don’t have any feelings!† Fiska came to a stop in the yard of what she assumed was a taphouse, leaning against a post and withdrawing her pipe from her satchel she lit the contents.

[DarkRider]

It was late afternoon when Jayna Wind-Arc emerged from the Half-Moon Taphouse and leaned on the railing of its weathered wooden porch with a sigh. Recruiting a traveling companion had not gone as well as she’d hoped. The taphouse was fairly devoid of patrons save for a couple of old men playing cards who were locals and well passed their traveling days. The barkeep had given her a couple leads, a lady orc he described as a vagabond monk had been seen passing through to sell herbs with their healer, and a huntsman, Breton he’d thought, had taken a meal in the taphouse that morning before the merchant shops had opened. Either would have cause to go north, maybe she’d get lucky, if they were even still in town.

As her gaze trailed the road, she saw three cloaked riders leaving the village on nondescript brown ponies heading south toward Falkreath. She knew it was her former companions leading the avatar out of Half-Moon before the darkness had a chance to fall on them. It was a good plan, no one would be able to describe them and with any luck, she was the only one who had seen their departure. Yet a foul, strangely warm, wind blew through the trees and around her. Her gaze lingered on a distant pass of the sky already growing dark, like a heavy storm moving in off the horizon. In her gut it felt unnatural.

“All my years in Skyrim I’ve never seen such a sky myself,” a gravelly voice said as if agreeing with her thoughts. Slightly startled, it was the first time she noticed the tall female orc standing in the taphouse yard below her, leaning against a post, smoking a long slender pipe. Her skin was gaunt and a mossy green, her features sharp, and she almost appeared elvish except for the small tusk like teeth protruding from her lip. The woman wore green colored robes, the hood of which lay gathered around her shoulders revealing her mouse brown hair, tinted with streaks of grey, and gathered up in a bun that was held in place by what looked like a sprig of rowan branch.

“I’m sure it’s just a thunderhead,” Jayn replied, not sounding as sure as she’d like, “I’m called Jayn, the barkeep mentioned you were in town,” she said, coming down off the porch and offering the orc her hand.

“I am called Fiska,” the lady orc replied accepting her friendly gesture in turn, “and I’m certain it is a storm of some kind, but its nature is what has my concern. I’ve heard stories among my people, about the gates of Oblivion that once opened with a dark sky such as that, I would not like to see such a day.”

Jayn turned her gaze back to the sky, “Nor I,” surely such a thing couldn’t happen again. She cleared her throat after a moment to redirect, “Whatever it is I hope it won’t delay my trip. I’m taking a supply wagon up near Dragon Bridge tomorrow and I was hoping if you were traveling north we might travel together?”

Fiska nodded her head thoughtfully, “Yes perhaps, I promised the healer here a few more mushrooms, but if I am ready to leave tomorrow, north is as good a direction as any.”

“Fair enough,” the younger woman agreed. She watched then as Fiska slipped her pipe into her satchel and strode gracefully off into the woods, a movement that accentuated her tall thin frame; her footsteps near soundless on the dry leaves and grasses.

-----------------------------------

When Fiska disappeared into the tree line, Jayn headed back into the village, perhaps it would be worthwhile to find the Breton hunter as well, just in case mushrooms proved elusive for the lady orc. It was the harvest season in this region, and the streets of Half-Moon village were lined with open air market stalls. Jayn stopped at one of the stalls and passed the vendor a few coins for a puffed crème treat. She devoured it greedily as she walked; it was a quaint village nestled beside a picturesque lake. Children ran along the roughly cobbled streets and sodden footpaths winding between the houses laughing and playing without care. Only a careful eye could spot any signs of darker times; the overgrown ruts hidden in the grass where a dragon had skidded across the land, new wood beams laid against old where eaves were re-thatched and supports mended. There seemed to be few places in Skyrim that had escaped the lasting touch of Alduin’s War, perhaps in time the evidence would fade, but her father’s land was a hard one, and certainly hadn’t seen the last of battle.

She saw a man coming from the tanner’s stall who seemed to fit the barkeep’s description of the Breton hunter, tan weathered skin, dirty blonde hair pulled back away from his face, and a daedric bow slung over his shoulder; it was not a common weapon, one she’d only seen a handful of times. Jayn quickened her pace to meet him at the end of the bridge, but he stopped and watched her arrival, his keen eyes catching her approach from the other side.

“Is there something you require, miss,” the Breton asked evenly.

“Yes, I…” she hesitated, “have we met before?”

The man shrugged, “Not that I recall.”

She was certain, “No, you’re right we haven’t been introduced but we have seen one another. You were with Duncan Greyhame in the northern caverns. I saw you there just before the Thalmor took us captive, I remember that weapon.”

He grinned, “An heirloom,” he offered, “I do remember you now, you escaped then, what about the others?”

“They escaped as well and scattered to the winds now,” she laughed, “I’m glad to see you survived as well. I’m returning a supply wagon to the Mill Tavern tomorrow; would you be headed that way to accompany me?”

“It has been a few weeks since I scouted herds in the high north,” he considered but his gaze drifted to the sky, “but I don’t like the look of that storm on the horizon, such weather will make my quarry scarce,” he shook his head, “No, I’m afraid I have to ply my trade and stay south of those clouds. Animals have a keen sense for these things.”

“Yes of course,” Jayn said in understanding, “good luck with your hunting.”

“Safe journey on the morrow,” he offered, “Perhaps we’ll meet again at the Tavern,” he said before resuming his trek down one of the sodden paths that lead into the woods passed the grain mill.

She had no choice but to hope the lady orc finished her business in time. She stopped in the stable to make sure Odin was well fed and tended, then returned to the taphouse to rent a room.

------------------------------------

It was nearly midnight when the first distant screams routed Jayn from her sleep and to the window. In the dark she could see shadowy forms dashing about, like wolves. From somewhere beyond the edge of the taphouse where she couldn’t see a flickering orange light warned of fire. She was dressed as quick as light and hurried down the taphouse steps crossbow in hand. The barkeeper had barricaded the door and he and a few patrons were taking cover behind the bar.

“Don’t go out there m’lady,” the barkeep warned as she pushed the heavy table aside, “there is demons out there.”

Jayn frowned, “Stand, arm yourselves, defend your home,” she barked at them, but the patrons made no move to throw off their fear. She growled in disgust as the door finally wedged open far enough for her to slip outside and into the night. The air was strangely warm, the trees rustled by an unearthly wind that seemed to come from all around, and there were no stars visible in a black endless sky.

She saw a Whiterun guard lying on the cobbled road just outside the taphouse, one of the few who patrolled Half-Moon as their regular assignment. He was dead; his blood pooled around him, drained from the gaping and savage wounds to his throat and side. The village was alight with screams, chaos and disarray. She found it hard to focus; the tannery was alight with fire, as were the market stalls, the flames stretching up to the sky like torches. People were running through the village, trying to find shelter, children were crying, but the threat was not immediately apparent. Then she heard a low growl behind her. Jayn spun and loosed the bolt from her bow just as the large creature lunged for her. Swallowing her bolt it dropped in a heap beside the fallen guard. Jayn approached slowly as she loaded another bolt. It was a hell hound; a foul beast conjured up from Oblivion with a powerful black magic.

Turning back she headed into the village, trying to get a fix on the hounds as they dashed about as quickly as shadow, taking advantage of the smoke and chaos. She watched as one of them took down another guardsman, nearly cleaving the man’s head in one swipe of his filthy maw. It stood over the still form and wailed victoriously. She spotted Fiska, holding a child in one arm and her staff in the other, two other children clung to her robes.

“Fiska,” she called out, “take them to the taphouse!”

Fiska nodded and as a hell hound bounded toward her, the lady orc swung her staff around herself and her charges in a fierce rounded arc. As she did they vanished under a cloak of invisibility and were gone. Jayn raised her crossbow and fired, wounding the beast, but it dashed away into the woods. She hurried to find the other guardsman to reinforce the village defense. As she moved through the chaos she could see the hounds breaking into homes, howling, and rooting as if they were searching for something in the village and targeting the guards who might interfere with their plans; a scouting party. Jayn fired off another bolt to save the poor crier from being eaten alive, and then moved to the town bell to alert the villagers to take arms. She rang the bell, which only served to draw the hounds’ attention toward her, no one stirred to come to their aid; farmers and merchants hiding in their homes and praying for the gods to have mercy...useless. She dashed away from the bell, down the far lake shore and up to the other side of the village near the saw mill. It looked like the last of the village guards were trying to hold the main bridge into town but there were more hell hounds left than guards coming from both sides. She hurried to their aid as the hell hounds attacked, casting her fire charges to no avail; they seemed immune to her flames. Another guard fell and one more by the time Jayn managed to get up onto the bridge. She fired down as one of the hounds charged toward her, the blood and flesh of the village guard still marred in his fangs.

Jayn pulled the bolt loose from the hell hound’s skull when it slid to a stop at her feet, reloading as the last guard’s screams were strangled from him by another hound across the bridge, “Looks like it’s just you and me,” she said to Fiska grimly as the orc came up beside her, the mage’s staff became imbued with a charging spell.

