Well, since I was specially asked by a fiend, I will be posting this one as well. I was re-reading it and couldn't conclude otherwise that it's obvious it was the first fan-fic I wrote. Hope it isn't too disappointing.
Chapter1: The hangover
He woke up with his head throbbing and a woozy feeling in his stomach, a silent witness to the night before. ‘Ooohhh, I really should stop drinking that cheap rubbish,’ the hung-over Altmer thought, while cradling his head in self-pity. A severe burst of pain rushed through his forehead and he wished he had paid more attention when they tried to teach him the fine arts of restoration. He barely knew how to heal minor wounds, let alone cure a serious hangover. Or even how to get rid of a bump that had mysteriously manifested itself on his head and he couldn’t help but wonder where that had come from. His recollections on the previous days were still somewhat blurry.
‘Now to open my eyes,’ he murmered to himself. Reluctantly the Elf opened his eyes and immediately shut them again in agony of the bright light that greeted his new day through the bars of his small, square cell.
Although the light was a lot dimmer than he had anticipated it was still hurting his eyes and consequently, the throbbing in his head got worse. Quickly he shut them again. A grunt of agony left his throat. ‘Where in oblivion am I?’ he wondered while re-opening his eyes, slowly this time, and took a few glimpses through his squinted eyelids. First things he became aware of now he finally could take a decent look around, was that mouldy, green bricks and a metal gate in one of the walls enclosed him. Definitely not the room he had rented in the Talos plaza hotel a couple of days before the events that, apparently, got him thrown in jail.
‘Not again….. By the Nine, how am I getting myself out of here this time?’ he sighed.
This damp, cold confinement seemed familiar from the last time. But, then again, he had noticed all jails tend to look the same throughout the empire. It was just another cell, just like all the others.
A raspy voice broke through the relative silence of the morning:’You are never getting out. You are going to die here, you snotty Altmer hahahaha!’ Gently he sat up from the stone slab. A damned lousy excuse for a bed but what could he expect from a prison? A brief throb of pain though his head, this time in the area of his temples, rather than his forehead, rudely reminded him of his condition. He wished he had something decent to drink instead of something you wash your clothes in.
‘Yeah, yeah, sure,’ he whispered and made a face, while trying to rub his stiff, sore back. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t really reach the spots that hurt the most, which disgruntled him even more. Why couldn’t he just lie down and die? Death appealed a lot more to him than this bloody hangover. Judging by the taste in his mouth something had already died in his mouth so he figured he might as well pass on too.
The banter from the opposite jail carried on some time but Hargeth just ignored it. If he hadn’t been feeling so miserable, he would probably have taken offence in it but he really didn’t feel like acknowledging that pesky Dunmer how he felt about it. As there isn’t really a point harassing someone who just ignores it, the Dark Elf soon grew weary of it. He did make a mental note though. A lot could be said about Hargeth but not that he is the most forgiving type and even less when he has been drinking. The last individual thinking that was now sleeping with the slaughterfish. The memory on that particular incident brought a shade of a smile on his face.
Returning to the present day from his wandering thoughts, he wondered if the guards had left anything to quench his terrible thirst. The convict turned his head, slowly; to make sure the throbbing in his head wouldn’t return in the severity it hit him last time. In a corner there was a tan pitcher with some fluid in it that could be identified as, well, wet. Calling it water would be an insult to real water. He was actually glad that it was a tan pitcher so couldn’t really see the colour of what was in it. ‘Hmmm, smells like rat piss,’ he grumped while bringing the pitcher to his mouth to quench his thirst and to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth, briefly hesitating uncertain of what was in the pitcher but then decided he didn’t really care. It could hardly be worse than his current state. He took a careful sip but even that upset his stomach and made him loose whatever he still had in it. ‘It IS rat piss,’ he thought and agrily tossed the pitcher in a corner shattering it in a lot of pieces. And if being in jail with a terrible hangover didn’t suffice, sure enough, a shard bounced back and cut him in the face. ‘Oh great!’ Frustrated he wiped the welling blood from his cheek, again cursing the lack of attention he had paid to learning restoration. He made a second mental note to start with that, well, when he got out of jail that was.
Because of the racket he had made the Dunmer prisoner noticed Hargeth had hurt himself which was enough for him to start mocking his fellow in-mate in the opposite cell again. ‘Keep that up and you will have the guards save out on a lot of fun!’ and almost fell to the floor laughing.
‘I hope you choke in it!’ A growl from the opposite cell was its reward. Hargeth couldn’t care less and went back to feeling sorry for himself.
His thoughts wandered a while when he heard the distinct clang of armoured guards coming down the stairs to the cellblocks. Casually they strolled passed the front cells while taunting the prisoners in the cells there.
‘How did you like your…. beverage?’ a fat, balding guard asked him with a smug grin on his face while looking at the remains of the pitcher.
‘I guess my suspicions weren’t too far off, rat-piss, guard-piss, all the same,’ Hargeth replied and immediately regretted making that comment. The barely hidden insult triggered the guard to come into his stinking cell and rewarding him with a couple of cruel kicks to the stomach, much to the Dunmer in the opposite cell’s amusement.
Shuddup or you’s next Dreth!’ the guard barked towards the opposite cell. Valen Dreth was quick to shut up and withdrew into one of the darker corners of his cell. The Dark Elf had probably learned the hard way as well.
His nose had a strange angle in it, indicating his nose had been broken too, probably by the same guard. Most guards he had encountered in previous stays in prison scattered over the empire were kind compared to this one. This particular guard knew exactly where to beat into prisoners where it hurt the most. It was likely he practised a lot in being efficient in crippling prisoners. What was a captain doing a simple guard’s work anyway? It seemed Hargeth more and more likely the fat guard was just a sadistic honoured user taking pleasure in abusing prisoners. Or did the Legion really didn’t have anyone else for the job? Hargeth had hoped the distraction the Dunmer, Dreth had created would have kept the guard from making it worse but, much to his dismay, the guard wasn’t finished yet.
The guard, who fancied a drink himself judging the man’s breath, which still heavily reeked of ale from earlier, had spotted the remainders of Hargeth breakfast from the day before, or even the day before that. Hargeth couldn’t for the world remember. The guard’s face split in two by a very grim smile.
‘Are ya foulin’ up me cell? Ya know wot that means, don’t ya?’ the guard, obviously, rhetorically asked. Not that the guard would be able to spell rhetorical or even would know what it means but for Hargeth that made no difference what so ever. Of course Hargeth knew, having spent his fair share in jails.
He braced for the inevitable steel gauntlet in the face and the steel boot in the guts, kind of treatment. ‘That’s another similarity between a lot of jails,’ Hargeth grimly thought.
Unfortunately for him, he was right. The guard grinned slyly and whipped his steel gauntlet in Hargeth’s face. He could hear his nose breaking with a sickening snap just before he hit the ground like a ragdoll. In no time at all his entire face was covered in blood that came pouring out of both his nostrils.
Quickly he rolled himself up into a ball to protect himself the best he could against the relentless kicking of the guard. Most of the blows landed in his back and stomach. Then the guard kicked him in the head with his steel boots, he fought to remain conscious but it was futile. His whole world went spinning and then went black. Just before he passed out he thought:’If I’m ever getting out of this rathole, you best watch your back because I will be coming for you….’
When he re-gained consciousness, most of the light had faded and so had most of his hangover. His physical condition had hardly improved though. Instead of the throbbing headache it now was a constant whining in the back of his head. Apart from that, he had bruises everywhere. Even in places he didn’t know he could bruise. Gently he touched his nose and cringed in pain almost to the point of bringing a tear into his right eye.
‘Yep, that’s broken for sure…’ he couldn’t help but chuckling to himself over his misfortune, immediately collapsing in terrible agony. Apparantly, he had broken a rib as well. After recovering from the agony, he gently went to inspecting the rest of his injuries.
Softly he touched his left cheek with the tips of his fingers. The tan shard had made a shallow gash, about one, maybe one and a half inch long. At least it had already stopped bleeding and there was a crust of dried blood covering it.
He also realised in disgust the beating he got by the guard had caused Hargeth to have fallen exactly in the spot where he had lost his breakfast earlier. The smell of the regurgitated food in his shirt almost made him gag.
The garment hadn’t been too clean before the incident, now it was almost too dirty to touch, let alone wear it. To add to his misery, try as he might, it was virtually impossible for him to take the sackcloth shirt of with the broken rib. He couldn’t raise his arms enough because of the pain so he would have to reside with it. He was really starting to dislike that particular guard.
‘You alright?’ A gentle, throaty voice, probably a Khajiit female, asked from the cell next to him, breaking him out his contemplations
‘What do YOU care?’ he snarled. The prisoner didn’t respond again. ‘Nice Hargeth, real nice, finally someone to talk to and you bite of his head. Just great.’ His temper hadn’t improved at all.
Piece by piece he had been puzzling back together some of the circumstances that had got him thrown in prison. From what he had recollected, things were looking bleak for him. It appeared to him unless some kind of miracle would happen he was going to be stuck here for a long time. The Imperial Legion didn’t take kindly on murder. Especially when a guard is involved. Most of the details were still fleeing him but he remembered vaguely it was a contract gone sour. Had he been betrayed? He really didn’t know. He didn’t really care either. His profession had taught him not to look back unless you don’t care what’s ahead of you. That usually was the tip of a sword so he’d better care what’s ahead.
The harsh words awoke the Dunmer in the opposite cell. Dreth had a strange smile around his lips. The grey haired, light blue skinned Elf obviously had enjoyed seeing Hargeth being beaten up. Hargeth couldn’t really blame him; he would’ve probably done the same in his place. It had been a long time ago he had felt so utterly helpless. He made a promise to himself to never let that happen again. And then threatened the Dunmer to toss a fireball into his cell if he’d open his gob again. Ofcourse Hargeth knew that wasn’t really useful with Dunmer being heridatary fire resistant, but it at least would be good for a laugh.
‘Maybe I’ll do it anyway, just to annoy him.’ The thought made him smile, which was quite rare. But then he realised that would probably lead to another beating by the guards.
‘Bugger..…’
The days grew shorter and longer again. In the passing weeks and months he had decided now was a good time to catch up on his restoration skills, rather than waiting until he got out.
He had to be careful not to let the guards catch him practicing his magic though, so he only practiced at night. A few days before he had been careless and the guards had caught him practicing. He had paid a bitter price for his carelessness. Another beating and, as a result, a dislocated shoulder. He thought that after the fractured rib other injuries could hardly be more painful. How wrong had he been. He had to use a wall to slam his dislocated arm back into his shoulder. The sheer pain of this had made him loose his consciousness. This setback didn’t put him off practicing though, it only made him more determined. The determination had started to get him somewhere. The restoration spell he never had managed to cast wasn’t so hard for him anymore and he used it to ease some of the pain of his broken rib that still plagued him.
Next, he applied it to his shoulder. He could feel the strange light tingling sensation of muscles contracting and regaining some strength. When he also tried it on his nose, it only made him sneeze, changing nothing. He rested with the fact his nose would forever be visible in the inner corner of his right eye.
More weeks passed, nothing much changed. Dreth had annoyed him some more and eventually Hargeth actually lobbed a fireball in his cell while the Dunmer prisoner was soundly asleep. The dry grass in the cell had caught fire in no time, clouding the cell in thick, black smoke.
Valen woke up because of the smoke penetrating his nostrils. ‘What the..’ Dreth didn’t continue his tirade because of a sneeze and then got up from bed, while cursing Hargeth in several languages, to put out the fire. The Dunmer was jumping around in his cell to stamp it out, still swearing, much to the other prisoner’s hilarity. Inevitably, it alarmed the guards and it got Hargeth in trouble once again. He was almost getting used it to it, hadn’t it been for the beating to his head. At least it made the day less dull.
‘If they beat me enough, maybe they can straighten out my nose again,’ he thought, while being punished by the guards. It appeared the guards hadn’t much better to do but tormenting prisoners. That moment he promised himself he was getting out of this godforsaken prison alive and rather sooner than later. Besides practicing his restoration skill he also started getting back in shape by doing physical exercise, as far as the small, square dank cell allowed, to get his strength back up. Months of basically doing nothing had weakened him. He wouldn’t stand a chance against anyone outside in this condition.
Clang, clang, clang.. The jailors were doing their round again. The ruckus had awoken him from his sleep. Since a couple of weeks the guards started to stray from their usual schedule and started patrolling more random. Hargeth didn’t like it one bit. Did the guards know about his secret plans? Once again, the guards found a reason to torment the blonde Altmer. In his sleep, unknowingly, he had tumbled the bowl for his excrements over. The smelly guard, as Hargeth started to call him in his mind, was about to enter his cell to punish him for the hidious crime Hargeth had committed by kicking over the waste bowl when another guard shouted:’Captain Avidius, Hayn wants to talk to you!’ The fat, smelly guard grumbled something barely audible but Hargeth could tell with his, for a Mer, keen sense of hearing Avidius had little respect for his collegue.
‘Interesting,’ he thought, and abscent-mindedly pulled his pointed ear. Of-course he didn’t let the smelly guard show he had heard the comment Avidius had made about Hayn. Avidius gave Hargeth a final cruel kick in his back and left the cell. From the corner of his almond shaped eyes the Altmer prisoner spotted something else interesting. Avidius was carrying around a small bottle. ‘That could be useful,’ he thought. Hargeth had always been quick in spotting opportinities in the simplest of things. For instance, broken bottles make excellent weapons. He grinned slyly when he thought about how he had found that out. Spending a lot of time in shady inns did have its advantage after all.
Avidius slammed the gate shut with a loud bang to make sure all the prisoners were awake. Angrily the guard made his way back to the offices, grumbling and swearing at everything and about everyone. Hargeth noticed he was possibly even more drunk than usual. The ale smell on his breath alone was enough to notice he had been drinking heavily. A more amusing telltale was that Avidius could hardly walk in a straight line, bouncing into the grey stonewalls, when he made his way back to the guardroom. ‘I really need to get out of this place.’ A cunning but dangerous plan was starting to form in his head.
Full Version: The contract
Woo Hoo !!!! Thank you Remko! I love what you did with this, and can't wait to read it again! One of the things I loved so much about this was that (having played Oblivion and knowing the storyline) - I was able to see where your imagination was carrying the story away from the game - and you ROCK THIS STORY !!!! I hope everyone that plays Oblivion reads it, it is AWESOME !!!
Excellent work, Remko.
This is the first time that I have read a tale of the Oblivion Crisis that seeks to explain just how long the main character is an inmate in the Imperial Prison. You say this was the first Oblivion story that you wrote? Okay, I’m on board. Let’s see where you are taking us.
Thank you! It's more of textwall than the Memoires of Rales Sarethi but it's an entirely different way of writing.
Chapter2: Escape
Weeks went by as he thought about the aspects of the escape plan he was brewing on. It was a fairly simple plan; he had to lure a guard into his cell, somehow overpower him and use him as some sort of hostage. He knew that was going to be the most dangerous part of the plan. If that would go wrong, he wouldn’t be beat up; the guards would kill him for sure. He needed to pick a guard hostage he could, relatively, easily overpower and keep under his control. What he needed was Avidius, better yet; he needed Avidius as drunk as possible. It was his only option. How was he going to lure Avidius in? And when? The answer to the how question was fairly easy. After all, Hargeth was the smelly guard’s favourite sparring partner. All he needed to do was provoke Avidius enough for him to come in to Hargeth’s cell. He probably would have to improvise from there. There were just too many uncertainties to keep track of.
He decided to act as if he were ill when Avidius would be in the right state. Drunk that is. Really, really drunk.
Uneventful another few months went by before the ideal opportunity arose. The exercises he, secretly had been doing through the months of biding his time, brought back most of his strength back, although the shoulder that had been dislocated months ago was still sensitive if he strained it too much. A lot of time would have to pass by before it would be fully healed, if ever. In his profession he never had much need for a shield so it didn’t really bother him, figuring he could always have an adaquate healer look at it when he got out. When, not if, determined as he was to getting out of this deathtrap.
Clang.. clang… clangclang…clang. Hargeth recognized the irregular clang of Avidius doing his round drunk. Really, really drunk. ‘Now’s the time,’ he thought. The clang stopped briefly as the smelly guard stopped before the cell next to him. The Khajiit, that had occupied it, had been long gone and a male Bosmer now occupied the cell.
‘Misjerable treehugger, wake up!’ Avidius bellowed to the Bosmer occupying the cell next to him. ‘Insjpectjion time!’ Avidius could barely talk straight. Hargeth heard the squeek of the gates opening and the, unmistakable, sound of the Bosmer prisoner in the cell next to him being beat up severely. ‘Poor bugger. Better him than me though.’ Hargeth thought.
‘Ya Elves are all the sjame.’ More insults by the Imperial guard and more sounds of the Bosmer being beat up. Hargeth could hear Avidius clanging out of the cell, the agonised grunts of the beaten Wood Elf and another squeek of the gate closing again. ‘Here we go,’ he thought and started with his act.
He laid down on the stone slab with his face to the wall while making loud, vile noises as if he were really sick to the stomach. Considering the food they got, it wasn’t even very unlikely. He knew Avidius wouldn’t be able to refuse such an easy target to “inspect”, as Avidius called it. And, as sure as the sun goes up in the east, indeed Avidius wasn’t going to let this opportinity pass by to torment a helpless prisoner. When Avidius caught sight of Hargeth lying still on his bed, a mean smile formed around his thin lips, exposing his rotten teeth, in anticipation. Hargeth could hear the iron key being inserted into the slot and turned with a squeek. Another squeek and the gate to his cell opened. Hargeth had heard correct. Avidius was drunk out of mind.
‘Hmm, this might be easier than I could ever have hoped for,’ Hargeth thought while he grunted as if in agony. ‘Little bit closer,’ Avidius was approaching Hargeth, briefly stopping his approach to pull something from underneath his cuirass. A plop and a gulp. Hargeth could smell the ale in the bottle and on Avidius’ breath. ‘Wa’s up wif ya?’ Avidius growled and carelessly set the, now probably empty, bottle down next to Hargeth’s bed. ‘Ya sick? Answer me, sjcum!’ he rumbled with a double tongue. Avidius grabbed Hargeth by his shoulder, sending a spur of pain through the Elf’s upper body. His shoulder still hadn’t healed entirely. Avidius yanked Hargeth from the stone slab and Hargeth hit the ground rather unsoft. ‘Hnnn,’ grunted Hargeth, keeping up his act. The pain in his shoulder made it a lot easier to act as if he were in pain. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have to act at all. Avidius kicked Hargeth in his side but still Hargeth wouldn’t stand up. Slowly, so he wouldn’t lose his balance, Avidius leaned over Hargeth to see if maybe Hargeth was unconscious.
‘NOW!!’
The thought almost exploded in his mind and he reacted faster to the opportunity than the guard could have ever anticipated from a prisoner who had been incarcerated for months. Hargeth snatched the bottle from the ground, slammed it in the ground, jumped up, violently grabbed Avidius from behind before the drunk could react and stuck the broken bottleneck very near Avidius’ jugular in his throat.
‘Now, if you want to stay alive, I suggest first you unbuckle your sword-sheath with your left hand,’ Hargeth hissed in Avidius’ right ear while keeping a strong hold of Avidius with his left arm around his neck, to the point of choking Avidius. The smell of ale coming from his breath was almost overwhelming.
‘Slowly, unless you want me to cut you another airvent,’ Hargeth hissed again. Obeying, slowly Avidius’ left hand went to his belt and unbuckled it. The belt and sheath with the officer’s silver longsword still in it, dropped to the ground quietly. ‘Now, move!’ Hargeth ordered Avidius while pushing him towards the metal gate.
‘Open it!’ Avidius did as he was told and opened the metal gate.
‘Now, you and I are going to leave this rathole and nobody is going to get hurt, geddit?’ Hargeth could feel Avidius’ body tremble in rage. He knew if he let his guard down for a brief moment he’d lose the grip he had on his hostage.
Slowly they made it up the stairs to the door, separating the guardroom from the actual dungeon. ‘Open the door!’ he growled in Avidius’ ear. The hostage guard captain’s body started to shake of the effect of the alcohol because of the adrenaline rushing through it. Avidius was starting to show some more resistance. Hargeth simply responded by putting a bit more pressure on the broken bottleneck to Avidius throat and a small drop of blood started to surface where the broken bottleneck had pierced Avidius’ skin.
‘You’ll pay for this!’ Avidius hissed through his teeth.
‘Yeahyeah, sure, but not today,’ Hargeth replied calmly.
Avidius opened the door to the guardroom. Another guard was taking a nap and was snoring heavily in a chair with a copy of “The lusty Argonian maid” still in his lap and a bottle of cheap wine next to his chair. There was no one else in the room. Which was weird, usually the prison was crawling with guards. Hargeth was lucky for a change. ‘Now, the next door,’ he thought and started to push Avidius towards it. ‘Open it!’
‘It’s not locked,’ Avidius replied, his voice trembling in anger.
‘I know’ That was bluff, ‘I said: open it, not unlock it, now, did I?’
Avidius grumbled something undistinctive and opened the door. The only thing standing between Hargeth and freedom was a corridor and the final door leading outside. He hesitated briefly, trying to decide to get rid of Avidius here or wait until he was outside. For a moment he worried soldiers outside would have been alarmed by the ruckus inside.
Taking Avidius outside as a hostage was a sure way to get out of prison safe but what would he do with him outside? Kill him? Set him free to warn the other guards? He decided it would be rather suspicious taking a guard as a hostage outside so it would be better to leave him here. Unfortunately he had nothing to knock Avidius out. The sleeping guard in the guardroom had a blunt object but that meant he had to backtrack with the risk of waking up other guards as well. Going back in wasn’t an option. He had to think of something to slow Avidius down and improvised immediately. Before Avidius could react, he quickly stabbed the broken bottleneck in Avidius’ side, let go of his grip on his hostage and dropped him on the cold, stone floor.
‘Aaarggg!! You honoured user!’ Avidius yelled while falling down. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll live,’ Hargeth replied and made his way to the door. He knew very well where to stick a sharp object in someone to end his victim’s life quick and painless. Just like he also knew where to poke a pointy object in his victim to make sure he didn’t die. They would just suffer and bleed a lot, much like Avidius now. Hargeth counted on that the distraction would slow possible persueers down, at least for a little while, having to attend to their captain first.
Surely, they wouldn’t let him die like the stuck pig he is.
He was getting close, he was almost out. The excitement of the events made him almost feel euphoric. On the end of the corridor an ironclad, sturdy looking door was separating him from the outside. After months of patience, starvation, misery and pain, his imprisonment was nearing the end.
‘The moment of truth, stay calm,’ he mumbled and quickly, but without rushing, made his way to the end of the corridor.
He opened the heavy, wooden door and stepped outside. It was getting dark and it was drizzling lightly. A wet fog, promising a clear sky for the day after, shrouded most of his features to the guards outside, causing enough confusion for them to fail to see which prisoner it was that was exiting the fortified prison. He walked off like nothing was out of the ordinary, like he was just another prisoner released by the jailors inside. By the time he had reached the other side of the short bridge, he could hear a couple of alarming sounds from the corridor where he had just stabbed Avidius and decided he’d best disappear completely before the, still unaware of the situation, soldiers outside figured out what was really going on. He jumped on the ledge of the bridge and looked for a place he could land on, without breaking both his legs.
The prison compound was built on a high, hill-like, rock so instead of jumping down he decided to use the steep slope of the rock and slide down. Carefully he chose a spot without too much inclination and jumped of the ledge. It was a risk he was more than willing to take. The early spring rain had made the slope slippery. Much faster than he liked he skidded down the hill, rapidly towards the open road in the valley. With the velocity he was sliding down the hill he was pretty confident he would hurt himself on impact. To try to slow down his rapid descent he tried to grab hold of whatever came within his grasp but not to much avail. What little growth was on the rock had very short roots, barely anchored into the moist surface. Desperately he grabbed a protruding rock halfway down. With all the strength he could muster, he grabbed hold of the ledge and begged the gods it wouldn’t snap of or break his fingers.
He could hear the small ledge crack, it wouldn’t hold for long but it had done its job, most of the speed was now out of his descent. Now, much slower, he continued sliding down the hill, keeping his balance with his right hand, creating a small rockslide. Several small sharp pebbles made many tiny cuts in his hand and feet on the way down. The strain on his legs had left him exhausted and made him tremble on his feet, he almost collapsed with fatigue when he finally reached the bottom of the slope and safely stood on the soft, wet grass. Gasping for breath, he granted himself a minute’s rest and thanked the Gods for the fog, covering the dustcloud his escape down the hill had swept up. He wasn’t really religious but, in his opinion, it couldn’t do much harm thanking them anyway. The sweat he had built up was drying on his skin, causing him to shiver in the cool night air. The salt in his sweat was burning in the countless small cuts he had in his hand. ‘Where did these come from?’ Looking up to where he just came down from, it appeared a lot more steep than going down, he saw countless small sharp rocks rolling down, ending at his feet, covered with countless small wounds as well.
‘Aah, that must be it.’
The wounds in his feet barely hurt. The months barefoot in prison had hardened his footsoles; the cuts were hardly an inconvenience. His hand did hurt; he stuck it in a small, muddy, puddle to wash away the perspiration and most of the dirt in the small, offending wounds. It wasn’t ideal but would have to do until he found cleaner water to wash in and a healer willing to help. Longing to wash all the dirt from his skin he started to run northbound. It didn’t take him long to reach the banks of lake Rumare surrounding the prison and the adjecant city. The fog was now so dense; he couldn’t even see the other side. Swimming across would be too perilous as he wasn’t much of a swimmer.
‘Damn it, wish I had gills, just like those bloody lizards.’ Cursing his Elven origin and wishing he could change into an Argonian, if only for a while, he took of his clothing and waded into the water knee-deep in only his loincloth. Gratefully, he washed the sweat and all the dirt from his pale skin underneath. The water was cold but refreshing. Most of his exhaustion washed away with the grime from his battered body. With both hands he splashed water onto his face, took a couple of sips and rubbed the dust from his green eyes.
He wasn’t much to look at, rather short for a High Elf, a cruel mouth with thin lips and hard jaw lines. The scar and his broken nose didn’t improve his features either. His eyes always had been the most attractive, or at least, that’s what he was told but he had always doubted the sincerity of that. For a moment he just stood there, surprisedly gazing at the, again dirty palms of his hands to see how much dirt and dust actually came from his face and out of his long yellow blond hair.
‘Whaddayaknow,’ he uttered, walked a bit farther and submerged to wash all the remaining dirt out of his hair. Deciding he was clean enough for now, he treaded back onto shore. He shook the most of the water out of his hair but didn’t really have something to dry him further, except for the dirty prisonclothing.
‘No way I’m wearing that again,’ he mumbled grumpily and hurled a weak fireball towards the pile of clothing he left on the bank, incinerating it to dust instantly, even though it was moist with fog and sweat.
