This is for my showcase on Tamriel Rebuilt. A draft of this story was submitted to the Chorrol fan fiction competition.
I am working on a new draft at the moment. Hence the reason it has been shortened, for the moment.
Criticism is needed to help the direction of the story.
The Companion of Tuskus and Ahldmeria
The Prologue
A solemn silhouette sailed across the horizon into the bay. A black, hulking dread vessel crewed by a ragtag band of grim pirates and ghastly miscreants. This ship of dark renown, a far more frightening concept than any other craft of legend. The men that stood on its swabbed decks had traveled for weeks looking for an ideal place to store their stolen goods, a place to hide from the law and the storms. These battle-hardened men had recently raided the camp of a dignitary, who was on his way to Gilane; with him were an armored guard. As a result, the ship was now carrying a large amount of loot and covering less and less sea by the day.
The weary eyes aboard the ship looked eagerly upon the stretch of land that lay in the distance. The crew as a whole had cheered the proposal of steering away from Rihad and Taneth in case they were recognized, and for some reason the Captain had expressed his wishes to avoid even a glance of Gilane. The crew, wary of their Captain, listened to the orders he gave head towards a smaller settlement without question, but not without suspicion and talk began. Many spoke of parting company as soon as they made port but most spoke of what, or who, was in Gilane that would make the Captain seem so wary. A select few schemed idly about staging a rebellion and leaving the Captain in the city of Gilane to his own fate.
The beach made for a thick horizon line and, frustratingly, it seemed to loom no nearer now than it had an hour ago. Tensions were high after a series of unsuccessful raids on cargo-less boats and ships. That is what had led the pirates to some inland excursions, where they had attacked the dignitary and his men. The cost in blood had been high and several pirates perished during the short battle. The armed guard had seemed ill trained and appeared to be mercenaries, unconnected to any major force. The pirates’ anger and blood lust had won the battle that day. They had looted and stripped the corpses and trekked back to their ship. There was a surplus in armor, weapons and food but no valuable jewels were found.
After the battle, the crew's discontent with the direction of their piracy was clearly tangible. That was when the captain had cunningly decided to lay anchor in a secluded town to relieve them of their booty and to celebrate another successful raid. At which point his plan had him sailing off in the middle of the night with his loyal crewmembers. None of them were happy to desert their comrades on an unknown shore in the middle of the night but they could and would if it meant avoiding a mutiny. The Captain above all was eager to reach their destination. He had told the first mate one night that he had once 'toured' the shores of Gilane and had found his breaking point, he said no more and the first mate knew better than to ask. A dank air of mistrust had hung above the ship like it‘s own sails and they had quickly navigated towards a piece of land between the three cities.
That piece of land was now close enough to see some of the vegetation and the crew began to prepare the anchor. With this knowledge, the whole crew felt a fresh wind roll over them and carry the boat towards their destination. Talk no longer came so slowly and laughter was no longer forced. For a few minutes, the swabbed decks of the ship shone more brightly.
The crew laid anchor in Hews Bay, opposite a secluded shore near the town of Roseguard. Eight rowboats of eight men set out for land with around a third of the crew remaining on duty aboard the ship. Desperate feet plunged into a warm white gold sea, as the men dragged the rowboats onto the sandy beach.
Hoping to secure a farm or house most of the able-bodied men set out to find a town, whilst the others waiting at the shoreline. The members of the expedition took one last long look at the ship named ‘The Lysirius‘. Its greasy black hull, jutting out of the water like a strange monolith. The Lysirius’ figurehead was the snarling face of a wolf, its piercing eyes keenly gazing out across the new land. The expedition decided to head northeast towards higher ground, in the hope that they would then be able to survey the surrounding area. The crew had not traveled the south of Hammerfell, for now obvious reasons. Having more often-trawled Iliac Bay or followed known trade routes between the Summerset Isles, Stros M’kai, and Cyrodiil and sometimes to a place with no known routes of any kind: Akavir.
This was all new territory and although most of the pirates were eager to rest their weary consciences, being adventurers at heart they could feel the excitement welling inside as they left The Lysirius behind and began their ascent into the hills.