“And me,” William chimed in appearing next to the orc with an arrow nocked in his bow.

[ResolveThatChord]

“Mr Lexington? Sir... MR LEXINGTON?â€

Raurke, who was lost in thought, gave an imperceptible jump as he noticed the barman standing to his left. He smiled winningly, making a speedy recovery; “Please, call me Derek. My father has always been the 'Mr Lexington'.â€

The barman offered him a bottle of mead and prattled on, and Raurke's mind wandered again. Solitude was without a doubt the seat of Thalmor influence in Skyrim. It was unlikely he'd run into any justiciars in the Winking Skeever, and he was sitting at a fairly dark and secluded table in case any other patrons were informants, but still... the risks were great, especially now they were expecting him. He'd have to be careful to keep his cover...

“Raurke! There y'are you grim bastard!†Manan plopped himself into another chair at the table. His wrinkly cheeks were flushed with exertion, or more likely, drink. He peered quizzically at the bottle in the barkeep's hand. “Is that... Why that's Honningbrew mead! Where'd you find it? Never mind- four bottles! One each, for me an' my friends.â€

 

“Friends?†Raurke growled.

“Yes! Friends! Come on, you cowards. He won't bite.â€

A young bearded man dressed in the garb of a noble lurched forward, supported by one arm around the shoulders of another man, clean shaven and robed, hair shaved in a monk's tonsure.

The nobleman leaned drunkenly on the back of a chair, eyeing Raurke blearily. “He looks aboot as disreputable a man as one could find†he said, rolling his 'r's slightly in a thick Camlorn accent. “Is he some sort of thoog?â€

Manan nodded brightly, and before Raurke could protest, said, “Quite right- he's my hired thug and a better thug you'll never find. My friends, meet Raur-â€

 

“-Derek.†Raurke flashed a terrifying, toothy smile at Manan. “Derek Lexington, at your service.â€

Manan looked at Raurke in surprise, and finally noticed his blinded eye. For a full second Manan was agape, then he snapped out of it. “Right! Yes. Derek. Well as I was saying, not only is Derek an unstoppable force of violence, I can also attest that he possesses impeccable moral character.â€

 

“I would have thought moral character'd be a detracting quality, were I a thug.†The young priest was seated, struggling with the cork of his bottle of mead. “Don't you reckon 'Derek Lexington' sounds like a pseudonym?â€

 

“You,†said the noble, “Have been reading far too many Rolard Nordssen novels. And ye're far too sober.†He tapped the bottle with his glass. “Come on, pour us a glass then.â€
 

Raurke considered how he might turn this near-disaster to his advantage. If he was careful, these fellows would conceal him far better than if he kept to himself. And posing as Manan's contractor would divert suspicions to Manan. He'd have to have words with him about “thug†though.

His mind made up, Raurke grinned, reached over and uncorked the bottle with a flick of his wrist. Frothy mead shot out of the bottle, splattering the priest to cheers from Manan and the young nobleman. As glasses were poured, Raurke sat back.

 

“Tell me,†He said. “Have ever heard the one about the Priest, the Noble and the Merchant who walk into a bar?â€

[WillieSea]

William looked up at the sky again, it had that look... His thoughts brought him back to his home before the imperials took it from his family, to his father reciting the tales his own father had taught him. Stories about how his family had made its fortune and name as they battled with the creatures that had come through the Oblivion gates.  A young Will would then glance above the mantle and study the red glowing outlines on the black bow and longsword that hung there.  He dreamed of using those weapons to fight the Oblivion hoards like his fore-fathers had.

 

"Here they come!" Jayn yelled, jolting William out of his reverie. Several more hell hounds came racing down the bridge towards them, hellish howls echoing into the river canyon below the bridge.

 

Will concentrated on the lead hounds and his archers sight guided the arrow through the cool night air through the eye socket of the beast. Before it hit the ground Will was already sighting another arrow down the length of the bridge.

Fiska was busy chanting a spell and pointing at the bridge a short distance in front of her as Jayn loosed a bolt into the chest of another hound, sending it rolling head long as the beasts behind it jumped and clawed over the corpses of their companions that fell before them.

 

Several of the beasts fell before to the onslaught of missiles, but many more of the creatures  came in behind their brethren to fill their empty ranks as they quickly advanced down the bridge faster than they could be stopped.

 

"There are too many of them, brace for melee!" Will shouted as he threw his bow into the grass beside the bridge and pulled his sword and shield out. Jayn tossed her own crossbow into the grass and pulled her sword out, her other hand extended, unleashing a spray of frost at the lead hound slowing it down as crystals of ice formed around it. She stepped forward and thrust her sword into its chest, finishing it by kicking its corpse off her sword.

 

Fiska summoned a shimmering battleaxe to her hand as two Hell Hounds ran over the lightning rune she had cast on the bridge before her which exploded in tendrils of arcing electricity sending the two hounds rolling head first onto the cobblestones. Her axe connected with the first hound as its maw with dirty but razor sharp teeth gnashed at her, cleaving its jaw from its head.

 

William had his own problems with several of the beasts jumping on him. Grunting, he bashed the first one with his shield eliciting a yelp while his sword arced over his head and cut the head off the next hound.

 

The trio were soon overwhelmed by dozens of the growling and biting demons as they darted in and out, trying to avoid the slashing weapons while inflicting bloody bites to every opening.  Hounds continued to fall to the ground under the slashing blades but soon all three were bleeding profusely from the many bites and claw attacks.

 

Fiska watched as Jayn was torn at from her unprotected side, falling to one knee. She grabbed the creature by the neck and sent a shocking bolt cascading over its body. When she released her grip, it fell to the cobbles, twitching and smoking lightly. Quickly looking over at William, he seemed to be suffering a similar fate as he cleaved one hound in half, another would bite deeply into his side. She herself was bleeding profusely from the many hounds that surrounded them. Anytime she would conjure a creature to fight with them, it would quickly fall to the biting fangs and mauling claws of the Hell Hounds.

 

Fiska used her staff to vault over several of the hounds in order to get closer to her wounded friends, then spun it in a short arc, sending several of the biting beast backwards. She raised a hand and chanted, golden sparks and spirals swirling around her and expanding to encompass friends and foes alike, blood quickly clotted and wounds closed as the magic's healed them.

 

Invigorated, the trio slashed out at the remaining beasts, hearing the howls of their dark companions throughout the town rushing towards them.

[lilith]

“Come now, this is our time!† Fiska croaked as the triad slew the last of the nearby demons, knowing full well that the lessening onslaught would not continue for long she spent her waning magicka on more centered healing for her companions.

 

“There’s no time to waste on this.† Jayn muttered losing patience during the seemingly lengthy spell.  Keeping a keen eye out for the approaching hell hounds, Jayn stepped away with the last wave of Fiska’s hand to retrieve the bows that had been set aside.

 

“As much as we’d like to think otherwise, we’re not invincible.† William reminded Jayn although he also appeared to be losing patience with the Orc and her spells. 

 

“Don’t moider yourselves.† Fiska breathed out with the last of her incantations.

 

Stepping from the carcasses surrounding his feet William turned his stride towards an unlittered patch and flatly added to the quibbling, “I suggest we prepare to take our stand and let them come to us.† The gnashing teeth and husky breathing was distinctly audible by the time the two had their bows in hand.  No sooner than Jayn loaded her crossbow she let the bolt fly sinking it deep into the fevered chest of the first demon sighted, their eyes glowing brightly in the waning light gave the pair an advantage.

 

“Kill them where they are!† Hollered Jayn as William’s arrow whistled through the air finding its target and quickly felling the hound.  Fiska was busy chanting over her staff, imbuing it with a more effective spell when it was heard; the oddest howl to ever be sounded, there was a hint of communication rather than the chaotic yapping of just moments ago.  And then, then there was deafening silence save for the sound of falling foot-pads and sharp nails upon the dirt and stones as the hell hounds turned their attention beyond the village.

 

“We’ve not seen the last of them, but I sense for now we have.† Fiska’s companions agreed with her observation and after casting a glance around Jayn quipped, “It could be forever, I wouldn’t mind.â€

 

With her gaze seemingly off in the distance, Fiska began scanning the area taking in what she could and cataloging necessities in her mind.  It was only now in the hazy light that the outlines of damage were discerned; there were slumped guards amongst the carcasses of the demons and what she could recognize as perhaps being either a cow or a horse and more than likely a chicken or two.  Fiska asked of her companions, the only two seen to be standing other than her herself “are there many villagers here?"  Carrying on without waiting for responses, “It would be best if we gather up who and what we can and move to a safer location; the death scent hangs heavy in the air rendering the perfect trail for more of the hounds,†pausing and then adding with emphasis “or whoever sent them.â€

 

Jayn was the first to reply with an approximate head count, dependent upon who was in town and who was not, while William stepped away to verify the deceased state of the guards.  Finding no living souls out of doors save for a few barnyard animals, the trio began searching for inhabitants and telling them of the need to head up river to safety, to Riverwood.  Fiska sensed she was not entirely welcome amongst all the townsfolk and decided it was best to leave the coercing to the two with their more familiar faces and she set off towards the healers’ house at the outskirts of town. 