Noticing the water on his hands and arms had been dried up because of the heat emitting from his spell he just cast, he improvised. He cast a slightly stronger fireball but instead of throwing it, he held it just above the stretched palm of his hand, focused his will on the ball and increased the size of it until it effectively had dried off most of the water. To him, a few scorched hairs was worth being dry and warm again. He couldn’t see the smoke and vapour coming from his hair, if he had, he’d probably have been a bit more worried. After some consideration, Hargeth decided he’d best get some space between him and the Imperial City isle although he preferred to find silent, dark corner and sleep for a few hours. the bath had taken him too much time already.
‘I guess, it’s true, there really is no rest for the wicked,’ he sighed as he made his mind up on what to do. Even though he didn’t fancy crossing the lake in the dark he cast a minor water walking spell and treaded slowly onto the water. He wasn’t very confident in his spells but risked it anyway, having no choice. Swimming across was out of the question. Lake Rumare, surrounding the Capital of Cyrodiil, was renowned for being infested with Slaughterfish. Rumours went the local Rumare Slaughterfish were even more ferocious than the smaller, regular Slaughterfish. Without weapons, he’d be fishfood in no time. The first few of his steps onto the water did sink a few inches underneath the calm waves. He imagined fish nibbling his toes and shuddered. Scared he’d sink even farther he concentrated harder on the spell and he was truly walking across the surface of the deep, dark water. Only minutes later it occurred to him his first few steps wouldn’t have sank much further. After all, the water was only ten centimeters deep there.
Chapter2: Escape
Weeks went by as he thought about the aspects of the escape plan he was brewing on. It was a fairly simple plan; he had to lure a guard into his cell, somehow overpower him and use him as some sort of hostage. He knew that was going to be the most dangerous part of the plan. If that would go wrong, he wouldn’t be beat up; the guards would kill him for sure. He needed to pick a guard hostage he could, relatively, easily overpower and keep under his control. What he needed was Avidius, better yet; he needed Avidius as drunk as possible. It was his only option. How was he going to lure Avidius in? And when? The answer to the how question was fairly easy. After all, Hargeth was the smelly guard’s favourite sparring partner. All he needed to do was provoke Avidius enough for him to come in to Hargeth’s cell. He probably would have to improvise from there. There were just too many uncertainties to keep track of.
He decided to act as if he were ill when Avidius would be in the right state. Drunk that is. Really, really drunk.
Uneventful another few months went by before the ideal opportunity arose. The exercises he, secretly had been doing through the months of biding his time, brought back most of his strength back, although the shoulder that had been dislocated months ago was still sensitive if he strained it too much. A lot of time would have to pass by before it would be fully healed, if ever. In his profession he never had much need for a shield so it didn’t really bother him, figuring he could always have an adaquate healer look at it when he got out. When, not if, determined as he was to getting out of this deathtrap.
Clang.. clang… clangclang…clang. Hargeth recognized the irregular clang of Avidius doing his round drunk. Really, really drunk. ‘Now’s the time,’ he thought. The clang stopped briefly as the smelly guard stopped before the cell next to him. The Khajiit, that had occupied it, had been long gone and a male Bosmer now occupied the cell.
‘Misjerable treehugger, wake up!’ Avidius bellowed to the Bosmer occupying the cell next to him. ‘Insjpectjion time!’ Avidius could barely talk straight. Hargeth heard the squeek of the gates opening and the, unmistakable, sound of the Bosmer prisoner in the cell next to him being beat up severely. ‘Poor bugger. Better him than me though.’ Hargeth thought.
‘Ya Elves are all the sjame.’ More insults by the Imperial guard and more sounds of the Bosmer being beat up. Hargeth could hear Avidius clanging out of the cell, the agonised grunts of the beaten Wood Elf and another squeek of the gate closing again. ‘Here we go,’ he thought and started with his act.
He laid down on the stone slab with his face to the wall while making loud, vile noises as if he were really sick to the stomach. Considering the food they got, it wasn’t even very unlikely. He knew Avidius wouldn’t be able to refuse such an easy target to “inspect”, as Avidius called it. And, as sure as the sun goes up in the east, indeed Avidius wasn’t going to let this opportinity pass by to torment a helpless prisoner. When Avidius caught sight of Hargeth lying still on his bed, a mean smile formed around his thin lips, exposing his rotten teeth, in anticipation. Hargeth could hear the iron key being inserted into the slot and turned with a squeek. Another squeek and the gate to his cell opened. Hargeth had heard correct. Avidius was drunk out of mind.
‘Hmm, this might be easier than I could ever have hoped for,’ Hargeth thought while he grunted as if in agony. ‘Little bit closer,’ Avidius was approaching Hargeth, briefly stopping his approach to pull something from underneath his cuirass. A plop and a gulp. Hargeth could smell the ale in the bottle and on Avidius’ breath. ‘Wa’s up wif ya?’ Avidius growled and carelessly set the, now probably empty, bottle down next to Hargeth’s bed. ‘Ya sick? Answer me, sjcum!’ he rumbled with a double tongue. Avidius grabbed Hargeth by his shoulder, sending a spur of pain through the Elf’s upper body. His shoulder still hadn’t healed entirely. Avidius yanked Hargeth from the stone slab and Hargeth hit the ground rather unsoft. ‘Hnnn,’ grunted Hargeth, keeping up his act. The pain in his shoulder made it a lot easier to act as if he were in pain. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have to act at all. Avidius kicked Hargeth in his side but still Hargeth wouldn’t stand up. Slowly, so he wouldn’t lose his balance, Avidius leaned over Hargeth to see if maybe Hargeth was unconscious.
‘NOW!!’
The thought almost exploded in his mind and he reacted faster to the opportunity than the guard could have ever anticipated from a prisoner who had been incarcerated for months. Hargeth snatched the bottle from the ground, slammed it in the ground, jumped up, violently grabbed Avidius from behind before the drunk could react and stuck the broken bottleneck very near Avidius’ jugular in his throat.
‘Now, if you want to stay alive, I suggest first you unbuckle your sword-sheath with your left hand,’ Hargeth hissed in Avidius’ right ear while keeping a strong hold of Avidius with his left arm around his neck, to the point of choking Avidius. The smell of ale coming from his breath was almost overwhelming.
‘Slowly, unless you want me to cut you another airvent,’ Hargeth hissed again. Obeying, slowly Avidius’ left hand went to his belt and unbuckled it. The belt and sheath with the officer’s silver longsword still in it, dropped to the ground quietly. ‘Now, move!’ Hargeth ordered Avidius while pushing him towards the metal gate.
‘Open it!’ Avidius did as he was told and opened the metal gate.
‘Now, you and I are going to leave this rathole and nobody is going to get hurt, geddit?’ Hargeth could feel Avidius’ body tremble in rage. He knew if he let his guard down for a brief moment he’d lose the grip he had on his hostage.
Slowly they made it up the stairs to the door, separating the guardroom from the actual dungeon. ‘Open the door!’ he growled in Avidius’ ear. The hostage guard captain’s body started to shake of the effect of the alcohol because of the adrenaline rushing through it. Avidius was starting to show some more resistance. Hargeth simply responded by putting a bit more pressure on the broken bottleneck to Avidius throat and a small drop of blood started to surface where the broken bottleneck had pierced Avidius’ skin.
‘You’ll pay for this!’ Avidius hissed through his teeth.
‘Yeahyeah, sure, but not today,’ Hargeth replied calmly.
Avidius opened the door to the guardroom. Another guard was taking a nap and was snoring heavily in a chair with a copy of “The lusty Argonian maid” still in his lap and a bottle of cheap wine next to his chair. There was no one else in the room. Which was weird, usually the prison was crawling with guards. Hargeth was lucky for a change. ‘Now, the next door,’ he thought and started to push Avidius towards it. ‘Open it!’
‘It’s not locked,’ Avidius replied, his voice trembling in anger.
‘I know’ That was bluff, ‘I said: open it, not unlock it, now, did I?’
Avidius grumbled something undistinctive and opened the door. The only thing standing between Hargeth and freedom was a corridor and the final door leading outside. He hesitated briefly, trying to decide to get rid of Avidius here or wait until he was outside. For a moment he worried soldiers outside would have been alarmed by the ruckus inside.
Taking Avidius outside as a hostage was a sure way to get out of prison safe but what would he do with him outside? Kill him? Set him free to warn the other guards? He decided it would be rather suspicious taking a guard as a hostage outside so it would be better to leave him here. Unfortunately he had nothing to knock Avidius out. The sleeping guard in the guardroom had a blunt object but that meant he had to backtrack with the risk of waking up other guards as well. Going back in wasn’t an option. He had to think of something to slow Avidius down and improvised immediately. Before Avidius could react, he quickly stabbed the broken bottleneck in Avidius’ side, let go of his grip on his hostage and dropped him on the cold, stone floor.
‘Aaarggg!! You honoured user!’ Avidius yelled while falling down. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll live,’ Hargeth replied and made his way to the door. He knew very well where to stick a sharp object in someone to end his victim’s life quick and painless. Just like he also knew where to poke a pointy object in his victim to make sure he didn’t die. They would just suffer and bleed a lot, much like Avidius now. Hargeth counted on that the distraction would slow possible persueers down, at least for a little while, having to attend to their captain first.
Surely, they wouldn’t let him die like the stuck pig he is.
He was getting close, he was almost out. The excitement of the events made him almost feel euphoric. On the end of the corridor an ironclad, sturdy looking door was separating him from the outside. After months of patience, starvation, misery and pain, his imprisonment was nearing the end.
‘The moment of truth, stay calm,’ he mumbled and quickly, but without rushing, made his way to the end of the corridor.
He opened the heavy, wooden door and stepped outside. It was getting dark and it was drizzling lightly. A wet fog, promising a clear sky for the day after, shrouded most of his features to the guards outside, causing enough confusion for them to fail to see which prisoner it was that was exiting the fortified prison. He walked off like nothing was out of the ordinary, like he was just another prisoner released by the jailors inside. By the time he had reached the other side of the short bridge, he could hear a couple of alarming sounds from the corridor where he had just stabbed Avidius and decided he’d best disappear completely before the, still unaware of the situation, soldiers outside figured out what was really going on. He jumped on the ledge of the bridge and looked for a place he could land on, without breaking both his legs.
The prison compound was built on a high, hill-like, rock so instead of jumping down he decided to use the steep slope of the rock and slide down. Carefully he chose a spot without too much inclination and jumped of the ledge. It was a risk he was more than willing to take. The early spring rain had made the slope slippery. Much faster than he liked he skidded down the hill, rapidly towards the open road in the valley. With the velocity he was sliding down the hill he was pretty confident he would hurt himself on impact. To try to slow down his rapid descent he tried to grab hold of whatever came within his grasp but not to much avail. What little growth was on the rock had very short roots, barely anchored into the moist surface. Desperately he grabbed a protruding rock halfway down. With all the strength he could muster, he grabbed hold of the ledge and begged the gods it wouldn’t snap of or break his fingers.
He could hear the small ledge crack, it wouldn’t hold for long but it had done its job, most of the speed was now out of his descent. Now, much slower, he continued sliding down the hill, keeping his balance with his right hand, creating a small rockslide. Several small sharp pebbles made many tiny cuts in his hand and feet on the way down. The strain on his legs had left him exhausted and made him tremble on his feet, he almost collapsed with fatigue when he finally reached the bottom of the slope and safely stood on the soft, wet grass. Gasping for breath, he granted himself a minute’s rest and thanked the Gods for the fog, covering the dustcloud his escape down the hill had swept up. He wasn’t really religious but, in his opinion, it couldn’t do much harm thanking them anyway. The sweat he had built up was drying on his skin, causing him to shiver in the cool night air. The salt in his sweat was burning in the countless small cuts he had in his hand. ‘Where did these come from?’ Looking up to where he just came down from, it appeared a lot more steep than going down, he saw countless small sharp rocks rolling down, ending at his feet, covered with countless small wounds as well.
‘Aah, that must be it.’
The wounds in his feet barely hurt. The months barefoot in prison had hardened his footsoles; the cuts were hardly an inconvenience. His hand did hurt; he stuck it in a small, muddy, puddle to wash away the perspiration and most of the dirt in the small, offending wounds. It wasn’t ideal but would have to do until he found cleaner water to wash in and a healer willing to help. Longing to wash all the dirt from his skin he started to run northbound. It didn’t take him long to reach the banks of lake Rumare surrounding the prison and the adjecant city. The fog was now so dense; he couldn’t even see the other side. Swimming across would be too perilous as he wasn’t much of a swimmer.
‘Damn it, wish I had gills, just like those bloody lizards.’ Cursing his Elven origin and wishing he could change into an Argonian, if only for a while, he took of his clothing and waded into the water knee-deep in only his loincloth. Gratefully, he washed the sweat and all the dirt from his pale skin underneath. The water was cold but refreshing. Most of his exhaustion washed away with the grime from his battered body. With both hands he splashed water onto his face, took a couple of sips and rubbed the dust from his green eyes.
He wasn’t much to look at, rather short for a High Elf, a cruel mouth with thin lips and hard jaw lines. The scar and his broken nose didn’t improve his features either. His eyes always had been the most attractive, or at least, that’s what he was told but he had always doubted the sincerity of that. For a moment he just stood there, surprisedly gazing at the, again dirty palms of his hands to see how much dirt and dust actually came from his face and out of his long yellow blond hair.
‘Whaddayaknow,’ he uttered, walked a bit farther and submerged to wash all the remaining dirt out of his hair. Deciding he was clean enough for now, he treaded back onto shore. He shook the most of the water out of his hair but didn’t really have something to dry him further, except for the dirty prisonclothing.
‘No way I’m wearing that again,’ he mumbled grumpily and hurled a weak fireball towards the pile of clothing he left on the bank, incinerating it to dust instantly, even though it was moist with fog and sweat.
Noticing the water on his hands and arms had been dried up because of the heat emitting from his spell he just cast, he improvised. He cast a slightly stronger fireball but instead of throwing it, he held it just above the stretched palm of his hand, focused his will on the ball and increased the size of it until it effectively had dried off most of the water. To him, a few scorched hairs was worth being dry and warm again. He couldn’t see the smoke and vapour coming from his hair, if he had, he’d probably have been a bit more worried. After some consideration, Hargeth decided he’d best get some space between him and the Imperial City isle although he preferred to find silent, dark corner and sleep for a few hours. the bath had taken him too much time already.
‘I guess, it’s true, there really is no rest for the wicked,’ he sighed as he made his mind up on what to do. Even though he didn’t fancy crossing the lake in the dark he cast a minor water walking spell and treaded slowly onto the water. He wasn’t very confident in his spells but risked it anyway, having no choice. Swimming across was out of the question. Lake Rumare, surrounding the Capital of Cyrodiil, was renowned for being infested with Slaughterfish. Rumours went the local Rumare Slaughterfish were even more ferocious than the smaller, regular Slaughterfish. Without weapons, he’d be fishfood in no time. The first few of his steps onto the water did sink a few inches underneath the calm waves. He imagined fish nibbling his toes and shuddered. Scared he’d sink even farther he concentrated harder on the spell and he was truly walking across the surface of the deep, dark water. Only minutes later it occurred to him his first few steps wouldn’t have sank much further. After all, the water was only ten centimeters deep there.
I am loving this, and how you made the beginning your own too!
Thanks mALX! I appreciate your kind words!
Chapter3: Pilatus and Rhialla
The long walk granted him plenty of time to consider his options. First he needed some decent clothing and weapons, but most of all, he needed food. Since he was broke he couldn’t buy any. He considered stealing what he needed but that meant he would have to go into town but as he had just escaped from prison and had stabbed a guard, every guard in the province would probably now be looking for him. He’d better stay low for a while. While overthinking these things he gently touched the scar on his right cheek. ‘Bad idea,’ he thought and continued walking, for how long he wasn’t quite sure, northbound while keeping a keen eye out for anything edible, entirely losing track of time and direction.
‘Your money or your life!’ A Khajiit bandit blocked his way, iron mace drawn.
‘Boy, did you pick the wrong customer, fetcher. This surely isn’t your lucky day.’
The bandit grinned. ‘That’s a no, I presume?’ Hargeth simply nodded and prepared for the attack.
‘I hope the exercise in prison pays of,’ he thought while readying himself for the oncoming battle. He knew from experience never to underestimate a well-trained fist fighter. Because they weren’t encumbered by a heavy weapon, they could move fast, dodge attacks and accurately place punches so he didn’t consider himself defenseless at all, against, what would seem impossible odds for most.
The Khajiit let out a mighty roar and launched in. It was obvious the bandit didn’t share his experience with fist fighters. The Khajiit rushed his attack in the false assumption his victim is unarmed and thus completely helpless and came in swinging his heavy mace. Not being bothered by armour, Hargeth easily dodged all the wild and unfocused swings of the mace. The deadly dance carried on for about ten to fifteen minutes and the Khajiit was showing signs of fatigue. Hargeth moved in for a well-placed punch but unfortunately, the Khajiit had changed strategy. The signs of fatigue had been an act! Far quicker than Hargeth had thought possible, the Khajiit raised his mace and swung it in a downward movement. Had Hargeth been ever so slightly less cautious, the mace would have crushed his skull. In stead, the maceblow came down on his left-foot, sending waves of pain through his entire, already quite mangled, body. He howled in pain.
‘You, you…. You idiot!’ he yelled at the bandit. ‘You hit my bloody foot!’ The Khajiit bandit obviously had a strange sense of humour, he was grinning from ear to ear but was looking bashful at the same time as well. Hargeth looked at his foot and saw it was already turning purple because of the injury.
‘If it’s broken I’m making a rug out of you,’ he threatened the bandit who had lowered his weapon. It was hard to attack while laughing at someone who was limping around holding his foot and looking, quite frankly, rather silly.
By now, the Khajiit couldn’t hold his laughter any more. Initially it made Hargeth frown but then saw the funny side of it as well and soon he joined the Khajiit in laughter. ‘You don’t happen to have a healing potion stashed there somewhere maybe?’ he asked the Khajiit. It seemed a bit bold to ask your assailant for help but instinctively he knew the fight was over.
‘You really don’t have anything, do you?’ the bandit asked him and continued: ‘You know, everybody says that when robbed. You are the first who is actually telling the truth.’ Hargeth couldn’t help but smirking at that remark.
‘I kinda just broke out of jail, so yeah, all I am carrying is the hair on my back and the sweat on my brow.’ Now it was Hargeth’s turn to look bashful. ‘I didn’t make time to go…’ he paused briefly ‘shopping,’ adding on a tone the bandit surely would understand. The Khajiit bandit did indeed. Again his face was split in two by a smug grin.
‘I can tell,’ he said, looking the barely dressed Hargeth up and down and grinned again.
‘Come, I don’t have a healing potion on me but my companion in our camp knows some restoration. I’ll warn you though, she’s a bit… crude… in her methods.’
The camp is just over the rise east of us, the bandit pointed vaguely east.
‘Hope it’s not too far. The pain in my foot is excrutiating.’
‘I believe you,’ the Khajiit mumbled while grinning impishly. ‘Can’t you do something about it yourself?’ the Khajiit asked.
‘Nah,’ answered Hargeth, ‘my foot would probably end up standing the wrong way forwards with my restoration skill.’ The Khajiit broke out in laughter. ‘You are a funny man!’ Hargeth’s statement actually wasn’t too far from the truth, although he might have exxegarated slightly. He had improved in jail but his skill in restoration was still pitiful to say the least. He’d need someone to show him the finer intracacies of the arcane arts. Especially restoration. He was fairly adequate in destruction and alteration but he had neglected the other arts most of his life. He was taught never to regret choices he made but he couldn’t help regretting it now. Or was it the thumping in his left foot what made it painfully apparent? He thought it was probably the latter.
After a couple of hours of walking, more like slumping for Hargeth, the bruising in his foot had increasingly gotten worse, rendering it practically useless, they reached the bandit’s camp by nightfall. The bandit’s companion, a Khajiit as well, jumped up when a stranger approached, she immediately drew her bow and nocked an arrow. It was only because of Pilatus, in the hours they needed to make it to the camp, he had found out the bandit’s name, who shouted: ‘Hold your arrow, it’s me. I brought a… guest,’ in the nick of time.
A split second later and Hargeth could have added another scar to his, already quite substantial, collection. Or worse. He shuddered briefly and sighed in relieve when she lowered her bow, although, she still didn’t quite trust it. Who could blame her?
By that time, he was pretty sure his foot was indeed broken. Considering a heavy, blunt object had landed on his foot, it wasn’t much of a surprise the Khajiit female confirmed his suspicion. In fact, it was what she called a “compound fracture” whatever that was supposed to mean. All he knew it hurt. It hurt a lot.
He had a sneaky suspicion the Khajiit’s restoration skill was a lot better than Pilatus had let show through. ‘Crude methods…. Pfff,’ he scowled He had known certain ladies with an entire different occupation who were a lot more….. crude. The thought made him chuckle. Anyway, the pain in his foot was already diminishing after the care. She even handed him a shirt and a pair of trousers after the treatment.
The clothes had been in better shape a long time ago. The knees were almost worn through, even though it had been patched several times. He had seen and worn far worse. At least he wouldn’t have to walk around practically naked anymore. The Khajiit healer did warn him he wouldn’t be running anywhere soon and he still needed a lot rest to fully heal his foot. There was only so much she could do with such a complicated fracture. The bones needed to set themselves straight so it could heal properly. Rest sounded fine with him. If only he had something to eat.
‘How’s the foot doing?’ Pilatus asked. The question brought him back from his memories. ’Hmm?? Oohh eeuhmm.. The foot’s fine, it’s my stomach that concerns me more actually,’ Hargeth said with a crooked grin.
‘I figured as much, how about some stew? Just don’t ask what’s in it hahahaha!’ Hargeth frowned at Pilatus for a brief moment and then joined in on the laughter until both their bellies ached. Hargeth was still gasping for breath when he said:’Do you really think I care? I’ve been imprisoned for months.’
‘No,’ Pilatus replied, ‘I guess not.’
Pilatus sat himself next to Hargeth at the campfire with a warm bowl of stew. His stomach reacted to the smell of the food making him aware he hadn’t eaten in quite some time.
‘Fancy a drink?’
‘Thought you’d never ask,’ Hargeth replied and gratefully took the held-out bottle of cheap wine from Pilatus’ hand. ‘And then to imagine I swore I’d never drink that cheap rubbish again… Ah well,’ he said and took a large gulp from the bottle. ‘Y’know Pilatus, it never tasted as good as it does now.’
‘That’s prison for ya.’ Pilatus replied.
‘You’ve seen the inside as well then?’
‘What do you think?’ Pilatus reposed with a sly grin. Hargeth just nodded. For a while they just sat, drinking and staring into the flames until the bottle was empty. They emptied some more bottles and retreated to their bedroll rather unsteady. The alcohol had done its job.
The morning after, it was raining and rather cold. Hargeth awoke just before dawn and a lot more fresh than he thought he would. He shivered in the cold morning air, a reminder he was still wasn’t wearing much, his eyelids still half closed with sleep. He feared he’d wake up hung over but the fresh air must have done him good. No sign of a hangover. Gently he rubbed his eyes to get the sleep from them, without much success. He directed his face upwards to let the rain wash the sleep from his eyes instead. The campfire in the centre of the camp had died out long ago. Empty winebottles were still lying on the place where they had left them the night before. They had drunk more than he had thought. He gathered what little firewood was still left and cast a fireball to make it into a fire. The wood was wet so he sustained his spell a bit longer to dry the wood. Finally it caught fire after some hesitation. The fire wasn’t much to look at, but it would have to do until more wood could be gathered.
His foot was playing up so he decided he’d best take Rhialla’s advice and rest it, rather than limping out and gather some wood himself. He wouldn’t know where to look for it anyway. He knew exactly diddly about the outdoor life. He sat himself down at for what would have to pass for a campfire and grabbed something to eat. There wasn’t much left, he had to do with a raw carrot and an apple.
He watched the sun come up and thought about his course of action for the next few days. He knew he couldn’t leave yet; his foot hadn’t healed enough yet. But with Rhialla’s care he was sure he’d be up and running again in no time. He sighed, ‘A few days Hargeth, a few days of rest, that’s not so bad.’
‘Overthinking your sins?’ Rhialla had awakened as well.
‘Not really, just thinking,’ he replied. She sent him a knowing or understanding smile. It was hard to tell with the Khajiit race. ‘When are you leaving then?’ she asked.
‘Dunno,’ he replied and shrugged. ‘I can still barely walk so you’re stuck with me a few more days.’ Rhialla nodded but said nothing.
After sitting there for about an hour or so he could hear the sounds of Pilatus waking up as well. The Khajiit leisurely stretched himself and yawned, like only Khajiit know how.
‘Morning.’
‘Goodmorning to you too.’
‘What’s for breakfast?’ Pilatus asked Rhialla. ‘Whatever you can catch.,’ she replied dryly.
‘Right.’ Pilatus made a face and went about getting something for breakfast. He grabbed his bow and arrows and an old bread loaf, soaked with water that was lying on the table. With a disappointed face he threw the soggy loaf away. ‘Bah!’ Then grabbed his trusty iron mace just in case he ran in something more struggly than a rat.
Longingly Hargeth watched him taking off and disappearing into the thicket. He wished he could join him but knew he would just be a burden. Cities and sewers were more his territory and the woods were Pilatus’ territory.
Chapter3: Pilatus and Rhialla
The long walk granted him plenty of time to consider his options. First he needed some decent clothing and weapons, but most of all, he needed food. Since he was broke he couldn’t buy any. He considered stealing what he needed but that meant he would have to go into town but as he had just escaped from prison and had stabbed a guard, every guard in the province would probably now be looking for him. He’d better stay low for a while. While overthinking these things he gently touched the scar on his right cheek. ‘Bad idea,’ he thought and continued walking, for how long he wasn’t quite sure, northbound while keeping a keen eye out for anything edible, entirely losing track of time and direction.
‘Your money or your life!’ A Khajiit bandit blocked his way, iron mace drawn.
‘Boy, did you pick the wrong customer, fetcher. This surely isn’t your lucky day.’
The bandit grinned. ‘That’s a no, I presume?’ Hargeth simply nodded and prepared for the attack.
‘I hope the exercise in prison pays of,’ he thought while readying himself for the oncoming battle. He knew from experience never to underestimate a well-trained fist fighter. Because they weren’t encumbered by a heavy weapon, they could move fast, dodge attacks and accurately place punches so he didn’t consider himself defenseless at all, against, what would seem impossible odds for most.
The Khajiit let out a mighty roar and launched in. It was obvious the bandit didn’t share his experience with fist fighters. The Khajiit rushed his attack in the false assumption his victim is unarmed and thus completely helpless and came in swinging his heavy mace. Not being bothered by armour, Hargeth easily dodged all the wild and unfocused swings of the mace. The deadly dance carried on for about ten to fifteen minutes and the Khajiit was showing signs of fatigue. Hargeth moved in for a well-placed punch but unfortunately, the Khajiit had changed strategy. The signs of fatigue had been an act! Far quicker than Hargeth had thought possible, the Khajiit raised his mace and swung it in a downward movement. Had Hargeth been ever so slightly less cautious, the mace would have crushed his skull. In stead, the maceblow came down on his left-foot, sending waves of pain through his entire, already quite mangled, body. He howled in pain.