 

William and Jayn were pleased to find most all inhabitants safe in their cellars prepared to ride out what they believed to be a storm.  Convincing them it was no ordinary storm proved difficult until the morning light shone brightly on the mouldering corpses of hell hounds littering their once pleasant village. 

[DarkRider]

By midday the villagers had bundled their families and what supplies they could muster into wagons and hand carts and started up a soft path along the river’s edge toward Riverwood. There was no certainty they would be safe there, but it was certain Half-Moon was in the path of a dangerous force; anywhere else would have to be safer. Though the weather was clear, dark, unnatural clouds still loomed on the horizon, just beyond the trees; closer than they had been the day before. Smoke still hung in the air though most of the fires had burned down to cinders.

Jayn stood at the end of the caravan, cinching up the tailgate of the last wagon as William approached with a grim expression. In each of his outstretched hands he held a chicken by its throat; the two birds flapping and kicking in protest. Jayn couldn't help but smirk as he deposited them in the buckboard.

"Well if you ever find the hunt elusive you can always fall back on chicken wrangling," she teased, pulling a stray bit of hay from the Breton's long hair.

William snorted, "Chasing the chickens around the stable yard was bad enough without that oaf of a buckskin nearly trampling me to get away from them."

Jayn grinned when she realized he was talking about her Odin, she chuckled, "Consider yourself fortunate it was only a 'near' trampling then."

Fiska approached them from across the bridge, "I believe everyone is safely away now," she informed them, "the barkeeper at the tap house is staying on to mind the village, but if more hounds return he won't be coming to our aid."

"Heart of a lion that one," Jayn scoffed, "Did you manage to find the healer then?"

The lady Orc shook her head, "No, she must have left the village before the attack, perhaps gathering supplies in the woods nearby. I left a note in case she should return."

William watched the distant storm for a few moments before he spoke again, "Do we know what they're looking for? If it’s still here, no doubt they will return by nightfall."

"It's not," Jayn answered him, "at least I don’t think so,” she could tell they were puzzled but she didn’t have much clarity to offer, only what little she had been privy to, “A few days ago we found a creature in the canyon north of here...a dragon we thought," she described, "But, it turned into a woman, and we brought her here for healing."

"An avatar," Fiska said in almost disbelief, "such powerful beings are so rare most believe they are only legend."

"Except I saw her," Jayn nodded, "she’s real, and she was here...until yesterday afternoon, before the hounds came. I saw Duncan and Rae'Gar lead her out of Half-Moon toward Falkreath."

"Then that was Ghost I saw," William mused aloud.

Jayn shook her head, "No, they were on brown ponies, Duncan didn't take Ghost."

William was not so sure, "Yesterday afternoon I was in the forest to flush a few birds for the inn. I surely saw three riders moving through the woods heading west on two horses. They were cloaked and at a distance, but I could swear that was Duncan's horse in the lead."

"That doesn't make any sense, if Duncan and Rae'Gar went west, then who left town going south? Who were the hounds trailing?" Jayn was at a loss to explain. She was certain about what she had seen.

It was Fiska who pieced it together, "Perhaps it was a diversion."

"Mm hmm," William nodded in agreement, "bait and switch. Someone is leading the beasts away from the real prize so they might slip through to the border lands unnoticed."

Jayn felt a bit relieved, at least the devils they routed in the night wouldn't be right on Duncan's heels, "I wonder if the masters will be as easily fooled as the dogs."

"It's clear the avatar isn't here," William said, "the village is likely not in any real danger now. The threat is out there," he pointed to the road leading away from the village, "they're going to need some help."

"As are we if the force to come is stronger than what we faced last night," Fiska added.

Jayn stared at the road, in her mind she saw a flicker of a vision, Duncan and Rae'Gar standing back to back, blood soaking the earth and the hoards of oblivion fell upon them, "I’m going after them. If what we faced last night was just the beginning, I won’t leave our friends to face it alone."

 

“Nor I,” William said boldly.

 

Jayn looked at Fiska and the orc shrugged, “I promised to share your road if my business was complete, and it appears to be.”

 

“Then it’s settled,” the young woman said, “let’s gather any supplies we may need and regroup at the stables.”

 

She watched Fiska and William head off in separate directions to resupply, the Breton was making his way toward the woods likely to a camp he had nearby, while Fiska returned to the healer’s hut to scavenge anything that might prove useful. Jayn crouched on the bridge and drew her magicka around her before releasing a conjuration charm on the stone before her. The purple mist took on the form of a rabbit which hopped a bit before coming to her and sitting up on its hind legs. She took his front paws in her hand and stroked his ears back once as the conjured creature sniffed at her attentively.

 

“Take a message to our friends in the Mill Tavern,” she told him quietly, “darkness falls upon Skyrim, and our friends require aid.”

 

The little rabbit withdrew and dashed down the road, quick as light, leaving a trail of purple mist to vanish behind him.

 

The message sent Jayn headed for the taphouse to collect her things and by the time she returned to collect Odin, William and Fiska were waiting for her.

 

The hunter climbed upon his ebony steed’s back and slung his bow over the saddle horn so it would be ready at a moment’s notice. Jayn climbed onto Odin, and offered Fiska a hand to mount up behind her.

 

“Do you think you can find the path you saw Duncan on?” she asked William.

 

He nodded with a grin, “I wouldn’t be much of a hunter if I couldn’t,” he said, kneeing his mount forward into forest, forging a narrow path toward the rocky mist lands to the west.

[WillieSea]

Fiska looked over Jayn's shoulder at the hunter as he lead the way through the sparse trees.  She had to grab onto Jayn as Odin started off to follow Night, the black mare that William rode.  Once again Odin snorted and did a sudden sidestep, as a lone chicken feather drifted through the air in front of his nose.

 

The two strong horses kept a brisk pace as they travelled west with William following the day old trail their quarry took.  He would leave the trail on occasion as he sensed a faster route to the one taken by Duncan and his party.  At times they followed animal trails, or actual roads.

 

With the quiet hunter leading the way, Jayn turned in her saddle to look back at Fiska, "I am glad you decided to come with us, your healing skills really helped us out in that last fight. I just wanted to thank you."

 

Fiska blushed about as much as an orc could.  "Thank you Jayn. I sometimes wonder if I am more of a bother than a help." Fiska opened her mouth to say more, but decided to remain quiet.  She could not expect her new friends to understand how things worked in an Orc stronghold.

 

The ride west was bumpy, dusty and tiring. Fiska contemplated her situation and decided that perhaps she would enjoy being with them for a little while longer. She felt elated that they valued her as an individual for her skills, something that was never done back home. The only problem is she felt pangs of guilt since this quest was not helping her stronghold.

 

The trio rode hard, stopping briefly every once in a while to eat, and to let Fiska walk a bit since she was not accustomed to riding horses, at least not for as long as they had been, or as fast.  William checked out the trail, while the other two rested and talked, he was much more comfortable being by himself than with the talking females.  The sun was quickly moving towards the western horizon and it would soon be night.  Looking up, only high clouds dotted the sky, it would be a very cold night without the usual blanket of clouds to keep the warmth in.

 

William walked back towards his new companions, "We probably should find a place to camp, it's going to be a very cold night."

 

* * *

 

Duncan sighed again, the Avatar was still too weak to ride for very long without requiring another rest stop.  He hated that they had to push so hard, but if they were to survive they had to keep moving.  Their decoy the previous day would not side track what-ever was searching for the Avatar for very long.

 

Rae-Gar looked over at the pale Avatar and the waning sunlight. "Perhaps we should make camp very soon, yes Duncan?"

 

The khajiit's whiskers twitched as he scanned their surrounding for a defendable campsite.  Perhaps they could even setup a small fire, blocking most of its light with their shields or some furs erected on branches.  It looked like it was going to be a cold night and he wanted to make the avatar comfortable, the ride had been hard on her.  If they were to make it very far tomorrow, she would need to recover some more.

 

Duncan pointed to a spot, high on a hill with a cliff behind them and an overhang of the rock hill above it.  The half cave would protect them from the elements and give them a better defense should anything find them during the night.  As they rode up the hill to the spot he pointed to, he was thankful the day had been uneventful.  It seemed unusual to him and he wondered if tomorrow, fate would make up for today...

[ResolveThatChord]

After three days alone on the road, the smell of cooking food and the sound of singing felt to Rimat too good to be true. She didn't know how she had heard it, tucked away from the road as it was. But walking up the track to roadside tavern almost felt like coming home.

 

Opening the door, the change in temperature stuck her, feeling almost too hot after trekking through the cold night. Inside, the air was thick with smells and conversation. It was surprisingly populated; almost every patron seemed to be the travelling sort, and every one of them seemed completely relaxed and at ease. A pretty Dunmer serving girl bustled between tables, carry plates of food and bottles of ale.