‘You, you…. You idiot!’ he yelled at the bandit. ‘You hit my bloody foot!’ The Khajiit bandit obviously had a strange sense of humour, he was grinning from ear to ear but was looking bashful at the same time as well. Hargeth looked at his foot and saw it was already turning purple because of the injury.
‘If it’s broken I’m making a rug out of you,’ he threatened the bandit who had lowered his weapon. It was hard to attack while laughing at someone who was limping around holding his foot and looking, quite frankly, rather silly.
By now, the Khajiit couldn’t hold his laughter any more. Initially it made Hargeth frown but then saw the funny side of it as well and soon he joined the Khajiit in laughter. ‘You don’t happen to have a healing potion stashed there somewhere maybe?’ he asked the Khajiit. It seemed a bit bold to ask your assailant for help but instinctively he knew the fight was over.
‘You really don’t have anything, do you?’ the bandit asked him and continued: ‘You know, everybody says that when robbed. You are the first who is actually telling the truth.’ Hargeth couldn’t help but smirking at that remark.
‘I kinda just broke out of jail, so yeah, all I am carrying is the hair on my back and the sweat on my brow.’ Now it was Hargeth’s turn to look bashful. ‘I didn’t make time to go…’ he paused briefly ‘shopping,’ adding on a tone the bandit surely would understand. The Khajiit bandit did indeed. Again his face was split in two by a smug grin.
‘I can tell,’ he said, looking the barely dressed Hargeth up and down and grinned again.
‘Come, I don’t have a healing potion on me but my companion in our camp knows some restoration. I’ll warn you though, she’s a bit… crude… in her methods.’
The camp is just over the rise east of us, the bandit pointed vaguely east.
‘Hope it’s not too far. The pain in my foot is excrutiating.’
‘I believe you,’ the Khajiit mumbled while grinning impishly. ‘Can’t you do something about it yourself?’ the Khajiit asked.
‘Nah,’ answered Hargeth, ‘my foot would probably end up standing the wrong way forwards with my restoration skill.’ The Khajiit broke out in laughter. ‘You are a funny man!’ Hargeth’s statement actually wasn’t too far from the truth, although he might have exxegarated slightly. He had improved in jail but his skill in restoration was still pitiful to say the least. He’d need someone to show him the finer intracacies of the arcane arts. Especially restoration. He was fairly adequate in destruction and alteration but he had neglected the other arts most of his life. He was taught never to regret choices he made but he couldn’t help regretting it now. Or was it the thumping in his left foot what made it painfully apparent? He thought it was probably the latter.
After a couple of hours of walking, more like slumping for Hargeth, the bruising in his foot had increasingly gotten worse, rendering it practically useless, they reached the bandit’s camp by nightfall. The bandit’s companion, a Khajiit as well, jumped up when a stranger approached, she immediately drew her bow and nocked an arrow. It was only because of Pilatus, in the hours they needed to make it to the camp, he had found out the bandit’s name, who shouted: ‘Hold your arrow, it’s me. I brought a… guest,’ in the nick of time.
A split second later and Hargeth could have added another scar to his, already quite substantial, collection. Or worse. He shuddered briefly and sighed in relieve when she lowered her bow, although, she still didn’t quite trust it. Who could blame her?
By that time, he was pretty sure his foot was indeed broken. Considering a heavy, blunt object had landed on his foot, it wasn’t much of a surprise the Khajiit female confirmed his suspicion. In fact, it was what she called a “compound fracture” whatever that was supposed to mean. All he knew it hurt. It hurt a lot.
He had a sneaky suspicion the Khajiit’s restoration skill was a lot better than Pilatus had let show through. ‘Crude methods…. Pfff,’ he scowled He had known certain ladies with an entire different occupation who were a lot more….. crude. The thought made him chuckle. Anyway, the pain in his foot was already diminishing after the care. She even handed him a shirt and a pair of trousers after the treatment.
The clothes had been in better shape a long time ago. The knees were almost worn through, even though it had been patched several times. He had seen and worn far worse. At least he wouldn’t have to walk around practically naked anymore. The Khajiit healer did warn him he wouldn’t be running anywhere soon and he still needed a lot rest to fully heal his foot. There was only so much she could do with such a complicated fracture. The bones needed to set themselves straight so it could heal properly. Rest sounded fine with him. If only he had something to eat.
‘How’s the foot doing?’ Pilatus asked. The question brought him back from his memories. ’Hmm?? Oohh eeuhmm.. The foot’s fine, it’s my stomach that concerns me more actually,’ Hargeth said with a crooked grin.
‘I figured as much, how about some stew? Just don’t ask what’s in it hahahaha!’ Hargeth frowned at Pilatus for a brief moment and then joined in on the laughter until both their bellies ached. Hargeth was still gasping for breath when he said:’Do you really think I care? I’ve been imprisoned for months.’
‘No,’ Pilatus replied, ‘I guess not.’
Pilatus sat himself next to Hargeth at the campfire with a warm bowl of stew. His stomach reacted to the smell of the food making him aware he hadn’t eaten in quite some time.
‘Fancy a drink?’
‘Thought you’d never ask,’ Hargeth replied and gratefully took the held-out bottle of cheap wine from Pilatus’ hand. ‘And then to imagine I swore I’d never drink that cheap rubbish again… Ah well,’ he said and took a large gulp from the bottle. ‘Y’know Pilatus, it never tasted as good as it does now.’
‘That’s prison for ya.’ Pilatus replied.
‘You’ve seen the inside as well then?’
‘What do you think?’ Pilatus reposed with a sly grin. Hargeth just nodded. For a while they just sat, drinking and staring into the flames until the bottle was empty. They emptied some more bottles and retreated to their bedroll rather unsteady. The alcohol had done its job.
The morning after, it was raining and rather cold. Hargeth awoke just before dawn and a lot more fresh than he thought he would. He shivered in the cold morning air, a reminder he was still wasn’t wearing much, his eyelids still half closed with sleep. He feared he’d wake up hung over but the fresh air must have done him good. No sign of a hangover. Gently he rubbed his eyes to get the sleep from them, without much success. He directed his face upwards to let the rain wash the sleep from his eyes instead. The campfire in the centre of the camp had died out long ago. Empty winebottles were still lying on the place where they had left them the night before. They had drunk more than he had thought. He gathered what little firewood was still left and cast a fireball to make it into a fire. The wood was wet so he sustained his spell a bit longer to dry the wood. Finally it caught fire after some hesitation. The fire wasn’t much to look at, but it would have to do until more wood could be gathered.
His foot was playing up so he decided he’d best take Rhialla’s advice and rest it, rather than limping out and gather some wood himself. He wouldn’t know where to look for it anyway. He knew exactly diddly about the outdoor life. He sat himself down at for what would have to pass for a campfire and grabbed something to eat. There wasn’t much left, he had to do with a raw carrot and an apple.
He watched the sun come up and thought about his course of action for the next few days. He knew he couldn’t leave yet; his foot hadn’t healed enough yet. But with Rhialla’s care he was sure he’d be up and running again in no time. He sighed, ‘A few days Hargeth, a few days of rest, that’s not so bad.’
‘Overthinking your sins?’ Rhialla had awakened as well.
‘Not really, just thinking,’ he replied. She sent him a knowing or understanding smile. It was hard to tell with the Khajiit race. ‘When are you leaving then?’ she asked.
‘Dunno,’ he replied and shrugged. ‘I can still barely walk so you’re stuck with me a few more days.’ Rhialla nodded but said nothing.
After sitting there for about an hour or so he could hear the sounds of Pilatus waking up as well. The Khajiit leisurely stretched himself and yawned, like only Khajiit know how.
‘Morning.’
‘Goodmorning to you too.’
‘What’s for breakfast?’ Pilatus asked Rhialla. ‘Whatever you can catch.,’ she replied dryly.
‘Right.’ Pilatus made a face and went about getting something for breakfast. He grabbed his bow and arrows and an old bread loaf, soaked with water that was lying on the table. With a disappointed face he threw the soggy loaf away. ‘Bah!’ Then grabbed his trusty iron mace just in case he ran in something more struggly than a rat.
Longingly Hargeth watched him taking off and disappearing into the thicket. He wished he could join him but knew he would just be a burden. Cities and sewers were more his territory and the woods were Pilatus’ territory.
Nice piece, the characters are strong and interesting, and I like you adding some personality to that highwayman who always appears breifly in stories only to die. It's original and quite refreshing, as is the realism of being a bit stuck having escaped jail.
No real nits to mention. I'm looking forward to more...
No real nits to mention. I'm looking forward to more...
Remko, this is so good, - don't get me wrong, I do love Rales and Zerina - but as I told you before, this story is my favorite of them. You have done such an AWESOME job of thinking creatively, building characters - and making your own story that just happens to be set in Cyrodiil - I love this story and what you have done with it - and this chapter ROCKS !!!!!
I really liked what you did with the highwayman - I've often wondered about the bandits that infest the roads around Cyrodiil. There have been times when I've been tempted to write a story about them - I consider it a reflection of the system that there are so many of them.
Good work here, and I liked how you ended the fight with Hargeth asking his assailant for a healing potion, because if he were to try and heal himself, he might end up with a backwards-pointing foot! That made me laugh!
Good work here, and I liked how you ended the fight with Hargeth asking his assailant for a healing potion, because if he were to try and heal himself, he might end up with a backwards-pointing foot! That made me laugh!
Wow! Thanks everyone!! Gop figure, this piece was massively ignored and when I got a comment it usually: atrocious spelling and too much fluff. Granted, I edited (most of the) spellingerrors out but still....
Thanks for the support!
Since you asked for it:
Chapter4: The Hunt
The moment Pilatus vanished into the thicket of the Heartlands forest, his entire being became the predator his appearance less contradicted to than the seemingly civilised humanoid. Unheard, unseen the hunter prowled the woods for game, hoping his stomach wouldn’t betray him by rumbling in the least convenient moment thinkable. He stopped for a while to stick his highly sensitive nose high in the air to take a good smell of his surroundings. Small groundcrawlers scurrying back to their burrows.
Drops from the trees crashing down on the green pastures of the hills and leaflets blowing in the wind reached his senses. The cat in him couldn’t imagine anyone would want to live in the foul smelling, stone cities with the sewege odour always linguiring. The primordial being inside loved the outdoors and cherished every second of it.
The scents, the sounds, it made him feel alive. A short gash of wind carried the scent of a deer just northwest of him. The wind was coming from the north so there was little chance the deer would notice his presence as well. Slowly, not to alarm his prey, he snuck towards the whereabouts of the deer on all fours and, slowly, drew his bow. He didn’t notch an arrow yet so he still had at least his left arm free. After a tense few minutes, he caught sight of the deer, grazing happily, totally oblivious to its gruesome fate about to catch up on it. A couple more deer were dancing around in the vicinity. For a moment he feared the other deer would warn the one he had chosen but Lady Luck was with him.
Since it was mating season the deer were emitting a heavy aroma of feromones masking the scent of the feline predator. He could hear bucks clashing their antlers in combat over a mate in the vicinity. Making no sound except his heartbeat and slow breath, he closed in on his prey, still without alarming the rest of the herd. He sat himself down on his left knee after having checked for small twigs that could give his position away by cracking. Satisfied nothing was going to alarm the deer, he stuck one arrow into the ground and notched another arrow. He laid aim and awaited his moment. If he’d miss, the deer would flee. He wouldn’t miss. Patiently he waited for his prey to come from its current cover. A large tree was in the trajectory of his arrow and the deer’s neck. He was patient, a decent opportinity would arise, his experience in hunting had taught him to be patient and await just the right time to take the shot.
It took the deer far longer than he had hoped. After about half an hour his left leg was starting to go numb to the point it was really starting to break his concentration. Luckily, his patience wasn’t to be tested much longer. Finally, the deer had decided to graze a few meters up the hill, just what Pilatus was hoping for. Once more he laid aim carefully, fluently pulled full tension, checked his aim the final time and loosed the arrow. Suddenly, a horse's distressed whinny broke through the quiet morning, scaring the deer off but it was already too late for the animal he had chosen as his target. Although, the arrow didn’t hit it in its neck, it embedded itself deep into its torso, just beneath the spine. The deer tried to escape but its legs and strength failed and after a few seconds it ended its deathstruggle and slowly, almost like in slowmotion, it dropped to its knees, then to its side and died.
Directly after the whinny, a muffled curse ‘Damned horse.’ An Imperial voice.
‘Guards?’ He knew he had heard the guards long before the guards could even be aware of his presence but in his opinion, something was wrong. The Imperial Legion never strayed this far from the road. They were here with a good reason. Quickly but silently he made his way to his prey, lifted it on his broad shoulder, leaving a bloody trail on his bare chest, staining his fur and made his way back to the hidden camp. About two hours later he arrived. The sun had just crept over the ridge hiding the camp, shrouding the camp in the shadow of the Jerall Mountains. The only thing giving the location away was the smoke coming from the small fire. He dropped the deer from his shoulder, letting out a relieved sigh and extinguished the fire.
Hargeth and Rhialla gave him a questioning look. ‘What did you do th...’ Hargeth started but Pilatus quickly intervened ‘Shhh. We’re in trouble, there’s a couple of guards nearby and I’m pretty sure they’re not here to have a picnic.’ He turned his head towards Hargeth. ‘What did you do to Avidius to upset the legion to come after you all the way here?’ he asked, almost whispering. That remark puzzled Hargeth. ‘Did to Avidius? How does he know about my running in with Avidius?’ He decided to suspend his thoughts on that to another time. He had more pressing matters at hand. Like escaping the Legion.
‘Never mind, tell me later, we have to get out of here before they spot the camp. And they will, make no mistake about it. Gather our gear and bury the remainder of the campfire,’ he told Rhialla and then turned to Hargeth. ‘Come with me, I need your help with gutting the deer I shot, we need the provisions unless you feel like starving.’
Hargeth gave Pilatus a shocked look. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’ Pilatus gave Hargeth a toothed grin. ’You’ll learn soon enough.’
Pilatus grabbed a rope and quickly bound it around the deer’s back-legs and threw the other end over an overhanging branch. ‘Pull it up while I grab a knife,’ he told Hargeth. He did as he was told and pulled the deer up. He flinched a bit when his shoulder played up a bit but bit the pain and tied the rope down.
Pilatus returned when he was just finishing up tying down the rope. Without a word, the Khajiit stabbed his knife in between the front legs of the deer and in a single fluent motion he pulled it up, disembowling the deer. A bloody mess dropped in front of Pilatus feet. With a few more well placed slices the remainders of its entrails were removed as well.
‘Okay, you can cut it down now,’ he told a rather pale looking Hargeth. He had no trouble slicing up people but the sight of the disembowling of the deer had upset him. Pilatus grinned smugly when he saw Hargeth’s face and could hardly refrain himself from laughing at the Elf.
The Khajiit then went to cutting up the deer in easier to handle pieces of meat, undid the deer of it’s hide and threw the remainder of the deer, the head and its lower legs, into the surrounding woods.
‘The wolves will take care of that.’
They had just finished packing their gear and food when Pilatus’ ears turned frantically. ‘They’re closing in, let’s go. Hope your foot isn’t bothering you too much because we have to move rather fast.’
Hargeth gave his left foot a tender inspection. ‘It’ll be allright.’ He wasn’t really sure but he figured it better. Rhialla gave his foot a quick magical treatment and then the party headed of south. The moved as fast as they could but Hargeth inability to run for longer periods slowed them down. And they knew it. The Elf might not hear it but Rhialla and Pilatus, with their far superior hearing, could hear their persueers gaining on them rapidly.
It struck Hargeth they were far further east then he had thought. His sense of directions never had been that good but he really thought the camp had been nearby Bruma while in fact it was situated far further east, nearby Cheydinhal. Had he really walked that far before he encountered Pilatus? His mind started to wander off in the tediousness of their trek towards, well, he realised he didn’t know. Pilatus only mentioned south. And how in Oblivion did Pilatus and Rhialla know about his Avidius trouble? Suddenly the gears of the events of the last couple of months snapped in place, just like with a lock. ‘The Khajiit woman in the prison cell next to me!’ He couldn’t believe he had missed that. It was so damned obvious. ‘Was my encounter with Pilatus even coincidence?’ He was starting to doubt it but that could be paranoia talking rather than his common sense. He made a promise to himself to ask Pilatus and Rhialla when the time was ripe. But for now he concentrated on trying to keep up with the two felines ahead of him.
Hours passed by as they fled. The afternoon slipped into evening barely notacible. A wet fog was conceiling most of their surroundings. It was like they were the only three people in the entire province.
His foot was starting to hurt again. The pain was surging through his body to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He was even cursing his own heartbeat as if that were the source of his pain. He knew he couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. He needed rest. And soon.
As if Pilatus had read his mind, his two companions suddenly stopped and gazed east.
‘I know a small cavern just east of our current location. It should be safe for a few days,’ Rhialla said. Hargeth couldn’t have been happier. ‘How far is it?’ Pilatus asked her.
‘Two, maybe three hours with the speed we we’re travelling.’ Pilatus didn’t seem too enthusiastic.
‘Is there a second exit to the cavern?’ Rhialla shook her head.
‘So it’s a dead end if we are discovered?’ Rhialla didn’t bother replying, it was evident.
Pilatus sighed in concern. He directed his hearing to the direction they had came from to listen whether their persueers had gained on them. ‘I think our persuers made camp. I can’t hear them anymore.’
‘You don’t suppose they gave up, do you?’ Hargeth asked although he knew the answer very well. It wasn’t very likely for the Legion to give up after having chased them for the largest part of a day. ‘I guess not,’ Hargeth murmured looking down to his dirty, mud covered feet.
‘We should keep moving,’ Rhialla commented. Pilatus nodded and picked up their gear he had set down for a minute.
‘Let’s go.’ Without further adue they headed east, towards the cavern Rhialla mentioned. For necessary shelter, nourishment and well earned rest. The Nine knew they were going to need it if they wanted to escape their persuers.
Thanks for the support!
Since you asked for it:
Chapter4: The Hunt
The moment Pilatus vanished into the thicket of the Heartlands forest, his entire being became the predator his appearance less contradicted to than the seemingly civilised humanoid. Unheard, unseen the hunter prowled the woods for game, hoping his stomach wouldn’t betray him by rumbling in the least convenient moment thinkable. He stopped for a while to stick his highly sensitive nose high in the air to take a good smell of his surroundings. Small groundcrawlers scurrying back to their burrows.
Drops from the trees crashing down on the green pastures of the hills and leaflets blowing in the wind reached his senses. The cat in him couldn’t imagine anyone would want to live in the foul smelling, stone cities with the sewege odour always linguiring. The primordial being inside loved the outdoors and cherished every second of it.
The scents, the sounds, it made him feel alive. A short gash of wind carried the scent of a deer just northwest of him. The wind was coming from the north so there was little chance the deer would notice his presence as well. Slowly, not to alarm his prey, he snuck towards the whereabouts of the deer on all fours and, slowly, drew his bow. He didn’t notch an arrow yet so he still had at least his left arm free. After a tense few minutes, he caught sight of the deer, grazing happily, totally oblivious to its gruesome fate about to catch up on it. A couple more deer were dancing around in the vicinity. For a moment he feared the other deer would warn the one he had chosen but Lady Luck was with him.
Since it was mating season the deer were emitting a heavy aroma of feromones masking the scent of the feline predator. He could hear bucks clashing their antlers in combat over a mate in the vicinity. Making no sound except his heartbeat and slow breath, he closed in on his prey, still without alarming the rest of the herd. He sat himself down on his left knee after having checked for small twigs that could give his position away by cracking. Satisfied nothing was going to alarm the deer, he stuck one arrow into the ground and notched another arrow. He laid aim and awaited his moment. If he’d miss, the deer would flee. He wouldn’t miss. Patiently he waited for his prey to come from its current cover. A large tree was in the trajectory of his arrow and the deer’s neck. He was patient, a decent opportinity would arise, his experience in hunting had taught him to be patient and await just the right time to take the shot.
It took the deer far longer than he had hoped. After about half an hour his left leg was starting to go numb to the point it was really starting to break his concentration. Luckily, his patience wasn’t to be tested much longer. Finally, the deer had decided to graze a few meters up the hill, just what Pilatus was hoping for. Once more he laid aim carefully, fluently pulled full tension, checked his aim the final time and loosed the arrow. Suddenly, a horse's distressed whinny broke through the quiet morning, scaring the deer off but it was already too late for the animal he had chosen as his target. Although, the arrow didn’t hit it in its neck, it embedded itself deep into its torso, just beneath the spine. The deer tried to escape but its legs and strength failed and after a few seconds it ended its deathstruggle and slowly, almost like in slowmotion, it dropped to its knees, then to its side and died.
Directly after the whinny, a muffled curse ‘Damned horse.’ An Imperial voice.
‘Guards?’ He knew he had heard the guards long before the guards could even be aware of his presence but in his opinion, something was wrong. The Imperial Legion never strayed this far from the road. They were here with a good reason. Quickly but silently he made his way to his prey, lifted it on his broad shoulder, leaving a bloody trail on his bare chest, staining his fur and made his way back to the hidden camp. About two hours later he arrived. The sun had just crept over the ridge hiding the camp, shrouding the camp in the shadow of the Jerall Mountains. The only thing giving the location away was the smoke coming from the small fire. He dropped the deer from his shoulder, letting out a relieved sigh and extinguished the fire.
Hargeth and Rhialla gave him a questioning look. ‘What did you do th...’ Hargeth started but Pilatus quickly intervened ‘Shhh. We’re in trouble, there’s a couple of guards nearby and I’m pretty sure they’re not here to have a picnic.’ He turned his head towards Hargeth. ‘What did you do to Avidius to upset the legion to come after you all the way here?’ he asked, almost whispering. That remark puzzled Hargeth. ‘Did to Avidius? How does he know about my running in with Avidius?’ He decided to suspend his thoughts on that to another time. He had more pressing matters at hand. Like escaping the Legion.
‘Never mind, tell me later, we have to get out of here before they spot the camp. And they will, make no mistake about it. Gather our gear and bury the remainder of the campfire,’ he told Rhialla and then turned to Hargeth. ‘Come with me, I need your help with gutting the deer I shot, we need the provisions unless you feel like starving.’
Hargeth gave Pilatus a shocked look. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’ Pilatus gave Hargeth a toothed grin. ’You’ll learn soon enough.’
Pilatus grabbed a rope and quickly bound it around the deer’s back-legs and threw the other end over an overhanging branch. ‘Pull it up while I grab a knife,’ he told Hargeth. He did as he was told and pulled the deer up. He flinched a bit when his shoulder played up a bit but bit the pain and tied the rope down.
Pilatus returned when he was just finishing up tying down the rope. Without a word, the Khajiit stabbed his knife in between the front legs of the deer and in a single fluent motion he pulled it up, disembowling the deer. A bloody mess dropped in front of Pilatus feet. With a few more well placed slices the remainders of its entrails were removed as well.
‘Okay, you can cut it down now,’ he told a rather pale looking Hargeth. He had no trouble slicing up people but the sight of the disembowling of the deer had upset him. Pilatus grinned smugly when he saw Hargeth’s face and could hardly refrain himself from laughing at the Elf.
The Khajiit then went to cutting up the deer in easier to handle pieces of meat, undid the deer of it’s hide and threw the remainder of the deer, the head and its lower legs, into the surrounding woods.
‘The wolves will take care of that.’
They had just finished packing their gear and food when Pilatus’ ears turned frantically. ‘They’re closing in, let’s go. Hope your foot isn’t bothering you too much because we have to move rather fast.’
Hargeth gave his left foot a tender inspection. ‘It’ll be allright.’ He wasn’t really sure but he figured it better. Rhialla gave his foot a quick magical treatment and then the party headed of south. The moved as fast as they could but Hargeth inability to run for longer periods slowed them down. And they knew it. The Elf might not hear it but Rhialla and Pilatus, with their far superior hearing, could hear their persueers gaining on them rapidly.
It struck Hargeth they were far further east then he had thought. His sense of directions never had been that good but he really thought the camp had been nearby Bruma while in fact it was situated far further east, nearby Cheydinhal. Had he really walked that far before he encountered Pilatus? His mind started to wander off in the tediousness of their trek towards, well, he realised he didn’t know. Pilatus only mentioned south. And how in Oblivion did Pilatus and Rhialla know about his Avidius trouble? Suddenly the gears of the events of the last couple of months snapped in place, just like with a lock. ‘The Khajiit woman in the prison cell next to me!’ He couldn’t believe he had missed that. It was so damned obvious. ‘Was my encounter with Pilatus even coincidence?’ He was starting to doubt it but that could be paranoia talking rather than his common sense. He made a promise to himself to ask Pilatus and Rhialla when the time was ripe. But for now he concentrated on trying to keep up with the two felines ahead of him.
Hours passed by as they fled. The afternoon slipped into evening barely notacible. A wet fog was conceiling most of their surroundings. It was like they were the only three people in the entire province.
His foot was starting to hurt again. The pain was surging through his body to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He was even cursing his own heartbeat as if that were the source of his pain. He knew he couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. He needed rest. And soon.
As if Pilatus had read his mind, his two companions suddenly stopped and gazed east.
‘I know a small cavern just east of our current location. It should be safe for a few days,’ Rhialla said. Hargeth couldn’t have been happier. ‘How far is it?’ Pilatus asked her.
‘Two, maybe three hours with the speed we we’re travelling.’ Pilatus didn’t seem too enthusiastic.
‘Is there a second exit to the cavern?’ Rhialla shook her head.
‘So it’s a dead end if we are discovered?’ Rhialla didn’t bother replying, it was evident.
Pilatus sighed in concern. He directed his hearing to the direction they had came from to listen whether their persueers had gained on them. ‘I think our persuers made camp. I can’t hear them anymore.’
‘You don’t suppose they gave up, do you?’ Hargeth asked although he knew the answer very well. It wasn’t very likely for the Legion to give up after having chased them for the largest part of a day. ‘I guess not,’ Hargeth murmured looking down to his dirty, mud covered feet.
‘We should keep moving,’ Rhialla commented. Pilatus nodded and picked up their gear he had set down for a minute.
‘Let’s go.’ Without further adue they headed east, towards the cavern Rhialla mentioned. For necessary shelter, nourishment and well earned rest. The Nine knew they were going to need it if they wanted to escape their persuers.
This is great, and I love the mystery you are building. I find it so hard to believe this story didn't take when it first came out, it is really good!
mALX1; If only you had commented on it when it was still on that other forum. Then I probably would have continued it. However; your kind words urge to write more on this. Thank you! X
Chapter5: Dead or Alive
The shroud of night and the dense, wet, fog hid their proceeding but didn’t hide their footprints. Pilatus was highly unnerved by the fact they could still be easily tracked down. They needed to know what they were up against before retreating to a cavern they couldn’t escape from. What if they were highly outnumbered? What if their persuers noticed the three of them stopped heading south and had changed direction eastbound again? No doubt about it they would find the cave as well. An hour passed, they were almost halfway to the cave when Pilatus suddenly stopped. Hargeth didn’t notice until he almost stumbled into Pilatus’ back.