 

Rimat made her way to the bar, tapping a septim twice on the counter. A fair-haired Nord woman stepped out of the kitchen. 

 

“Hello dear, I don't think I've seen you before.†She looked Rimat up and down. “I suppose you'll be wanting meals and room?â€

 

“Just a meal, thanks. What can I get for five?â€

 

The woman frowned. “Are you sure? You look like you could stand to put your feet up. Alright, how does venison stew sound? Find yourself a table and I'll bring you a bowl.†

 

Rimat did so, finding a sturdy little round table and pulling up a chair. It seemed to be the only unoccupied table in the tavern. As she waited she looked about the room, trying to be surreptitious as she stared at the patrons.

 

Before long the door banged open. A man, an Imperial, stepped into the threshold, returning a wave from a table of mercenaries. The woman at the bar gave him a stern look. He gave her a wink, and made a show of carefully shutting the door. He seemed tall to Rimat, as all men did, but she supposed he was about average for a human. His long black hair was tied back. He looked like a pirate, dressed as he was with his high boots and vest. He had no tattoos though, at least none that she could see. But the thing that caught her eye above all were the weapons at his hips, holstered in sheaths that hung from his belt and strapped to his trouser legs. Rimat caught a brassy glint at their hilts- were they some kind of Dwemer artefacts? 

 

“What did I say, Jacko? Enough with your noisy antiques! Everything's spooked from here to Karthwasten- you'll drive off all the good hunting.†The man who called thumped his bow, which was lying on his table. 

 

Jack grinned and made a reply (something about shooting straight), but at that moment a burly man arrived at Rimat's table with a steaming bowl of stew. “Welcome! I see you've met my lovely wife. The name's Sigur. What's yours?â€

 

Unbalanced by Sigur's unexpected friendliness, Rimat stammered her name, trying to think of something to say.

 

“Well, whatever you need, just ask and I'll see what I can do about it! Take care with this, it's hot.â€

 

With that he was gone, already clapping another patron on the back. Rimat slurped down a spoonful. It was good. Really good. She took another bite. She'd had venison before but this was something else. Maybe the deer here had to be so tough because they were so delicious? Actually, probably Nords were just better at cooking them than Cyrodiils. 

 

She was broken out of her reverie by Jack, who sat himself opposite her with a thump. He grinned. “So! How long have you two been in this corner of the world? And how did I only notice you now?â€

 

Rimat regarded the empty seat next to her. “Two? There's only one of me.â€

 

“Oh? I thought you were with-â€

 

“Your wine sir?†the pretty Dunmer serving girl was at Rimat's shoulder, proffering a green bottle.

 

He flashed her a bright smile as she poured, but she was off again as soon as she was done. Rimat raised an eyebrow. “With her? Now what could give you that idea?â€

 

Jack was unabashed at the sarcasm in her voice. “Not too many dark elves this far west, and you do tend to stick together.†A certain glint appeared in his eye. “So I think maybe you could help me out with something.â€

 

“Really?†She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms and smiling. “You're certainly forward.â€

 

“So I've heard. And yet, she remains oblivious to me!â€

 

Rimat paused. “I think I missed something.â€

 

“There's a certain dignity to being rebuked, but this apathy is... intolerable! Look at her, smiling at that two-septim scoundrel. I need her to notice me.â€

 

He looked back at Rimat to see her poker-faced. “You clearly know exactly what to say to girl to make her feel special. Just get up and talk to her- be bold, uncompromising. We Dunmer just love that.â€

 

“Maybe I will at that!†Jack slapped his hands on the table, standing from his seat. He strode in the serving girl's direction with a confident smile.

 

Rimat took the opportunity to enjoy her her stew undisturbed. She savoured a bite of the lean meat. It was just rare enough. Before long there was an outburst of laughter, cheers and clapping. Jack slowly lowered himself back into his seat. Rimat could see a bright red colour to his left cheek- she fancied she could even make out the shape of a hand. His eyes were narrowed at her.

 

“Dagon hath no fury... I suppose you think you're very clever.â€

 

Rimat swallowed her mouthful and smirked. “She noticed you! Well done. I hear there's dignity in being rebuked- okay, okay, sit down, I'm sorry. It's been ages since I've had a good chuckle. Here, finish your wine.â€

 

Jack took a grudging quaff.

 

“You should have known better- she's a Redoran, no doubt about it. If you want to woo someone from that house you'd better be prepared to bend over-†(Jack snorted into his goblet) “-backwards for them.â€

 

“Alright, what house are you then?â€

 

She chose not to answer that one. “Are you a mercenary?â€

 

He grimaced. “That's not a nice word, to a fighter with honour. But no, I'm not. I'm a scout. You know, a tracker?â€

 

She nodded. “Even better. I've got a job for you. I was travelling with a friend to Solitude, we got separated three days ago. South of here, in the mountains.â€

 

“The Reach.â€

 

“Right.†She said. “We were attacked by wild men-† Jack's expression suddenly went from interested to resigned. Rimat cocked her head questioningly.

 

“I'm sorry to hear that. Listen...†He looked into his wine, face solemn. “the Reachmen, they don't take prisoners. You should head on to Solitude.â€

 

She shook her head. “He's a powerful wizard! They couldn't just kill him. If he's alive, he'll need me. I have something he needs... I can't go on to Solitude without him.†Her composure cracked a little at those last words. She drew deep breath.

 

Jack poured the goblet full again, and slid it over the table to her. “Here. Three days is a while ago. Maybe he passed by before you.†He didn't seem to believe it. He swore quietly. “These are bad times, for the most part. Stick around, this isn't a bad place to stay, and the couriers always stop by. You might find something. But don't get your hopes up. I wouldn't risk the Reach for love nor money.†He stood. “Well, maybe love. Take care, I'll see you around.â€

[the-manta]

In all Tamriel, since the dawn of time, there have been few flyers (or fallers) less graceful or dignified than apprentice wizards, and so Felix was playing his part in an age-old tradition as he tumbled helplessly down the sinkhole. His unflattering cry was cut short as he thudded into the viscous fluid beneath the elven hall, the sudden chill and unexpected impact driving the wind out of his lungs with a definite tang of blood.  For a moment, he seemed almost suspended on the surface of the black sludge, but then he was sinking, faster than he thought possible.

His mind galloped into panic as the muck sucked him downwards, oozing upwards and over his limbs as he struggled to swim. Rushing from spell to spell, his lips innately formed the beginnings of a dozen different spells, cut off before they were complete by the next frantic remembrance, sending nothing but white sparks crackling from his skin. The more the young mage struggled against the sucking ooze, the harder it pulled him downwards, almost like an intelligent entity swallowing him whole. Feeling the cold slime reach his chin, he gasped for breath, and regretted it. Instead of air, it felt as if he had inhaled a pound of broken glass, the breath tearing through his sickened lungs in what proved to be the last nail in the coffin for his chances of escape. The sinking slime seeped into his mouth, then his nose, then his ears, creeping ever upwards as he feebly kicked his legs.

“Mages!â€

A strong hand grabbed seized his collar and he felt the familiar sensation of being rescued from certain death.  Nina grunted as she hauled the mage upwards, dragging his head and shoulders out of the slime.

“Don’t struggle,†she panted, “only makes it worseâ€.

She looked to her side and spat, trying to dispel the bitter taste of the ooze without success. With one oil-slicked hand, she kept a hand on the mage’s collar, and with the other she maintained a death-grip on an angle of rough brickwork, holding herself in a crouch against the wall, just out of the slime. Felix released a few strong breaths, painfully stretching out the muscles of his chest as he regained his composure.

“Thanks,†he managed, feeling the slime stick to his tongue and teeth. “And uh… sorry.â€

He glanced to the side, where a small cluster of desiccated craniums emerged from the slime like ghastly stepping-stones. A look of disgust was visible through the slime on her face as Nina followed his gaze.

“Don’t worry about it; most of them died when they landed.â€

Her eyes turned upwards, up the rough stone blocks of the sinkhole’s size, and to the jagged maw of the hallway above. She seemed to shudder, and Felix soon saw why. On both sides of the chasm, pale, gormless faces stared down into the ooze, their eyes alight with an otherworldly blue. None of the zombies made any move to follow the two adventurers, but neither did they turn their backs on the stone flytrap.

With some considerable assistance from Nina, Felix hauled himself (mostly) out of the viscous sludge, his knuckles turning white as he clutched the rough angles of the walls. He peered into the darkness over his shoulder, scanning the edges of the pit for some escape, but the jagged texture of the walls turned them into webs of shadow, impossible to penetrate in the darkness.

“I can’t see…†he began

“Anything? Yeah me neither.†Nina spoke with some reserve, perhaps suspecting the solution that Felix would suggest.

“You know, I could…â€

“No.â€

“But we can’t…â€

“No.â€

“Just let me…â€

“NO!â€

“Tsk.â€

For a few moments they simply remained, squatting against the rough stone, in silence. It could have been his imagination, but Felix fancied he could see Nina peering into the darkness.

“Okay fine.†She finally said.

With a sigh, Felix cast the spell, a fluorescent orb of light rising from his outstretched hand to hover over his shoulder.

“See? Quite safe.â€

“Shush,†was Nina’s only response. “I see the way out.â€

And so there was. A metre or so to their left, the rough rock curved off into itself, vanishing into a gloomy tunnel. With a look back to Felix, Nina led the way.
 

Edited April 26, 2013 by the-manta

[DarkRider]

Rimat found herself walking in a dark wood. She had no memory of how she had come to be there or even where she was walking to but all around her tall trees loomed, shrouded in mist. Though there was snow falling lightly around her and covering the frozen earth she felt no cold. Her mind was veiled in a fine gauze that clouded her thoughts. A flicker of movement drew her eyes ahead and she stopped walking when she saw a shadowy form passing by the base of the trees. At first the tree line distorted the shape and it gave her pause, but she drew a breath as it became clear; the large deer stepped out of the mist and onto the path she’d been walking.  It turned its head toward her and snorted, its ear twitched, and then it let out a high pitched bellow before turning and walking into the darkness ahead as if beckoning her to follow.

 

As she traveled the path deeper into the woods and the night grew darker, the dark elf was becoming aware of a small panic rising within her; a voice telling her something was not right. Before she could act on her feelings the deer stopped walking in a clearing, pawed the ground, snorted and looked up at her. Before her eyes the world began to ignite, peel, and lift away like ash on the flame revealing a series of wooden structures all around the clearing’s edge; like those she had heard tell of the wildman camps. Her eyes drifted back to the deer only the animal was gone. At the center of the camp was a sort of half open hut. Maenam was kneeling in the center, his arms and legs bound, and looming over him was a gnarled and vicious hagraven. The witch pressed her claws into his forehead and though gagged, a strangled groan tore from him as his blood trickled from the wounds she had picked open. His eyes met Rimat’s and he moved as if to scream to send her back. She couldn’t go back only forward.

 

Rimat ran to Maenam’s aid despite her being unarmed, but before she could reach him the whole scene vanished as the woods were swallowed up by water. Her final breath was drowned and Rimat couldn’t take another as the water rushed her along. But then something drew her up and her lungs pushed the water out with a hacking cough as her head breached the surface. Everything was suddenly more visceral, more real, she was in water and someone was pressed against her back dragging her toward the shoreline. Still reeling from the tortured vision of her friend, Rimat struggled to escape, suddenly thrashing wildly against the force that was restraining her.

 

“Are you trying to drown me too girl, for the love of the nine,” Jack’s voice cut through the fog dragging her into reality as he dragged her to safety from the river’s torrents.

 

When she stopped fighting he managed to push her up on the rocky shoreline and dragged himself out to lie beside her on the sand. Shivering, and still struggling to breathe clearly over the water in her lungs, Rimat pushed herself up to a seated position, brushed her wet hair out of her face, and pulled her knees up against her chest for warmth. The water had been bitter cold and the night air only served to chill her further.

 

“Where are we?” she asked, her teeth chattering, “How did I get in the river?”

 

“The tavern is just beyond those rocks,” he said pointing up river, “I watched you walk into the river and get swept away. You’re lucky I caught you, that next drop is a rough one,” he motioned to the waterfall roaring nearby.

 

“Yes,” Rimat agreed, “…I guess I owe you a thank you at least so…thank you.”

 

Jack grinned, “Any other girl would have kissed me at least.”

 

Rimat felt her cheeks blush but retorted, “You still have a lot to learn about Dunmer women.”

 

Jack laughed rakishly as he stood, “Probably so,” he offered her a hand and helped her to her feet, “Just promise the next time you feel like a midnight swim you’ll try the hot springs behind the tavern before the river.”

 

“Where’s the fun in that,” Rimat said, trying to shake the last of the dream skeins from her mind. She didn’t know when he’d draped his arm around her shoulders, but she was grateful for the warmth, and there was strength in his hold that made her feel weak kneed. It was not a sensation she’d ever really known and though it was strange, it wasn’t unpleasant.

 

As they neared the broken cobbles of the hidden road that lead to the tavern, a streak of glowing light darted past them toward the tavern. Rimat broke away from Jack and hurried to the road for a better look.

 

“Did you see that?” she asked as Jack came up beside her.

 

The pirate nodded, recognizing the purple spectral hare Jayna Wind-Arc had conjured to help track her lost friends weeks earlier, “Aye, and I’ve seen it before I think. Come on, something’s wrong.”

[lilith]

Not seeing any shelter, ready or otherwise in the immediate area the trio again mounted the steeds and pressed forward still following their quarry however, this time not at breakneck speed with shelter in mind.  They were not long on the trail before a meadow came into view with William spurring his mount ahead to begin his routine of reconnoitering the area where he intended to rest.  Upon finding a suitable camp spot, William motioned to his companions to join him.  The spot abutted a precipice that would do nicely for protection from the wind and unwanted advances.  Jayn and Fiska immediately set about to start a fire and remove the few scattered rocks from the bedding area as William took leave to see about perhaps catching some fish in the nearby creek.

 

The day was gloaming into twilight when last of the repast was finished.  William had not only managed to catch a few fish, but had brought back some eggs he had spotted as well.  The trio had fallen into silence and began tinkering with distractions of their choice; William was carefully tending to his blade while Jayn poured obvious affection into the cleaning and care of her crossbow.  Fiska not wanting to waste the very last of the daylight sitting in front of the fire soon wandered off to collect local flora.

 

Standing just off the road on the entry to a small meandering path Fiska pulled her attention from the satchel of items she had gathered thus far as she felt their eyes long before espying the Thalmor and their captive on a forced march through the unforgiving countryside.  Orcs have never seemed to fare well in any regard let alone high regard amongst the other races and Fiska had her own conjectures as to why.  An Orcs thoughts however, is other races should be the ones considered savages as it’s they who lack the humanity that is not only fostered but enforced in a stronghold setting.  Other ponderings are just mental meanderings, in a stronghold, there is only one premise taken into consideration; is it good for the clan, what benefit does the tribe gain?  If the ideal does not pass those particulars then an Orc would do well to pay no more mind towards obvious self-absorption.

 

Fiska often wondered how an Imperial or a Nord could wage war with one another, even to leave their own for dead to save their own hides.  An Orc would never entertain such a notion.  All for one and one for all is exemplified in a stronghold.  But yet, she had seen it with her own eyes, the myriad and mixed up bunch of villagers with their bundles and bales winding their way towards Riverwood and she could not deny the closeness of the community, they were working together and humanity was shining brightly without the rigors of stronghold life.

 

How quickly her life had changed, or so it seemed, but it had been a long time in the making; years watching her brother grow, years watching the evilness ripen to a festering sore.  At times, she had had visions of wounds the healer held no power to heal.  Thinking of this in the back of her mind while mindlessly preparing the ingredients for potions all was clear to see, as if it set on a shelf in front of her for a lifetime.  And it had, her brother was no good for his own self let alone the stronghold.  He had proven that time and again, there was an undeniable selfishness inherent in his every move, every action and every word.  He had put the stronghold in jeopardy more than once, and here, now, she was the one left to wonder the fate of the others, “odd thought from the banished,†Fiska said aloud as she finished closing her satchel.

 

The night had overwhelmed dusk and her gaze followed the disappearing Thalmor and quarry “of all, there’s the true savages†she again spoke aloud.  They were out of earshot and she could have continued her tirade with no fear of retribution, but turning aside instead to focus her attention to returning to camp and her newly found companions.  After all, one thing she was certain of, lessons learned in the stronghold as a child would serve her well throughout life.

 

As dawn broke, the cascading light woke Fiska to find William had gone leaving Jayn and herself to fend the camp.  Fiska was a bit unsettled by this notion but Jayn assured her this was as William was wont to do, “if we’re lucky he’ll bring back something more to eat.† Fiska found herself readily agreeing, the previous days ride had not been easy and not knowing how much longer they would ride, Fiska was grateful for any additional time.  Jayn and Fiska nearly had all the belongings stowed upon the horses before William returned.  As Jayn opened her mouth to speak, William pre-empted it by tossing a few fish alongside the dwindling fire.

 

Fiska could sense the concern in William and thought he’d make a good Orc, he had after all rose early to confirm his bearings and the direction they were to travel at daybreak to not only follow, but ultimately catch up to, his friends and this so-called Avatar or whatever it was.  Moreover, all three knew the forces they encountered at the Tavern that night would not be far behind. 

 

The trio set off quietly, each absorbed in their own thoughts as they tirelessly followed the trail of their friends.  More than once Fiska leaned forward to speak to Jayn only to realize Jayn was muttering to herself, it was a barely audible whisper being lost in the wind, but the tone gave Fiska enough pause to stop her from speaking her thoughts.

 

It seemed as though they traveled this way for hours, Fiska’s grip never relaxing, she preferred to travel on foot, the biggest reason being what she felt right now, achy, sore and as if she would topple off at any moment.  Nay, she was not concerned in the least about Jayna Wind-Arc’s ability to control Odin; it was the beast itself, snorting and panting, as it surely seemed ready to take flight speeding just above the ground.