‘We’re not going to lose them, are we?’ Hargeth asked, using the brief moment of rest to check his foot. The swelling had been slowly retreating but he was still in pain. The bones hadn’t quite settled yet and walking a day didn’t do it much good. His foot was now mostly yellow and green. Quite amusing, if it hadn’t hurt that bad. Well, at least it kept his mind of the fact they hadn’t had a decent meal the entire day.
Pilatus shook his head, confirming what Hargeth had feared. They had to do something. Running away wasn’t going to do them much good. Not in the long run
‘I’m going to see how many we’re up against, we can’t remain uncertain, I don’t think there will be more than three though.’ Hargeth agreed, it had struck him the prison was practically deserted when he escaped. Where had all the guards been? The heat of the moment of his escape had kept him from noticing but he had plenty of time thinking it all over and all things considered, his escape went too smooth, almost too easy. Suspicion about the last few of days events started to pound into his paranoia like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil. More questions he wanted to ask the Khajiiti.
‘I’m coming with you, do you have a spare bow I can borrow?’ The iron mace that Pilatus wasn’t taking with him, didn’t appeal to him.
‘You can use Rhialla’s bow.’
Rhialla took the bow from her belongings and handed it over to Hargeth along with a quiver, containing only nine iron arrows. It was all they could spare. Hargeth gave the bow a quick inspection and balanced it. The bow was a well-maintained piece of weaponry. The string appeared as though it had been just replaced. Besides lending him the bow, Rhialla also gave both the men a hunting knife.
‘That could come in handy,’ Hargeth commented. ‘Thanks.’ The hunting-knife got a place in the leather boots Pilatus had borrowed him. Shoving his aching left foot into the narrow boot had been absolute torture; with a grunt he had endured it. Pilatus also gave him a dark robe. An unpleasant smell linguired in it, like someone had died in it. Pulling it over his head, a distinct hole in the front and the back told the truth about its previous wearer sudden, sticky end. A guiltful smile curled Pilatus’ lips. Yep, someone had died in it. The quiver of arrows was strapped to his back to prevent the arrows moving around and making unwanted noises.
‘You’re not bringing a bow?’ Pilatus shook his head in denial.
‘Suit yourself,’ Hargeth mumbled.
Silent, like ghosts, the duo made their way through the woods. The light of the moons reflected in the dense fog, bathing the forest in an eery glow. The feline bandit completely blended in with the shadows cast over them by trees. It was like the Khajiit became an entirely different person. Like he belonged there.
Hours passed without a single spoken word. They both knew how to handle themselves in the dark, hidden, elusive like phantoms. Silence was essential for their mission to succeed.
Suddenly, Pilatus stopped and dropped onto the damp forest ground and beckoned for Hargeth to do the same. Without questioning it, Hargeth dropped to the ground and crawled towards Pilatus’ position.
‘We’re in luck, looks like there’s only two of them, let’s take them out,’ Pilatus whispered. The camp was only fifty passes away, the guards were sitting at a very small campfire. Unlike most of the Imperial Legion, the two guards appeared very disciplined. The silence between the two was enough to alarm Pilatus and Hargeth; these guys knew what they were doing.
Very slowly Pilatus and Hargeth further closed the gap between them and the camp. Pilatus’ ears were turning all directions, scanning for any sounds giving away the location of a possible third guard on patrol. Either there wasn’t a third guard or he was as efficient in moving unseen and unheard as Pilatus was. As far as Pilatus was concerned, there wasn’t a third. To make sure, they observed the camp another hour or two. Growing weary of waiting Hargeth was getting restless and decided to take action, he wanted to reach for the bow on his back but Pilatus’ strong arm held him back. ‘Patience.’ Hargeth wondered what they were waiting for. For more guards to arrive?
Pilatus held out two fingers to Hargeth and placed his index finger over his lips. ‘Stay here, keep your eyes and ears open wide. Await my signal,’ he whispered, almost as quiet as a breath. Moving even more silent than before, the cat-like creature circled the camp in a wide circle to remain hidden in the relative darkness of near-dawn. Hargeth took the bow from his back, nocked an arrow and took aim at one of the guards, while keeping a close eye on Pilatus. If he hadn’t known the bandit’s exact location, he would’ve never guessed and couldn’t help but admiring the way Pilatus moved.
‘There is more to him than he’s telling. I have never seen anyone move like that. Huh, what? Wait for my signal? What did he mean? I guess I’ll find out soon enough,’ and then reprimanded himself. ‘Focus, Hargeth, focus.’ Shaking it off, he returned his full attention on the camp and on the two occupants. Still no sign of a third. All was clear. Then he noticed a dark figure crawling into the camp closing in on the guards, who still didn’t have a clue the hunters had become the hunted.
A silvery flash, the signal, Pilatus had drawn the vicious looking huntingknife and was now only three passes away from the back of the nearest guard. Hargeth aimed at the guard farthest away from Pilatus and readied himself to take the shot, still paying close attention to his associate’s movements. Pilatus was, slowly, unhearable to human ears, getting to his feet and strained his powerful leg muscles to jump the last remaining distance to his target and nodded. Hargeth understood, quickly checking all the variables affecting the arrow’s trajectory. Satisfied with all the variables, he pulled full tension and let go of the arrow. Pilatus jumped his target with a powerful leap, ramming the knife just behind his victim’s chin, avoiding the full-face helmet the guard was wearing, and up, into the brain, ending his life instantly. Startled, the second guard turned round while reaching for the sword on his side, the arrow struck him in the stomach instead of in his back where Hargeth had aimed for, piercing the cuirass right between the horizontal joints of the armour. It was luck the arrow even hit its target. It could just as easily have bounced of the steel of the Imperial Legion armour.
Blood foamed up in the corners of his mouth and seeped through the joints of the armour. His demise was certain. Hargeth knew a blade or arrow in the belly usually meant death, unless immediately attended to by a very capable healer. Slowly, all the blood would flow from the stomach into all essential organs, rendering them useless. All the bodily functions would slow down and ultimately stop altogether. Except for deadly it was also extremely painful. Hargeth had once stabbed a contract in the stomach. Alledgedly, it took two days for him to succumb to the bloodloss. Groaning in pain the Imperial guard reached for his sword but Pilatus was quicker to react. His knife was already hurling towards the guard and, with an awful sound, the knife lodged itself in the guard’s throat. His life’s blood sprayed everywhere when cold steel violently pierced the skin, veins and the soldier’s windpipe.
The guard plummeted to the ground, dead before he hit the bloodstained grass.
All in all, the mission had become a lot more gruesome than both men had anticipated. Now the job was done, Hargeth could finally stretch his muscles and limbs after the tense last few hours. Cramp was tormenting him, he stamped his right foot into the ground a couple of times to help his bloodstream flowing back to the numb parts of his body.
The good side of the bloody job just finished was that they had some decent weapons now. The guards were carrying silver longswords and heavy Legion armour. When they scouted the surroundings they also found the horses their, now dead, persuers had brought, cleverly hidden. The horses rolled their, spread wide-open, eyes and whinnied in distress. The heavy, metallic smell of blood was upsetting them. The horses yanked their reigns frantically in an effort to escape. Hargeth pulled some fresh grass out of the ground and held it in front of one of the horse’s nose. That seemed to calm the - scared out his wits - horse down enough for Pilatus and Hargeth to see what they were carrying. After having searched the first horse’s saddlebag, Hargeth pulled the same trick with the grass on the second horse as well.
The contents of the saddlebags were most welcome. Food, several vials with unknown contents with a strange, strong smell, a couple of spare bedrolls, twelve goldcoins, some clothing and a handbill. Not much to their surprise, it was a wanted poster for Hargeth, signed by Captain Avidius himself. Dead or Alive. Hargeth sent Pilatus a toothed grin, ‘At least we know who sent them.’
They gathered the weapons, armour and the items they took from the saddlebags, devided it evenly over the two saddlebags and mounted the horses.
Chapter5: Dead or Alive
The shroud of night and the dense, wet, fog hid their proceeding but didn’t hide their footprints. Pilatus was highly unnerved by the fact they could still be easily tracked down. They needed to know what they were up against before retreating to a cavern they couldn’t escape from. What if they were highly outnumbered? What if their persuers noticed the three of them stopped heading south and had changed direction eastbound again? No doubt about it they would find the cave as well. An hour passed, they were almost halfway to the cave when Pilatus suddenly stopped. Hargeth didn’t notice until he almost stumbled into Pilatus’ back.
‘We’re not going to lose them, are we?’ Hargeth asked, using the brief moment of rest to check his foot. The swelling had been slowly retreating but he was still in pain. The bones hadn’t quite settled yet and walking a day didn’t do it much good. His foot was now mostly yellow and green. Quite amusing, if it hadn’t hurt that bad. Well, at least it kept his mind of the fact they hadn’t had a decent meal the entire day.
Pilatus shook his head, confirming what Hargeth had feared. They had to do something. Running away wasn’t going to do them much good. Not in the long run
‘I’m going to see how many we’re up against, we can’t remain uncertain, I don’t think there will be more than three though.’ Hargeth agreed, it had struck him the prison was practically deserted when he escaped. Where had all the guards been? The heat of the moment of his escape had kept him from noticing but he had plenty of time thinking it all over and all things considered, his escape went too smooth, almost too easy. Suspicion about the last few of days events started to pound into his paranoia like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil. More questions he wanted to ask the Khajiiti.
‘I’m coming with you, do you have a spare bow I can borrow?’ The iron mace that Pilatus wasn’t taking with him, didn’t appeal to him.
‘You can use Rhialla’s bow.’
Rhialla took the bow from her belongings and handed it over to Hargeth along with a quiver, containing only nine iron arrows. It was all they could spare. Hargeth gave the bow a quick inspection and balanced it. The bow was a well-maintained piece of weaponry. The string appeared as though it had been just replaced. Besides lending him the bow, Rhialla also gave both the men a hunting knife.
‘That could come in handy,’ Hargeth commented. ‘Thanks.’ The hunting-knife got a place in the leather boots Pilatus had borrowed him. Shoving his aching left foot into the narrow boot had been absolute torture; with a grunt he had endured it. Pilatus also gave him a dark robe. An unpleasant smell linguired in it, like someone had died in it. Pulling it over his head, a distinct hole in the front and the back told the truth about its previous wearer sudden, sticky end. A guiltful smile curled Pilatus’ lips. Yep, someone had died in it. The quiver of arrows was strapped to his back to prevent the arrows moving around and making unwanted noises.
‘You’re not bringing a bow?’ Pilatus shook his head in denial.
‘Suit yourself,’ Hargeth mumbled.
Silent, like ghosts, the duo made their way through the woods. The light of the moons reflected in the dense fog, bathing the forest in an eery glow. The feline bandit completely blended in with the shadows cast over them by trees. It was like the Khajiit became an entirely different person. Like he belonged there.
Hours passed without a single spoken word. They both knew how to handle themselves in the dark, hidden, elusive like phantoms. Silence was essential for their mission to succeed.
Suddenly, Pilatus stopped and dropped onto the damp forest ground and beckoned for Hargeth to do the same. Without questioning it, Hargeth dropped to the ground and crawled towards Pilatus’ position.
‘We’re in luck, looks like there’s only two of them, let’s take them out,’ Pilatus whispered. The camp was only fifty passes away, the guards were sitting at a very small campfire. Unlike most of the Imperial Legion, the two guards appeared very disciplined. The silence between the two was enough to alarm Pilatus and Hargeth; these guys knew what they were doing.
Very slowly Pilatus and Hargeth further closed the gap between them and the camp. Pilatus’ ears were turning all directions, scanning for any sounds giving away the location of a possible third guard on patrol. Either there wasn’t a third guard or he was as efficient in moving unseen and unheard as Pilatus was. As far as Pilatus was concerned, there wasn’t a third. To make sure, they observed the camp another hour or two. Growing weary of waiting Hargeth was getting restless and decided to take action, he wanted to reach for the bow on his back but Pilatus’ strong arm held him back. ‘Patience.’ Hargeth wondered what they were waiting for. For more guards to arrive?
Pilatus held out two fingers to Hargeth and placed his index finger over his lips. ‘Stay here, keep your eyes and ears open wide. Await my signal,’ he whispered, almost as quiet as a breath. Moving even more silent than before, the cat-like creature circled the camp in a wide circle to remain hidden in the relative darkness of near-dawn. Hargeth took the bow from his back, nocked an arrow and took aim at one of the guards, while keeping a close eye on Pilatus. If he hadn’t known the bandit’s exact location, he would’ve never guessed and couldn’t help but admiring the way Pilatus moved.
‘There is more to him than he’s telling. I have never seen anyone move like that. Huh, what? Wait for my signal? What did he mean? I guess I’ll find out soon enough,’ and then reprimanded himself. ‘Focus, Hargeth, focus.’ Shaking it off, he returned his full attention on the camp and on the two occupants. Still no sign of a third. All was clear. Then he noticed a dark figure crawling into the camp closing in on the guards, who still didn’t have a clue the hunters had become the hunted.
A silvery flash, the signal, Pilatus had drawn the vicious looking huntingknife and was now only three passes away from the back of the nearest guard. Hargeth aimed at the guard farthest away from Pilatus and readied himself to take the shot, still paying close attention to his associate’s movements. Pilatus was, slowly, unhearable to human ears, getting to his feet and strained his powerful leg muscles to jump the last remaining distance to his target and nodded. Hargeth understood, quickly checking all the variables affecting the arrow’s trajectory. Satisfied with all the variables, he pulled full tension and let go of the arrow. Pilatus jumped his target with a powerful leap, ramming the knife just behind his victim’s chin, avoiding the full-face helmet the guard was wearing, and up, into the brain, ending his life instantly. Startled, the second guard turned round while reaching for the sword on his side, the arrow struck him in the stomach instead of in his back where Hargeth had aimed for, piercing the cuirass right between the horizontal joints of the armour. It was luck the arrow even hit its target. It could just as easily have bounced of the steel of the Imperial Legion armour.
Blood foamed up in the corners of his mouth and seeped through the joints of the armour. His demise was certain. Hargeth knew a blade or arrow in the belly usually meant death, unless immediately attended to by a very capable healer. Slowly, all the blood would flow from the stomach into all essential organs, rendering them useless. All the bodily functions would slow down and ultimately stop altogether. Except for deadly it was also extremely painful. Hargeth had once stabbed a contract in the stomach. Alledgedly, it took two days for him to succumb to the bloodloss. Groaning in pain the Imperial guard reached for his sword but Pilatus was quicker to react. His knife was already hurling towards the guard and, with an awful sound, the knife lodged itself in the guard’s throat. His life’s blood sprayed everywhere when cold steel violently pierced the skin, veins and the soldier’s windpipe.
The guard plummeted to the ground, dead before he hit the bloodstained grass.
All in all, the mission had become a lot more gruesome than both men had anticipated. Now the job was done, Hargeth could finally stretch his muscles and limbs after the tense last few hours. Cramp was tormenting him, he stamped his right foot into the ground a couple of times to help his bloodstream flowing back to the numb parts of his body.
The good side of the bloody job just finished was that they had some decent weapons now. The guards were carrying silver longswords and heavy Legion armour. When they scouted the surroundings they also found the horses their, now dead, persuers had brought, cleverly hidden. The horses rolled their, spread wide-open, eyes and whinnied in distress. The heavy, metallic smell of blood was upsetting them. The horses yanked their reigns frantically in an effort to escape. Hargeth pulled some fresh grass out of the ground and held it in front of one of the horse’s nose. That seemed to calm the - scared out his wits - horse down enough for Pilatus and Hargeth to see what they were carrying. After having searched the first horse’s saddlebag, Hargeth pulled the same trick with the grass on the second horse as well.
The contents of the saddlebags were most welcome. Food, several vials with unknown contents with a strange, strong smell, a couple of spare bedrolls, twelve goldcoins, some clothing and a handbill. Not much to their surprise, it was a wanted poster for Hargeth, signed by Captain Avidius himself. Dead or Alive. Hargeth sent Pilatus a toothed grin, ‘At least we know who sent them.’
They gathered the weapons, armour and the items they took from the saddlebags, devided it evenly over the two saddlebags and mounted the horses.
haha I'm really loving this story so far.
You have a real talent for creating characters and I'm really starting to like Pilatus.
No serious nits in the story either which is more then I can say for mine xD
awesome work Remko and I look forward to see what the gour Altmer friend will do next
You have a real talent for creating characters and I'm really starting to like Pilatus.
No serious nits in the story either which is more then I can say for mine xD
awesome work Remko and I look forward to see what the gour Altmer friend will do next
I knew you had a talent for character builds through Rales and Zerina - but this story shows you have a talent for suspense, creativite imagination that goes way beyond the settings the game has given you - a fantastic write! I love this story !!
Sorry for not commenting after every chapter.
I'm liking this story so far - it's getting better and better as we get deeper into the story. I really liked the two Khajiit and how you're developing them as living, breathing creatures with intelligence, motivation and passion.
My medical side is complaining about this sentence from Chapter 3:
The proper English medical term for this would be compound fracture. As both mean the same thing, my layman side says it's fine the way it is, but the doctor that I am is arguing about it. I'll just point out the issue and let you decide.
I'm liking this story so far - it's getting better and better as we get deeper into the story. I really liked the two Khajiit and how you're developing them as living, breathing creatures with intelligence, motivation and passion.
My medical side is complaining about this sentence from Chapter 3:
QUOTE
In fact, it was what she called a “complicated fracture” whatever that was supposed to mean.
The proper English medical term for this would be compound fracture. As both mean the same thing, my layman side says it's fine the way it is, but the doctor that I am is arguing about it. I'll just point out the issue and let you decide.
Thanks everyone! And there I was thinking it was a piece of crap... Shows what I know 
@H.e.R.: i had no idea, thanks for pointing that out. I prefer to use correct terms so I changed it accordingly.
Chapter6: Questions
On the way the way back, they hardly spoke. Halfway, they stopped at a small river to clean themselves of all the dirt they gathered up crawling on the forests’ wet soil and the blood from the men they had slaughtered. Pilatus’ right arm was completely covered in blood, just as the largest part of his upper body. Crusts were drying up in his fur, staining it almost black.
The cat looked in disgust as the elf threw himself into the river and submerged completely. Clappering his teeth he emerged the river, cold but content and clean.
There they also decided the armour they took from the dead was too hot to keep or sell so threw it in the river so it wouldn’t be found easily. Maybe they could sell it to the Thieves’ Guild but it was too heavy to carry around until they would be able to get in touch with the guild. Besides that, it wouldn’t be of any use to the outlaws anyway. Hargeth was too tall to wear an Imperial’s armour and the Khajiit, well; the Legion didn’t hire Khajiiti so it was useless as a disguise.
A little while before they reached the camp, one of the legs of the horse Pilatus was riding went limp. It had stepped into a pothole hidden by vegetation. Even though the hole hadn’t been that deep, it was enough for the horse to break its ankle. They both knew that was never going to heal so they put the poor animal down. The bags it was carrying were transferred onto the other horse. To keep the pace up, the men decided Hargeth would ride the horse and the Khajiit would run next to it.
‘Now the Legion will be really on our hides when they find their collegues dead. Hope you got a good plan.’
Pilatus briefly shook his head in denial. ‘Those weren’t guards. Those men were hired mercenaries, Blackwood Company. Remember the vials we found?’
‘Yeah, they smelled funny, even with the cork on.’
Pilatus nodded, ‘That’s because they contained Hist Sap. It smells rather strong and I wouldn’t advise you to drink the horrid stuff. Heard some very uneasing stories about people under Hist Sap influence.’
‘So that’s why you are so sure those guys we killed weren’t Legion soldiers?’
Pilatus nodded shortly. ‘I had the pleasure of dealing with those…Blackwood thugs before, I recognised that foul smell half a league away.’
Pilatus almost spat the word Blackwood out, it was clear the Khajiit hated them even more than the notoriously corrupt Imperial Legion regulars. ‘Besides, guards wouldn’t have had a wanted poster with them.’ The bandit was right. The Legion would have persued them until they dropped and would never have made camp. ‘Blackwood Company? Never heard of that.’
‘You must be joking?’ was the cat’s reply. The Elf shook his head.
‘Fraid not.’
‘So, how long have you been in prison then?’
‘Hmmm, couple of months, maybe close to a year, hard to keep track of time when every day is the same.’
‘True,’ Pilatus replied in a melancholic tone. ‘The Blackwood company must be after the Fighter’s guild jobs. They must be really desperate.’ Hargeth gave him a non-understanding look. ‘Why? What d’ya mean?’
‘They came after you didn’t they?’ Slowly it was starting to make sense to the puzzled Elf.’..Because they took a job from the Legion?’
‘Exactly!’
‘That means…’
The Khajiit completed the sentence:’..that the Legion had nothing to do with it. It’s Avidius’ private contract. And when they find out they’re dead, there is no way Blackwood Company will send more recrutes after us.’
‘Afraid they will all end up dead, right?’
‘Right.’
A few moments later they were both laughing until it hurt in their sides. Avidius would be furious.
When they finally arrived at the camp Rhialla had made in their abscence, the deer Pilatus shot was already sputtering and dripping with grease above a campfire. The delicious smell made their mouth water. It awoke their stomach, reminding them it had been at least over half a day they had eaten. They were truly starving. Pilatus impatiently reached to take a piece of the deer still cooking but a fire-spitting glimpse of Rhialla convinced him to wait so he sat himself down and awaited for the cook to give him a piece.
For the starving men it seemed like hours before they could eat. Hargeth hadn’t eaten that good in years. In his opinion, even the meals the Talos Plaza hotel couldn’t beat the meal he was having now. In fact, he couldn’t remember having a better dinner ever. The day of fleeing hadn’t spoiled the meat at all. Knowing nothing about hunting or preparing food, little did he know game needs to ripe. He’d just call it plainly rot. To flush the meat away, Rhialla unveiled an expensive bottle of wine. It tasted nothing like the cheap, red fluid, also referred to as wine, he had drunk before. The only comparison was the rich, darkred, colour.
Having statisfied his appetite he made himself comfortable by leaning back. A rock spoilt it. With an uneasy look on his face he reached between his back and the ground to remove the rock that had poked in his back in a very unpleasant manner. Annoyed he threw the rock a far end of where it had been, into the forest. Still, he wasn’t happy, where the rock used to be was now a hole. It wasn’t going to get any better.
‘What am I doing?’
Remembering the spare bedrolls they found in the saddlebags, he jumped up and went to the single remaining horse and took out a spare bedroll. The thought not having to lie down on lumps and holes brought a boyish grin to his face. When he returned to put the bedroll down, where he sat earlier, Pilatus rolled his big, yellow eyes and made a face, ‘Cityfolk…’
Hargeth made a face back. ‘I think I’ve slept on stone long enough,’ he replied on Pilatus’ pun while sitting down and removing the tight, leather boots borrowed to him. As soon as they were of, he sighed in relieve.
‘Speaking of which, how did you get out anyway?’
‘The long or the short version?’
‘The short version will do.’ The story ended when the Khajiit, in laughter repeated Hargeth. ‘You what? You stabbed Avidius with his own bottle?’ A flashback brought the Elf back to the fight they had. He had been right, the bandit did have a strange sense of humour.
‘Wish I could have seen it.’
‘I bet you would.’ The questions he’d been meaning to ask where burning on his tongue. He had awaited an appropriate time to ask, this was it.
‘Now, tell me something, was our … encounter coincidence? It was Rhialla in the cell next to me a couple of months ago, wasn’t it? Why are you helping me? Surely not because you hit me in the foot or because I was broke? Or maybe because I was so damn nice to her in jail? A real bandit would have killed me anyway. You two,’ he made a headgesture towards Rhialla, ‘aren’t really bandits, are ya? ‘Cause if you are, I am eating this old robe,’ he fired his questions while pulling on the fabric of the, probably moth invested, robe.
‘The big question remains: If you aren’t bandits, then what are you? I suppose I can leave out the Legion because the Legion doesn’t hire Argonians or Khajiiti. That only leaves the Thieves’ guild or Fighter’s guild. From what I’ve gathered, the Dark Brotherhood is some sort of Daedra worshipping idiot’s cult pretending to be assasins and you don’t strike me as idiots.’
Rhialla and Pilatus shared a couple of awkward looks. The Elf definitely wasn’t gullible. They would have to come clean and tell him the truth. Not sure Hargeth could be trusted enough to know the whole story, Pilatus decided to tell him the need-to-know things only. They needed to know what Hargeth knew.
‘Did you know the Emperor and his sons are all dead? The Empire is at war.’
‘So, that’s why the prisoncompound was nearly empty when I escaped. The Legion is pre-occupied?’ Hargeth didn’t seem too bothered or shocked with the news.
‘This still doesn’t explain how you knew where to find me. I am pretty convinced you knew who I were even before you attacked me and hit me in the foot. That wasn’t an accident either, was it? What do you want from me?’ Hargeth’s voice had become slightly hostile. He didn’t like being played a fool and had a feeling he had been played.
‘Yes, we knew who you were before our encounter,’ Rhialla reluctantly admitted. Hargeth’s face turned to Rhialla, his eyes spread wide. He hadn’t expected her to answer. With a raised eyebrow he glanced at Pilatus who just, barely noticable, nodded. Shaking his head in disbelieve he directed his attention back to Rhialla. ‘I knew something was up, I had a feeling Pilatus wasn’t entirely telling the truth about you. How did you know you I had escaped and was heading your way? You are a lot more powerful than you showed, right?’
‘Partially, yes. I noticed your approach about half an hour before you encountered my brother. Sense life is a wonderful skill, don’t you think?’ she asked in a tone dripping with irony. ‘We didn’t know it was you until you actually met, I swear.’
He had no reason not to believe that. Why would she lie about that after all they had done for him? He decided to give them the benefit of the doubt ‘Go on,’ the Elf encouraged her.
‘When you two entered the camp I had a feeling you were my neighbour in prison.’
‘Then why did you raise your bow?’
‘A feeling doesn’t mean I was right,’ she answered with a smile but there was no amusement in it.
‘I see your point. That still doesn’t explain why you helped me.’
‘True, let me explain. We are with a secret group who has the best interests of the Empire on their agenda. Officially, we don’t exist. We do the jobs this group can’t. Have you ever heard about the Blades?’
Hargeth nodded, ‘Maybe once or twice, long time ago though.’
‘Good. It has come to the Blades’ attention there is a traitor of the Empire. And not just anyone. We have reason to believe someone in the council is a traitor. We think this particular… person,’ she didn’t trust Hargeth enough to name him yet, ‘was behind the Emperor’s and his sons’ assassination.’
‘The Emperor was assassinated? Now that would have been a job,’ he replied with a sly smile. Now it was Rhialla’s turn to shake her head in disbelieve. She gave Hargeth a piercing look and then continued: ‘He wasn’t just the Emperor; he was the last of the Septim bloodline. With him dead, the Empire could fall in disarray if the situation isn’t adressed properly.’ With pain evident in her eyes, she added:’Even the threat of civil-war is linguiring above our heads.’
‘Soooo, what in Oblivion has that got to do with me?’ He didn’t really like where this was going.
‘We need someone with your particular…. skills.’
‘Pilatus seems well up to the job,’ he said while shrugging.
‘If only it were that simple. He is too well-known for what we have in mind.’
This remark hightened Hargeth’s interest. ‘Why? What’s so special about this job? And what do you mean Pilatus is too well-known?’
‘We want you to…. remove the traitor. Pilatus can’t do that because, well, the council knows him through me.’ Rhialla had to take a difficult decision; she had to confide in the Elven assassin. The last few days it had become apparent to her this might be the person they had been looking for. Sheer luck had brought him to the Khajiiti siblings. He wasn’t as honourable as she would have preferred but, in his own way he was honest and trustworthy. Pilatus had told her how their grisly job had proceeded. He had performed outstandingly. Like the men had been working together for years rather then they had known each other for a few days.
‘I used to be the Archmage’s scribe before he was elected High Chancellor.’ Hargeth couldn’t believe his ears; she was talking about Chancellor Ocato. Politics weren’t really his interest but rumours about Ocato’s rapid rise to the top, few years ago, had spread like wildfire. Fast, and uncontrollable.
‘When I was still his assistant, some day I found a crumpled note underneath his desk. At that time it didn’t seem that important. All it mentioned was something about a job being taken care of. Quite random actually. However, when I mentioned the note, he reacted rather strange. Initially he was really angry, swearing and cursing and just as sudden he turned calm, as if nothing had happened,’ she shrugged and continued: ‘In all the years I’ve served him, I never seen him act like that. Ofcourse, in hindsight the note turned out a lot more grim and, obviously, a lot more important than I could ever have suspected. That very same week someone tried to kill me. Unfortunately for the would-be killer, he ran into him,’ she said while pointing at Pilatus, ‘So, now we are in voluntary exile.’
All he could do was frown and smirk at that remark. And then burst out in sincere laughter that wouldn’t subside until he ran out of breath.
Rhialla was as nuts as Pilatus. Both had the same weird sense of humour, which he found refreshing, he had noticed many people tend to take themselves way too serious. This was a nice change. But, in his opinion, their plan was even wackier than their sense of humour. How the hell where they ever going to accomplish this feat?
Hargeth flew up from the bedroll he was sitting on, almost kicking over the expensive bottle of wine next to his feet. Abscentmindedly he grabbed the bottle and took a large swig of the crimson wine. ‘You want Ocato dead?! You want me to assassinate the High Chancellor? A known master wizard? Are you completely out of your mind?!’ Hargeth never avoided a challenge but even for him, this sounded ridiculous. Stupid even. Heroes would call it bravery. Where does bravery end and stupidity start? He had never been able telling the two apart.
‘That’s where we come in. I will teach you the magical skills necessary to defeat a powerful wizard and he will teach you the skills to fight your way out, should you get caught.’ Rhialla calmly explained.
‘And what’s in it for me? Don’t tell me, the honour and knowledge I helped save the world?’ he asked pointedly while rolling his eyes. ‘You might have noticed, honour doesn’t fill an empty stomach.’ The Khajiiti siblings shared a few glimpses.
‘We have indeed noticed,’ was her dry reply.
‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘Naturally.’
‘This wine is terrific.’
@H.e.R.: i had no idea, thanks for pointing that out. I prefer to use correct terms so I changed it accordingly.
Chapter6: Questions
On the way the way back, they hardly spoke. Halfway, they stopped at a small river to clean themselves of all the dirt they gathered up crawling on the forests’ wet soil and the blood from the men they had slaughtered. Pilatus’ right arm was completely covered in blood, just as the largest part of his upper body. Crusts were drying up in his fur, staining it almost black.
The cat looked in disgust as the elf threw himself into the river and submerged completely. Clappering his teeth he emerged the river, cold but content and clean.
There they also decided the armour they took from the dead was too hot to keep or sell so threw it in the river so it wouldn’t be found easily. Maybe they could sell it to the Thieves’ Guild but it was too heavy to carry around until they would be able to get in touch with the guild. Besides that, it wouldn’t be of any use to the outlaws anyway. Hargeth was too tall to wear an Imperial’s armour and the Khajiit, well; the Legion didn’t hire Khajiiti so it was useless as a disguise.
A little while before they reached the camp, one of the legs of the horse Pilatus was riding went limp. It had stepped into a pothole hidden by vegetation. Even though the hole hadn’t been that deep, it was enough for the horse to break its ankle. They both knew that was never going to heal so they put the poor animal down. The bags it was carrying were transferred onto the other horse. To keep the pace up, the men decided Hargeth would ride the horse and the Khajiit would run next to it.
‘Now the Legion will be really on our hides when they find their collegues dead. Hope you got a good plan.’
Pilatus briefly shook his head in denial. ‘Those weren’t guards. Those men were hired mercenaries, Blackwood Company. Remember the vials we found?’
‘Yeah, they smelled funny, even with the cork on.’
Pilatus nodded, ‘That’s because they contained Hist Sap. It smells rather strong and I wouldn’t advise you to drink the horrid stuff. Heard some very uneasing stories about people under Hist Sap influence.’
‘So that’s why you are so sure those guys we killed weren’t Legion soldiers?’
Pilatus nodded shortly. ‘I had the pleasure of dealing with those…Blackwood thugs before, I recognised that foul smell half a league away.’
Pilatus almost spat the word Blackwood out, it was clear the Khajiit hated them even more than the notoriously corrupt Imperial Legion regulars. ‘Besides, guards wouldn’t have had a wanted poster with them.’ The bandit was right. The Legion would have persued them until they dropped and would never have made camp. ‘Blackwood Company? Never heard of that.’
‘You must be joking?’ was the cat’s reply. The Elf shook his head.
‘Fraid not.’
‘So, how long have you been in prison then?’
‘Hmmm, couple of months, maybe close to a year, hard to keep track of time when every day is the same.’
‘True,’ Pilatus replied in a melancholic tone. ‘The Blackwood company must be after the Fighter’s guild jobs. They must be really desperate.’ Hargeth gave him a non-understanding look. ‘Why? What d’ya mean?’
‘They came after you didn’t they?’ Slowly it was starting to make sense to the puzzled Elf.’..Because they took a job from the Legion?’
‘Exactly!’
‘That means…’
The Khajiit completed the sentence:’..that the Legion had nothing to do with it. It’s Avidius’ private contract. And when they find out they’re dead, there is no way Blackwood Company will send more recrutes after us.’
‘Afraid they will all end up dead, right?’
‘Right.’
A few moments later they were both laughing until it hurt in their sides. Avidius would be furious.
When they finally arrived at the camp Rhialla had made in their abscence, the deer Pilatus shot was already sputtering and dripping with grease above a campfire. The delicious smell made their mouth water. It awoke their stomach, reminding them it had been at least over half a day they had eaten. They were truly starving. Pilatus impatiently reached to take a piece of the deer still cooking but a fire-spitting glimpse of Rhialla convinced him to wait so he sat himself down and awaited for the cook to give him a piece.
For the starving men it seemed like hours before they could eat. Hargeth hadn’t eaten that good in years. In his opinion, even the meals the Talos Plaza hotel couldn’t beat the meal he was having now. In fact, he couldn’t remember having a better dinner ever. The day of fleeing hadn’t spoiled the meat at all. Knowing nothing about hunting or preparing food, little did he know game needs to ripe. He’d just call it plainly rot. To flush the meat away, Rhialla unveiled an expensive bottle of wine. It tasted nothing like the cheap, red fluid, also referred to as wine, he had drunk before. The only comparison was the rich, darkred, colour.
Having statisfied his appetite he made himself comfortable by leaning back. A rock spoilt it. With an uneasy look on his face he reached between his back and the ground to remove the rock that had poked in his back in a very unpleasant manner. Annoyed he threw the rock a far end of where it had been, into the forest. Still, he wasn’t happy, where the rock used to be was now a hole. It wasn’t going to get any better.
‘What am I doing?’
Remembering the spare bedrolls they found in the saddlebags, he jumped up and went to the single remaining horse and took out a spare bedroll. The thought not having to lie down on lumps and holes brought a boyish grin to his face. When he returned to put the bedroll down, where he sat earlier, Pilatus rolled his big, yellow eyes and made a face, ‘Cityfolk…’
Hargeth made a face back. ‘I think I’ve slept on stone long enough,’ he replied on Pilatus’ pun while sitting down and removing the tight, leather boots borrowed to him. As soon as they were of, he sighed in relieve.
‘Speaking of which, how did you get out anyway?’
‘The long or the short version?’
‘The short version will do.’ The story ended when the Khajiit, in laughter repeated Hargeth. ‘You what? You stabbed Avidius with his own bottle?’ A flashback brought the Elf back to the fight they had. He had been right, the bandit did have a strange sense of humour.
‘Wish I could have seen it.’
‘I bet you would.’ The questions he’d been meaning to ask where burning on his tongue. He had awaited an appropriate time to ask, this was it.
‘Now, tell me something, was our … encounter coincidence? It was Rhialla in the cell next to me a couple of months ago, wasn’t it? Why are you helping me? Surely not because you hit me in the foot or because I was broke? Or maybe because I was so damn nice to her in jail? A real bandit would have killed me anyway. You two,’ he made a headgesture towards Rhialla, ‘aren’t really bandits, are ya? ‘Cause if you are, I am eating this old robe,’ he fired his questions while pulling on the fabric of the, probably moth invested, robe.
‘The big question remains: If you aren’t bandits, then what are you? I suppose I can leave out the Legion because the Legion doesn’t hire Argonians or Khajiiti. That only leaves the Thieves’ guild or Fighter’s guild. From what I’ve gathered, the Dark Brotherhood is some sort of Daedra worshipping idiot’s cult pretending to be assasins and you don’t strike me as idiots.’
Rhialla and Pilatus shared a couple of awkward looks. The Elf definitely wasn’t gullible. They would have to come clean and tell him the truth. Not sure Hargeth could be trusted enough to know the whole story, Pilatus decided to tell him the need-to-know things only. They needed to know what Hargeth knew.
‘Did you know the Emperor and his sons are all dead? The Empire is at war.’
‘So, that’s why the prisoncompound was nearly empty when I escaped. The Legion is pre-occupied?’ Hargeth didn’t seem too bothered or shocked with the news.
‘This still doesn’t explain how you knew where to find me. I am pretty convinced you knew who I were even before you attacked me and hit me in the foot. That wasn’t an accident either, was it? What do you want from me?’ Hargeth’s voice had become slightly hostile. He didn’t like being played a fool and had a feeling he had been played.
‘Yes, we knew who you were before our encounter,’ Rhialla reluctantly admitted. Hargeth’s face turned to Rhialla, his eyes spread wide. He hadn’t expected her to answer. With a raised eyebrow he glanced at Pilatus who just, barely noticable, nodded. Shaking his head in disbelieve he directed his attention back to Rhialla. ‘I knew something was up, I had a feeling Pilatus wasn’t entirely telling the truth about you. How did you know you I had escaped and was heading your way? You are a lot more powerful than you showed, right?’
‘Partially, yes. I noticed your approach about half an hour before you encountered my brother. Sense life is a wonderful skill, don’t you think?’ she asked in a tone dripping with irony. ‘We didn’t know it was you until you actually met, I swear.’
He had no reason not to believe that. Why would she lie about that after all they had done for him? He decided to give them the benefit of the doubt ‘Go on,’ the Elf encouraged her.
‘When you two entered the camp I had a feeling you were my neighbour in prison.’
‘Then why did you raise your bow?’
‘A feeling doesn’t mean I was right,’ she answered with a smile but there was no amusement in it.
‘I see your point. That still doesn’t explain why you helped me.’
‘True, let me explain. We are with a secret group who has the best interests of the Empire on their agenda. Officially, we don’t exist. We do the jobs this group can’t. Have you ever heard about the Blades?’
Hargeth nodded, ‘Maybe once or twice, long time ago though.’
‘Good. It has come to the Blades’ attention there is a traitor of the Empire. And not just anyone. We have reason to believe someone in the council is a traitor. We think this particular… person,’ she didn’t trust Hargeth enough to name him yet, ‘was behind the Emperor’s and his sons’ assassination.’
‘The Emperor was assassinated? Now that would have been a job,’ he replied with a sly smile. Now it was Rhialla’s turn to shake her head in disbelieve. She gave Hargeth a piercing look and then continued: ‘He wasn’t just the Emperor; he was the last of the Septim bloodline. With him dead, the Empire could fall in disarray if the situation isn’t adressed properly.’ With pain evident in her eyes, she added:’Even the threat of civil-war is linguiring above our heads.’
‘Soooo, what in Oblivion has that got to do with me?’ He didn’t really like where this was going.
‘We need someone with your particular…. skills.’
‘Pilatus seems well up to the job,’ he said while shrugging.
‘If only it were that simple. He is too well-known for what we have in mind.’
This remark hightened Hargeth’s interest. ‘Why? What’s so special about this job? And what do you mean Pilatus is too well-known?’
‘We want you to…. remove the traitor. Pilatus can’t do that because, well, the council knows him through me.’ Rhialla had to take a difficult decision; she had to confide in the Elven assassin. The last few days it had become apparent to her this might be the person they had been looking for. Sheer luck had brought him to the Khajiiti siblings. He wasn’t as honourable as she would have preferred but, in his own way he was honest and trustworthy. Pilatus had told her how their grisly job had proceeded. He had performed outstandingly. Like the men had been working together for years rather then they had known each other for a few days.
‘I used to be the Archmage’s scribe before he was elected High Chancellor.’ Hargeth couldn’t believe his ears; she was talking about Chancellor Ocato. Politics weren’t really his interest but rumours about Ocato’s rapid rise to the top, few years ago, had spread like wildfire. Fast, and uncontrollable.
‘When I was still his assistant, some day I found a crumpled note underneath his desk. At that time it didn’t seem that important. All it mentioned was something about a job being taken care of. Quite random actually. However, when I mentioned the note, he reacted rather strange. Initially he was really angry, swearing and cursing and just as sudden he turned calm, as if nothing had happened,’ she shrugged and continued: ‘In all the years I’ve served him, I never seen him act like that. Ofcourse, in hindsight the note turned out a lot more grim and, obviously, a lot more important than I could ever have suspected. That very same week someone tried to kill me. Unfortunately for the would-be killer, he ran into him,’ she said while pointing at Pilatus, ‘So, now we are in voluntary exile.’
All he could do was frown and smirk at that remark. And then burst out in sincere laughter that wouldn’t subside until he ran out of breath.
Rhialla was as nuts as Pilatus. Both had the same weird sense of humour, which he found refreshing, he had noticed many people tend to take themselves way too serious. This was a nice change. But, in his opinion, their plan was even wackier than their sense of humour. How the hell where they ever going to accomplish this feat?
Hargeth flew up from the bedroll he was sitting on, almost kicking over the expensive bottle of wine next to his feet. Abscentmindedly he grabbed the bottle and took a large swig of the crimson wine. ‘You want Ocato dead?! You want me to assassinate the High Chancellor? A known master wizard? Are you completely out of your mind?!’ Hargeth never avoided a challenge but even for him, this sounded ridiculous. Stupid even. Heroes would call it bravery. Where does bravery end and stupidity start? He had never been able telling the two apart.
‘That’s where we come in. I will teach you the magical skills necessary to defeat a powerful wizard and he will teach you the skills to fight your way out, should you get caught.’ Rhialla calmly explained.
‘And what’s in it for me? Don’t tell me, the honour and knowledge I helped save the world?’ he asked pointedly while rolling his eyes. ‘You might have noticed, honour doesn’t fill an empty stomach.’ The Khajiiti siblings shared a few glimpses.
‘We have indeed noticed,’ was her dry reply.
‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘Naturally.’
‘This wine is terrific.’
I'm wondering why this story didn't get commented on over on the other forum.
I am enjoying the direction you're taking these characters. So now the Blades have to hire an assassin to get close to a master wizard? Yikes!
I am enjoying the direction you're taking these characters. So now the Blades have to hire an assassin to get close to a master wizard? Yikes!
I haven't replied here for a while but I have been reading and I like it. Well paced and now the plot thickens somewhat... I still suspect the Khajits though. I like Hargeth, you've developed him well as a self-centred wastrel which flimsy morals but still a sense of decency somewhere inside. And Ocato as the evil one... makes me wander what's going on... You have a lot of hooks here and I like it.
‘This wine is terrific.’ - this line made me smile. It's so in character
Great piece, moves nicely and you've done it again and got the atmosphere spot on. This feels, perhaps not quite like oblivion, but more how oblivion should have felt, it's got the sort of feel of Cyrodiil but much stonger.
‘This wine is terrific.’ - this line made me smile. It's so in character
Great piece, moves nicely and you've done it again and got the atmosphere spot on. This feels, perhaps not quite like oblivion, but more how oblivion should have felt, it's got the sort of feel of Cyrodiil but much stonger.
@Olen: You pinpointed Hargeth SPOT ON! That's exactly how I wanted to portray him to the reader. I don't believe in black-and-white good and evil and absolutely abhorr the "Evil Assassin" stereotype.
Thank you for the kind words!
Thank you for the kind words!
From discussing what to do with the armor through to the end of the chapter - you ROCKED IT !!!! This was such powerful imagery and you packed so much into this chapter! I also have always felt Ocato had a hand in the Emperor's death, so you know I am right on board here, lol.
Somewhere in the middle of the page there is a "know" that should be a "now" - but who cares, it didn't take anything away from the impact of this chapter. I love this story!
Somewhere in the middle of the page there is a "know" that should be a "now" - but who cares, it didn't take anything away from the impact of this chapter. I love this story!
@mALX1: That really makes me happy! Thanks a lot! Oh, and I found the "know->now" mix-up.
Chapter7: Crossroads
‘Why me?’ he thought in despair.
Hargeth had been thinking about Pilatus’ and Rhialla’s proposition for days without making a decision. His foot was now almost fully healed thanks to Rhialla’s care. She turned out to be a terrific healer. Her cooking wasn’t bad either. Last few days had exposed her as the powerful wizard she was denying to be. His foot didn’t hurt anymore when he ran, although, in the cold damp morning it was still whining slightly. Rhialla told him it was the scar tissue around his bones in his foot plaguing him and that it could take years to fully heal. She had also taught him a couple of useful spells allowing him to help himself next time.
Although the adventure and the challenge appealed to him, the odds of succeeding were stacked up against it. After all, he was a wanted man by the Imperial Legion and he assumed Blackwood company wouldn’t like him very much either. That led to another problem. What if he didn’t take the job? Where would he go? Back home?
The contemplations brought back memories from his youth. For an Elf he wasn’t that old yet. He would be considered in his twenties by his own kin, if he had been human, he would’ve been in the autumn of his lifespan. He could barely remember his parents, it seemed ages ago he had fled Summerset Isle, never to return again.
‘Damned Imperials,’ he cursed when the circumstances of his unvoluntary departure opened up to his mind’s eye. He had been born a simple boy, born from a family of honest farmers, living contentedly from what the land provided before Summerset Isle had been annexed to the Tamrielic Empire by force. War had spread hard and merciless. His brother had been drafted to serve his homeland and had died underneath a Cyrodiilic silver long sword early in the war. His parents were murdered by the Legion under the pretences they had not been cooperative enough.
The harsh truth was actually that his parents had risen up when those Imperial pigs had tried to rape his sister. Because she had struggled, her rapists had cut her throat. Just like that. Her being dead didn’t bother them either. Hargeth had witnessed how those monsters took advantage of the lifeless body of his big sister, time and again. The small farmhouse was torched; he remembered the screams from his parents being burnt alive. Hiding underneath the bed, he hadn’t been noticed by the Imperials and had escaped through a hidden hatch underneath a rug on the floor shortly before the torch was flung through an open window.
The ordeal had shaped him an entirely different way his parent would have wanted for him, he was certain. For years, he couldn’t remember how many, he had prowled the country, stealing what he needed, killing anyone standing in his way.
The bastards responsible for wiping out his family had been brought a to a sharp, pointy justice. The only justice he knew. He had sought the murderers for years and years, until he had finally traced them to the Cyrodiil capitol, Imperial City and had covertly executed them, like they had executed his parents and his sister in cold blood. His years of searching and the hate he felt towards the wrongdoers had changed him into a bitter, cynical assassin.
The painful memories of his past made his heart heavy, a lump in his throat, he just couldn’t swallow, annoyed him. He had left it all behind, it was in the past he told himself. ‘Then why can’t I shake this feeling?’ Hargeth asked himself. He had no answer.
The blur that previously had been blocking his memory dissipated, like curtains being drawn open. The memories appeared in a flash to how and why he had ended up in the jail he had escaped from, barely two weeks ago. He remembered falling through the roof of his last target, the officer in charge of the small contingency cleaning up what was left of the resistance in his homeland at the end of the war.
He hadn’t been betrayed after all. Gently he brought a hand to his head, the bump in his head was long gone, it was in a reflex and he ruffled his hair shortly. The moment he had decided to strike, one of the retired Imperial officer’s friends decided to stop by in the least convenient moment thinkable, discovering his position on the roof. Hargeth’s forced sudden movements had the rickety roof collapse, right onto his victim’s head. Unfortunately, a roof support beam dropped on his own head, knocking him unconscious.
Ironically, his target’s heart had also been pierced by his own blade that had hung on the wall as a decoration. Hargeth had been arrested by the now dead officer’s friend, Audens Avidius and thrown into that stinking hole he got to know so well. Only one question remained, if the headache hadn't been because of a hangover but because of the roof support beam, where had that distinct woozy feeling come from? For a while, Hargeth sat with his head between his knees, thinking this over. They had interrogated him before they had thrown him in jail. Poisons, potions and liquors had unwillingly been poured down his throat in order to get him to talk. Ofcourse, if one doesn't know anything, there isn't much to talk about. Vaguely he remembered his interrogators in frustration about the lack on information they got from him.
A sardonic smile curled his lips. ‘No wonder he hates me,’ he murmered. ‘The bottleneck I stuck in his side probably didn’t improve our relationship either.’
Hargeth grinned humourless. For once in his life he knew what to do. But decided that before he’d accept he would want some more answers. There were things he hadn’t been told; Rhialla and Pilatus were hiding something. ‘What kinda name is Pilatus for a Khajiit anyway?’
***
Gasping for breath, the muddy messenger stood in front of Avidius’ desk. Shortly before, the messenger had come racing into the Imperial office to report to the Captain. The officer’s desk in front of him was cluttered with snippets, empty bottles, wanted posters and battle-plans. The messenger didn’t dare taking a closer look at the interesting documents lying on the sturdy looking desk. Avidius had a notoriously bad temper and would, for no apparent reason, beat his submissives. And a messenger was as low as the Imperial legion hierarchy would go.
Upon the news the messenger brought, Avidius flew out of the chair he had been sitting in comfortably with his legs on the desk. With a crash the heavy chair hit the stone floor. The balding, fat legionnaire rubbed his eyes; he had been sleeping on the job, probably drunk. The messenger didn’t understand such behaviour was tolorated in the legion. The Captain must have friends on high places.
‘What?! They’re both dead?’ Avidius screamed.
The messenger nodded, ‘Yes Sir. According to the forester they have been ambushed by at least two, maybe even more. I think he mentioned the mercenaries you hired,’ Avidius gave the messenger a threatening look from beneath his brow upon this remark, ‘I mean, the loyal legionnaires,’ the messenger corrected himself - rumours were, the whole situation of the mercenaries he had sent after the escaped Altmer prisoner almost three weeks ago, was rather painful for the Legion Captain - were executed very professionally. It was very unlikely bandits were responsible. That was all he instructed me to relay to you Sir.’
‘You are dismissed,’ without looking at the messenger in front of him he waved him away. The messenger saluted, spun around on the heels of his leather boots and marched out the office, the spurs on his heels ringing in the rhythm of his march towards the outside.
Only after the door had been shut, Avidius real dismay about the situation surfaced. He swore and cursed and drank heavily, while pacing though his office and looking at the rapport the messenger had brought over and over, until his throat was sore and his mind clouded with liquor. With a sigh he sat himself down after putting the chair back and drank some more until he passed out. His last thought was suprisingly coherent. ‘How will I explain this to him?’
***
Pilatus frowned after Hargeth had told him he remembered his proceedings before he had ended up in jail and how his memories had suddenly surfaced and stared into the campfire for a while. ‘You should discuss this with Rhialla, it could be of importance. I am not much of a mage but this whole thing has the stink of magic on it.’ When Hargeth thought about this and he couldn’t do otherwise but concur with Pilatus’ assessment. It was a worrying thought.
What if his memories aren’t actually his own memories? What if his memories were somehow distorted and corrupted? And by whom? Was he even who he thought he was? He decided to follow his advice and consult Rhialla about this when she returned from the errand she had to run. The Khajiiti siblings had been keeping Hargeth in the dark about her mission. It didn’t really bother him but he decided to ask her about that as well. As soon as he got the chance anyway. For now he resided in getting answers from Pilatus.
Something irked Hargeth about the Khajiit warrior. Some things seemed out of place. The Altmer assassin had decided Pilatus must be something more than just being renowned because of his sister. Instead of contemplating on it he just asked bluntly: ’Who are you?’
Those three words held all the questions Hargeth had for Pilatus.
‘I am no expert but Pilatus isn’t a Khajiit name, is it?’ Pilatus face turned sad, the corners of his mouth dropped and he slowly shook his head. ‘You’re right, it’s not.’ Pilatus sighed and continued. ‘What do you know about Morrowind and the legend of the Neravarine?’
Hargeth made a dismissive gesture with his hands. ‘From hearsay only. Some rumours about some outlander being Lord Neravar reincarnated, whatever that’s supposed to mean. But I’ve heard he’s been missing for mon…’ The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. He gave his companion a piercing look; the truth was evident in the Khajiit’s eyes. ‘My name is Do’Sjiri,’ Pilatus started, ‘and I am the Lord Neraverine incarnate. Or, at least, so I’ve been told.’
The story Do’Sjiri told Hargeth both shocked and amazed him. He had always known Morrowind to be a strange place and its inhabitors even more strange. He was surprised to hear Do’Sjiri had fled his so-called destiny and had fled Morrowind altogether after having defeated the sixth house and its charasmatic leader, Dagoth Ur.
Rhialla’s errands, as her brother, Do’Sjiri had called them, didn’t go as planned at all. In truth, the female Khajiit had been visiting several shadowy characters still owing her some favours from when she was still the Arch-Mage’s scribe. Politics always was a somewhat dirty affair and sometimes needed an unconventional approach through unlikely individuals.