 

The trio was quickly traversing a rise afore them, which seemed to stretch into the sky when the apex came into view with no clue as to the direction of the path, just blue sky and green treetops were to be seen.  William commanded his steed in a beautifully orchestrated jump, the path had ended and with his lifetime of experience, William led his horse to alight in the perfect spot to continue his forward motion without missing a beat.  It was good Fiska’s attention was captured by the beauty of man and beast melded into one; she had no mind that Jayn was artfully guiding her own steed to follow in the previous footfalls.

 

Breaking through the dense shrubbery onto the edge of a clearing, William slowed Night to a stop, being bathed in the mid-morning sunshine the small field had a benign sense to it, almost surreal, but yet there was an eerie feeling emanating from its sparkling dewdrops, enough so that all five in their party felt it.  William turned to face Jayn and she nodded her acknowledgement, the silent conversation was quite apparent to Fiska as she too tilted her head in assent.

 

Guiding Night into the clearing William’s attention was keen and sharp; he could recall many a time when things were not what they appeared and this felt no different.  Even after traversing the center of the clearing, the trio never let their rapt attention ease; it was not until Night’s nose had entered the shadows on the other side that it was heard, a snarling grunting noise, the type to make your skin crawl.  Swinging his steed round, William made to charge at the sound knowing whatever it was, it obviously had the advantage and that did not sit well with him; nor with Jayn, as she too had whipped Odin around and amidst the commotion Fiska had slid off his back to land on the ground between the sweaty beasts.

 

All three faced the clearing to watch whatever it was advance; there was nothing there, there were no sounds, “Not even a bird†Jayn quietly said while intently peering into the dark foliage abutting the clearing on the other side.  Fiska moved forward and William raised his hand in caution, pointing towards a clump of bushes receded in darkness about a rod distance from them.  With the knowing looks of like-minded souls shared, Fiska stepped forth into the clearing and bellowed as only an Orc can do, “show yourself!â€

 

Everything seemed frozen in time, the silence was deafening and ever so slowly the noises returned, one by one at first, the crickets and bees to a cacophony of sounds pierced by the mating song of a nearby forest bird.  Cocking her head to one side Fiska scanned her surroundings; there was nothing there, nothing of note besides her companions atop their steeds, performing the same actions.  Satisfied and unnerved at the whole interlude Fiska returned and regained her place behind Jayn upon Odin to continue their original goal, to catch up with and render assistance to her companions friends, Duncan, Rae’Gar and by propinquity, the Avatar.

[charlescrowe]

"You're kidding." Raurke said, bewildered. "With a piece like that, you just CAN'T be the only one in the game."

 

Manan chuckled wryly. "Of course i'm not. Every thief in and out of the Thieves Guild wants this mask. Though I suspect few know of the real value of it."

 

Raurke scoffed. "You could buy yourself an entire hold and still have enough to buy a seat on the Elder Council with the gratuitous sum you just laid out there. TWO seats even. What's the real value?"

 

Manan looked about, scanning the dining hall carefully. "Perhaps we should discuss this in your quarters?" As if on cue, a squad of guards came in looking for some downtime after their patrols. Raurke nodded, and the pair casually headed towards the bedrooms.

 

"Shame about that elf" one of the guardsmen spouted, lifting a mug to his heavily bearded maw. "Run straight through. Looks to be one o' them Alley-keer ye keep hearin about. Never seen such a wound from any Nord's blade I ever laid eyes on. 'Cept maybe one o' them Skaal's blades." "When've you ever seen a Skaal?" another guard retorted. "You ain't never been but a day's ride from the gates!" A third gaurd piped in mockingly; "Still, I bet our elven masters have taken a huge blow to their pride. Feel themselves immortal."

 

"What's that look on your face, Raurke? Know somethin about that?" Manan chuckled.

 

"Aye, It's why I've only got one eye now."

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

High above Solitude, atop the parapets of Castle Dour, Malori watched a lone hawk dive to the streets below, snatching a rat for it's breakfast. "I thought I'd find you up here." Malori lazily tilted her head back, an upside-down Raurke coming into view. "Our young friend's told me about this job he's got for us." Raurke sat next to Malori, enjoying the sunrise. Malori giggled. "How old d'you think he is? Can't be anywhere near as old as us, right?" "From what i know of man, I'd think not, my little magpie. Still, they do have a tendency to surprise the elder races."

 

"It seems Jarl Elisef is going to be having a masquerade ball next week. Manan wants us to steal her late husband's mask. It's not going to be easy, even if we were the only ones looking to steal it. I'm guessing our best bet is when they lock it up in the Blue Palace's vault." Raurke jabbed Malori in the shoulder. "And we can't be killing anyone if we're to pin it on the Thieves guild either."

 

Malori gave Raurke a wounded look. "Why'd you poke me? It's not like I'm a psychotic killer!" She massaged her shoulder after giving Raurke a playful swat. "I know, love. I just had to let you know. We still have to stay in the city for another week or so after we've done this job. They'll look harder for a killer than they will a thief."

 

On their way down the tower, Raurke overheard a familiar voice from an open window. "Ah, looks like we've found the Thalmor's headquarters here in Solitude." He whispered.

 

"... And now she's turned up dead! If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was that Breton!"

 

"Gilgamesh. This changes NOTHING. You're to set sail for High Rock tonight. Adriane is close to taking over the Adamantine Tower, and those filthy half-breeds with it." This voice had heavy magical static, as if Gilgamesh were talking to his superior through a welkynd-powered mirror.

[ResolveThatChord]

With a grunt, Jack threw the saddle over Galleon.

 

“I wish you'd stay for a bit more.†Rimat said. “If this is so important then why didn't you just ride off in the middle of the night like the dashing pirate you clearly wish you were?â€

 

“From here I'll be roughing it for gods know how long.†Jack replied gruffly. He grinned. “I need a hot bath before I get swept up in adventures. What about you? Tell me you're not going back into the Reach.â€

 

“No, I'll be staying here until I run out of money. I found a couple of couriers last night, they'll send any word of my friend back here.â€

 

The pretty Dunmer serving girl walked up the path to the tavern, her chin haughtily raised. She didn't spare them a glance.

 

“N'wah.†Rimat muttered.

 

Jack was busy appreciating the girl's retreating form. He snorted. “Women.â€

 

“I beg your pardon?â€

 

“You two haven't exchanged a single word and you already hate each other. Surely I'm not as good looking as that.â€

 

Now it was Rimat's turn to snort. “You're not. She won't talk to me because she's Redoran. I'm... not Redoran. Easy as that.â€

 

Jack considered this for a while. “That's just about the stupidest thing I've heard. Who cares? Morrowind's on the other edge of the world.â€

 

Rimat shrugged. “Morrowind's basically over. All we have left of it is what we take with us.â€

 

Jack looked sceptical. “So you pick on each other? Rather than, y'know, banding together in hard times?â€

 

“Yeah, see, it's traditional. I make an offering in my doorway, she kicks it over. And we all walk away with the warm fuzzy sense that the world can be normal again. Also, she's just a s'wit.â€

 

Jack snorted again and was about to reply when something behind Rimat caught his attention. His smile dropped. Rimat spun around to see a band of elves coming up the path to the tavern.

 

There were four. Two were clearly soldiers; Altmer men in golden Alinoran plate mail. There was one woman, dressed in the familiar black coat of a Thalmor mage. And the last was not a high elf. He was a Bosmer, dressed only in raw furs and wool scarves which all but covered his face. He couldn't have looked more out of place with the other three, but he kept a confident pace at the right hand of the woman.

 

As they crossed the threshold into the tavern, one of the soldiers turned and looked at Jack and Rimat, marking them to memory. As soon as they were out of sight, Jack swore. He pulled his pistols out of his travelling pack and began strapping their sheaths to his legs.

 

“Relax.†Said Rimat. “I think they're here about my friend.â€

 

“I highly doubt that.†said Jack. “Thalmor interference is on the rise. More likely to torture some Talos worship confessions out of some folks, and burn the place to the ground on their way out. You stay here, this going to get ugly.â€

 

But Rimat was already marching up to the Tavern door.

 

Inside, the atmosphere was decidedly hostile. The Thalmor were at the bar, the mage staring Balow down. The soldiers stood menacingly facing the patrons, who were all standing from their seats uneasily. The only person who looked relaxed was the Bosmer, leaning with his back against the bar looking bored.

 

“Look, I don't care if you're-†Balow stopped as Rimat entered, soon followed by Jack. There was a drawn out moment when no-one spoke.

 

“So is this about Maenam? Yes? We lost each other in the Reach, three days south of here. I have his things in-â€

 

The mage cut Rimat off. “Silence!†She glared at Rimat. “Speak no more. We will discuss this in private.†She turned back to Balow. “We require a room. And privacy.â€

 

Balow crossed his arms. “She's my guest here. You'll not harm her or there'll be trouble.â€

 

The mage's nostrils flared at this but it was clear that Balow wouldn't be intimidated. She forced a tight smile. “I'm sure it will not come to that.â€

 

Rimat felt the eyes of the patrons on her as a soldier moved by her. He didn't grab her, but lead her away..

 

The soldiers stood at attention outside the room. Rimat entered first, and sat at the small table.

 

The wood elf regarded her as he entered, his face obscured by scarves except for his eyes. They were completely black, with no whites. “She's not very pretty.†He muttered.

 

“Does it make a difference?†The mage sounded dismissive.

 

He sighed. “Some think so... Not me. Smell, though...â€

 

“Let's try and get through this without having me lose my breakfast.†She gave him a pointed look, and turned to Rimat.

 

“I'm sure you appreciate how suspicious this appears.†She said, remaining standing. “Our agent left Elsweyr with a full complement of elite soldiers. He vanishes off the face of Tamriel and suddenly now there's only you, who it seems no-one has ever heard of.â€

 

Rimat tried to get more comfortable in the hard chair. “May I speak?â€

 

“You may.â€

 

“Okay, so basically... I work for the Synod, and was ordered to accompany Maenam. You know, carry his packs and cook and wipe his chin- I mean, take care of menial things so he could focus on his work. He told me the soldiers died which is why he needed me.â€

 

“Did he mention why he went to the Synod and not to his known allies in Cyrodiil?â€

 

Rimat hadn't thought of that. “He didn't... I didn't ask him questions.â€

 

“But you know what he was doing?â€

 

“I think he mentioned something about hunting a traitor? I thought it would be best to find out as little as possible.â€

 

“I see.†The woman's frown cleared. “Well I must say that's a refreshing attitude. You said he was in the Reach? Good, well, with any luck he'll report in at Markarth. Did you want to get back to Cyrodiil? We can take you to Solitude and send you on a ship from there if you like.â€

 

Rimat was stunned by the abrupt change in attitude. “That... would be very kind indeed.â€

“So it's settled. You can cook on the way; Talrin here doesn't know a potato from a rock.â€

 

Talrin laughed. “What?â€

 

“One more thing.†The mage continued. “Do you know what this is?†She pulled something from a pocket and placed it on the table.

 

When Rimat saw it she shifted back in her seat without thinking. It was that strange object, the tusk carved with runes, her name clearly written on it's face in spidery scrimshaw. “I don't know what that is.†She said without thinking. The mage and Talrin exchanged a look. Rimat suddenly got the distinct impression of danger. “I mean, I have no idea what it is but I've seen it before. I think it might even be the same one.â€

 

The Bosmer Talrin gazed at her levelly. All relaxedness had left his demeanour. He tugged the scarf away from his face and spoke. Rimat could see his teeth were filed to sharp points. “Understand that this matter is of crucial interest to the Dominion. And that it is in your crucial interest that we have no room to doubt your... compliance.â€

 

Rimat felt her insides turn to ice. Would they think she knew too much? Jack's words came back to her, and she understood that if they decided she was an enemy, or that she was lying, she would be tortured. This was not going well.

[charlescrowe]

     Solitude at predawn was devoid of most life, the only exceptions were the ever-present hawks circling the towers, and rats scurrying to find food or shelter from their cold, merciless talons. This particular morning played host to a pair of shadows sweeping through the empty streets and alleys, familiarizing every nook and crevice the cold grey stone had to offer. Scanning rooftops and sewer grates for escape routes leading throughout the city. As dawn's light slowly turned to bright, warm rays of 

daylight, the citizens of the vast forest of granite trickled into the thoroughfares, growing into a hustle and bustle rivaled only by the Imperial City's market district.

 

     Raurke and Malori quietly slipped into the crowds of laborers and merchants, making towards one of the more prominent forges in the city. A willowy young Nord struggled with a bow, ineffectually trying to string the dense wood propped between his knees. "Morning lad. Is your master in?" Raurke implored. "Yeah, just let me-" the boy grunted, straining to loop the bowstring across the top limb. Malori gave a disgusted sigh and took the bow; a thick, dense piece of craftsmanship a head taller than her -obviously meant for one of the larger Nords- and hooked the lower limb against her shin. Running it be tween her legs and bending it against the back of her thigh, she quickly looped the string around the top limb and handed it back to the boy.

 

There was a deep, bellowing laugh from the door; the forge master had come to see about the voices. "She's got ya beat, boy. Do that with the rest of'em." The jovial Redguard turned his attention to Raurke. "Name's Chul. How can I help ya?"

 

Raurke took the man's outstretched hand. "I'm in town for a couple weeks, and I need coin. Need an extra pair of hands around the forge?"

 

Chul scratched his head, thinking. "Dunno. Got any experience with this Nord steel? Bastards don't trust anything else. Any experience would be a far sight better than this lanky pile of bones here." He motioned to the Nord.

 

"Worked in a shop in Anvil before the war. The work in and out of that shop ranged from Elven moonstone to the crucible steel the Skaal use. Sometimes ebony when the city guard got a new captain." Raurke bragged, weaving truth with lie.

 

"Anvil, huh? Picked up a piece from a shop there in my traveling days. You might recognize it." Chul ducked back into the forge, followed by the clang and crash of steel hitting wood, granite, and more steel. "Right then, come on in if ya want. I'll just be a mome- ah! Found it." Chul came back, carrying his prize tenderly. It was a saber, borrowing elements from Nordic, Elven, and Ra Gada design. A long, thin blade, curved with a clipped point gleamed brightly in the morning light. "Skaal steel, but lacking the traditional engravings you'd normally see." Chul chirped proudly.

 

Raurke took it in, instantly recognizing it's blade and ax-like knuckle bow. The clawed pommel was a more recent addition, along with a carved mahogany hilt. "Haha, that's Gleaming Moon! One of Gadget's masterworks. How did you ever manage to pry it away from that miser?"

 

Malori edged closer, taking a closer look, smiling. Chul practically burst. "Ha, you know it then?" Chul gave Raurke a wry smile. "Ah, it was a whirlwind romance. Sadly, she seems to be calling out for adventure, and I've got a family to support here. I'll tell ya what; I'll hire you on for a couple weeks, pay your lodging and let ya have free reign of the forge. If I like your work, the Moon's yours." Chul smiled, adding "You look like the adventurous type."

 

"We've got a deal then." Raurke beamed.

[ResolveThatChord]

Jack had stopped pacing and was now sitting alone at a table with a view of the door with two soldiers guarding it. Presently it opened, and the Thalmor came out with Rimat in tow. She waved to him brightly.

 

Jack frowned. “So, your friend was Thalmor. You could have mentioned that. Everything all right?â€

 

“Everything's great. I'm heading on to Solitude with them now. At first I was worried, but they turned out to be exactly as reasonable as you said.†She gave him a brittle smile.

 

“That's good to hear. I have to go rescue Jayn, I've already delayed too long.†He gave her a relaxed salute. “I guess this is goodbye then. Maybe I'll run into you again.â€

 

She shook her head. “Probably not.â€

 

“Yeah, big world I guess. Still, you never know.†And with that he was out the door.

Rimat sighed. “Idiot!â€

 

The Thalmor mage came to stand by her side. “He seemed keen to leave. He's likely a heretic.â€

 

Talrin shrugged. “Leave that to the Justiciars.†He turned to Rimat. “It's time to leave.â€

 

She smiled.

 

 

Indeed, she kept smiling all the way out of the gate and down the road towards Dragon's Bridge. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt. Through the discomfort it occurred to her that on the whole she didn't tend to smile much, but she kept up the pretence anyway.

 

She had a little experience with caring for horses as a servant, but riding them was not for people of her low caste. It was just as well really that she was seated behind the soldier and not at the reins, even though it was uncomfortable being bumped around.

 

She had no doubt that her escort planned to kill her. She supposed though that there was a chance that her execution might be delayed if she appeared oblivious. In the mean time she would keep her eyes open for an opportunity to bolt. A lot of hope had been placed on Jack, but he had been too much of a dolt to understand her hidden plea.

 

As the passed over the Dragon's Bridge, and the small accompanying village, she looked at the faces of the people and guards about the single street. Their eyes were just as hostile upon her as her escort. There was no help here. Any attempt to flee to find justice with imperial law enforcers could easily be met with an accusation from the Thalmor, and then she would be theirs again. She realised that she had only two friends in all this land. One was likely dead. The other was certainly an idiot, and far gone.