She had befriended some of these individuals in the course of her employment. From the contacts she had visited until now, most had shied out of any promises they had made to her previously.
She didn’t lie to herself; she had counted on most of them not keeping their word. A promise was easily made but far harder to keep, especially for the people in the precarious position they were in.
Her contact in the Thieves’ guild was reluctant to do her a small favour as well. She was actually disappointed by, what felt to her as betrayel from their side. It appeared to her there wasn’t honour among thieves after all. Out of all people she had hoped, no, counted on it for them to keep their promise. They had never let her down before. Anyone knowing her well enough would have identified all the little details changing in her face, the small twitching of her ears and her thin lips curling into a sardonic, humourless grin, indicating her mood-change. Her conversation partner knew her well enough.
‘Can’t you see we’re all into this together?’ Her usually gentle throaty voice sharpened with disbelieve and sheer frustration. ‘If the remnants of the council falls apart, the entire empire falls into disarray. Or at least, what’s left of it,’ she added ruefully. ‘And, with it, all the indulges the reigning council allows your guild as well.’ Rhialla emphasized her rant by pointing at his chest. ‘Make no mistake; they have been lenient with the guild. Should the empire plummet into civil war you can count on getting involved, whether you like it or not. I suggest you consider this and consider it well, Armand.’
It wasn’t a threat to him personally but his face reflected his emotions. The Thieves’ Guild doyen didn’t like these possibilities. Not one bit. A frown appeared on his brow when he quickly thought about all the consequences and then realised his guild-master and personal friend, the Gray Fox, was politically involved enough to accept this threat as it appeared, an enemy to all. Amongst them, the ones inhabiting his beloved Imperial City Waterfront. The poor and the rejected.
He knew deep-down Rhialla was right and the guild should assist where it can. Civil war would destroy the empire and affect everyone living and prospering in it. ‘Allright, I’ll make the necessary arrangements to get your friend’s bounty paid off.’ He cleverly dodged using the wanted man’s name. You can never be sure no one is listening in who shouldn’t, even though their meeting and the consequent conversation was highly covert. Even his closest trustees weren’t aware of it, thus limiting risk of exposure. He knew from experience hungry people tend to be easier to persuade selling out. ‘I doubt that will keep Audens of his hide. And yours for that matter.’
She nodded in reply. ‘He’s slightly psychotic, isn’t he?’ The harsh tone in her voice had been replaced with her usual tone.
Armand grinned slyly. He knew all too well about the Captain’s behavioural flaws.
‘At least we’ll be able to move around in other towns without drawing too much attention to ourselves by the local guards, which will be nice for a change. If only for a while,’ she paused briefly to let out a hearty sigh. ‘Let me know when you’ve managed to bribe enough Legion captains and guards. I am sure you’ll find a way getting the message through once you did.’
‘Haven’t I always?’
‘That you have old friend, that you have.’ An ear-to-ear smile revealed her spotless, white teeth with the impressive Khajiit canines flashing. Then a thought came to her, as sudden and unexpected as lightning from a clear blue sky. ‘Hargeth can’t go to the waterfront, the Legion would apprehand him on sight, or worse, execute him.’ Her sudden doubt must have been visible on her face. Armand was ahead of her as if he had read her mind. ‘Y’know, your Elven friend can’t make his way here, you realise that, don’t you? Maybe we can meet somewhere halfway. And don’t worry, no one is going to follow me,’ Armand said with a sly grin.
‘That’s not a bad idea actually,’ she replied. ‘Say, in six days from now? You know the Ayleid ruin north from the prisoncompound, across Lake Rumare on the small peninsula?’ The Redguard, across the table where they where sitting at, thought about that for a few moments, ‘I think I know which ruin you mean. We’ll be there.’
Chapter7: Crossroads
‘Why me?’ he thought in despair.
Hargeth had been thinking about Pilatus’ and Rhialla’s proposition for days without making a decision. His foot was now almost fully healed thanks to Rhialla’s care. She turned out to be a terrific healer. Her cooking wasn’t bad either. Last few days had exposed her as the powerful wizard she was denying to be. His foot didn’t hurt anymore when he ran, although, in the cold damp morning it was still whining slightly. Rhialla told him it was the scar tissue around his bones in his foot plaguing him and that it could take years to fully heal. She had also taught him a couple of useful spells allowing him to help himself next time.
Although the adventure and the challenge appealed to him, the odds of succeeding were stacked up against it. After all, he was a wanted man by the Imperial Legion and he assumed Blackwood company wouldn’t like him very much either. That led to another problem. What if he didn’t take the job? Where would he go? Back home?
The contemplations brought back memories from his youth. For an Elf he wasn’t that old yet. He would be considered in his twenties by his own kin, if he had been human, he would’ve been in the autumn of his lifespan. He could barely remember his parents, it seemed ages ago he had fled Summerset Isle, never to return again.
‘Damned Imperials,’ he cursed when the circumstances of his unvoluntary departure opened up to his mind’s eye. He had been born a simple boy, born from a family of honest farmers, living contentedly from what the land provided before Summerset Isle had been annexed to the Tamrielic Empire by force. War had spread hard and merciless. His brother had been drafted to serve his homeland and had died underneath a Cyrodiilic silver long sword early in the war. His parents were murdered by the Legion under the pretences they had not been cooperative enough.
The harsh truth was actually that his parents had risen up when those Imperial pigs had tried to rape his sister. Because she had struggled, her rapists had cut her throat. Just like that. Her being dead didn’t bother them either. Hargeth had witnessed how those monsters took advantage of the lifeless body of his big sister, time and again. The small farmhouse was torched; he remembered the screams from his parents being burnt alive. Hiding underneath the bed, he hadn’t been noticed by the Imperials and had escaped through a hidden hatch underneath a rug on the floor shortly before the torch was flung through an open window.
The ordeal had shaped him an entirely different way his parent would have wanted for him, he was certain. For years, he couldn’t remember how many, he had prowled the country, stealing what he needed, killing anyone standing in his way.
The bastards responsible for wiping out his family had been brought a to a sharp, pointy justice. The only justice he knew. He had sought the murderers for years and years, until he had finally traced them to the Cyrodiil capitol, Imperial City and had covertly executed them, like they had executed his parents and his sister in cold blood. His years of searching and the hate he felt towards the wrongdoers had changed him into a bitter, cynical assassin.
The painful memories of his past made his heart heavy, a lump in his throat, he just couldn’t swallow, annoyed him. He had left it all behind, it was in the past he told himself. ‘Then why can’t I shake this feeling?’ Hargeth asked himself. He had no answer.
The blur that previously had been blocking his memory dissipated, like curtains being drawn open. The memories appeared in a flash to how and why he had ended up in the jail he had escaped from, barely two weeks ago. He remembered falling through the roof of his last target, the officer in charge of the small contingency cleaning up what was left of the resistance in his homeland at the end of the war.
He hadn’t been betrayed after all. Gently he brought a hand to his head, the bump in his head was long gone, it was in a reflex and he ruffled his hair shortly. The moment he had decided to strike, one of the retired Imperial officer’s friends decided to stop by in the least convenient moment thinkable, discovering his position on the roof. Hargeth’s forced sudden movements had the rickety roof collapse, right onto his victim’s head. Unfortunately, a roof support beam dropped on his own head, knocking him unconscious.
Ironically, his target’s heart had also been pierced by his own blade that had hung on the wall as a decoration. Hargeth had been arrested by the now dead officer’s friend, Audens Avidius and thrown into that stinking hole he got to know so well. Only one question remained, if the headache hadn't been because of a hangover but because of the roof support beam, where had that distinct woozy feeling come from? For a while, Hargeth sat with his head between his knees, thinking this over. They had interrogated him before they had thrown him in jail. Poisons, potions and liquors had unwillingly been poured down his throat in order to get him to talk. Ofcourse, if one doesn't know anything, there isn't much to talk about. Vaguely he remembered his interrogators in frustration about the lack on information they got from him.
A sardonic smile curled his lips. ‘No wonder he hates me,’ he murmered. ‘The bottleneck I stuck in his side probably didn’t improve our relationship either.’
Hargeth grinned humourless. For once in his life he knew what to do. But decided that before he’d accept he would want some more answers. There were things he hadn’t been told; Rhialla and Pilatus were hiding something. ‘What kinda name is Pilatus for a Khajiit anyway?’
***
Gasping for breath, the muddy messenger stood in front of Avidius’ desk. Shortly before, the messenger had come racing into the Imperial office to report to the Captain. The officer’s desk in front of him was cluttered with snippets, empty bottles, wanted posters and battle-plans. The messenger didn’t dare taking a closer look at the interesting documents lying on the sturdy looking desk. Avidius had a notoriously bad temper and would, for no apparent reason, beat his submissives. And a messenger was as low as the Imperial legion hierarchy would go.
Upon the news the messenger brought, Avidius flew out of the chair he had been sitting in comfortably with his legs on the desk. With a crash the heavy chair hit the stone floor. The balding, fat legionnaire rubbed his eyes; he had been sleeping on the job, probably drunk. The messenger didn’t understand such behaviour was tolorated in the legion. The Captain must have friends on high places.
‘What?! They’re both dead?’ Avidius screamed.
The messenger nodded, ‘Yes Sir. According to the forester they have been ambushed by at least two, maybe even more. I think he mentioned the mercenaries you hired,’ Avidius gave the messenger a threatening look from beneath his brow upon this remark, ‘I mean, the loyal legionnaires,’ the messenger corrected himself - rumours were, the whole situation of the mercenaries he had sent after the escaped Altmer prisoner almost three weeks ago, was rather painful for the Legion Captain - were executed very professionally. It was very unlikely bandits were responsible. That was all he instructed me to relay to you Sir.’
‘You are dismissed,’ without looking at the messenger in front of him he waved him away. The messenger saluted, spun around on the heels of his leather boots and marched out the office, the spurs on his heels ringing in the rhythm of his march towards the outside.
Only after the door had been shut, Avidius real dismay about the situation surfaced. He swore and cursed and drank heavily, while pacing though his office and looking at the rapport the messenger had brought over and over, until his throat was sore and his mind clouded with liquor. With a sigh he sat himself down after putting the chair back and drank some more until he passed out. His last thought was suprisingly coherent. ‘How will I explain this to him?’
***
Pilatus frowned after Hargeth had told him he remembered his proceedings before he had ended up in jail and how his memories had suddenly surfaced and stared into the campfire for a while. ‘You should discuss this with Rhialla, it could be of importance. I am not much of a mage but this whole thing has the stink of magic on it.’ When Hargeth thought about this and he couldn’t do otherwise but concur with Pilatus’ assessment. It was a worrying thought.
What if his memories aren’t actually his own memories? What if his memories were somehow distorted and corrupted? And by whom? Was he even who he thought he was? He decided to follow his advice and consult Rhialla about this when she returned from the errand she had to run. The Khajiiti siblings had been keeping Hargeth in the dark about her mission. It didn’t really bother him but he decided to ask her about that as well. As soon as he got the chance anyway. For now he resided in getting answers from Pilatus.
Something irked Hargeth about the Khajiit warrior. Some things seemed out of place. The Altmer assassin had decided Pilatus must be something more than just being renowned because of his sister. Instead of contemplating on it he just asked bluntly: ’Who are you?’
Those three words held all the questions Hargeth had for Pilatus.
‘I am no expert but Pilatus isn’t a Khajiit name, is it?’ Pilatus face turned sad, the corners of his mouth dropped and he slowly shook his head. ‘You’re right, it’s not.’ Pilatus sighed and continued. ‘What do you know about Morrowind and the legend of the Neravarine?’
Hargeth made a dismissive gesture with his hands. ‘From hearsay only. Some rumours about some outlander being Lord Neravar reincarnated, whatever that’s supposed to mean. But I’ve heard he’s been missing for mon…’ The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. He gave his companion a piercing look; the truth was evident in the Khajiit’s eyes. ‘My name is Do’Sjiri,’ Pilatus started, ‘and I am the Lord Neraverine incarnate. Or, at least, so I’ve been told.’
The story Do’Sjiri told Hargeth both shocked and amazed him. He had always known Morrowind to be a strange place and its inhabitors even more strange. He was surprised to hear Do’Sjiri had fled his so-called destiny and had fled Morrowind altogether after having defeated the sixth house and its charasmatic leader, Dagoth Ur.
Rhialla’s errands, as her brother, Do’Sjiri had called them, didn’t go as planned at all. In truth, the female Khajiit had been visiting several shadowy characters still owing her some favours from when she was still the Arch-Mage’s scribe. Politics always was a somewhat dirty affair and sometimes needed an unconventional approach through unlikely individuals.
She had befriended some of these individuals in the course of her employment. From the contacts she had visited until now, most had shied out of any promises they had made to her previously.
She didn’t lie to herself; she had counted on most of them not keeping their word. A promise was easily made but far harder to keep, especially for the people in the precarious position they were in.
Her contact in the Thieves’ guild was reluctant to do her a small favour as well. She was actually disappointed by, what felt to her as betrayel from their side. It appeared to her there wasn’t honour among thieves after all. Out of all people she had hoped, no, counted on it for them to keep their promise. They had never let her down before. Anyone knowing her well enough would have identified all the little details changing in her face, the small twitching of her ears and her thin lips curling into a sardonic, humourless grin, indicating her mood-change. Her conversation partner knew her well enough.
‘Can’t you see we’re all into this together?’ Her usually gentle throaty voice sharpened with disbelieve and sheer frustration. ‘If the remnants of the council falls apart, the entire empire falls into disarray. Or at least, what’s left of it,’ she added ruefully. ‘And, with it, all the indulges the reigning council allows your guild as well.’ Rhialla emphasized her rant by pointing at his chest. ‘Make no mistake; they have been lenient with the guild. Should the empire plummet into civil war you can count on getting involved, whether you like it or not. I suggest you consider this and consider it well, Armand.’
It wasn’t a threat to him personally but his face reflected his emotions. The Thieves’ Guild doyen didn’t like these possibilities. Not one bit. A frown appeared on his brow when he quickly thought about all the consequences and then realised his guild-master and personal friend, the Gray Fox, was politically involved enough to accept this threat as it appeared, an enemy to all. Amongst them, the ones inhabiting his beloved Imperial City Waterfront. The poor and the rejected.
He knew deep-down Rhialla was right and the guild should assist where it can. Civil war would destroy the empire and affect everyone living and prospering in it. ‘Allright, I’ll make the necessary arrangements to get your friend’s bounty paid off.’ He cleverly dodged using the wanted man’s name. You can never be sure no one is listening in who shouldn’t, even though their meeting and the consequent conversation was highly covert. Even his closest trustees weren’t aware of it, thus limiting risk of exposure. He knew from experience hungry people tend to be easier to persuade selling out. ‘I doubt that will keep Audens of his hide. And yours for that matter.’
She nodded in reply. ‘He’s slightly psychotic, isn’t he?’ The harsh tone in her voice had been replaced with her usual tone.
Armand grinned slyly. He knew all too well about the Captain’s behavioural flaws.
‘At least we’ll be able to move around in other towns without drawing too much attention to ourselves by the local guards, which will be nice for a change. If only for a while,’ she paused briefly to let out a hearty sigh. ‘Let me know when you’ve managed to bribe enough Legion captains and guards. I am sure you’ll find a way getting the message through once you did.’
‘Haven’t I always?’
‘That you have old friend, that you have.’ An ear-to-ear smile revealed her spotless, white teeth with the impressive Khajiit canines flashing. Then a thought came to her, as sudden and unexpected as lightning from a clear blue sky. ‘Hargeth can’t go to the waterfront, the Legion would apprehand him on sight, or worse, execute him.’ Her sudden doubt must have been visible on her face. Armand was ahead of her as if he had read her mind. ‘Y’know, your Elven friend can’t make his way here, you realise that, don’t you? Maybe we can meet somewhere halfway. And don’t worry, no one is going to follow me,’ Armand said with a sly grin.
‘That’s not a bad idea actually,’ she replied. ‘Say, in six days from now? You know the Ayleid ruin north from the prisoncompound, across Lake Rumare on the small peninsula?’ The Redguard, across the table where they where sitting at, thought about that for a few moments, ‘I think I know which ruin you mean. We’ll be there.’
Holy Cow! What a powerful back story! I loved this story the first time I read it, and even more so on the re-read!
ah, I love an elf with a grudge
More please
More please
Now that is a really harsh backstory, but it explains a lot about our Altmer friend. I have written similar backstories, such tragedies, whether inflicted on loved ones close to the protagonist, or on the protagonist himself/herself, provide some very powerful motivations.
Pilatus is the nerevarine? Now I never saw that one coming!
Well done!
Pilatus is the nerevarine? Now I never saw that one coming!
Well done!
Your command Myliege/Milady
Chapter 8: The cave
During Rhialla’s absence, Do’Sjiri had started teaching Hargeth what he knew about combat and any other convenient skills related to their job that was ahead of them. Many days they spent training physical skills, long runs through the forest was almost a daily returning ritual and combat skills. Although he understood it was necessary, Hargeth preferred to refer to their runs as chores, he hated doing them. But he wouldn’t show how much he detested it to the cat running next to him. It was probably because of the fact it seemed practically effortless for Do’Sjiri while he was panting and sweating heavily himself.
More often than not, his sweat ran from his brow into his eyes, causing him to rub his eyes so they would hurt even more.
After their run they would go to their improvised shooting range to practice bow and knife-throwing skills for a large part of the morning. After that they would quickly refresh themselves and continue with practicing swordplay. Do’Sjiri showed him moves and ways to dodge attacks he would have never thought possible. On one of these days, a day Pilatus had been exceptionally tough, just when he was about to drop his sword in exhaustion, Do’Sjiri quickened up the pace of his attacks, forcing Hargeth to keep defending himself to prevent injury that would require Rhialla to patch up.
‘I can’t go on,’ he thought while lifting his sword once more to block one of Do’Sjiri’s thrusts. His right arm and shoulder was burning and his throat was dry. With a clang the longswords met mid-air. The sheer force of the blow sent a shudder through his body. ‘Please, stop,’ he begged. ‘If we continue, it won’t take long for me to make a mistake and you will need to find another dumb honoured user to do the job.’ Do’Sjiri nodded, ‘You’re right, time to cool down,’ the feline said while lowering his sword.
Hargeth let out a sigh while he just let the sword drop on the sun dried ground. They didn’t use practise swords for two reasons, Do’Sjiri had explained why. First of all, they didn’t have any, a stick from a tree is too light to effectively simulate a real sword and second, practising with real swords gave a feeling of real combat, where there was no room for errors, just like in real combat.
For the time of the year, the last few days had been exceptionally hot. No rain had quenched the earth’s thirst for days, early spring flowers had already started to whither, leafs on trees and shrubs were turning brown instead of green. Dust was dancing to the song of the wind and the men’s feet. All in all, it was a strange spring and not just because of the weather.
Exhausted and panting heavily, Hargeth wiped the sweat of his brow, leaving dirty trails all over his face from the mix of dust and sweat on his arms. Amused, Do’Sjiri watched him trying to get the dirt from his face, only making it worse.
It didn’t take the Elf long to realise his efforts were futile and headed to the small pond in the vicinity of their campsite to clean himself up from the sweat and dirt.
Even though the heat had whithered most of the natural spring beauty, the vegetation around the pond was still breath-taking. A small waterfall poured crystal clear water from the highlands into the pond, keeping it relatively cool and thriving with a large variety of fish and other aquatic life forms. Dragonflies in all sizes and colours hummed around the flowers. The waterfall threw up a wet mist; colourful flowers and flowering plants in the direct surrounding were provided with plenty of water, it was like an oasis in the middle of the desert.
The beauty of it was wasted on the exhausted and dirty Elf. Uncaring he waltzed right through a multi-coloured flowerbed, trampling several fragile flowers in his path to feel the temperature of the water by wading in upto his knees. The coolness of the water made his skin horripilate. He shivered for a moment; the temperature of the water was in contrast to the heat of the air above it.
Grinning boyishly, he undressed quickly, threw his clothes on the bank, ran into the pond until the water was too deep to run and plunged himself in with a big splash, disturbing the Lillies floating on the surface. Several frogs croaked insulted and dove off from the Lillypetals they had been sitting on.
He had never enjoyed bathing but the weeks outside had changed him. He started appreciating the fresh air and the lack of confinement of the cities. Even swimming pleased him. He couldn’t but conclude that he hadn’t been as happy and healthy as he was now than ever before in his life. The introspection made him smile.
For a while he swam around until his skin was starting to wrinkle. Frowning; he had never seen that before, he left the pond, gathered his clothing and shook the water from his hair. Drying up was easy, by the time he had put his loincloth back on and had walked back to the camp most of the moisture on his skin had already evaporated in the blistering heat of the afternoon.
‘Now for some lunch,’ he thought on the way back. The bath and the rest had stirred up his appetite and made his stomach rumble. ‘I hope there’s still something left,’ he thought doubtful, remembering how little they had with them when they had made camp nearby the small cave Rhialla had suggested.
The empty table on the campsite proved his suspicion, what little they had, had either gotten wet in the last rain a week ago, or had already been eaten. He would have to go hungry until they were able to gather new supplies.
Do’Sjiri was ahead of his thoughts; the feline was preparing to go hunting. Like last time, Hargeth decided to not accompany the expert hunter and decided to explore the nearby cave instead.
‘Do we have something like a torch?’ he asked the occupied Khajiit.
Do’Sjiri made a vague gesture towards the saddlebags they had taken. ‘Should be a single torch in there somewhere,’ he added to his gesture.
Hargeth couldn’t remember finding a torch when they had first emptied the saddlebags to see what’s in them but Do’Sjiri had been right, the second pair held a single torch. Conveniently, also a pair of fireflints was in the bags.
After gathering the items he would need for his little exploration-trip he put on the clothes Rhialla had given him, put on the boots borrowed to him by Do’Sjiri and buckled up one of the sword-sheaths. The silver blade came out of its sheath with a hiss. Checking the sword he found out it was still very sharp. A small burr had made a tiny cut in his left index finger. Annoyed he stuck it in his mouth and sucked of the drops of blood. Except for the negliable burr, the blade was flawless and well balanced. ‘A first class weapon if I ever saw one,’ he mumbled while re-sheathing it and headed North towards the cave.
The entrance had been harder to find than he had hoped. Vines were obscurring the door; Hargeth had almost missed it if it hadn’t been for a barrel cover lying on the ground. Tearing away most of the vines and several spider-webs he found the barrel and the entrance to the small cave as well. A spoiled lettuce head and pair of carrots were on the bottom of it. He left the lettuce but took out the carrots and ate both of them before entering the cave.
The door wouldn’t budge when he gave it a little push. The hinges were very rusty; it appeared the door hadn’t been opened in months, maybe years, if Rhialla was right, it was very likely to be abandoned, except for some critters that might sneak through the holes in the door. Ignoring stealth he kicked the door, the force of his entire weight behind the single blow shattered the entire rotten door, leaving only the hinges hanging. While thinking he hadn’t really anticipated that, he lit his torch and entered the cave.
The entrance led to a narrow hallway with extinguished torches on the wall. When he tried to light them, they sputtered and soon died again. Shrugging he continued to work his way towards, from what he could tell, a larger room at the end of the corridor. He could see movement further down so decided to extinguish his torch, at least for a while and sneak towards the room unseen and if he was careful enough, unheard as well.
Arriving in the larger area, the movement he had seen turned out to be a rather large rat that lunged for him the moment he got close to it. Disgusted, yet thankful he had put on the boots, he swung his right leg towards the rat, hitting it mid-air, sending the now very discouraged rat a few yards through the air. Scared it scurried into a dark corner and disappeared. ‘That’ll teach ya, attacking much larger animals than you,’ he grimaced. Except for the rat, some rocks, some wrecked crates and a pair of empty barrels the area was deserted. Disappointed he dug up the fireflints from his pocket, lit his torch and started making his way to what appeared another corridor in the back of the room.
A sudden draft almost extinguished his torch, making the shadows dance on the walls eerily.
After, what he estimated were a few minutes, the corridor he had spotted forked into two passages. He decided to take the passage to the right; he’d be back to check on the one to the left when he was finished with the one he headed into. The trail was weaving from right to left, completely disorienting Hargeth. Not that it mattered. Until now, there had been no sidetracks; there was no way he could get lost. It was a lot longer than he had thought; the temperature in the corridor had significantly dropped to the point he was getting cold. He could see his breath forming small clouds and small condense puddles were formed in holes in the uneven path.
When he laid his hand on one of the walls he could feel it wasn’t natural. Someone, or something - the thought an animal big enough to be able to dig such a burrow made him shiver - had dug it. The walls were too equal, it felt artificial, assuring him it had been dug by someone and not by some hungry predator, waiting for its lunch to wander in. The passage led on, clearly down and further into the mountain, as it was getting colder every few minutes. Suddenly, the passage just stopped, it led absolutely nowhere. ‘Damn it, all for nothing. A bloody dead end!’ he cursed angily.
Preparing to make his way back, he wheeled around on his heels but slipped on the soggy, clay surface, dropping his torch in the process. With a sizzle it extinguished. In an effort to keep himself upright he grabbed around him, anything to prevent him falling into wed, cold mud beneath him. Fortunately, his right hand got hold of something, he couldn’t tell what in the now pitch-black corridor. It felt like moss-covered wood, untouched for ages. Slowly his support slid down, ending with a silent click.
‘What the hell?!’ he exclaimed surprisedly. A hole in the wall had opened; exposing what appeared to be a small chest. ‘Hope it isn’t trapped,’ he whispered. He brought his hands towards the chest to pick it up but changed his mind in case it was. He drew his sword and tried to pry the chest open with the tip of it. It was locked. ‘I’ll be damned before I leave it behind,’ he commented while using his sword to lift the chest from the cravess in the wall. He thanked The Nine it wasn’t that heavy and put it on the ground to search for his torch. A few moments after he had found it he had lighted it and picked up the chest underneath his right arm. He resisted the urge to stop and open the chest and started to make his way back to the fork.
Getting back was a lot more tiresome. On the way down he hadn’t really noticed how steep the decline had actually been. After several turns in the trail he was panting heavily. His thighs and calves were burning with the effort and his stomach was rumbling again as well. The carrots he ate earlier had helped, if only for a little, but now he felt famished again.
‘This better be worth it,’ he said softly while looking down to the chest underneath his right arm and continued his struggle upwards. Luckily, the inclination diminished the higher he got and just when he thought it was going to take forever, he had reached the fork in the path again. ‘Lunch will have to wait, I wanna know what’s down there,’ he thought while putting down the chest. He preferred to have at least one hand free in case he’d encountered some sort of resistance.
‘Gods, I hope I find something decent to eat, I could eat a horse.’ The irony of his thought wasn’t wasted on him. After all, there was a horse at their campsite and he couldn’t help but snickering over it.
With a final glimpse at the small chest, for unknown reason he found it hard to leave the chest behind but reason took the better of him and he took the fork to the left, leaving the small chest where he had put it down.