“Here's a good enough spot,†The mage said. “Dismount!â€

Rimat slid of the horse's rump, landing on her feet and stretching. “What's up?â€

 

“We're, ah, setting up camp. Get a fire going over there, will you?â€

 

Rimat looked up at the sky. It was barely past midday. Set up camp? Yeah, sure. “No, this is the part where you kill me, isn't it?â€

 

The Thalmor mage tilted her head and looked at her. “I suppose it is.†She was silent for a moment, then, “I was going to sneak up behind you and...†She placed two fingers at her temple and mimed casting a lightning spell. “You wouldn't have felt a thing.â€

 

Rimat slumped her shoulders and rubbed her forehead, as if this were an annoyance. Her heart was pounding; she wondered at how was she behaving so nonchalantly. “Why?â€

 

“Loose ends. Maenam was supposed to die before making it to Skyrim, and that's how it's going to be. Your version of events is... problematic.â€

 

Rimat groaned. “Don't you get it? I don't care! I just want to go home, I've got nothing to do with all this... ugh, I guess you don't care.†She sighed. “I request a death by fire.†It had just occurred to her that she had a chance- a tiny chance- that if she could get the mage to attack her with a spell, she might absorb it's power. And that might be enough to escape her captors. It was a slim chance but she was out of time and had no other ideas.

 

The mage's eyes narrowed. “Very traditional, for Dunmer. I have no small experience with burning people alive, and I've got to say it may be the worst way to die.†When Rimat merely shrugged, she continued. “In any case, I already promised Talrin he could eat you.â€

 

Rimat coughed. “What?â€

 

Talrin flashed her a smile that made her skin crawl, and she felt her plan of escape shrivel away.

 

“Yes... he's a traditionalist too you see. You wouldn't believe the things people get up to in Valenwood. I can't say I agree with it, but... Well, he's as much part of the Dominion as me.â€

 

Rimat nodded calmly. “Alright but first-†And without warning she bolted, and took off, sprinting hard down the road.

 

The mage glared at the soldier who had been standing next to Rimat. “Were you going to grab her? That would have been great.â€

 

The soldier shook his head to clear it. “Sorry, wasn't expecting that.†He gestured down the road towards Rimat. “I mean, there's nowhere to run. No cover save for some rocks, and we have horses.â€

 

“Well, I don't know! What would you do if I told you I was going to feed you to that creepy little bastard?â€

 

“I'm right here you know.†Talrin interjected.

 

“Quiet, you! And you-†She rounded on the soldier. “Stop the back-chat and get after her! I swear to Magnus, you'd better hope I never bother to remember your name.â€

 

 

 

Rimat's feet jarred as she pounded along the cobbled road stones. Already her muscles were burning; she was tasting bile from exertion. She wondered how far she could get before she collapsed. At this rate, not far. It was stupid, stupid! There was no way she could outrun them. But what else could she do? Run. She was powerless, but she could run.

She shifted her weight as the road wound around a large, rocky outcrop. As she desperately tried to see some possibility of survival, her flight was brought to a halt as she slammed into Jack's back.

He stumbled, and Rimat hit the ground rolling. In a moment she was up, and before she knew what she was doing she was up on his horse. “You're late! Come on, hurry up!â€

 

Jack righted himself, and indicated the rope trap he was stringing at rider height over the path. “Could you have waited? I'm not ready yet.â€

 

She shook her head. “No time-â€

 

And then with clattering hooves, the Thalmor soldier rounded the corner and was upon them.

Jack was quick though. He leaped to one side, pulling the rope taught and catching the elf in the gut with it, knocking him off the horse. Jack was yanked off his feet. Both men scrambled to their feet. The elf made to draw his sword, only to find it gone from it's sheath. Jack grinned and punched the elf on the nose. It was a lucky thing, as the soldier's helmet covered all but the face, but the blow dislodged it.

Rimat had also reacted, and was already holding the soldier's sword. “Jack!â€

 

Throwing it was stupid, she realised too late, but somehow Jack caught it by the handle, righted himself, and swung it with both hands. It lodged deep in the elf's side, biting into the golden armour and sticking fast. He let out a terrible, choking gasp, grasping at the sword. Jack let go and drew his knife.

It was not finished in any way that could be called “cleanâ€. Jack flicked his arms to get the blood off, and Rimat managed to stop herself from throwing up. She had seen some nasty things before, murder included, but that didn't make it much easier. “Come on,†She croaked. “The others will be here soon.â€

 

Jack nodded, panting slightly. But he knelt down to cut the soldier's purse from his belt.

 

“Seriously?â€

 

He winked. “Get used to it. He won't need it.â€


It was a few hours before the rest of the Thalmor caught up with them. Jack and Rimat had a head start, but having two to a horse slowed them down. The trees were less sparse here. Rocky mountainside had partially given way to the yellowed grass of the tundra, and the sun was well into it's descent.

Jack spurred Galleon on, leaning forward in the saddle to curse the the horse eloquently in it's ear. Galleon put up a brave effort but it had been a long day of hard riding. Their pursuers closed in. Rimat looked behind them to see the mage lift her hand.

 

Suddenly she and Jack were thrown forward off the horse. Galleon collapsed bonelessly to the ground, skidding to a halt in the dirt. By some miracle Jack and Rimat were unharmed. Jack scrambled over to Galleon to see what was wrong. The horse's limbs were locked up in some enchantment of paralysis, and the poor animal blinked and snorted at Jack helplessly.

 

“Jack, come on! The rocks!â€

 

Jack nodded. There was nothing to do for Galleon for now. He patted the horse's head consolingly, and ran after Rimat for the cover the boulders could afford them from a mounted attack.

 

The three Thalmor soon arrived, dismounted, and advanced. Jack had his back pressed against the boulder shielding him from their view. He saw Rimat was doing likewise nearby. He felt for his pistols, counting their odds. He had two shots, and there were three of them. He doubted Rimat would be much help. This was exactly the kind of situation he'd promised himself to stay out of.

 

Three enemies, two shots. He had been lucky with that first soldier. This one wasn't going to be taken by surprise. He'd kick Jack's arse if Jack let the bastard get close enough. Alright. The soldier dies first. After that, he would have to take what opportunities presented themselves. Maybe he could bluff his way out. After all, there weren't many people in Tamriel who had seen weapons like these before.
 

Jack exhaled. Then suddenly the pistols were in his hands, and he spun around, out of cover, raising them to shoulder height. The soldier was closer than Jack had expected. He had a second to raise his shield...

 

And suddenly, Jack's right had jerked upwards in a wreath of smoke. There was a boom of thunder, louder than any spell Rimat had heard. As one, the birds took off from the trees from miles around in a great cawing flock. And the soldier's head jerked back, and he hit the ground, dead.

 

In the stunned moment that followed Jack levelled his second pistol at the black-eyed Wood-Elf's head. The elf was unarmed, hands splayed, watching Jack intently. Jack began to squeeze the trigger, and-

 

Wait. Where was the mage? The air suddenly whooshed, and Jack only managed to leap aside just in time as an explosion of fire rocked the ground. In another instant a second followed, and it was all he could do to scramble back behind his boulder.

 

The barrage of fire was relentless. Soon the air was choked with the smell of burning grass, and chips of rock were blasted about, scoring light cuts where his skin was exposed. Any time Jack tried to get a glimpse of where his attacker was, he was met with a startlingly accurate bombardment. He turned to see how Rimat was faring. Perhaps, if she could provide some distraction, he might get a shot off-

 

Oh gods. What was she doing?

 

She was crouched, tense, waiting for the next spell to impact. She was whispering something under her breath, he couldn't catch it. Was she counting, or praying? With a boom, the next spell hit. Rimat was caught by the edge of engulfing air but she didn't seem to mind.

 

Then she stepped out from cover, and stood as if to catch the next spell in her arms.

 

The fireball struck her in the chest. She was flung off her feet to hit her back against a standing rock face. Her head was whipped backwards to strike the rock. Dazed or unconscious, her knees gave way and she slid down, but it wasn't long before her senses returned, and she cried out at flames licked along her skin.

 

There was a lull in the barrage. Knowing it was now or never, Jack vaulted onto the boulder and brought his remaining pistol to bear on the mage.

 

But not fast enough. Seeing him and his pistol drawn, the mage flung her hand forward, and the air shimmered with the haze of a magical barrier. The other hand pulled back, flames swirling around it. She threw the spell directly at Jack.

 

Once again, Jack's pistol spoke thunder. Rimat saw the ball of flames rushing toward Jack unwind and dissipate, and the fire on her skin went out. Galleon struggled to his feet, freed of the paralysis.

 

Jack trained his first pistol at Talrin, whistling for Galleon. Something about the way the Bosmer was standing told Jack that letting him get close would be very unwise. But Talrin didn't move, and simply glared at Jack unblinkingly.

 

Rimat got to her feet, and ran to get on Galleons back. Jack leaped down in front, taking the reins. Suddenly understanding, Talrin snarled. With freakish speed, he leaped at them, hands splayed to tear them down from Galleon's back. But he was met instead with Rimat's boot heel, catching him in the solar plexus and knocking him to the ground. And with that, Galleon picked up speed and they were off.

 

Talrin stood, running after them. Gone was his cool demeanour- he looked monstrous; his face pulled into a snarl, pointed teeth showing. His scarves had fallen back to show horns jutting from his brow. His black eyes were furious. “I'LL FIND YOU!†He screamed after her. “YOU CAN'T HIDE- THERE IS NOWHERE YOU CAN SLEEP -†his voice followed them, but grew fainter, and then was gone.