After a few turns he got to a strange looking door, not rotten and decayed as the one at the entrance but, strangely enough, in very good state. He frowned as he slowly brought his hand to touch it; it was emitting a faint glow and felt unnaturally warm.
‘Now I really want to know what’s behind it,’ he mumbled and laid his hand on the door to push it open. There was no handle so it was highly unlikely to open up the other way.
It wouldn’t budge the slightest but that didn’t keep him from trying several times before he admitted his defeat. For a while he thought about what to do and then tried the same treatment he had given the door to the entrance. However, the door was either magically sealed or was barricaded from the other side because it wouldn’t open, try as he might. With an annoyed growl he drew the silver sword and swung it at the door with all the strength he could muster from his fatigued body. The weapon hit the door with a resounding clang, but it didn’t even damage the door.
‘Maybe I should’ve brought whatever’s in the box I found,’ he murmered while sheathing his sword and went retrieve his finding. Shortly he returned with it underneath his arm and set it down in front of the door. Carefully he set to work trying to open the chest. First he once more tried to pry open the chest with his sword but failed except in breaking off the tip of the sword. Closing his eyes in concentration he summoned a powerful spell to open the chest magically instead of with brute force.
He knew the spell would entirely drain him of magical energy but his curiosity prevailed over his self-preservation. The chest reacted to his bidding and slowly flipped open without a sound. In it was an item, faintly resembling a key. It was dull, deep black. It didn’t reflect any light and felt cold to touch. Ignoring the sudden sense of despair the key gave him he took the key-like item to the door in front of him but there was no keyhole.
‘Oh great, a key, but no keyhole, just my rotten luck,’ he rolled his eyes while turning around in defeat and threw, what now appeared useless and worthless, the black key over his shoulder. A draft of fresh air blew out his torch. In amazement he turned around to see what had happened. Dumbstruck he took a few steps into what was behind the door and picked up the key. ‘Not quite as worthless as I thought,’ Hargeth mumbled and put the key into his pocket and shuddered when the desparation returned.
Hidden behind the door was a large, dimly lighted room. A silvery glow, from rays of sunshine entering the room through many small holes high up in the walls, close to the ceiling, entered the majestic room; making it possible to see without a torch or magically enhanced vision. In awe he stood a while, taking in the beauty of the room.
White pillars, exquisedly decorated with unknown symbols, made the room look like a chapel. The pillars, made from a material he had never encountered before, reflected the light, bathing the entire room, even the corners, in a dim gloom. Several dusty statues, completely untouched by the past eras, were standing in the six corners of the diamond shaped room. All of them wore a crown of some sorts, made from a different material than the statues.
‘That might be worth something,’ he thought with an amused sparkle in his bright green eyes while putting down his sword and torch at the base of a statue and started to climb it.
Shortly after he held a crown in his hand and turned it over several times to have a good look at it. It was made from a strange material and had symbols on it, much like the ones on the white pillars and was surprisingly light. As he gently wiped the dust from it, it started to shimmer with a faint glow. Underneath the dust there were even more symbols, slightly different from the other ones on the pillars but they were just as strange. With a shrug and a smug grin he put the crown on his head, as that was the most practical place to carry it and continued exploring the room. For a moment he considered getting the other five crowns as well but decided against it, he wasn’t really the greedy type and taking one was plenty for him, having only one head anyway. Besides, he would have to climb up onto the other statues as well; the risk just wasn’t worth it to him.
Behind a magnificent throne in the center of the room, at least, he assumed it was a throne, was a chest. It appeared to be made of the same material as the strange door leading to the room he was in.
‘I wonder,’ he thought while rubbing his chin with his indexfinger and thumb. He took the key from his pocket and touched the chest with it. Without a sound the chest opened. Hargeth grinned as he saw what was in it. An expensive looking pendant was lying on a velvet pillow inside. For a moment he was tempted taking it out but then realised it was a magical chest so it might be protected in ways he couldn’t see.
Instead he used his sword to carefully lift the pendant out of the chest. It had been an unnecessary precaution; nothing happened. With a huge grin he slid the pendant from his sword into his hand. The pendant had only one symbol on it and finally he recognised the symbols. Although he couldn’t read them, he knew for certain they were Ayleid. Placing the pendant around his neck; he had found it, he might as well wear it, energy vividly coarsed through his veins, sparks jumped between his fingertips, for the first time in his life he felt what it was like to be really powerful. Instinctively; he didn’t understand but somehow he knew exactly how to brandish his new found abilities, he channeled a blast of current through his body and cast it upwards, towards the ceiling.
Completely unexpected, it vanished into thin air as soon as it hit the ceiling. As he expected, a second blast had exactly the same result, none at all.
‘I guess the creators protected themselves against their own power, I wonder why.’ He pondered over it for a while with a frown and then decided it was of no real consequence to him.
Starving yet satisfied with his findings he made his way back to the door, only to find it impossible to pass the strange portal. A vague shimmer in the doorway was blocking his passage back into the cave. Not sure what to do he sat down, with his legs crossed. Was it the taking of the artifacts that had activated whatever was keeping him from leaving or just his trespassing into the ancient room? If it was the latter, dropping the artifacts should grant him passage, he reasoned. Reluctant to just leave the treasures behind he threw some dust he gathered from the floor through the passage to test his theory. Nothing happened, apparantly the barrier reacted on the artifacts.
‘I’d hate leaving this behind,’ he thought while gently caressing the pendant around his neck. ‘Maybe it’s just the crown,’ a hopeful thought while taking off the crown and putting it on the floor. Once more he tried to pass the doorway but still it wouldn’t let him through.
‘Goddamnit,’ he cursed while ripping the pendant from his neck and casting it into a corner. A feeling of a severe loss surged through him, as if a part of himself got torn out, the surge of magical energy had vanished as sudden as it had manifested itself within him. With a disappointed sigh he took a last look at the pendant on the ground, wondering why he already had been so attached to the pendant in the short time he had worn it, shook his head slowly and returned his attention to getting out of this place.
The sudden distinct lack of the shimmer in the portal gave him confidence he could now pass but decided to try one more thing to prevent having to leave empty-handed; he picked up the crown with his sword and kept a close eye on the portal. A smile curled his lips as he stepped through the doorway, carelessly twirling the crown around his sword.
Chapter 8: The cave
During Rhialla’s absence, Do’Sjiri had started teaching Hargeth what he knew about combat and any other convenient skills related to their job that was ahead of them. Many days they spent training physical skills, long runs through the forest was almost a daily returning ritual and combat skills. Although he understood it was necessary, Hargeth preferred to refer to their runs as chores, he hated doing them. But he wouldn’t show how much he detested it to the cat running next to him. It was probably because of the fact it seemed practically effortless for Do’Sjiri while he was panting and sweating heavily himself.
More often than not, his sweat ran from his brow into his eyes, causing him to rub his eyes so they would hurt even more.
After their run they would go to their improvised shooting range to practice bow and knife-throwing skills for a large part of the morning. After that they would quickly refresh themselves and continue with practicing swordplay. Do’Sjiri showed him moves and ways to dodge attacks he would have never thought possible. On one of these days, a day Pilatus had been exceptionally tough, just when he was about to drop his sword in exhaustion, Do’Sjiri quickened up the pace of his attacks, forcing Hargeth to keep defending himself to prevent injury that would require Rhialla to patch up.
‘I can’t go on,’ he thought while lifting his sword once more to block one of Do’Sjiri’s thrusts. His right arm and shoulder was burning and his throat was dry. With a clang the longswords met mid-air. The sheer force of the blow sent a shudder through his body. ‘Please, stop,’ he begged. ‘If we continue, it won’t take long for me to make a mistake and you will need to find another dumb honoured user to do the job.’ Do’Sjiri nodded, ‘You’re right, time to cool down,’ the feline said while lowering his sword.
Hargeth let out a sigh while he just let the sword drop on the sun dried ground. They didn’t use practise swords for two reasons, Do’Sjiri had explained why. First of all, they didn’t have any, a stick from a tree is too light to effectively simulate a real sword and second, practising with real swords gave a feeling of real combat, where there was no room for errors, just like in real combat.
For the time of the year, the last few days had been exceptionally hot. No rain had quenched the earth’s thirst for days, early spring flowers had already started to whither, leafs on trees and shrubs were turning brown instead of green. Dust was dancing to the song of the wind and the men’s feet. All in all, it was a strange spring and not just because of the weather.
Exhausted and panting heavily, Hargeth wiped the sweat of his brow, leaving dirty trails all over his face from the mix of dust and sweat on his arms. Amused, Do’Sjiri watched him trying to get the dirt from his face, only making it worse.
It didn’t take the Elf long to realise his efforts were futile and headed to the small pond in the vicinity of their campsite to clean himself up from the sweat and dirt.
Even though the heat had whithered most of the natural spring beauty, the vegetation around the pond was still breath-taking. A small waterfall poured crystal clear water from the highlands into the pond, keeping it relatively cool and thriving with a large variety of fish and other aquatic life forms. Dragonflies in all sizes and colours hummed around the flowers. The waterfall threw up a wet mist; colourful flowers and flowering plants in the direct surrounding were provided with plenty of water, it was like an oasis in the middle of the desert.
The beauty of it was wasted on the exhausted and dirty Elf. Uncaring he waltzed right through a multi-coloured flowerbed, trampling several fragile flowers in his path to feel the temperature of the water by wading in upto his knees. The coolness of the water made his skin horripilate. He shivered for a moment; the temperature of the water was in contrast to the heat of the air above it.
Grinning boyishly, he undressed quickly, threw his clothes on the bank, ran into the pond until the water was too deep to run and plunged himself in with a big splash, disturbing the Lillies floating on the surface. Several frogs croaked insulted and dove off from the Lillypetals they had been sitting on.
He had never enjoyed bathing but the weeks outside had changed him. He started appreciating the fresh air and the lack of confinement of the cities. Even swimming pleased him. He couldn’t but conclude that he hadn’t been as happy and healthy as he was now than ever before in his life. The introspection made him smile.
For a while he swam around until his skin was starting to wrinkle. Frowning; he had never seen that before, he left the pond, gathered his clothing and shook the water from his hair. Drying up was easy, by the time he had put his loincloth back on and had walked back to the camp most of the moisture on his skin had already evaporated in the blistering heat of the afternoon.
‘Now for some lunch,’ he thought on the way back. The bath and the rest had stirred up his appetite and made his stomach rumble. ‘I hope there’s still something left,’ he thought doubtful, remembering how little they had with them when they had made camp nearby the small cave Rhialla had suggested.
The empty table on the campsite proved his suspicion, what little they had, had either gotten wet in the last rain a week ago, or had already been eaten. He would have to go hungry until they were able to gather new supplies.
Do’Sjiri was ahead of his thoughts; the feline was preparing to go hunting. Like last time, Hargeth decided to not accompany the expert hunter and decided to explore the nearby cave instead.
‘Do we have something like a torch?’ he asked the occupied Khajiit.
Do’Sjiri made a vague gesture towards the saddlebags they had taken. ‘Should be a single torch in there somewhere,’ he added to his gesture.
Hargeth couldn’t remember finding a torch when they had first emptied the saddlebags to see what’s in them but Do’Sjiri had been right, the second pair held a single torch. Conveniently, also a pair of fireflints was in the bags.
After gathering the items he would need for his little exploration-trip he put on the clothes Rhialla had given him, put on the boots borrowed to him by Do’Sjiri and buckled up one of the sword-sheaths. The silver blade came out of its sheath with a hiss. Checking the sword he found out it was still very sharp. A small burr had made a tiny cut in his left index finger. Annoyed he stuck it in his mouth and sucked of the drops of blood. Except for the negliable burr, the blade was flawless and well balanced. ‘A first class weapon if I ever saw one,’ he mumbled while re-sheathing it and headed North towards the cave.
The entrance had been harder to find than he had hoped. Vines were obscurring the door; Hargeth had almost missed it if it hadn’t been for a barrel cover lying on the ground. Tearing away most of the vines and several spider-webs he found the barrel and the entrance to the small cave as well. A spoiled lettuce head and pair of carrots were on the bottom of it. He left the lettuce but took out the carrots and ate both of them before entering the cave.
The door wouldn’t budge when he gave it a little push. The hinges were very rusty; it appeared the door hadn’t been opened in months, maybe years, if Rhialla was right, it was very likely to be abandoned, except for some critters that might sneak through the holes in the door. Ignoring stealth he kicked the door, the force of his entire weight behind the single blow shattered the entire rotten door, leaving only the hinges hanging. While thinking he hadn’t really anticipated that, he lit his torch and entered the cave.
The entrance led to a narrow hallway with extinguished torches on the wall. When he tried to light them, they sputtered and soon died again. Shrugging he continued to work his way towards, from what he could tell, a larger room at the end of the corridor. He could see movement further down so decided to extinguish his torch, at least for a while and sneak towards the room unseen and if he was careful enough, unheard as well.
Arriving in the larger area, the movement he had seen turned out to be a rather large rat that lunged for him the moment he got close to it. Disgusted, yet thankful he had put on the boots, he swung his right leg towards the rat, hitting it mid-air, sending the now very discouraged rat a few yards through the air. Scared it scurried into a dark corner and disappeared. ‘That’ll teach ya, attacking much larger animals than you,’ he grimaced. Except for the rat, some rocks, some wrecked crates and a pair of empty barrels the area was deserted. Disappointed he dug up the fireflints from his pocket, lit his torch and started making his way to what appeared another corridor in the back of the room.
A sudden draft almost extinguished his torch, making the shadows dance on the walls eerily.
After, what he estimated were a few minutes, the corridor he had spotted forked into two passages. He decided to take the passage to the right; he’d be back to check on the one to the left when he was finished with the one he headed into. The trail was weaving from right to left, completely disorienting Hargeth. Not that it mattered. Until now, there had been no sidetracks; there was no way he could get lost. It was a lot longer than he had thought; the temperature in the corridor had significantly dropped to the point he was getting cold. He could see his breath forming small clouds and small condense puddles were formed in holes in the uneven path.
When he laid his hand on one of the walls he could feel it wasn’t natural. Someone, or something - the thought an animal big enough to be able to dig such a burrow made him shiver - had dug it. The walls were too equal, it felt artificial, assuring him it had been dug by someone and not by some hungry predator, waiting for its lunch to wander in. The passage led on, clearly down and further into the mountain, as it was getting colder every few minutes. Suddenly, the passage just stopped, it led absolutely nowhere. ‘Damn it, all for nothing. A bloody dead end!’ he cursed angily.
Preparing to make his way back, he wheeled around on his heels but slipped on the soggy, clay surface, dropping his torch in the process. With a sizzle it extinguished. In an effort to keep himself upright he grabbed around him, anything to prevent him falling into wed, cold mud beneath him. Fortunately, his right hand got hold of something, he couldn’t tell what in the now pitch-black corridor. It felt like moss-covered wood, untouched for ages. Slowly his support slid down, ending with a silent click.
‘What the hell?!’ he exclaimed surprisedly. A hole in the wall had opened; exposing what appeared to be a small chest. ‘Hope it isn’t trapped,’ he whispered. He brought his hands towards the chest to pick it up but changed his mind in case it was. He drew his sword and tried to pry the chest open with the tip of it. It was locked. ‘I’ll be damned before I leave it behind,’ he commented while using his sword to lift the chest from the cravess in the wall. He thanked The Nine it wasn’t that heavy and put it on the ground to search for his torch. A few moments after he had found it he had lighted it and picked up the chest underneath his right arm. He resisted the urge to stop and open the chest and started to make his way back to the fork.
Getting back was a lot more tiresome. On the way down he hadn’t really noticed how steep the decline had actually been. After several turns in the trail he was panting heavily. His thighs and calves were burning with the effort and his stomach was rumbling again as well. The carrots he ate earlier had helped, if only for a little, but now he felt famished again.
‘This better be worth it,’ he said softly while looking down to the chest underneath his right arm and continued his struggle upwards. Luckily, the inclination diminished the higher he got and just when he thought it was going to take forever, he had reached the fork in the path again. ‘Lunch will have to wait, I wanna know what’s down there,’ he thought while putting down the chest. He preferred to have at least one hand free in case he’d encountered some sort of resistance.
‘Gods, I hope I find something decent to eat, I could eat a horse.’ The irony of his thought wasn’t wasted on him. After all, there was a horse at their campsite and he couldn’t help but snickering over it.
With a final glimpse at the small chest, for unknown reason he found it hard to leave the chest behind but reason took the better of him and he took the fork to the left, leaving the small chest where he had put it down.
After a few turns he got to a strange looking door, not rotten and decayed as the one at the entrance but, strangely enough, in very good state. He frowned as he slowly brought his hand to touch it; it was emitting a faint glow and felt unnaturally warm.
‘Now I really want to know what’s behind it,’ he mumbled and laid his hand on the door to push it open. There was no handle so it was highly unlikely to open up the other way.
It wouldn’t budge the slightest but that didn’t keep him from trying several times before he admitted his defeat. For a while he thought about what to do and then tried the same treatment he had given the door to the entrance. However, the door was either magically sealed or was barricaded from the other side because it wouldn’t open, try as he might. With an annoyed growl he drew the silver sword and swung it at the door with all the strength he could muster from his fatigued body. The weapon hit the door with a resounding clang, but it didn’t even damage the door.
‘Maybe I should’ve brought whatever’s in the box I found,’ he murmered while sheathing his sword and went retrieve his finding. Shortly he returned with it underneath his arm and set it down in front of the door. Carefully he set to work trying to open the chest. First he once more tried to pry open the chest with his sword but failed except in breaking off the tip of the sword. Closing his eyes in concentration he summoned a powerful spell to open the chest magically instead of with brute force.
He knew the spell would entirely drain him of magical energy but his curiosity prevailed over his self-preservation. The chest reacted to his bidding and slowly flipped open without a sound. In it was an item, faintly resembling a key. It was dull, deep black. It didn’t reflect any light and felt cold to touch. Ignoring the sudden sense of despair the key gave him he took the key-like item to the door in front of him but there was no keyhole.
‘Oh great, a key, but no keyhole, just my rotten luck,’ he rolled his eyes while turning around in defeat and threw, what now appeared useless and worthless, the black key over his shoulder. A draft of fresh air blew out his torch. In amazement he turned around to see what had happened. Dumbstruck he took a few steps into what was behind the door and picked up the key. ‘Not quite as worthless as I thought,’ Hargeth mumbled and put the key into his pocket and shuddered when the desparation returned.
Hidden behind the door was a large, dimly lighted room. A silvery glow, from rays of sunshine entering the room through many small holes high up in the walls, close to the ceiling, entered the majestic room; making it possible to see without a torch or magically enhanced vision. In awe he stood a while, taking in the beauty of the room.
White pillars, exquisedly decorated with unknown symbols, made the room look like a chapel. The pillars, made from a material he had never encountered before, reflected the light, bathing the entire room, even the corners, in a dim gloom. Several dusty statues, completely untouched by the past eras, were standing in the six corners of the diamond shaped room. All of them wore a crown of some sorts, made from a different material than the statues.
‘That might be worth something,’ he thought with an amused sparkle in his bright green eyes while putting down his sword and torch at the base of a statue and started to climb it.
Shortly after he held a crown in his hand and turned it over several times to have a good look at it. It was made from a strange material and had symbols on it, much like the ones on the white pillars and was surprisingly light. As he gently wiped the dust from it, it started to shimmer with a faint glow. Underneath the dust there were even more symbols, slightly different from the other ones on the pillars but they were just as strange. With a shrug and a smug grin he put the crown on his head, as that was the most practical place to carry it and continued exploring the room. For a moment he considered getting the other five crowns as well but decided against it, he wasn’t really the greedy type and taking one was plenty for him, having only one head anyway. Besides, he would have to climb up onto the other statues as well; the risk just wasn’t worth it to him.
Behind a magnificent throne in the center of the room, at least, he assumed it was a throne, was a chest. It appeared to be made of the same material as the strange door leading to the room he was in.
‘I wonder,’ he thought while rubbing his chin with his indexfinger and thumb. He took the key from his pocket and touched the chest with it. Without a sound the chest opened. Hargeth grinned as he saw what was in it. An expensive looking pendant was lying on a velvet pillow inside. For a moment he was tempted taking it out but then realised it was a magical chest so it might be protected in ways he couldn’t see.
Instead he used his sword to carefully lift the pendant out of the chest. It had been an unnecessary precaution; nothing happened. With a huge grin he slid the pendant from his sword into his hand. The pendant had only one symbol on it and finally he recognised the symbols. Although he couldn’t read them, he knew for certain they were Ayleid. Placing the pendant around his neck; he had found it, he might as well wear it, energy vividly coarsed through his veins, sparks jumped between his fingertips, for the first time in his life he felt what it was like to be really powerful. Instinctively; he didn’t understand but somehow he knew exactly how to brandish his new found abilities, he channeled a blast of current through his body and cast it upwards, towards the ceiling.
Completely unexpected, it vanished into thin air as soon as it hit the ceiling. As he expected, a second blast had exactly the same result, none at all.
‘I guess the creators protected themselves against their own power, I wonder why.’ He pondered over it for a while with a frown and then decided it was of no real consequence to him.
Starving yet satisfied with his findings he made his way back to the door, only to find it impossible to pass the strange portal. A vague shimmer in the doorway was blocking his passage back into the cave. Not sure what to do he sat down, with his legs crossed. Was it the taking of the artifacts that had activated whatever was keeping him from leaving or just his trespassing into the ancient room? If it was the latter, dropping the artifacts should grant him passage, he reasoned. Reluctant to just leave the treasures behind he threw some dust he gathered from the floor through the passage to test his theory. Nothing happened, apparantly the barrier reacted on the artifacts.
‘I’d hate leaving this behind,’ he thought while gently caressing the pendant around his neck. ‘Maybe it’s just the crown,’ a hopeful thought while taking off the crown and putting it on the floor. Once more he tried to pass the doorway but still it wouldn’t let him through.
‘Goddamnit,’ he cursed while ripping the pendant from his neck and casting it into a corner. A feeling of a severe loss surged through him, as if a part of himself got torn out, the surge of magical energy had vanished as sudden as it had manifested itself within him. With a disappointed sigh he took a last look at the pendant on the ground, wondering why he already had been so attached to the pendant in the short time he had worn it, shook his head slowly and returned his attention to getting out of this place.
The sudden distinct lack of the shimmer in the portal gave him confidence he could now pass but decided to try one more thing to prevent having to leave empty-handed; he picked up the crown with his sword and kept a close eye on the portal. A smile curled his lips as he stepped through the doorway, carelessly twirling the crown around his sword.
Good stuff, though I'm not sure attempting to steal artifacts of power from well guarded Ayleid remains is a wise idea... Makes me wander exactly what he's found.
There was some good development of Hargeth there, you show him becoming stronger and working for it which is good. He's a compelling character (as I think I've already said) but here you show another side of slightly careless risktaking and curiosity. It makes him more rounded.
One semi-nit:
skin horripilate - Not sure about this... If there was ever a forum where horripilate would be understood this is it but it seemed a bit too medical to me and didn't fit the narrative voice. On the other hand it is a brilliant word and I've always wanted to find somewhere to use it.
There was some good development of Hargeth there, you show him becoming stronger and working for it which is good. He's a compelling character (as I think I've already said) but here you show another side of slightly careless risktaking and curiosity. It makes him more rounded.
One semi-nit:
skin horripilate - Not sure about this... If there was ever a forum where horripilate would be understood this is it but it seemed a bit too medical to me and didn't fit the narrative voice. On the other hand it is a brilliant word and I've always wanted to find somewhere to use it.
Thanks for the compliment. I agree, horripilate is a bit medical but I had trouble with the alternative: Goosebumps. I never seen geese in Nirn 
QUOTE(Remko @ Apr 2 2010, 11:25 AM) 
Thanks for the compliment. I agree, horripilate is a bit medical but I had trouble with the alternative: Goosebumps. I never seen geese in Nirn
chill bumps.
QUOTE(mALX @ Apr 2 2010, 05:21 PM)
QUOTE(Remko @ Apr 2 2010, 11:25 AM)
Thanks for the compliment. I agree, horripilate is a bit medical but I had trouble with the alternative: Goosebumps. I never seen geese in Nirn
chill bumps.
Piloerection is even more medical/biogeek, but then a certain vulpine would have a field day with it. So, chill bumps works well; I describe the small hairs on the back of the neck standing up.
Again I enjoyed the further development of Hargeth's character - he is starting to do more things with himself. I liked his feelings about training -
QUOTE
I can’t go on,’ he thought while lifting his sword once more to block one of Do’Sjiri’s thrusts. His right arm and shoulder was burning and his throat was dry.
I'm sure many grunts remember this feeling from boot camp.
Chorrol's bizarre censor police strikes again:
QUOTE
‘Please, stop,’ he begged. ‘If we continue, it won’t take long for me to make a mistake and you will need to find another dumb honoured user to do the job.’
Again, I enjoyed this chapter. I'm still wondering why it didn't get comments on the other forum. Obviously it was before I joined there, otherwise I would have found it and commented!
The chapter is a little long, but well worth the read. I loved your explanation for why they practice with the real swords, your detail and descriptions inside the tunnels and the throne room are exquisite. Him twirling an ancient Ayleid artifact on his sword made me want to duff him, lol.
Nice work, Rales. Sorry, I mean Remko. I'm used to your other story.
The one thing you should not do is stop writing this story. I can see that you are just starting to settle into the direction you wish to take the characters and story.
The last two chapters have really good development and feel. More, more!!
The last two chapters have really good development and feel. More, more!!
I agree, this one was a bit long but I didn't want to cut it short because of the significance some of it will have throughtout the rest of the story.
Thank you all for the awesome comments. It means a lot to me to hear the story and development of it is far better than I was led to believe. Winter Wolf, you are right, this is just the start.
Maybe when I was posted this story on that other forum, nobody knew me and just ignored it being just another DB/Assassin story? Which, imho, it isn't. Whether or not it is a good story, it's deffo NOT a DB story. I think Hargeth said it for me
Chill bumps... good one! Thanks!
Chapter 9 Dreams
Ocato bowed his head in reverance. ‘My Lord, all is going according to plan. Our pawn is still oblivious of your scheme and his past.’
‘Can we be sure about that?’ the voice replied booming through the Chancellor’s private chamber, secured with mundane and arcane traps to prevent eavesdropping. No-one that wasn’t supposed to would be able to get into his privatechamber or be able to secretly listen in on the conversation behind the magically sealed door without paying for it dearly.
Had Ocato been a normal person, rather than a powerful wizard, his ears would be bleeding by the sheer volume of the voice adressing him. Embarrassed he realised he wasn’t absolutely sure and hoped that his doubt wasn’t showing. His palms were dry, in spite of his temporary unease.
Confident his voice wouldn’t break he replied: 'Ofcourse, My Lord. We thoroughly wiped his memories about all the occurrences, the only mortal powerful enough to break through the mist of illusion we’ve cast on his memory is me.’ The Altmer High-Chancellor and former Arch-Mage didn’t mention their unknowing assassin had escaped before they were able to break his spirit completely. He blamed that fool Avidius. They still needed the assassin, even though he wasn’t aware of the role he had already played in the current war.
‘It better, Mortal!’ And with that last sentence, dripping with hostility, the presence was gone.
Ocato shook his head,’What have I got myself into?’ he mumbled,’If the Council finds out, they’ll have my head. Or, at least, they’ll die trying,’ and grinned slyly.
***
Rhialla returned to the camp around noon, thirteen days after she set off to convince the guilds to assist the Empire in the struggle she was sure about would come.
Do’Sjiri was sharpening his huntingknife on a rock with a recently caught pair of rabbits laying next to him. No doubt he was sharpening the knife to gut and peal the animals. Shortly he raised his head and greeted his sister with a warm smile. ‘All went well I presume?’
‘Not as good as I had hoped, but good enough,’ she replied and took a look around. ‘Where’s Hargeth?’
‘Dunno, think he went to that cave you mentioned, I think he was bored.’
‘Somehow, I doubt that,’ she said with a smile. ‘Knowing you, you kept him busy enough.’
A toothed grin was all she needed as confirmation. ‘I’ll go see if I can find him.’
‘Did you bring some food?’ Do’Sjiri asked. Rhialla threw him the bag with some bread, lettuce and tomatoes.
‘Help yourself.’
An eery sensation was bothering her on the way. Something in the back of her mind was warning her something was wrong. A shimmer in the air, an evil presence, an intangiable sensation of fear and concern plagued her. Something she just couldn’t put her finger on but she knew it to be close by.
Halfway the cave she encountered Hargeth. Dirty, but smiling from ear to ear and some crown in his hand, one of the like she had never seen before. Even from a distance, she could feel power emitting from it. Something was either very wrong or very right with it. ‘Where did you get that?’ and pointed at the crown like it was a venomous serpent about to sink its fangs into her skin, her voice trembling in fear and wonder and her tail waving nervously.
‘Found it in a hidden ancient room in a cave, due west.’
‘West? The cave I mentioned is…’ she paused a while to orientate herself and get a hold of herself again, ‘…slightly east from here. I guess you found a hidden one because I am unaware of other caves in the vicinity. You mentioned a hidden ancient room?’
He told Rhialla about his little adventure in the cave, especially the part of the pendant and the crown caught her interest and was disappointed he hadn’t brought the pendant, although she understood why. While he told his story she decided to visit this cave herself some day.
‘Can I see that crown for a moment?’
‘Sure.’ Hargeth handed her the crown and added: 'I think it’s Ayleid.’
The moment Rhialla touched the crown, she knew he was right. When she carefully magically probed the artifact she found a dorment power deep within it but didn’t dare unleashing it until she had more time to examine it more closely. ‘Judging what you told me, I wouldn’t advise you to wear it outside the room where you found it, it could react very differently outside,’ she warned Hargeth. ‘At least, don’t put it on your head before I found out what it is exactly.’
‘Sure,’ he replied indifferently while shrugging. ‘But it does look nice, doesn’t it?’
‘Let’s get back to the camp, we have a lot to discuss.’
When they returned to the camp they found Do’Sjiri next to a cooking pot, making a vegetable stew and the rabbits being roasted above a fire. The delicious aroma coming from it made Hargeth realise just how famished he was.
‘Anything I can do until we can eat?’
‘Yeah, you could go get some water.’ Do’Sjiri gestured to a wooden bucket next to his tent without taking his eyes of the food he was preparing.
The Elf returned a few minutes later, the small pond was only a small distance from the camp but he still managed to spill a quarter of the bucket’s content over the trousers he was wearing, leaving a short trail of water that got almost instantly absorbed by the bone-dry soil. Do’Sjiri was just scooping the stew, that looked more like soup, into three bowls and added a large chunk of rabbit meat and a piece of bread to the side on a plate underneath the bowl.
His stomach rumbled in anticipation. ‘Do we have any wine left?’
The Khajiit burst out in a throaty laughter ‘You and your wine!’ and shook his head in amusement. ‘Maybe there is some left, kinda doubt it though.’
‘I’ll go see.’ Quickly he checked the tents and bags for something to drink with their food and came walking back with a victorious expression on his face and a half-full bottle of wine in his hand. ‘Now we can eat,’ he emphasized “now”, in his opinion it was unthinkable to have dinner and not having something to drink, preferably the rich, burgundy coloured liquid.
***
Today a cloaked character looked me up with a job offering. Not sure I should take it, he’s being too secretive, although that’s not a rare occasion in my line of work. My gut tells me this might be too high-profile. His propistion was just ludicrous. He must be out of his mind. On the other hand, ten thousand Septims is enough for me to give up this profession. I’ll give it some thought.
Ocato’s lips formed a smile that never got to his eyes while playing with the page from the diary he found amongst his pawn’s belongings. Ofcourse he knew the conclusion. After all, he had been the one ordering the task of eliminating the Emperor’s son and the murderer was totally oblivious to it. He and his associates had made sure of that. ‘And to think that oaf believes he was imprisoned for murdering some insignificant Legion soldiers.’
Carefully he crumpled the page and then obliterated it with a powerful firespell. His desk charred slightly in the process and several documents, laying on his desk broke out in flames as well. Angered with his stupidity, he quickly pulled a very expensive robe from the chair next to his desk to extinguish the flames, utterly ruining it.
***
Hargeth woke up in a sweat and was shivering all over. His dreams had been most disturbing. Images of his past were blurred by images of death and blood to the point it had been impossible to tell where one started and the other ended, as if they were one and the same, yet different. The images felt significant, he knew them to be the truth, no matter how unnerving they were. Not that the images scared him, he was accustomed to blood, what was scaring him though, was the meaning of the images.
They appeared as his memories but they collided with other images he recognised as memories. He felt something warm underneath his right hand, in his sleep he had put his hand on the crown he had found in the mysterious cave.
He closed his eyes and slowly rubbed his forehead. Slowly, more recollections from his dream seeped through into his consciousness. There had been a menacing voice. He couldn’t remember what it had been saying, as if it had been a language he didn’t know. Hargeth picked up the crown, immediately throwing it back on the ground in disgust. The sensation from it was malevolant, very different from the sensation it had given him in the ruin. Rhialla’s warning hadn’t been in vain, this thing was dangerous.
‘What is this thing,’ he mumbled while looking at it. It was glowing eerily even though it was pitch black in the dead of night. Was this thing the origin of the disturbing images or were they part of something bigger? He didn’t dare answer his own question. Instead, he wrapped the crown into a piece of clothing he had worn and laid himself down in an effort getting back to sleep.
Thank you all for the awesome comments. It means a lot to me to hear the story and development of it is far better than I was led to believe. Winter Wolf, you are right, this is just the start.
Maybe when I was posted this story on that other forum, nobody knew me and just ignored it being just another DB/Assassin story? Which, imho, it isn't. Whether or not it is a good story, it's deffo NOT a DB story. I think Hargeth said it for me
Chill bumps... good one! Thanks!
Chapter 9 Dreams
Ocato bowed his head in reverance. ‘My Lord, all is going according to plan. Our pawn is still oblivious of your scheme and his past.’
‘Can we be sure about that?’ the voice replied booming through the Chancellor’s private chamber, secured with mundane and arcane traps to prevent eavesdropping. No-one that wasn’t supposed to would be able to get into his privatechamber or be able to secretly listen in on the conversation behind the magically sealed door without paying for it dearly.
Had Ocato been a normal person, rather than a powerful wizard, his ears would be bleeding by the sheer volume of the voice adressing him. Embarrassed he realised he wasn’t absolutely sure and hoped that his doubt wasn’t showing. His palms were dry, in spite of his temporary unease.
Confident his voice wouldn’t break he replied: 'Ofcourse, My Lord. We thoroughly wiped his memories about all the occurrences, the only mortal powerful enough to break through the mist of illusion we’ve cast on his memory is me.’ The Altmer High-Chancellor and former Arch-Mage didn’t mention their unknowing assassin had escaped before they were able to break his spirit completely. He blamed that fool Avidius. They still needed the assassin, even though he wasn’t aware of the role he had already played in the current war.
‘It better, Mortal!’ And with that last sentence, dripping with hostility, the presence was gone.
Ocato shook his head,’What have I got myself into?’ he mumbled,’If the Council finds out, they’ll have my head. Or, at least, they’ll die trying,’ and grinned slyly.
***
Rhialla returned to the camp around noon, thirteen days after she set off to convince the guilds to assist the Empire in the struggle she was sure about would come.
Do’Sjiri was sharpening his huntingknife on a rock with a recently caught pair of rabbits laying next to him. No doubt he was sharpening the knife to gut and peal the animals. Shortly he raised his head and greeted his sister with a warm smile. ‘All went well I presume?’
‘Not as good as I had hoped, but good enough,’ she replied and took a look around. ‘Where’s Hargeth?’
‘Dunno, think he went to that cave you mentioned, I think he was bored.’
‘Somehow, I doubt that,’ she said with a smile. ‘Knowing you, you kept him busy enough.’
A toothed grin was all she needed as confirmation. ‘I’ll go see if I can find him.’
‘Did you bring some food?’ Do’Sjiri asked. Rhialla threw him the bag with some bread, lettuce and tomatoes.
‘Help yourself.’
An eery sensation was bothering her on the way. Something in the back of her mind was warning her something was wrong. A shimmer in the air, an evil presence, an intangiable sensation of fear and concern plagued her. Something she just couldn’t put her finger on but she knew it to be close by.
Halfway the cave she encountered Hargeth. Dirty, but smiling from ear to ear and some crown in his hand, one of the like she had never seen before. Even from a distance, she could feel power emitting from it. Something was either very wrong or very right with it. ‘Where did you get that?’ and pointed at the crown like it was a venomous serpent about to sink its fangs into her skin, her voice trembling in fear and wonder and her tail waving nervously.
‘Found it in a hidden ancient room in a cave, due west.’
‘West? The cave I mentioned is…’ she paused a while to orientate herself and get a hold of herself again, ‘…slightly east from here. I guess you found a hidden one because I am unaware of other caves in the vicinity. You mentioned a hidden ancient room?’
He told Rhialla about his little adventure in the cave, especially the part of the pendant and the crown caught her interest and was disappointed he hadn’t brought the pendant, although she understood why. While he told his story she decided to visit this cave herself some day.
‘Can I see that crown for a moment?’
‘Sure.’ Hargeth handed her the crown and added: 'I think it’s Ayleid.’
The moment Rhialla touched the crown, she knew he was right. When she carefully magically probed the artifact she found a dorment power deep within it but didn’t dare unleashing it until she had more time to examine it more closely. ‘Judging what you told me, I wouldn’t advise you to wear it outside the room where you found it, it could react very differently outside,’ she warned Hargeth. ‘At least, don’t put it on your head before I found out what it is exactly.’
‘Sure,’ he replied indifferently while shrugging. ‘But it does look nice, doesn’t it?’
‘Let’s get back to the camp, we have a lot to discuss.’
When they returned to the camp they found Do’Sjiri next to a cooking pot, making a vegetable stew and the rabbits being roasted above a fire. The delicious aroma coming from it made Hargeth realise just how famished he was.
‘Anything I can do until we can eat?’
‘Yeah, you could go get some water.’ Do’Sjiri gestured to a wooden bucket next to his tent without taking his eyes of the food he was preparing.
The Elf returned a few minutes later, the small pond was only a small distance from the camp but he still managed to spill a quarter of the bucket’s content over the trousers he was wearing, leaving a short trail of water that got almost instantly absorbed by the bone-dry soil. Do’Sjiri was just scooping the stew, that looked more like soup, into three bowls and added a large chunk of rabbit meat and a piece of bread to the side on a plate underneath the bowl.
His stomach rumbled in anticipation. ‘Do we have any wine left?’
The Khajiit burst out in a throaty laughter ‘You and your wine!’ and shook his head in amusement. ‘Maybe there is some left, kinda doubt it though.’
‘I’ll go see.’ Quickly he checked the tents and bags for something to drink with their food and came walking back with a victorious expression on his face and a half-full bottle of wine in his hand. ‘Now we can eat,’ he emphasized “now”, in his opinion it was unthinkable to have dinner and not having something to drink, preferably the rich, burgundy coloured liquid.
***
Today a cloaked character looked me up with a job offering. Not sure I should take it, he’s being too secretive, although that’s not a rare occasion in my line of work. My gut tells me this might be too high-profile. His propistion was just ludicrous. He must be out of his mind. On the other hand, ten thousand Septims is enough for me to give up this profession. I’ll give it some thought.
Ocato’s lips formed a smile that never got to his eyes while playing with the page from the diary he found amongst his pawn’s belongings. Ofcourse he knew the conclusion. After all, he had been the one ordering the task of eliminating the Emperor’s son and the murderer was totally oblivious to it. He and his associates had made sure of that. ‘And to think that oaf believes he was imprisoned for murdering some insignificant Legion soldiers.’
Carefully he crumpled the page and then obliterated it with a powerful firespell. His desk charred slightly in the process and several documents, laying on his desk broke out in flames as well. Angered with his stupidity, he quickly pulled a very expensive robe from the chair next to his desk to extinguish the flames, utterly ruining it.
***
Hargeth woke up in a sweat and was shivering all over. His dreams had been most disturbing. Images of his past were blurred by images of death and blood to the point it had been impossible to tell where one started and the other ended, as if they were one and the same, yet different. The images felt significant, he knew them to be the truth, no matter how unnerving they were. Not that the images scared him, he was accustomed to blood, what was scaring him though, was the meaning of the images.
They appeared as his memories but they collided with other images he recognised as memories. He felt something warm underneath his right hand, in his sleep he had put his hand on the crown he had found in the mysterious cave.
He closed his eyes and slowly rubbed his forehead. Slowly, more recollections from his dream seeped through into his consciousness. There had been a menacing voice. He couldn’t remember what it had been saying, as if it had been a language he didn’t know. Hargeth picked up the crown, immediately throwing it back on the ground in disgust. The sensation from it was malevolant, very different from the sensation it had given him in the ruin. Rhialla’s warning hadn’t been in vain, this thing was dangerous.
‘What is this thing,’ he mumbled while looking at it. It was glowing eerily even though it was pitch black in the dead of night. Was this thing the origin of the disturbing images or were they part of something bigger? He didn’t dare answer his own question. Instead, he wrapped the crown into a piece of clothing he had worn and laid himself down in an effort getting back to sleep.
HUGE, HUGE chapter! Powerful, plot twists, mystery, cliff-hanging - I keep thinking each chapter I read is the best so far, then you post the next chapter and it knocks all the rest behind it! I can't get enough of this story, I love it! You have ROCKED this... gobble, gobble gobble... - HUGE !!!!!!!!!! (or as Old Andy would say, Rohugh!)
Nice update, the plot is really thickening and I'm liking it. We find out more about Hargeth and he become more intreguing. Not that he knows it which is brilliant. And along with his own memory mix up he's getting memories from an Ayleid crown 
I quite agree.
QUOTE
in his opinion it was unthinkable to have dinner and not having something to drink, preferably the rich, burgundy coloured liquid.
I quite agree.
I agree with the others, it's getting very interesting, now that you have added Ocato into the mix.
This vision of the normally imperturbable Ocato cracked me up! Loved it!
QUOTE
Carefully he crumpled the page and then obliterated it with a powerful firespell. His desk charred slightly in the process and several documents, laying on his desk broke out in flames as well. Angered with his stupidity, he quickly pulled a very expensive robe from the chair next to his desk to extinguish the flames, utterly ruining it.
This vision of the normally imperturbable Ocato cracked me up! Loved it!
This going to be the last update for a while, simply because I ran out of material.
But all the awesome comments have urged me to continue writing on it. Which I shall, I promise! But you probably noticed it is not a story that comes easily. That's why I kind of put it in the fridge but I am confident again I am on the right way and that I can pull it off. THANK YOU ALL!!!!! You guys ROCK!
Chapter 10 War
‘Watch the left flank, they’re circling us!’ the sergeant barked and quickly wheeled around to face a creature that had managed to sneak around the armed forces protecting the town. A mouth, filled with rows and rows of huge teeth was snapping in his direction, quickly he raised his shield to fend of the monstrous mouth and brought his sword down to have it collide with the beasts’ neck. His sword carved deep into the monster’s neck until the blade hit its spine. It dropped dead immediately in front of the sergeant’s iron clad feet. The sergeant didn’t even bother checking for lifesigns and prepared himself for the next attack.
Hordes and hordes of monsters were pouring out of a hellish portal that had mysteriously manifested itself west of the town of Skingrad. The usual pleasant green pastures and vineyards surrounding the thriving town were scorched to the ground painted red with blood from both defenders and attackers. Dead bodies were scattered all over. The brave defenders had stood their ground for days, fighting and killing the seemingly endless stream of Daedra invaders.
The same was happening in several places in Cyrodiil, all over the province men and mer were dying by the hand of the relentless horde of monsters people only encountered in the worst of their nightmares. No-one was spared, all were slaughtered brutally, women, children and old men all alike. This wasn’t war, it was extermination.
The sergeant could tell his men were getting tired, gaps were starting to fall in their lines.
‘Hold the lines,’ he yelled, ‘or else we all end up as Daedra snack!’ The encouragement seemed to work, his men straightened their back, lifted their shields and closed the gaps in the lines. However, the experienced, battle-hardened sergeant knew it was only a matter of time his men would be overrun if reinforcements wouldn’t arrive soon. For a brief moment he took off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow while softly cursing the unnatural heat.
Longingly he looked northbound where, if his superiors were correct, reinforcements would come from. He wasn’t counting on it, they had taken too long, they should’ve been there half a day ago. He knew his men couldn’t last much longer and if the lines would fall, the town would be overrun. He had to think of something and he had to do it fast.
‘Signal the archers and prepare to make a hasty withdrawl ’ he shouted towards his flagbearer and put his helmet back on his head.
A flag, indicating the archers could fire at will, was raised while the sergeant bellowed the order to withdraw slowly so his men wouldn’t end up looking like pincushions. Even in the chaos of dying men and beasts, mud and blood, his men withdrew disciplined as arrows rained down on the attackers from the walls of Skingrad. Anyone in the town being able to hold and fire a bow was provided with a bow and a set of arrows and was stationed on the walls as a final resort in case the men on the field would fall. Dozens of Daedra were shot down, many were rendered defenseless with countless arrows sticking from their body and were quickly put down by the couragous defenders. The sergeant’s tactic had bought them some time.
‘Maybe, just maybe we can get out of this one alive,’ he thought while swinging his sword. With almost every swing another one of the atrocious monsters fell to the cruel, sharp steel.
The attackers were starting to spread thin, the defenders had won the day but he was certain the battle wasn’t over.
Exhausted, he stuck his sword, tip first, into the soggy ground, let himself drop to his knees and wept for all the brave men that had fallen.
***
On the walls, a cloaked lone person was peering down at the men defending his town. Janus Hassildor, count of Skingrad bore witness to the slaughter at his walls, his people dying or dead, if he had been able to, he would have cried. He could see with his supernatural, vampiric sight; the brave sergeant leading the defenders, almost like a reflection of himself.
He could see the man falling to his knees, his back arched and his sword stuck in the ground next to him. The bravery and tactical insight this single individual had displayed in battle was inspiring, it made him wanting to fly down and lay his enemies to waste but his position prevented him to do so. He had kept to the background for all those years, not exposing himself to his people living in his town. Few of his most loyal men knew about his situation and had vowed an oath to keep it silent. Leaping down would undo all those years of secrecy and strike fear in the hearts of his servants who were oblivious to the predator amongst them. Never had he fed on one of his own but he knew from experience people feared what they don’t understand and kill what they fear.
His town had always been a thriving town, ever since he became the count, nearly seventy years ago. Even he had hunted down and destroyed countless of his own kind, he had sworn never to feed on people, instead he fed on cattle and vermin.
His patience was now at an end. What good was it to keep in secrecy if there was no-one left to remain hidden from? Trusting his disguise, he leapt down and went Daedra hunting.
His fangs were dripping with daedric blood. It wasn’t nearly as tasteful as the blood from the natural wildlife but it felt far more satisfying ripping the windpipe from his enemies’ throat than feeding on helpless little critters. In the woods north of Skingrad, he had chosen as his huntingground, he had encountered more Daedra. Some still bloody from the battle, some still fresh, ready for the next attack. Most of them were now dead.
Janus’ wrath had been terrible, parts of Daedra were scattered around the area, the soil now black with the demonic blood.
Between all the lesser Daedra he had found a Dremora Lord in charge of the minions. At first the Dremora was unwilling answering his questions but after some persuasion the Dremora had started to talk.
But all the awesome comments have urged me to continue writing on it. Which I shall, I promise! But you probably noticed it is not a story that comes easily. That's why I kind of put it in the fridge but I am confident again I am on the right way and that I can pull it off. THANK YOU ALL!!!!! You guys ROCK!
Chapter 10 War
‘Watch the left flank, they’re circling us!’ the sergeant barked and quickly wheeled around to face a creature that had managed to sneak around the armed forces protecting the town. A mouth, filled with rows and rows of huge teeth was snapping in his direction, quickly he raised his shield to fend of the monstrous mouth and brought his sword down to have it collide with the beasts’ neck. His sword carved deep into the monster’s neck until the blade hit its spine. It dropped dead immediately in front of the sergeant’s iron clad feet. The sergeant didn’t even bother checking for lifesigns and prepared himself for the next attack.
Hordes and hordes of monsters were pouring out of a hellish portal that had mysteriously manifested itself west of the town of Skingrad. The usual pleasant green pastures and vineyards surrounding the thriving town were scorched to the ground painted red with blood from both defenders and attackers. Dead bodies were scattered all over. The brave defenders had stood their ground for days, fighting and killing the seemingly endless stream of Daedra invaders.
The same was happening in several places in Cyrodiil, all over the province men and mer were dying by the hand of the relentless horde of monsters people only encountered in the worst of their nightmares. No-one was spared, all were slaughtered brutally, women, children and old men all alike. This wasn’t war, it was extermination.
The sergeant could tell his men were getting tired, gaps were starting to fall in their lines.
‘Hold the lines,’ he yelled, ‘or else we all end up as Daedra snack!’ The encouragement seemed to work, his men straightened their back, lifted their shields and closed the gaps in the lines. However, the experienced, battle-hardened sergeant knew it was only a matter of time his men would be overrun if reinforcements wouldn’t arrive soon. For a brief moment he took off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow while softly cursing the unnatural heat.
Longingly he looked northbound where, if his superiors were correct, reinforcements would come from. He wasn’t counting on it, they had taken too long, they should’ve been there half a day ago. He knew his men couldn’t last much longer and if the lines would fall, the town would be overrun. He had to think of something and he had to do it fast.
‘Signal the archers and prepare to make a hasty withdrawl ’ he shouted towards his flagbearer and put his helmet back on his head.
A flag, indicating the archers could fire at will, was raised while the sergeant bellowed the order to withdraw slowly so his men wouldn’t end up looking like pincushions. Even in the chaos of dying men and beasts, mud and blood, his men withdrew disciplined as arrows rained down on the attackers from the walls of Skingrad. Anyone in the town being able to hold and fire a bow was provided with a bow and a set of arrows and was stationed on the walls as a final resort in case the men on the field would fall. Dozens of Daedra were shot down, many were rendered defenseless with countless arrows sticking from their body and were quickly put down by the couragous defenders. The sergeant’s tactic had bought them some time.
‘Maybe, just maybe we can get out of this one alive,’ he thought while swinging his sword. With almost every swing another one of the atrocious monsters fell to the cruel, sharp steel.
The attackers were starting to spread thin, the defenders had won the day but he was certain the battle wasn’t over.
Exhausted, he stuck his sword, tip first, into the soggy ground, let himself drop to his knees and wept for all the brave men that had fallen.
***
On the walls, a cloaked lone person was peering down at the men defending his town. Janus Hassildor, count of Skingrad bore witness to the slaughter at his walls, his people dying or dead, if he had been able to, he would have cried. He could see with his supernatural, vampiric sight; the brave sergeant leading the defenders, almost like a reflection of himself.
He could see the man falling to his knees, his back arched and his sword stuck in the ground next to him. The bravery and tactical insight this single individual had displayed in battle was inspiring, it made him wanting to fly down and lay his enemies to waste but his position prevented him to do so. He had kept to the background for all those years, not exposing himself to his people living in his town. Few of his most loyal men knew about his situation and had vowed an oath to keep it silent. Leaping down would undo all those years of secrecy and strike fear in the hearts of his servants who were oblivious to the predator amongst them. Never had he fed on one of his own but he knew from experience people feared what they don’t understand and kill what they fear.
His town had always been a thriving town, ever since he became the count, nearly seventy years ago. Even he had hunted down and destroyed countless of his own kind, he had sworn never to feed on people, instead he fed on cattle and vermin.
His patience was now at an end. What good was it to keep in secrecy if there was no-one left to remain hidden from? Trusting his disguise, he leapt down and went Daedra hunting.
His fangs were dripping with daedric blood. It wasn’t nearly as tasteful as the blood from the natural wildlife but it felt far more satisfying ripping the windpipe from his enemies’ throat than feeding on helpless little critters. In the woods north of Skingrad, he had chosen as his huntingground, he had encountered more Daedra. Some still bloody from the battle, some still fresh, ready for the next attack. Most of them were now dead.
Janus’ wrath had been terrible, parts of Daedra were scattered around the area, the soil now black with the demonic blood.
Between all the lesser Daedra he had found a Dremora Lord in charge of the minions. At first the Dremora was unwilling answering his questions but after some persuasion the Dremora had started to talk.
ARGH!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! MORE, MORE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARGH !!!!!!!!!! 
yay for Janus!
In spite of mALX's corruption of his character, he remains my favorite noble in the whole game!
Way to go!
And I hear you about writer's block!
In spite of mALX's corruption of his character, he remains my favorite noble in the whole game!
Way to go!
And I hear you about writer's block!
QUOTE(haute ecole rider @ Apr 7 2010, 04:02 PM)
yay for Janus!
In spite of mALX's corruption of his character, he remains my favorite noble in the whole game!
Way to go!
And I hear you about writer's block!
... huh?
Not an update sorry, but rather to let you now I will be getting the MS office package on my home computer soon so I will be able to start writing on this again soon I've been "reprimanded" for spending too much time on it at work so that's why I haven't updated or written anything on it for ages. Unlike Rales' memoires this is NOT a casually written story and have to really think it through so it takes me hours just thinking up and writing few paragraphs.
I've been "reprimanded" for spending too much time on it at work so that's why I haven't updated or written anything on it for ages. Unlike Rales' memoires this is NOT a casually written story and have to really think it through so it takes me hours just thinking up and writing few paragraphs.
Glad to hear it, I was getting worried you weren't going to continue this.
If you need a wordprocessor I can recommend AbiWord as a good free one...
If you need a wordprocessor I can recommend AbiWord as a good free one...
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